And Herr Kalb seemed like a nice man. Alex felt guilty about not liking him before.
When Alex arrived at school, he was called over by the receptionist. She sat behind an elaborate art deco iron grille inside an elegant curved portal. In contrast, the interior of her office had flaking grey paint, with a portrait of Honecker on the wall behind her.
The woman herself was as dour as her office walls, with thinning black hair tied in a tight bun. She wore a nylon floral apron. ‘You must report at once to the Principal,’ she commanded.
Alex went to Herr Roth’s office and knocked timidly on the door. Roth told him to sit down and then went into his secretary’s office to rummage around in a filing cabinet.
Alex stared at the contents of Roth’s desk and wondered what was coming next. Roth had a pen set featuring a small globe resting on a red star stand with the flags of the Eastern Bloc countries arranged around the curved support. A thrusting golden fist emerged from the North Pole. That was communism all right, thought Alex. A fist punching its way right through the world, screwing everything up.
Roth returned. Without prevarication he announced that Alex’s applications for the Erweiterte Oberschule and teacher training at vocational school had both been rejected. There was no way he would be able to train as a teacher now. ‘When the machinery is not running smoothly, we have to replace the parts that don’t work,’ he said.
‘You know I’m one of the brightest students in my year,’ Alex said plainly. There was no point in being modest, it was true. Herr Roth looked appalled at this.
‘And you know how well I have been doing, teaching the kids down in Schöneweide. My work experience reports have always been excellent.’
Roth was unmoved. ‘You have plainly failed to show political-moral maturity, or any sense of unity with the DDR. Your false opinions and uncertainty can only be seen as moral transgressions against our country. And for that reason I cannot recommend your entry to further education. You may perform well in your work experience school under supervision but you cannot be trusted on your own with the moral and political well-being of our children.’
‘So what am I supposed to do?’ said Alex. He was beginning to realise the enormity of his problem. Being the son of loyal and well-connected Party members wasn’t going to help him after all.
‘You can go back to the careers office and ask them to find you some information on the less skilled aspects of the chemical industry. There’ll always be work for people in our country, Alex, even for someone like you.’
That was Alex’s cue to leave.
That day he walked out of the school with a horrible sinking feeling. The chemistry teacher, Herr Unger, had recently been telling them about the benefits of the East German chemistry industry.
‘Chemistry produced bread, prosperity and beauty,’ said Herr Unger just as he threw his chalk at Alex, who had not been paying attention. ‘All the things you, Master Ostermann, will find missing from your life if you carry on failing to apply yourself to your education.’
As he went to unlock his bike Alex noticed the rear tyre was flat again. He got as far as taking the inner tube out and trying to find the puncture when he realised the valve had been tampered with. The tyre had been deliberately deflated. By the time he’d finished putting it back on the wheel and pumping it up, his shirt was stained with mud and oil and he had broken a fingernail. He cursed the whole way home.
Alex decided he was not going to tell his mother and father about the school’s decision to bar him from further education. He would go back to talk to Herr Roth. Try to get him to change his mind. They were just frightening him. Trying to get him to toe the line. And it had worked. He must change.
When Alex explained why it had taken him so long to get back from school, Geli looked perplexed. ‘Someone did
When Alex arrived at school, he was called over by the receptionist. She sat behind an elaborate art deco iron grille inside an elegant curved portal. In contrast, the interior of her office had flaking grey paint, with a portrait of Honecker on the wall behind her.
The woman herself was as dour as her office walls, with thinning black hair tied in a tight bun. She wore a nylon floral apron. ‘You must report at once to the Principal,’ she commanded.
Alex went to Herr Roth’s office and knocked timidly on the door. Roth told him to sit down and then went into his secretary’s office to rummage around in a filing cabinet.
Alex stared at the contents of Roth’s desk and wondered what was coming next. Roth had a pen set featuring a small globe resting on a red star stand with the flags of the Eastern Bloc countries arranged around the curved support. A thrusting golden fist emerged from the North Pole. That was communism all right, thought Alex. A fist punching its way right through the world, screwing everything up.
Roth returned. Without prevarication he announced that Alex’s applications for the Erweiterte Oberschule and teacher training at vocational school had both been rejected. There was no way he would be able to train as a teacher now. ‘When the machinery is not running smoothly, we have to replace the parts that don’t work,’ he said.
‘You know I’m one of the brightest students in my year,’ Alex said plainly. There was no point in being modest, it was true. Herr Roth looked appalled at this.
‘And you know how well I have been doing, teaching the kids down in Schöneweide. My work experience reports have always been excellent.’
Roth was unmoved. ‘You have plainly failed to show political-moral maturity, or any sense of unity with the DDR. Your false opinions and uncertainty can only be seen as moral transgressions against our country. And for that reason I cannot recommend your entry to further education. You may perform well in your work experience school under supervision but you cannot be trusted on your own with the moral and political well-being of our children.’
‘So what am I supposed to do?’ said Alex. He was beginning to realise the enormity of his problem. Being the son of loyal and well-connected Party members wasn’t going to help him after all.
‘You can go back to the careers office and ask them to find you some information on the less skilled aspects of the chemical industry. There’ll always be work for people in our country, Alex, even for someone like you.’
That was Alex’s cue to leave.
That day he walked out of the school with a horrible sinking feeling. The chemistry teacher, Herr Unger, had recently been telling them about the benefits of the East German chemistry industry.
‘Chemistry produced bread, prosperity and beauty,’ said Herr Unger just as he threw his chalk at Alex, who had not been paying attention. ‘All the things you, Master Ostermann, will find missing from your life if you carry on failing to apply yourself to your education.’
As he went to unlock his bike Alex noticed the rear tyre was flat again. He got as far as taking the inner tube out and trying to find the puncture when he realised the valve had been tampered with. The tyre had been deliberately deflated. By the time he’d finished putting it back on the wheel and pumping it up, his shirt was stained with mud and oil and he had broken a fingernail. He cursed the whole way home.
Alex decided he was not going to tell his mother and father about the school’s decision to bar him from further education. He would go back to talk to Herr Roth. Try to get him to change his mind. They were just frightening him. Trying to get him to toe the line. And it had worked. He must change.
When Alex explained why it had taken him so long to get back from school, Geli looked perplexed. ‘Someone did
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