Grr Cooking

GRR COOKINGJack Tomlinson

Copyright © 2000 by Jack Tomlinson.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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Contents

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

for Vicki

CHAPTER 1

Astrid

She was a German girl. She wanted to be educated in her country. She wanted to stay with her parents. She wanted to continue life exactly as she had been living it. Her parents took care of her; she had never had to express contrary wishes, contrary desires. But now they told her she was going to Sweden. This was unfair and evil. It was not God’s divine plan. The deceptively plain, young woman rarely raised her voice; now she shouted. «I’m not going.»

Choked, her words came in an unnatural voice. Still louder, she got it out. But Papa, this can’t be your wish for me. We are Germans. I am meant to stay in Berlin. That is the way it should be.

Her father bit his lip, turned to his wife, and then hugged the girl to his chest. The Fuehrer approves of foreign educations. He wants this for our youth. That one was a five-star Willi lie. As usual he got away with the subterfuge.

There were several other long conversations usually interrupted by Astrid’s sobbing and wrenching protestations. Willi, who if he did anything right, was a loving and caring father. But he stood his ground. He had cast the decision as one of patriotic common sense, adventure, and scholastic pursuit. From his old friend Ulf Lundberg he had asked for and received a detailed letter describing the Universitet of Stockholm and its faculty. Of course his brilliant daughter must have the best. Stockholm had a more than respectable physics department, chaired by Professor Erich Kialt, a man of international reputation. Mathematics was adequately covered, and although it could be argued otherwise, and was by Astrid, the standards appeared to be almost equal to those of leading German universities.

At the moment this mattered not, as Astrid yelled, It’s all garbage.

Anita, her mother, weighing in angrily, shouted, May I remind you, young lady, you are half Swedish. You can be German all you want to be, but half of you is Swedish. You can be educated in Sweden and educated well.

The girl fixed her mother with a stare. Well, apparently everything that counts is Swedish.

Willi stretched to his maximum height, a modest level, and hoped to end it. Astrid, you are going to Stockholm. You will study and succeed because you are my special, brilliant girl.

There was no reply from his daughter as she fled the room.

Astrid really didn’t mind Sweden, but she knew it only as a spot for her summer holiday. Her annual trips with her mother were enjoyable, or so she said. But now she was being moved to Sweden. What was to come would amount to her giving up Germany. Was that too drastic an outlook? Not to her.

She admired her father, she admired Nazi government, and she admired what she knew of the general purpose of conquest by the German race. Now all of this she would be forced to leave. She was being shipped off to a neutral zone, a neutral country, a neutral life. Astrid detested her parents’ decision and she hated them for it. Her mother got more venom than her father for, after all, he had never done their family wrong. She had invented and embraced the notion that her mother had betrayed them. Astrid carried that thought silently. She choked when she thought of what her mother had done. How she adored her father. Then he sent her away.

1940 in Stockholm. The Swedish nation gathered unto itself. There was an attempt to set aside partisan politics and it worked moderately

well. The big game was to maintain the nation’s neutrality. This struggle could be more difficult than being a combatant. Germany constantly demanded concessions and Sweden’s natural Scandinavian friends on the other side expected friendship rather than rigidity. Balance . . . give and take, mostly give, it was very tricky.

The girl’s Aunt Sophie, along with other people who had money, continued to live happily and well provided for despite the war’s restrictions. Sophie, rarely called lovely, but often called sexy, lived alone in a fine Stockholm apartment. She was more than delighted to have her niece as a long-term house guest, so to speak. Astrid felt close to the woman but they had never been confidants.

As Sophie saw it, this would be a project—her niece needed to grow up and look like an adult. First, there had to be change in Astrid’s appearance. She was a pretty girl and it was time to show her off. She should have young men around her and most importantly, she had to stop taking life so seriously. Yes, this project could be a lot of fun.

Astrid, depressed but resigned, had a few goals of her own. First, she wanted to be left alone. Second, she wanted to immerse herself in her studies. And most important, she wanted to get back to Germany, any way, any time soon.

Since I’m here I’ll do what I am supposed to, declared Astrid who was seated on the edge of the cushion on a white, over-stuffed chair. The large parlor was completely done in white, and that was Aunt Sophie. The woman usually dressed accordingly.

Of course you will, sweetheart. I just know you’ll be a success in school and like it here with me. I promise. She certainly looked as if she believed her words, Astrid gave her that.

Wasting no time Sophie chose to start with the face. Astrid used nothing but an occasional lip rouge. Her aunt appeared with various schemes of cosmetics, depending on the time of day or the whim, or whatever, and was always suggesting a try this to her niece. Polite declines were standard. Astrid did take to lipstick rather quickly, however, and for Sophie that was a promising start.

Sweetheart, all we’re doing is making you more pretty.

For whom? And why?

Sophie, her patience strained, gave her a snort and snapped. Because that’s the way normal girls present themselves.

Astrid had spent her teen years clothed in a school uniform. When she had other options she wanted to wear simple, nondescript jumpers and sensible shoes. She saw herself as a serious person who was concerned with what she was trying to learn rather than how she looked.

Strangely, Anita had not approached her daughter’s appearance one way or another. Besides dressing plainly, the young woman did oddly unfashionable things with her red hair. Having less curly hair than her mother, she liked to have a braid on each side of her head which was then coiled around her ears and pinned to her head. This was unflattering and maybe that is why she did it. The girl did not want to be noticed or thought of as attractive. She insisted on this odd hair style and kept her braids, with the exception of her summers in Sweden. Those days, the hair would be down, and there would appear to be a much more open and relaxed girl with thick, flowing red hair.

Astrid, you should be wearing your hair like you do in the summer. It’s so beautiful—show it off.

Oh, Aunt Sophie, there you go again. Why don’t you stop worrying about me? My hair is just fine and I am just fine. I look as nice as I want to look, don’t you think? I’m all right.

Of course, you’re all right. You’re more than all right. That isn’t the point. There’s more to life than just your studies. Besides, you’re at an age when you should consider doing something for yourself. You may not think so, but I bet there are a lot of young men who would love to see how you look without those pastries wrapped around your ears. Hate me, but I am going to keep harping. Her frown dissolved into a smile.

Astrid laughed but repeated a variation of her mantra. I think I will be fine just as I am. Do I say that all the time? Well, never mind, I’m happy—happy that you care so much—but I’m all right for now.

The aunt mumbled, So you say.

Waiting for the fall semester to start, Astrid took to the streets of Stockholm. She was tall but many Swedish girls and women had her in that department. With her long, bouncing stride she covered ground quickly. The lonely exile had August and most of September on her own. As she walked, she tried to reach a resolution with her anger and disappointment at how she had been treated. She had never bothered with self-analysis but now her isolation almost forced it upon her.

She vowed, I will not become uncooperative because I want the university and I want to continue to learn.

There was so much about her parents that she needed to clear up. She favored her father despite his weaknesses. When she was old enough to catch him in exaggerations, she would say to her mother, Papa always tells such big stories.

Well, Willi was only doing what he did best. His daughter gradually accepted the fact that Papa told big stories and often big lies. He was just that kind of man. Some of his ridiculous excuses for missing a school play or even once her birthday party now seemed trivial and distant. He had paid so much attention to her as a child that his outlandish words didn’t matter.

Her mother commanded love, but the equation broke down over respect. There was the cloud created by Ulf that never vanished. Why had she never discussed this man with her mother? Did her mother realize that Astrid knew? It’s so easy to go along, she said to no one. Astrid found out about her mother’s lover in an odd way.

Ulf, her father’s dear friend, was a jovial man, full of jokes and usually bearing presents. Just the person you want to see every summer. And, of course, she did, on numerous occasions. Initially Astrid had thought nothing of her mother and Ulf. They would go out but why shouldn’t they? There was never to her eye any demonstration of affection between the two of them, just laughter and clever conversations. «Ulf was the best man at our wedding.» If she heard it once she heard it a thousand times from both her mother and father.

It was Aunt Sophie, half drunk one summer evening, who in a loud voice, told her sister, «Maybe you married the wrong man, Anita.»

Astrid was in her room, the door ajar, supposedly asleep, as the sisters sat down in Sophie’s all-white parlor for a little chat and a lot of whiskey. Sophie had a head start, but Anita was not far behind. The subject was lovers. It became quite definitive. «It was so good at the beginning. When we were first married, in the early years, we made love with pleasure. That wore down, went away. Well, you know, he had that whore. I was furious. I just wanted to get even. So, I thought, what better way than with Ulf? Well, it didn’t work. I mean—I didn’t pay Willi back. In fact, I don’t think he’s ever known. All I did was find somebody who satisfies me more. Now you can understand why summer is my paradise. Ulf gives it to me. It will never end . . . I hope.» Anita’s eyes sparkled.

Sophie just loved it. «Oh, you’re such a Swede, darling.»

The high-flying twosome easily slipped into a discussion of other men, sex and what have you. Astrid was listening closely. She slid from her bed and stood by the barely open door. Some things were said that she did not understand. But nevertheless, the girl carefully followed as best she could. That night Astrid got an unintentional sex education from her mother and aunt. The teachers were well-lubricated by drink, and graphic in their chatter. They had no idea the girl was awake and hearing it all.

At first, Astrid wondered if she should believe what she heard. Was that right, her mother and Ulf? But it was as if she had memorized every word her mother said about the affair. It was true and the talk about sex had to be too.

She said nothing to her mother or anyone else about what she heard that night. But it soaked in. Her mother had no shame. Her father was betrayed. She was betrayed. The girl had been there for the ups and downs of her parents. They tried but could not hide reality. There were too many fights, too many slammed doors. Astrid put the blame for everything at the feet of her mother. Her mother was the one who sowed the seeds of resentment and now they became a mature, abundant crop.

Astrid started to learn the city as she forced herself to take daily walks. The girl would often trudge from the north end of Stockholm all the way to Gamalstan, the old town. That was a trip that could take as long as she wanted. Often she stuck to the same route. You would think that things didn’t change but, of course, they did. The change of seasons brought a new look to the water, the trees, the buildings, the people. She gathered all of this in. And while she walked she worked away at self-torture.

Companionship was self-limited. The young woman preferred being alone. Sophie arranged a few social encounters and her niece suffered through them. The motivation for new friends was not there. She told herself that she had no interest in young men. Some she met apparently had an interest in her, but their advances were unwelcome and deflected.

«I like you and enjoy your company,» she would say with a sincere smile, «but my plans are only academic now. We can see each other later, perhaps.» This was the rehearsed, automatic dismissal. Of course it worked; it turned things off before things became things.

A telephone call from Ulf with an invitation to lunch was a huge surprise. Astrid accepted, stammering a bit, not knowing really what to do or how to react. He would pick her up at Sophie’s apartment and they would go to a restaurant in Bellevue Parken on the north edge of the city.

Astrid had two days to worry about this lunch. There was the huge problem of the agenda. After all, she would be with her mother’s lover—one on one—how would she do it? «I’ll let him do the talking—and I’ll just nod. Besides, I like him.»

She decided to hold the news back from Sophie until the morning of the date. Her aunt looked bemused at first and then said, «Ulf has been so generous to your family. He’s always looked out for you and your mother so do look your best.»

«I’ll be fine,» Astrid replied with an edge to her voice.

She wore a simple, non-disclosing grey smock dress. She managed a bit of lipstick while her flowing hair was pulled severely back and into a bun. As always, she wore her sensible shoes. At the door Ulf helped her with her coat and with a gracious lie told her how nice she looked.

The short ride to the restaurant was spent with questions and answers about her parents. Had she had any word from Berlin? No. How did she like Stockholm? Okay. A bit of chatter and then Ulf pulled up right in front of the restaurant and turned off the engine.

«Is this allowed?» she whispered.

«Of course, I am an owner here.»

Ulf was a man who commanded attention. Slender with a bit of a stomach bulge, he was attractive, not handsome. Nevertheless the man turned heads, especially women’s. That flair, yes, that’s what he had. His life was centered on a variety of women and dining in what remained of the best restaurants in wartime Stockholm. He, with no trace of modesty whatsoever, would boom, «Somebody has to champion inherited wealth and I’m proud to do it.»

Seated in the restaurant with this plainly dressed girl he asked if he could order for both of them. «Please do,» she whispered. Would she take a glass of wine? «No, thank you.»

He ordered pea soup and sausages and potatoes. A man’s meal, she thought to herself. She ate it all. He had much to say about the Universitet. There were more uninteresting questions about her mother and father. She was surprised to find herself having such a good time. It was fun, she decided, to be at lunch with a nice, older man who seemed to be enjoying himself and trying hard to keep her entertained. «But what does he want from me»» she said to herself.

As he was driving her home Ulf kept glancing at her until they made eye contact. «Astrid, may I tell you my thoughts?»

A pause, she nodded. Oh, no, here it comes, she thought. She was not sure about this. God, was it her mother?

«You’ll be here for several years, perhaps. Your studies may take you even beyond the usual university degree. We know how smart you are.» His voice was husky as he continued. «You will always need, as everyone does, an outside friend, that is, someone who’s not your family, someone who does not have any competing interest, someone who will help you if you need it. I hope very much that you will consider me that friend for you.»

Relieved, she thought a moment and then looked toward him. Again, their eyes caught for a second. «I will try to do that, Ulf. I promise. Yes, I will try.»

She surprised herself. But what could she have said? Later, lunch in review, she sorted it out. There was no sustainable anger toward

Ulf . . . her mother was the one, she was evil. She must have stalked Ulf and he only did what most men would do.

As Astrid walked in the sharp wind one early September afternoon with the leaves swirling in the bite of fall weather, the young woman admitted to herself, «I like where I am. Not physically—no, no—not the fact that I am in Sweden. I like where I am with myself. I feel I have made a transition to a Stockholm self. I can take things forward. My German self still wants and needs Germany, but it can wait. I must have my education.»

CHAPTER 2

Mr. Ho

Cle

anliness in the kitchen meant cleanliness in life. One had to sacrifice too. This standard might not always apply, but it was the foundation for the way he approached life. Sitting in a hotel room meant for two, where four now resided, did not meet his standard. The old four-story hotel had been taken by the rag-tag Nationalist government a few months after its hurried arrival on Taiwan. The highlight of the cramped room was a water view of the garbage-filled harbor at Kaoshiung.

Going onto the pier required the right pass. This was an unfriendly place staffed by unfriendly guards. In the shadows at night or around corners in the daylight, figures in civilian clothes stood and watched. Randomly, when they wanted, there would be no request for identification, and the unlucky were simply grabbed and taken away. Let’s go turtle.

The government acquired a lot of things in 1949 and kept up its kleptomania in the years following. Opinions varied, but the honest one held that the government that arrived from the mainland was a disgrace. After years of civil war or revolution, take your choice, the Kuo Min Tang had lost. This corrupt collection of war lords, mercenaries, and just plain folk was driven from the mainland by the Communists.

The political movement started by the great patriot Sun Yan Sing had its legacy—a fractured government and a beaten army. It fled the mainland, retreating in dishonor. The mess was led by, if that’s the term, the still redoubtable Chiang Kai Shek. Formosa, the island named by the Portuguese, became the refuge for the defeated army and many of its followers. There was no way to put this humiliation in a positive light. Who could