21. September 1938


L. on Sep­tem­ber 21, 1938 

Dear Miss. [Lau­be]!

On Mon­day after our last encoun­ter, I paged through the calen­dar — four weeks, so many pages. And now they are almost behind us, next Satur­day already —.

You will be most wel­co­me at my house. “She is com­ing to visit me.”, the­re is so much to that; a young woman, no fig­ment of the ima­gi­na­ti­on, a real young woman in the fle­sh! For the first time I will have a visit from a lady. That may pro­vi­de you with joy, it should excu­se me if I make a clum­sy mista­ke or if some­thing is lacking. We will be depen­dent on one ano­t­her for 48 hours. That means a step towards grea­ter fami­lia­ri­ty. I am loo­king for­ward to it full of hope. We will not need to rush things, you will not need to tra­vel home on Satur­day evening, also not yet on Sunday — you will not be per­mit­ted. Still, we meet in a third, anony­mous place and our encoun­ter should not fores­hor­ten our free­dom to decide.

Today, Wed­nes­day, I infor­med my land­la­dy and then announ­ced the visit of the older folks. If I say on Satur­day that she came on the run (!) at night, she will pro­bab­ly be a litt­le start­led. She puts out a lot of effort, does more than what I pay for, and can read a lot from my face. She will also take over respon­si­bi­li­ty for pro­vi­ding for my visi­tors. On Sunday, she will have the chan­ce to give a sam­ple of her coo­king arts. You’ll pick up for yourself the way you ought to act around my landlords. And now I have to take mat­ters into my own hand and clean my office—I view my apart­ment as an office with a place for me to sleep—make it a litt­le inha­bi­ta­ble, buy a few more things, in bet­ween also mark some grades—these few days will fly by.

You should depart from … at … . In … it is only a five minu­te tran­sit. In … you will con­ti­nue with a pas­sen­ger train of cour­se. You will then alrea­dy be in Dres­den at 4:15 pm, will have saved a Reichs­mark, and we will be able to idle away an addi­tio­nal hour. Buy a Sunday ticket!

Over time you are going to beco­me an expe­ri­en­ced tra­vel­ler, you can alrea­dy read train sche­du­les, only very few women can do that; dash from one train plat­form to the next, in that too you also have alrea­dy had prac­ti­ce. I am not worried about the wea­ther, it was fair for us thus far, why should it be dif­fe­rent? The poli­ti­cal situa­ti­on is still ten­se, mean­while the worst dan­ger seems to have been pre­ven­ted. Much will be cla­ri­fied by Friday.

Sin­ce Tues­day, 200 young men have been shel­te­red in our town, refu­gees who alle­ged­ly com­pri­se a mili­tia. They are in civi­li­an atti­re, have no wea­pons, they con­duct mili­ta­ry exer­ci­ses in the ath­le­tics field. Let’s hope that world histo­ry will not dis­rupt our life histo­ry, which seem to me no less important. One would like to hope that the­se rest­less mon­ths may some­day be repla­ced by calm years of security.

This let­ter real­ly only counts as a half of one. So my turn con­ti­nues, to be the one to write.

You should be appre­cia­ti­ve that your par­ents have gran­ted you their per­mis­si­on, give them my thanks and affec­tio­n­a­te greetings.

And now, good luck, hope to stay healt­hy, and suc­cess­ful tra­vels — on how many weak threads does luck depend! — Trust in God!

Get one more real­ly long and deep sleep, like a log, and once again, you shall be cor­di­al­ly wel­co­med and are most affec­tio­n­a­te­ly greeted,

Yours tru­ly,

[Roland Nord­hoff].

Plea­se fol­low and like us:
21. Sep­tem­ber 1938

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