"And this was in better days."
"Did they really have carriages like that--with five horses across pulling the carriage? Those white horses are beautiful."
"Yes. That's a racing carriage," the man said.
"The carriage looks a bit flimsy," the young man who'd asked the question commented.
"It's called a trap. It's built to be light. This is a racing form where I came from." The man was distinguished looking, probably in his mid or late forties. He'd been handsome and trim when he was younger--elegantly turned out, as the photograph seemed to promise. Now, although his clothes were well cut, they were nearly threadbare and not in current style. His hair was salt-and-pepper turning to gray at the temples. He looked gray before his time.
This and the threadbare clothes were commonplace in Germany in 1956, though, Daniel's father had told him. "War, especially losing a war, will do that to you," the general had said.
The war was barely a decade over. Most Germans were still dealing with the threadbare and with trying to stave off starvation. This one was trying his best to land a temporary job. Brigadier General Dennis Anderson and his wife, Beverly, knew that. They were trying their best not to fully expose their son, Daniel, to that reality, though. He was such an impressionable young man and was going through a moody period, struggling with himself over something he wouldn't discuss with them. He was at some sort of crossroads in his life, but they didn't know what they could do for him. They were on military assignment in Europe. He needed to be returning to the States to get on with his college education, but he just didn't seem settled enough yet.
"This was a racing brace of horses in Mecklenburg before the war. And, yes, that's me driving them. I won races with that brace."
"That's you?" Daniel asked, turning his attention to the man trying to get his father to let him guide the family on their vacation in Bavaria. Daniel had graduated from the U.S. Defense Department high school in Frankfurt the first week of June. He'd turned eighteen the third week. He was leaving to go back to the States and start at Michigan State the first week of July. This weekend trip was to mark both his birthday and him going home from Germany to start college.
The family was at a Garmisch biergarten--an outdoor beer garden just down the street from the guesthouse, called a gasthaus here in Bavaria, Germany. General Anderson was assigned to the U.S. Army Occupation Forces. The family lived in Frankfurt. This was their first opportunity to tour the fairy castles built by the Mad King Ludwig in Bavaria--Neuschwanstein, the ultimate fairy castle; Chiemsee, the palace Ludwig had built on an island as an upscale version of Versailles; and the baroque gem of a palatial villa, Linderhof, where he actually lived most. They were in Bavaria for three days and wanted to see as much as possible. They also needed a distraction. Both Daniel and his parents were apprehensive about this next move in his life.
The man had noticed the close attention the young man, Daniel, had given the young German waiter in his close-fitting lederhosen, leather shorts held up with suspenders, and knee socks. It was a sexy native-costume look that the Germans cultivated for the tourists. He marked the interest. He also took another look at the youth. He was gorgeous, with a handsome face and figure and curly red hair with golden highlights, hazel eyes, and a sweet smile.
Did the young man's parents know, the tour guide wondered? Did Daniel himself know? The man knew even if they didn't--yet.
"That's me in another life," the man said. "I was the Baron Manfred von Mecklenburg in those days. On top of the world. Now I am a tour guide, working through the U.S. Armed Services Recreation Center and guiding American families like yours around the Bavarian sites. And I understand you folks are looking for such a guide. Now, I am just Manny."
"Are you really a baron?" Daniel asked, taking more interest now, giving new attention to the man, who, though looking down his luck, looked very handsome to Daniel now--especially if he really was a baron.
"I was a baron," Manny said. "All of that is gone now. The Nazis burned my castle out in passing as they marched toward Russia, and then the Russians destroyed everything else on their push back. I barely escaped with that team of horses--north into Scandinavia--a last-minute dash into the night, leaving everything else behind and burning. The horses were all of my fortune that I had left. And they are gone now too."
He sighed and turned to the business at hand, his plea for his next meal. "I've ended up here, serving families like yours. My fees are reasonable and I have connections. I can get you into all of Ludwig's castles, with private tours. Neuschwanstein is at the top of a mountain. I can get permission for you to drive right up to the castle gates in that beautiful car of yours." He gestured to the 1955 baby-blue Cadillac sedan sitting at the curb next to where they were seated. It, indeed, was getting a lot of favorable attention in this economically devastated--still--country. The single prominent star--the mark of an American one-star, brigadier, general on its front bumper also undoubtedly helped get attention. "You need a boat to get out to Chiemsee. I can arrange that. Just a low fee--it's set by the recreation service--and letting me stay in the gasthaus you are in for the three days and covering my meals."
General Anderson thought that perhaps the roof over the man's head and good meals for three days were the compensation he really was after. He doubted the story about Mecklenburg, as he knew Mecklenburg was a region of Germany itself, in the northwest. The Russians may have impoverished this man and may even have jerked a title away from him, but he would have been just as German as any of the Nazis in World War Two. And he was in Germany now. Every German still alive had a personal sob story to tell from a war their country caused. All of the stories of German survivors failed to fully expose what connections they had to the Nazis and the war movement.
Still, they did need a guide. The war was over and Germany needed to be rehabilitated to return to a balance in Europe. This man spoke elegant English; had the demeanor of a nobleman, if not the means currently; and claimed to be sanctioned by the recreation service. He had the credentials to show them. The general could contact the recreation center to check him out, but they did need a guide, and there were some American tourists at another table talking about the need for a guide as well. He could lose this one if he took the time to check.
And he did have credentials to show. Beverly was giving the man the "You poor dear" look that she was plagued with so often here in postwar Germany, which was still downtrodden from its defeat. There was no end to tragedies of what people once were and no longer managed to be.
When he got Manny's attention to say he was hired, Manny was looking at Daniel, who was looking at the handsome--really sexy--German waiter in the lederhosen. I know about you, you beautiful young man, Manny was thinking. And I know about me and my needs and fetishes too.
* * * *
The Andersons thoroughly enjoyed their tours of Ludwig's castles, and Manny's demonstrated connections allowed them to see them in style--although their Cadillac, with its star on the bumper, probably had something to do with the great service they got everywhere. Seeing a luxury American car on the German roads this close to the end of World War Two was a rarity. Manny was so efficient and knowledgeable about Bavaria that they got to see much more in three days than they could have on their own--or with a less-personable guide.
He was vivacious and chatty--always glib with interesting information--and super friendly and attentive. He was a touchy feeling sort of man, which General Anderson wasn't wild about, but his wife and son ate up. Daniel, in particular, came to worship the man and hang onto and swallow every story he had to tell about his own privileged early life in a castle and his athletic exploits. He certainly knew his history of the area--or, at least, had great versions of local history to dispense. The baron, Manny, most certainly was a charismatic figure.
He and Daniel became quite close--quite close indeed.
On the third night, the family's last night in Bavaria, Manny guided them to the ice capades nightclub in Garmisch, the Casa Carioca. Garmisch had hosted the Winter Olympics in 1936, and the ice-skating revue nightclub was a holdover from that period. Dinner was served in the raised area on three sides of an ice-skating rink, after which the lights went down, the liquor came out, and skating stars of yesteryear came out on the ice and put on a show. Later, a wooden floor rolled out over a section of the ice, and the live band that had accompanied the skaters now accompany dancers from the audience.
When the general and his wife went onto the dance floor, Manny winked at Daniel and poured some wine in the young man's empty water glass. The baron had put his hand on the young American's shoulder earlier in the evening. Since then it had dropped to Daniel's lower back through the open slat work of the chair, and Daniel hadn't shrug away from the touch there, a gesture that both of them took as a signal of possession.
"I'm American. I'm not old enough to drink wine," Daniel said, with a sigh, although he looked at the wine like he'd like to dive into it.
"In Germany, young men your age can drink wine," Manny said. "They can go to war and die for their country, so they can drink alcohol and make other serious decisions for themselves. You're eighteen, aren't you?"
