Shrouded In Silence

17





Klaus Burchel sat hunched over a table in the Hofbrauhaus beer hall just off of the main square in the center of Munich. A small German band with a boisterous tuba player tried to chase away the coldness of the fall afternoon with their strident folk songs. In their lederhosen and Bavarian hats with feathers sticking out the side, the potbellied ensemble kept pounding out loud drinking songs. The two-story pub amounted to a huge beer hall with women in native costumes flying around the rooms holding large steins of beer in their hands to keep the patrons happy and drinking.

"Mein herr." The buxom barmaid in the Bavarian dress whirled in front of Klaus's table holding three mammoth glass steins overflowing with beer. "What'll it be, pretty face?"

"Lager," Klaus said.

"Coming up." the woman swirled away almost as if she was dancing to the um-pa-pa the tuba kept hammering away underneath the melody line of the song.

Klaus had started using his family name again because it felt more comfortable in Germany to be known as a Baer, but it had its problem. The surname problem was only a part of what depressed him. He had returned to the Hofbrauhaus hoping the raucous beer hall might offer encouragement. In the basement, Adolf Hitler had held some of his first rallies to gather support for his fledgling movement. Beneath this very floor, Hitler and Nazi Party members had stormed an official political meeting and declared that the revolution in Germany had begun. On November 8, 1923, the Beer Hall Putsch had set off a fire storm that resulted in Hitler landing in prison where he wrote Mein Kampf. Yet, it was this exact disaster that set the stage for his rise to power. Klaus could take comfort that the emergence of the Third Reich came out of the ashes of the Putsch. Even though sixteen Nazis and four policemen had been killed, the struggle had been worth the confrontation. That tidbit of history encouraged him to consider continuing even after killing the priest in Rome. What counted was the struggle, the continuation of the battle.

His parents had been alarmed when he showed up on their doorstep. It had been a considerable walk from the train station, but no one had stopped him for questioning. It seemed that the police had allowed his past felonies to slide and weren't interested in catching him. However, his parents weren't so sure. In the opinion of some, the name Baer and his grandfather Richard Baer's death in prison kept a cloud hanging over their house. The return of a son in trouble with the law wasn't positive. At best, they had no clue that he had killed a priest in Rome.

"Here you be," the barmaid said and slid a tall mug in front of him.

"Thank you," Klaus said and looked away.

Sipping his beer, he thought about what he'd found in Munich so far. His parents were glad to see him but didn't want him lingering for long. Besides the fact that the police could be watching, he had a disposition for getting into trouble. The Baer family had certainly had enough problems without another explosion caused by his misguided behavior. His stay would have to be brief, but where would he go next? At every turn, his path seemed blocked. Perhaps, he should go back to Italy. Then again, the police might be on to him. He couldn't remember leaving any clues behind so maybe they weren't on his trail. Possibly, he had a week; maybe a few days. Regardless, he would have to move on soon.

The face of Albert Stein drifted across his mind. Stein could be looking for him and that caused concern. With time, he'd found Stein's demands to be bearable. Because he never gave the ol' man any static, their relationship had become more durable. Still, Klaus didn't like the man. Stein remained the most arrogant person Klaus had ever known.

Klaus took a long sip and watched the band. Nothing made much sense. Possibly another three or four more steins and he'd be more insightful.