"Papa's amazing blind cousin"

Excerpt from Ch. 9:

We were on the road very early in the morning, so Papa stopped at
a bakery in one of the first villages. He bought two piping hot hard-
crusted rolls,fresh from the oven, and a small chocolate bar. We
each took a roll, literally cracking them open to reveal the
steaming soft interior. Quickly popping chunks of sweet chocolate
into the center, we closed them again to await the delicious result.

All along our route, we drove through inhabited places of varying
size. Tiny villages like Marienthal, the castle ruins of Falkenstein,
the larger market town of Rockenhausen, and a big wine-producing
monastery overlooking the quiet Nahe river, were all part of the
passing scene. I felt like a tourist, for much of what I saw was
new to me.

Bad Kreuznach reminded me of Bad Kissingen, with all of its fancy
resort hotels and gardens, mineral-water Salinen and lovely open
parks. I would have liked to see more, but Papa drove into the city
center to a row of high apartment buildings right on the Nahe
river’s edge.

Hilde lived in one of the buildings with her husband Walter and
twelve year-old son Horst. Both were already gone for the day when,
we arrived, so it was Hilde herself who answered the door. She
didn’t know we were coming, but that seemed to make no difference
at all. In our family, people always ‘dropped in.’

Papa greeted Hilde warmly. “Here, Hilde, I’ve brought you company
for the day. My Annchen!”

She immediately reached out, hugging me and drawing me through
the doorway. My father had said she could only sense light and
dark, so it surprised me that she knew where I stood. Her soft
hand explored my face, head and long braids, as her kind voice
welcomed us. Shyness wasn’t my problem as I tried to respond to
the tiny lady — it was more like being overwhelmed that someone,
who obviously couldn’t see, accepted me nonetheless.

Papa briefly explained that he would come in the evening, giving
me a smile as he said it. Then he was gone. I was left to face a
new challenge of being with a blind person, and for a whole day.
I’d been told Hilde was born blind, but not much more. My head
was filled with questions for her that I couldn’t ask. Something
inside told me to watch and listen.

As we walked through the small apartment to the living room, I
could see that Hilde moved with grace and ease. Everything was
sparkling clean and neatly arranged. The temptation to ask how
she kept the place so nice was strong, but I resisted.

“Come, child. Sit by me and tell me all about yourself.” She then
reached to a side table, picked up a knitting project, and quickly
started working the needles. “I’ll knit while you talk.”

I was amazed as I watched her fingers expertly purl and knit the
yarn. I had gotten to be a pretty fair knitter, but in no way could
I match Hilde’s skill. She obviously knew what I was thinking. “I
knit all our sweaters. The only difficulty is putting together
all the finished pieces. Walter’s mother lives near by, and helps
me do that part.” She changed the subject back to me. “Tell me
now about school and that rascal Erich, and dear Marie too.”

In no time, her interest and attention to me had my mouth going
non-stop. Because she always turned her face my way when I spoke,
and by witnessing all her abilities, Hilde’s blindness was nearly
forgotten. When I discovered that she also knitted garments for
regular customers to bring in extra income, I knew what Papa meant
when he called her a special person.

After the noon meal, she showed me around the apartment. Its
neatness and order told me the old saying, ‘A place for everything
and everything in its place,’ was especially important to someone
who couldn’t see. I was also shown the balcony projecting out over
the Nahe river. At one end was a small enclosure which I learned
was the toilet. The inside of Hilde’s balcony outhouse looked just
like mine at home, except our waste went into an underground
storage to be emptied several times a year for eventual use as
garden fertilizer. For Hilde, and others living along the river,
waste disposal was less of a problem. I was not exactly comfortable
with the idea of dirtying the river, but that’s the way it was.

Hilde had flower boxes along the balcony rail that were filled
with showy red Geraniums. Most of the balconies I could see had
similar displays, and it made me sad that she couldn’t see them.
From my balcony vantage point, I could also see one of the land-
marks of Bad Kreuznach. Just downstream, the river swirled beneath
a group of large houses built across a bridge.

Later, when Hilde and I walked to the town center to shop, we had
to cross the famous stone bridge that had been built several
hundred years before. Going along the inhabited side, there was no
sense of being on a bridge. All of the buildings, arranged in a
solid line,appeared like the usual apartment houses, with businesses
at the ground level. The realization of being on a bridge came only
by looking across the street. There, beyond a low wall, was a view
of the Nahe flowing away. I had to wonder what it would be like to
live on a bridge.

As we went from shop to shop buying for the evening meal, she took
my arm and hardly used her walking stick. Normally, she said, the
stick was used to warn her of obstacles, but she had the exact
steps to each turning point and store put to memory. “It’s nice,”
she laughed, “to not have to count today.”

I smiled, studying this person who was only as tall as me. “I just
hope I don’t get us lost.”

“Don’t you fret about that,” she chuckled. “I’ll say something
when the sidewalk doesn’t feel right under my feet.”

It was to Oma Klein’s side of the family that she belonged. That
explained a lot about her sweet nature, but more than that, I
learned disabled people could be productive and happy.

In the evening, I met Walter and Horst. Hilde already had the
potatoes peeled and the other ingredients prepared. Her husband
did the actual cooking. How I expected Walter to look didn’t
match reality. Slightly taller than Hilde, he was a pleasant
looking man,one that any woman with sight may have been pleased
to have. It was another lesson — jumping to conclusions was a
bad habit.

Driving home and talking with Papa about Hilde and others in
the family, I began to realize what he wanted for me. Over the
summer, he’d been using our travels together as a main chance
for me to know and understand his love of family. I never
doubted that he loved his wife and children, and I’d seen his
great affection for his mother, but until that day I’d never
fully known the true size of his heart.