Chapter sixteen:
In the house of my brother V--- 1907
The talk --- continued.
As I looked at the meal before us, I silently thanked my brother. His knowing smile was his only response; he had orchestrated this moment with precision. The dish—a generous serving of some elaborate pasta whose name escaped me—was my mother's favorite. She had always ordered it whenever we dined at a restaurant.
The room felt unusually warm. Expecting the source to be the kitchen, I glanced toward its door, anticipating the usual bustle of activity. Yet, it was not the kitchen but the bolted windows that held the heat within.
Gustav, noticing my wandering gaze, gave me another nod of silent encouragement. This was the moment. I had to tell her, though the words still felt heavy on my tongue. The question lingered: how could I begin?
"Adolf, are you alright? You're not eating," my mother asked gently, her tone tinged with concern.
Startled, I glanced down at my plate. She was right—I was clutching my silverware absently, as though the act of eating had eluded me entirely.
"Did something happen at the party?" she pressed, her worry deepening.
I could see the questions gathering on her lips, so I tried to assuage her concerns as gently as possible. "The party was fine, Mom. The food was excellent. I even met the mayor—he said he might buy one of my paintings."
She smiled faintly at my mention of the mayor, but her focus remained unwavering. My attempt at distraction had failed. She nodded, her gaze steady, before asking again:
"Then what's the matter, dear? What's making you so nervous?"
A wave of guilt washed over me for burdening her with this, but it had to be done—for the sake of my dream. Swallowing against the dryness in my throat, I forced myself to speak.
"Uh, Mom, I'm planning to take a trip. Somewhere really fascinating. But it might take a few months."
To my surprise, she smiled—a reaction I hadn't anticipated. Her voice carried an unmistakable note of excitement as she replied:
"Where is it, Adolf? France? America? Argentina, perhaps? I've heard wonderful things about the plains down there."
I struggled to find a way to soften the blow, but no words came. In the end, I decided to tell her the unvarnished truth.
"Mom, I'm planning to go to the Congo. It'll only be for a month or two, tops."
She froze, her expression shifting to one of incredulity. "Why would you want to go there?" she asked, her voice heavy with distress.
Seeing her reaction pained me deeply, but I knew I had to speak with conviction. Meeting her gaze, I said, "I need to go for an art project. It's for my application to the Vienna Academy."
"I want to paint the atrocities Leopold committed against the natives. I knew you wouldn't want me to go, but this is for my dream."
Her composure faltered, and tears welled in her eyes as she lowered her head toward her plate.
In a voice barely above a whisper, she asked, "Is there anything I can do to convince you otherwise?"
Hearing the anguish in her voice, I paused, genuinely searching for any possibility. But no matter how hard I tried, I realized there was nothing she could do to change my mind.
Nothing—no plea, no threat, not even the specter of death itself—could deter me from my dream.
So I said it plainly, "No, Mom. Nothing could. My mind is made up."
I avoided her gaze during the heavy silence that followed, but then she spoke again, her voice steady. "Come here, Adolf."
Her request was simple, and I complied. Setting down my silverware, I pushed back my chair and approached her.
She pulled me into an embrace. Her sobs had softened, but I could feel the weight of her grief.
"It's not safe, Adolf," she murmured. "There are tribes—uncivilized barbarians—and diseases you can't even imagine. When I was a little girl, I read stories in the papers—horrific ones. Entire British missionary groups slaughtered for no reason other than some primitive shaman's 'vision.'"
"You can't reason with people like that, Adolf. It only takes one backward rock-worshipper claiming their god commanded it, and that's it—you're gone."
I opened my mouth to respond, but she interrupted me. "I know times have probably changed, Adolf. I'm not naïve. But it only takes one mistake, one wrong encounter—and you know this better than most."
"You're not my little boy anymore, and I can't stop you. But I need you to think long and hard—is it worth it, Adolf? Is the risk truly worth it?"
I wiped my eyes, pulling her into another hug. "I will, Mom. I promise—I'll think as hard as I can."
The sight of her tearful eyes was unbearable. In that moment, I felt like the worst son imaginable, as though I had committed an unspeakable crime.
For the briefest moment, a terrible thought crossed my mind—I wished it had been her instead of Father, just to spare myself from witnessing her heartache. But I quickly banished the thought, ashamed it had even surfaced.
I loved her far too much to linger on such a thought. In the end, I told myself, the pain would be worth it. I would make her proud.
My destiny was clear, and to fulfill it, I had to go to the Congo. As Gustav often reminded me, "Life is short." I needed to seize every moment and make mine count.
And with that, dinner was finished. She rose from her chair and excused herself to the bathroom. Yet, from the sound of her retreating footsteps, it was clear she had gone to her room instead.
Gustav turned to me, his voice calm but firm. "Thank you, Adolf. You have no idea how much pain you spared her by telling her now. I know it wasn't easy—it hurt her, I know—but trust me, it could have been so much worse."
"Later tonight, I'll sit down with her and explain everything in detail. She doesn't understand yet—the Africa she remembers is gone. That world is dead. The future is now."
I nodded, matching his tone. "Yes, that's what I thought too. I know she's wrong—I did my research after you mentioned how modernized Africa has become. You were right."
"It really is as simple as buying a boat and a rail ticket. I just hope she can overcome her fears. I hate seeing her so stressed over something that's not a real danger. It hurts to see her like this."
Gustav nodded thoughtfully. "Actually, you reminded me—I have something I need to show you. Tomorrow morning, be ready by six. Meet me by the flagpole out front."
"Alright," I replied, though my curiosity was piqued. "I'll be there."