Bloom

“Holger, take my hand. Come on now, son, it’s too busy, hold my hand.”

In spite of the explicit orders barked in his direction, a chubby-cheeked Holger Sauer struggled violently in protest of his father’s sturdy grip on his forearm. The burgeoning crowd had piqued the toddler’s childhood curiosity and he wanted nothing more than to escape from the oppressive shackles that his father’s hand had created and go on his own adventure. After all, they were on holiday and in Holger’s infant mind, that meant that he should be eating ice-cream and strolling through the glitzy stores at his own pace, not being dragged through a seemingly endless throng of people towards whatever commotion his father was trying to investigate.

The people that surrounded Holger were tall. Giants, in fact – at least compared to Holger’s minute stance. Everywhere he looked there were black-clad legs, jostling and bumping him. Holger was barely half their height and the more that they pushed and shoved, the further into the crowd he seemed to go, tripping and stumbling as he struggled to stay on his feet. Holger felt someone’s knee connect with the small of his back, pushing him further forward. As his father’s grip on Holger’s arm loosened, the only explanation that he could come up with was that his tiny little world was falling in upon itself. He looked up to where the sky once was, but it had now been replaced by the endless legs of those around him. The sky had abandoned him, leaving darkness to fall on the tot as the crowds pushed forward, and forward again.

Holger could feel tears beginning to form in his eyes. He knew it wasn’t right to cry – big boys don’t cry, Holger’s father had always told him and Holger wasn’t a baby anymore – but as another knock from behind sent him flying forward, he let out a mournful wail. Not only had the sky abandoned him, but his own father had too. Crying in earnest now, he struggled to strain against the crowd that had so rapidly closed around him. He wanted his father. He didn’t even mind the hand-shackles anymore, and he didn’t want to go on an adventure. He just wanted to feel safe and secure. Another wail escaped his lips, followed by another and then another. He was all alone.

“Hey, buddy, I’ve got you. Don’t cry, Holger. I’ve got you.”

And suddenly the sky was back again, and Holger was aloft, staring across the heads of the crowd from his new vantage point against his father’s chest. The blazing August sunshine tickled his bare arms and dried his tears to his cheeks. Holger allowed himself one or two more safety sobs, the shock of being plucked from what had seemed like certain death by his father’s calloused hands still a little too raw in his memory. He buried his head into the crook of his father’s neck, wrapping his tiny arms as tightly as he could across his broad shoulders.

“Scary, vater, I’m scared.”

“I know buddy, I know. I’ve got you, you’re safe now. Just hold on to me. Let’s try and get out of here.”

Holger felt his father’s body rock back and forth as he attempted to clear a way through the ruckus, hand placed protectively over Holger’s skull. They were moving slowly, like treading water at the swimming bath that Holger and his family frequented during the summer months. Curiosity getting the best of him once again, Holger allowed himself a brief glance at the world around him. Faces stretched for as far as Holger could see, an endless stream of people. He squirmed against his father’s iron grip as he tried to look ahead. The world was bouncing up and down as their pace quickened, but other than the people who had congregated en-masse, Holger could see nothing.

And then they slowed suddenly to a halt. The crowd had thinned slightly, but their path forward was still blocked. A perfectly vertical line of men dressed in forest green – like his toy soldiers in his room at home, Holger thought curiously – had formed a living barrier to prevent anybody from going any further ahead. The people surrounding these men were shouting words that Holger didn’t quite understand but the men didn’t reply, only staring stonily ahead as they ignored the crowd.

But Holger’s father wasn’t concerned with these men. Frozen in his tracks, he was staring at the barrier behind the men – a makeshift hodgepodge of galvanised metal blocking off the street. In the distance, behind the blockade, Holger could see people shouting and trying to circumvent the barrier with no luck. Overnight, the street had been halved in length, the large metal beast stretching as far as the eye could see. It was for this barrier that Holger’s father had stopped, his mouth lying open in a wide “o” shape, colour drained from his face. Concerned, Holger placed a sweaty palm on his father’s cheek.

“Vater?”

For the first time in Holger’s relatively short life, he found himself being ignored by his own father. Gerd Sauer remained open-mouthed, staring silently ahead at the structure that was blocking their passage forward. Even though he did not know why, Holger knew that his father was somehow upset. Almost mechanically, Gerd turned his head toward the sign, with its four languages displayed proudly for all to read. Most of it was illegible to Holger, merely a group of shapes and squiggles that made little sense. Even the German was confounding, the words too long and complex for Holger to comprehend. He pulled on his father’s shirt sleeve, trying to get his attention.

“Vater? What does it tell?”

Gerd’s face had gone ghostly white, and his grip on Holger loosened a little as he read the declaration. Holger shrieked, the terror of falling back into the pit of knobby knees and sharp elbows rushing through every fibre of his little body. The sound seemed to bring Gerd back to his senses, and he strengthened his grip before Holger could fall.

“Vater?” Holger’s voice was quiet, muted, and he chewed quickly on his lower lip to stop himself from crying again. “What does it tell?”

“It says that they’re building a wall, Holger.” His father was avoiding eye contact, blinking rapidly as the sun shone in his eyes. “It says that we cannot cross. East and West Berlin are now completely isolated from one another.”

Holger stared at his father blankly, struggling to understand what his father meant. Gerd finally made eye contact, watching his son carefully for a moment before bowing his head and uttering words that Holger would only begin to understand the magnitude of when he was far, far older.

“It says we can’t go home, Holger.”