To the Tea and Cake Served at the Meeting of Heisenberg’s and Himmler’s Mothers

It’s a lot to ask of a brewed beverage, of a layered cake. Especially with sugar so sparse, though money is not really a problem for the Himmel’s, she thinks about it.

You will have to be the reason they come together. You will pace their conversation and soothe the anxiety. They are trying to find peace among their sons and you will be brokering that agreement.

You are served in thin china, rimmed in gold.

Himmler tries to explain. “He was never a very bright child, she says. And always sick. The farm work made him worse. But since his rise in the Nazi Party, he’s found real purpose. He’s hard-headed, yes.”

She takes a sip of tea. Places the cup back on the saucer, *tink.*

“Your son has a lot to lose. And we know he could be teaching in the United States. But he is here. He wants something if he stays.”

She places a piece of cake in front of her guest.

Heisenberg says thank you. She is smaller but more imposing. She knows that when the war ends, her son, if he is still alive, if the Nazi’s have not killed him, will continue his life’s work. Her son? This is all he will ever be.

“What your son needs to understand,” Heisenberg says, “is that we need Werner more than Werner needs us. Yes, he is here. His family is here. His research is here. He wants to stay. Americans find him a novelty and he wants to work without all their questions. He can move at any time. He has offers. And if he does, think of what goes with him.”

By Friedrich Hund (Friedrich Hund)
[CC BY 3.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0)],
via Wikimedia Commons

Fundamental between a mother and a son is how little they actually know about each other, especially the older they get. The mother sees the boy in the yard, digging into the dirt with a stick. Or the boy at the table with a book. Even though he is a father himself now. Even though he has won awards and become famous. Mothers see the whole life at once, not just the men they are this day.

And the sons don’t know their mothers are having tea.They will never know. They visit their mothers the following Sunday.  They eat cake and pour the tea. Just a simple afternoon in a complicated life. This one place, my mother’s table. So bright. The cake just right. Like always.