The old priest walked slowly through the crowd that left St. Waltraud’s after Mass. They parted as he walked with the congregation and then took a left into the church’s narthex. Perhaps they were concerned that he wouldn’t be able to navigate without assistance, or that he was a member of the clergy who was making his way back to the others. Neither were true - though the priest walked with confidence and a strong stride, he still wandered back and forth through the hallways, poking his head into rooms until he found the sacristy. He said nothing as he stood in the doorway, a tall shadow looking down on the priests as they undressed.
Hans noticed the old man first. He stopped removing his robes.
“Can we help you?” He asked.
“I’m looking for Benedikt.” The old man said.
Hans glanced towards Benedikt, who turned around rapidly.
Father Isidore Frischer had a face that seemed perpetually stuck at the age of fifty. When Benedikt entered the orphanage as a child, Isidore looked unusually old for his age - grey hair, premature wrinkles on his forehead and at the corners of his mouth, the faded scar along the bridge of his broad, triangular nose. Now he was 71 and he looked unusually young - his hair had not thinned, his face had not sagged, his back had not hunched.
“Father!” Benedikt gasped.
Father Frischer’s deep grey eyes sparkled, the look of a man entering a nostalgic dream. He stepped into the sacristy and opened his arms. As always, his height and bulk was overwhelming – even after Benedikt’s growth spurt, Father Frischer was a foot taller than him. Benedikt sank into the black cotton cassock, the darkness easily swallowing him up. No matter how old he became, Benedikt still felt like a child when he buried his face in Father Frischer’s shoulder. Father Frischer brought his arms around Benedikt tightly, nearly crushing the life out of him. As Benedikt stepped back, he became aware of the looks Hans and Erich gave them.
“Father, this is our new deacon, Erich Falk.” Benedikt gestured to the younger man with dark hair. “I don’t know if he was here last time you visited.”
“It’s good to meet you, Father.” Erich said as he stepped forward. He hunched over slightly, as if trying to appear smaller. A very submissive gesture. Isidore had that effect on anyone under the age of 35.
“You boys make me feel old! Call me Isidore.” Isidore grabbed Erich’s hand with an American-like grip.
“Sorry, Isidore.” Erich said.
“It’s good to meet you too.” Isidore said with a nod.
“And you know Hans Horstmann.” Benedikt said.
“Hello.” Hans said. He was too busy re-applying oil to his blonde hair to shake Isidore’s hand.
“What are you doing here?” Benedikt asked. “I thought you didn’t come to Berlin until August.”
“Well, the new wing of the orphanage had to be put on hold until we raised enough money. While we wait for the Church to send donations, my brother Julius agreed to help cover the costs.”
“Are you a teacher?” Erich asked.
“I’m the director of the orphanage in Eichstätt. It’s where little Benedikt here grew up.”
“I thought you sounded Bavarian.” Hans said to Benedikt.
“Anyway, I meet with Julius tomorrow, but I wanted to come early and see Benedikt.” Isidore said. He clamped a hand on Benedikt’s shoulder. “I haven’t seen him in so long.”
“We always see each other in August.” Benedikt said.
“That’s too long, mein liebling.” Isidore sighed dramatically.
Benedikt glanced at the other men. He imagined what they were thinking - Hans pitied him for his poor background, Erich relished how fatherly Isidore was.
“Benedikt here, he’s like a son to me.” Isidore declared. He gave Benedikt’s shoulder a squeeze. “I’m very proud of how far he’s come.”
“Do you have any other business here, Isidore?” Hans asked. He was fully dressed now, though he still wore his clerical collar. His blonde hair shined.
“Actually, yes.” Isidore turned Benedikt around to face him. “While we were cleaning up the orphanage, I found some of your belongings under a floorboard.”
Isidore reached into his pocket and pulled out a photograph. Benedikt’s eyes fell on the faces of the boys in the photo. There he was as a child, a skinny boy in short pants and a hand-me-down shirt, standing next to a teenage boy with bushy hair and a rounded jaw. It was Max. Benedikt’s chest felt as if it was filled with air.
“I forgot the rest of your things in my hotel room.” Isidore said. “Would you like to pick them up on Tuesday before I leave?”
Benedikt took the photograph gently, handling it as if it was a precious object, his eyes locked on Max’s upturned face.
“What time is your train?” Benedikt asked.
“I’m leaving at 18:00.” Isidore said. “Why don’t you meet me for lunch?”
Benedikt nodded. Isidore smiled, a toothy smile that revealed his crooked canine, but only to Benedikt.
—----
They sat down across from one another at the restaurant, in a booth against the side wall. The waiter came and took their orders before scurrying off to another table. This was a popular place, filled with young people and couples leaning close to one another. A group of young men kept staring at the two priests and talking quietly to one another. Benedikt and Isidore must look like a strange pair in this youthful crowd - two old men, one small and skinny, the other tall and built like a retired boxer. Isidore noticed the group and waved, grinning from ear to ear. The group quickly turned away, aside from a single young man who waved back before joining his friends.
“What a wonderful restaurant.” Isidore said, still looking towards the men. “Have you been here before?”
“No.”
“The hotel clerk said they have some of the best pastries in Berlin.” Isidore turned back to Benedikt.
“I’ve heard that as well.”
“But that doesn’t entice you?”
“No.”
Benedikt’s eyes traveled to the bag Isidore brought with him. It was black and the top was tied up, preventing Benedikt from getting a look at what was inside. All he could make out after Isidore placed it on the chair beside him was four pointed edges pushing against the fabric.
“Still no sweet tooth after all these years, hm?” Isidore said in a teasing tone.
“No.” Benedikt’s gaze returned to Isidore.
“Who eats your dessert these days?”
Benedikt shook his head.
“I don’t need to have anyone do that anymore.” He said.
“Good, I’m glad you’re fitting in at last.” Isidore said. “You complained so much about Konrad in your last letter.”
“Konrad hasn’t run his mouth lately.”
“I told you that’d happen.” Isidore leaned back, looking satisfied. “He’s young, he thinks he knows everything because he still remembers his professors, he thinks he’s going to be the next Pope. Let him think that now. He’ll grow out of it.”
Benedikt sighed.
“Don’t worry.” Isidore said gently. “God has a path for everyone.”
Benedikt smiled slightly. The waiter brought their drinks, a momentary distraction. Isidore barely looked at the man.
“Erich’s still in seminary, yes?”
“Yes.”
“Thought so. He doesn’t bother you?”
“Erich is a puppy. He’s noisy but well-meaning.”
“He’s exactly the type of deacon Heydrich loves.”
Benedikt paused.
“Father Heydrich Eberl is gone.” He said at last.
Isidore’s eyes widened.
“What?”
“Heydrich is gone. So is Oscar.”
“Oscar too!?” Isidore had no poker face. “Heydrich I could see, he was already complaining about his heart, but Oscar - he was that pretty young priest with the curls, right? He wasn’t more than 30-“
“No, not dead.” Benedikt corrected him. “Arrested. Convicted.”
Isidore choked on his drink.
“You forgot to mention THAT in your last letter.” Isidore remarked. “What happened?”
“The Gestapo said the two of them allowed dissidents to leave anti-state newsletters in the pews.”
“Did they?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know, or you can’t say you know?”
Benedikt hesitated. Isidore’s question didn’t surprise him, but it made him anxious. Isidore loved gossip, especially shocking gossip. He wanted answers and he wanted honest answers. Did he still think he was back home, where the close-knit community protected him?
“I don’t know.” Benedikt answered as he lifted his beer. “No one told us where the trial was held. I don’t even know what prison he was sent to.”
The waiter arrived with their meals and Isidore lifted his glass and tapped it.
“Another.” He commanded. The waiter said nothing, only took the glass and left. Isidore sighed and looked down at the table.
“Stupid.” Isidore muttered, shaking his head. “First he refused Communion to those Nazis, now he worked with those radicals.”
“We don’t know if he actually did-”
“Things were fine before priests wanted to be politicians.” Isidore grumbled, lost in his own thoughts. “Heydrich brought all that state attention on himself and now he’s arrested and everyone else has to suffer. I’m sorry you got caught in the fallout, my little boy.” Isidore took another sip, then sighed. “I wish the Gestapo would leave you alone.”
“The Gestapo is increasing their scrutiny everywhere, Father.” Benedikt murmured. A look of understanding came over Isidore’s face. He turned back to his meat pie, focusing on it as if reading a dense novel. A waiter came and replaced Isidore’s empty glass with a full one. Benedikt returned to his own meal. He tried not to let his mind wander to the bag next to Isidore.
“Do you remember when you came with me to Berlin for the yearly donation?” Isidore looked up, his dark gray eyes locking on to Benedikt’s hazel eyes.
“I remember.”
Isidore smiled.
“What do you remember?”
“A lot of walking.”
“Ah, yes.” Isidore sighed. He leaned towards Benedikt, resting his chin on his knuckle. “We saw churches, didn’t we?”
“A few.”
“A few.” Isidore scoffed. “All you wanted to see was churches and the river.”
Benedikt breathed deeply. Yes, he remembered that trip. He’d just turned twelve and Isidore pitched it as a birthday gift – Isidore had to go to Berlin anyway to get money from his brother, wouldn’t Benedikt love to see the city for the first time? Isidore spent one day visiting Julius, but the rest of the trip was just the two of them, walking hand and hand along the river, stopping whenever a church was nearby. He could still remember the way the air felt as the two moved from a shady church interior out into the humid air of summer and as Benedikt breathed in, he tried to hold that memory inside him for as long as he could.
“Berlin is full of beautiful buildings.” Benedikt let his breath out slowly.
“What’s your favorite?”
“St. Waltraud’s.”
Based on the way Isidore looked at him, Benedikt could tell he was skeptical. It was silly but it was true. Benedikt loved the church he served. He loved its pulpit, loved the intricate carvings on the altar, loved looking at the way the arches joined and hoisted stone as if by magic above the people inside. The work of man, held together by God.
“It’s an easy answer.” Isidore said.
“It’s an honest answer.”
Isidore looked at Benedikt for a moment, then nodded.
“St. Waltraud’s was one of the churches we saw on our walk, you know.” Isidore said. “You tried to get inside the pulpit.”
“It’s a beautiful pulpit.”
“Does it still have the crucifix on the bottom column?”
“Yes.”
“I remember how badly you wanted to touch His feet.”
“They installed a fence to keep people from doing that.”
“Is it better than the one you hopped over on the trip?”
“If I remember correctly, you helped me hop over it.” Benedikt chuckled.
“That sounds like something I’d do.” Isidore laughed. “Was it worth it?”
“Yes.” Benedikt paused. His eyes glanced down at the bag, then up at Isidore.
“That trip changed my life.” Benedikt said.
Isidore smiled.
“You deserved it.” He said. Isidore reached across the table and ruffled Benedikt’s hair, the way he would when Benedikt was young. Isidore’s fingers were long and slender and he knew how to work them through someone’s scalp in just the right way. A familiar tingle ran down Benedikt’s spine and the hairs stood on end.
“You were my favorite boy.” Isidore murmured.
“...thank you.”
Isidore withdrew his fingers and Benedikt’s body eased. They sat in silence together for a long time. Benedikt watched as Isidore finished eating his meat pies, using his knife to gather the juices up before taking a bite.
“Do you remember that day we went walking by the river and you kept complaining about how your legs hurt?” Isidore said.
“I had…” Benedikt’s voice died in his throat.
Isidore watched Benedikt closely. They both remembered that trip. How could Isidore not remember the way Benedikt bent over and crawled across the floor, begging with his mouth wide open? Or the way Isidore dragged him across the rug until Benedikt’s knees were rubbed raw? Or the way Benedikt bit his knuckle until they bled? The wounds stopped bleeding by the next morning, but the scabs were still visible as they walked down the bank of the Spree. Benedikt was tired and his legs ached. His body moved only because it pleased Isidore. Another act in a long line of acts for Isidore’s benefit.
“I had forgotten.” Benedikt said.
It had been a hot summer day. Benedikt stretched out on a grassy patch, his arms wrapped around his body while Isidore sat up straight. As the two rested by the riverside, watching the boats go by, Isidore stroked the scabs on Benedikt’s knees. Once upon a time, Max would have been the one to comfort Benedikt like this. There was no way to clean the blood or cover the scabs left by their father but that didn’t matter. It was enough to gently touch the mark. Acknowledging the presence of the wound, even when they could not speak for fear of alerting someone to their presence. There were some words you could not say - not in public, maybe not ever again. In this way, Max had prepared Benedikt for Isidore.
“You wanted to go to sleep, right there on the river bank.” Isidore said, breaking into a laugh. Benedikt lowered his head.
“I was very tired.”
“You were twelve!”
“Yes, I was twelve.” Benedikt’s tone was more clipped than he intended.
Isidore chuckled. “Most boys that age are energetic and aggressive. You’re the only boy I know who had less stamina than I did.”
“Is that so?”
“I don’t blame you for that. You were poor. Your father strayed from the path and your brother damned himself.”
“Max wasn’t a bad person.”
Isidore let out a long, exasperated sigh.
“I will not have this argument again.” He muttered, his voice low and serious. His hand tightened into a fist. Benedikt shrank back in his chair. He should never have reopened this argument. Unlike Isidore, Max was never the source of Benedikt’s wounds.
“Sorry.” Benedikt’s voice was close to a whimper.
Isidore’s fist opened slowly. He returned to his previous demeanor.
“No one had truly loved you.” Isidore said, a remark he clearly meant to be cutting. Benedikt flinched.
“But there was something about you, my little boy.” Isidore continued. “You had that spark of the divine in you. You did then, you do now. I loved that about you. I wouldn’t have protected you if you didn’t.”
“...thank you.” Benedikt said. There was something bittersweet about this response. His heart ached… what was it really aching for? He wanted to go back to that riverbank, to be twelve and resting against Isidore’s chest, supported and cared for by those fingertips that traced the wound on his knee. It was the last gasp of kindness, of this particular kindness. The memory did not fit what Benedikt’s heart wanted and it ached further. It could not rewrite the past to give itself what it sought. There was only the orphanage, Isidore’s hands, and the two boys sitting close together on a Berlin riverbank.
“Let’s go.” Isidore wiped his hands on his napkin. “My train is arriving soon.”
He picked up the black bag from the chair and handed it to Benedikt. It was light and whatever was inside rattled.
“Don’t open it until you’re home.” Isidore said, placing his hand on Benedikt’s as Benedikt started untying the top. “There’s lots of pieces inside. I recognized your handiwork.”
Benedikt looked at Isidore quizzically.
“Do you remember your peg people?”
Ah!
“I can’t believe you found any at all.” Benedikt gasped.
“Oh yes. The boys hid them all over the place. They might not have told you, but they thought they were amazing too.”
“Thank you.” Benedikt said, smiling genuinely. Isidore embraced him tightly.
“You deserve it after all you’ve done.” Isidore said.
They said nothing else to one another as they went their separate ways, not even a simple goodbye. Benedikt couldn’t think of anything he wanted to say anyway.
- - - - - - -
The moment Benedikt opened the bag, he recognized the box. This was Officer Remmert’s wooden house, the one he prepared with Max in the attic so many years ago. The paint was heavily faded but Benedikt could still see the outline of the windows and the tiny green vine Benedikt painted around the door. When Benedikt left the farm for the last time, he’d taken as many parts of Wolfsstadt with him as he could. Most had been stolen or destroyed by bullies at the orphanage, but here was a surviving remnant of that world he’d held so dearly. Inside the wooden box were most of the wooden characters he and Max had carved - Officer Remmert and his family, a couple, the parish priest, a few characters whose names Benedikt could not remember, and the wooden peg toys meant to represent Max and Benedikt.
At the bottom of the box, on top of prayer cards and a Berlin postcard, was Max’s whittling knife, a gift from their father during his more lucid moments. The blade was dull but unrusted. Benedikt made a note to get it sharpened. For now, he would keep it and most of those toys inside the cabinet in the corner of his room.
As Benedikt lay in bed that night, he held the two wooden brothers in his hand. He felt the letters on the flat bottoms of each peg person. There was a simple M for Max, carved by Benedikt as he learned to whittle. Under the other was a more intricate J for Johan, Benedikt’s name before he changed it. Max was a master carver. Benedikt could imagine a future where the two of them made it through the orphanage together and Max found work carving intricate features for churches all throughout Germany. If they had to stay inside somewhere, at least it could be beautiful. They made the attic beautiful. They would definitely make a building worthy to be called a house of God.
Benedikt placed the two peg brothers next to the photograph Isidore gave him, now in a simple wooden frame near his bed. Thank God Isidore reunited Benedikt with this beloved memory of his past. Friends, Benedikt repeated to himself. We are friends. He imagined where Isidore might be now - perhaps he was back in Eichstatt, walking through the dormitory as he checked on the boys he cared about. This thought sent a pang of something bitter through Benedikt - a feeling somewhat like jealousy and somewhat like discomfort. What did he really want now? A father or a brother?
- - -
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is part of a series of stories I've been working on to flesh out the characters in the Steel Chain universe. The writing prompt I'm using is "describe a meeting between your character and someone they have not seen in a long time." It's been a good one for exploring how these characters might think, even though it feels quite hard. A while after writing this story, I wrote a blog post about the experience of writing Father Benedikt Veidt. You can read my thoughts here: https://idal-waves.dreamwidth.org/2071.html