My 40th day in custody. In the clatter and in this cell, I screwed a bag of Bakelite plugs every working day. A few hundred pieces in each bag.

I earned 2.50 marks a day. Without deductions for “board and lodging,” I should have more than 50 marks in my account.

Plus another 50 from my mother. Which brings us back to yesterday's topic.

“Uncle Rudi” was a braggart, a pretender, and a smart aleck who took every opportunity to let us know, in a very subtle and skillful way, how backward we ‘Bankerts’ were compared to his educated background.

Our mother didn't seem to notice.

In the few months before I started school, which I was finally allowed to spend at home, my brother became my best friend.

He showed me the city where I had lived for years without to see it.

He drove me to Teutschenthal and read to me from books every evening.

He made me miniature cable cars, Indian camps, and cowboy saloons out of cardboard, wood, and odds and ends, with backdrops down to the smallest detail.

He also watched birds, drew photorealistic sketches, and wrote down what he saw every day.

One day he ran away and didn't come back.

When “Uncle Rudi” spotted him one evening and yelled out loud the window that he should move his ass home, I had a bad feeling.

And that's exactly what happened.

“Uncle Rudi's” debut in our upbringing consisted of giving my brother a beating that traumatized me.

Andi had to lie down on the floor in front of him in the living room.

He was beaten so badly with a belt that I peed my pants out of fear.

Our mother let it happen.

If Grandpa Alfred were still alive, he would have had “Uncle Rudi” killed for that.

There were plenty of opportunities for fatal accidents in Buna, where this evil man worked.

But that's another story. On with the Bakelite program. All quiet in the eastern jail.

This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit tjannot.substack.com/subscribe