Any Survivors (2008) by Martin Freud

again. ‘I think I know your secret. Even the smartest detective will not be able to solve a case if he does not have access to all the information. The life of a sailor is tough and of course no one has the right to condemn certain urges. One should forgive them even if one does not condone them, and often there are true and honourable emotions behind these actions.’ And with these words he left the room.
    I watched him leave, at the same time feeling a little disturbed as I had no idea what he was talking about. Then I had it: he was referring to the moment he had caught the real Griesemann and I cavorting around in our underpants. No doubt he had come to the obvious conclusion, although I had the feeling that it was not as far-fetched as I had thought in these circles. I went a deep shade of red, as red as a tribune in Soviet Moscow on the first of May. If my mother had seen me – my real mother that is, not that one I had written the mutinous letter to – she would have been deeply ashamed of me.
    ***
    It was wonderful to be walking down the streets at dusk. How easy my life would be from now on if only I did not have to return to the sailors’ home and continue playing a role that I was not in the least prepared for. I told myself: have courage, my brave one – as I was changing my first name so often I tended to address myself in vague terms. There was less risk of making a mistake; have courage, I said again, the first days are bound to be difficult. But slowly the others will get used to your expressions and gestures. And by being in close proximity you will learn their nicknames, life stories and idiosyncrasies by heart. If the real Griesemann hadn't died and was to return in a year then he would now be the stranger instead, in danger of drawing attention to himself. I was easily comforted even though I was consoling myself and immediately walked more cheerfully through the darkness, albeit still deep in thought. What was it that made life so much more friendly and bearable since this morning? I found the answer: it was the uniform.
    Walking around in civilian clothes in a port city at war, even if they were well made and elegant, was bound to be depressing. It was a bit like being on the promenade in Cannes wearing a suit and striped satin trousers amongst others wearing white flannel and pastel sweaters, surprised that people were eyeing you up and down in disgust, keeping a wide berth. As a sailor on a U-boat with an Iron Cross, I was finally dressed appropriately for this sea-faring environment. Dressed in the right way, people can be more inclined to approach you with a sense of goodwill and friendship. The shops were still open, so I went into a small cafe, sat down and ordered toast with ham and two soft-boiled eggs. The landlady and the few guests started to laugh raucously, much to my surprise. I wasn't making jokes, I just happened to be hungry. As a hotel guest I had been spared the harsh reality with the special food ration card I was allowed as a neutral leisure traveller. The catering had been more than adequate. I drowned my disappointment in a cup of lukewarm ersatz coffee. I felt a little better at the thought of all the lost money. It would have been of little use to me since there was not much I could have bought with it.
    Only a few steps further on I discovered there were exceptions; it was possible to purchase musical instruments without coupons and I was able to buy a flute. The shop girl complained that no one came into the shop these days. The people of Kiel were obviously not in the mood for making music. She had the mournful look that young women have who spend half their life waiting for something, and although you could have called her pretty, she wasn't my type. For that reason my answer to ‘how long will you be staying in this port for, sailor?’ my reply was, ‘I am sorry but I am unable to give details of the movements of the German navy to ordinary civilians’.
    I was