Silberhaus Kid Chapter 1

Clara loves being at parties. I admit that I like them too, because most of the time there are other boys there, my friends. Clara, though, likes parties because she can pretend she's a grown-up, a woman. The adults play along, calling her sweet and young lady at first, but then she can stand with them and dance with them and participate in their conversations. I'm not really jealous of that; my pals are more interesting than the adults are, but I do wish my parents trusted me more. Sometimes it is my fault that they don't, but most of the time I think they don't trust me because I don't act like an adult, and Clara does. I don't know if they've looked around recently, but most twelve and thirteen year olds don't act like adults. So, I think I have the right to be offended that my parents don't trust me simply because I'm not Clara.
That Christmas Eve, before the party, Clara asked if she had to wear her party dress. "It is beautiful," she said, "But it is for a child."
I saw Mother almost give in, almost let her "grown-up girl" wear one of Mother's old dresses from when she was fourteen or fifteen, even if it would not fit Clara perfectly. But Father said, "No, Clara. Not yet. This is a Christmas party. Stay a child. Let us give you one last doll."
Clara quickly agreed, the perfect daughter, just like always. I was thrilled to see her lose a fight, but it was not as sweet as I thought it would be. Mother, left to her own devices, would have said yes, and Father had only said no because it was Christmas.
It did not occur to me that Father had also denied Clara a different dress because he wanted a perfect Christmas party, complete with gifts, a tree, dancing, small talk, drinks, and his children playing with other children.
The maids and butler had been busy all day, as had the cooks. Everyone had been busy, for that matter, it seemed, though I had no idea what anyone else was doing. Everything I could think of that needed doing was being done by the maids, butler, and cooks. But, as normal, my parents had to pretend to be busy doing something, and like the little grown-up that she was, Clara copied them and did the same.
I, however, did nothing more than dress in my suit, the one that Father likes, right before the party. It is gray, with a lace collar and cuffs. I knew the other boys would be wearing their sweaters, but Father never let me. He always said that the host had to be the best dressed. I didn't even bother to ask if I could wear something different. I'd heard him say, "No!" too many times.
When I walked into the ballroom, the tree was decorated and lit, garlands were strung throughout the room, and there were presents under the tree. I went and shook a few of them -- was this one a drum? A doll for a girl? Candy?
Then Clara came in with Mother, and I quickly stopped shaking the presents. Mother would have scolded me sorely had she seen. She was in one of her most massive outfits -- her favorite hoop skirt dress. It was a faint brown with copious amounts of lace, pearl white buttons, and ice blue ribbon. Clara was wearing her party dress. It was cream colored, and when she spun, the skirt spread out wide and spun with her. If you looked closely, there was a design of roses in the fabric, and the skirt was woven with pale pink, green, and silver ribbons. The collar and dress edges all had lace, and there was a bow in the back of the dress. I didn't see why it was Clara's favorite party dress, because she couldn't breathe in it at all; she had told me so once, when Mother and Father were not listening.
Clara, forgetting to be ladylike, ran towards the Christmas tree. She stood on tip toe, so that she could see all of it; she's so short, only 147 centimeters tall. "Oh Mother!" Clara said. "It's beautiful." Clara spun around, her skirt flying out. "The whole room is!"
"And Clara, Clara, look!" I said, unable to help myself. "There are so many presents!" Clara and I had always had that in common -- an eagerness at the idea of opening presents.
But Clara was being snobbish and grown-up again, so she just said, "Of course, Fritz. It's Christmas."
"Just a few moments ago, you were enchanted by the tree," I told her. "Why why are you so indifferent now?" I hated it when Clara did something like that. It made me unsure -- was she my sister, or was she there to constantly patronize me?
But Mother intervened, of course, standing up for her precious daughter. "Now Fritz," she said with her sugar coated voice, "Don't fight; it's Christmas Eve."
I didn't say anything, but a fight is two people, not one.
Clara stuck her nose up in the air and swept out of the room behind Mother. But they soon came back, and they were followed by Father and the first of the guests, the Adler family, Herr and Frau Adler and their daughters Marlene and Sieglinde. Clara and the girls were huddled together, talking quickly and gesturing and smiling and hugging each other. Marlene was twelve years old, and Sieglinde was ten. Neither one of them seemed to want to grow up as quickly as Clara -- thank goodness; at least all girls weren't like that.
I waited impatiently. Why did the first family to arrive have to be all girls?
Then the maids brought in the Hofmanns and the Jansons. "Erik!" I said, and a boy in a red sweated turned and ran to me.
"Fritz!" he said. "Did you see, the Jansons are here! Robert and Lukas!" Erik was ten and talkative, but a fun boy nevertheless. He was always smiling and laughing, and it was hard not to laugh with him.
Robert and Lukas walked over to where Erik and I stood in front of the Christmas tree. Robert was my age, and Lukas was two years older. "Merry Christmas," I told them.
Erik's face creased into a smile. "It is Christmas tomorrow, isn't it?" he said.
Robert nodded. "A party tonight, a party tomorrow...."
Lukas groaned. "Oh great, I forgot about that," he said. "We're hosting our whole family tomorrow. Grandparents, great grandparents, uncles, aunts, great uncles, great aunts, cousins -- everyone! There will be people there whom I have never seen before!"
"You'll know everyone here tonight," I told Lukas. "But if we dance, we'll have a problem. There will be five boys and six girls."
I looked around the room. The grownups were all over the place, sipping wine and talking quietly. The three girls were on the couch, still talking with animation.
Then I saw someone come running into the room, and Lukas groaned. "Fynn?" he said. "Did he have to come?"
"His sisters are Clara's best friends," I replied. "Hello! Fynn!"
Fynn was eight, and he annoyed all of us. He was six years younger than his sisters, who were thirteen year old twins, and was spoiled because of it, even more spoiled than my not-so-dear sister.
"Hello," Fynn said. "Is everyone here yet?"
You snob, I thought, but I shook my head. Robert said, "We're waiting on the Schmidts?" I nodded. "Then Karina is coming!" he exclaimed.
Erik rolled his eyes, "When's the wedding, Robert?" Robert blushed, and everyone laughed, even Fynn.
"You aren't gong to have to wait long, brother," Lukas drawled. "There she is." Karina and Herr Schmidt had walked in and were talking with my father. Frau Schmidt had already joined my mother and Frau Jansen.
My father turned around and clapped to get everyone's attention. "Thank you," he said when the room became silent. "Now that everyone is present, I thought the children might begin the dancing. Clara, come."
Clara nearly jumped off the couch, but then she took those small and mincing steps all the way to Father. She smiled up at him. "Might we do a polonaise?" she asked.
"Just what I was thinking!" Father said, his voice booming. He motioned to me. "Come, Fritz, and partner your sister."
"No," I said. Of all things! It was Christmas, for goodness' sake! I never danced with Clara; not at lessons, not ever. Most of the time we couldn't stand each other, and whereas Clara could hide it, I just had to avoid her.
"Fritz, dear, dance for us," my mother said. "I know you like it."
"I won't dance with her," I said stiffly, and Clara glared arrows at me.
Father's eyebrows went up, and a storm raged on his face -- I had broken the perfectness of the party. He marched over, took my arm, and dragged me to Clara. I reluctantly offered her my hand, not wanting to make more of a scene, and she took it with a smirk. At every opportunity I got, I glared at the girl. Why did my parents favor her? I hated that! I always had!
The others all paired up. Robert took Karina, one year his younger, and Lukas partnered one of Fynn's sisters, Annika. Erik quickly grabbed Sieglinde Adler, his age and height exactly. Marlene Adler found herself curtsying to Fynn, who bowed and said, "I'm the best dancer here," so ostentasiously that Marlene's face turned red as she tried not to laugh.
Marika, Annika's twin, was the girl without a partner. Seeing this, my father stepped in and offered the tall girl his hand. She took it and whispered, "Danke." My father nodded, and Frau Jansen began playing the piano.
I really do like dancing, so I enjoyed it, even if Clara was my partner. I delibrately stepped on her toes a few times, knowing that she would be too ladylike to return the favor. At the same time, I was annoyed; why hadn't Father danced with Clara and let me dance with Marika?
Once upon a time, Clara and I got along. But then she realized that she wanted to be a lady long before anyone else became one, so she began practicing and acting grownup constantly -- when she was seven or eight years old. Me, I wanted to stay a boy for as long as I could. What's the use in trying to grow up? Magic happens to kids; adults can't see it.
We danced some more, though we didn't change partners. There wasn't time to -- the only problem with Frau Jansen at the piano is that she finishes one piece and then almost immediately starts another. But after we had dance twice, Mother said, "And now us," and all the adults followed her onto the floor as the children stepped to the sides.
"Who will play the piano?" Frau Jansen asked, standing up and straightening her skirt.
Mother looked around the room. "Let Clara," she said, and my sister's face lit up. She sat down on the piano bench as the adults lined up for the Viennan waltz.
"Why Clara?" Erik whispered to me. "You play better than she does."
"Thanks," I whispered. "But my parents can't see that. They just know that their precious young lady is a good piano player; they don't see that that young lady's older brother is even better."