A good year before that time, my little sister, unnoticed by me, had long since grown up, gotten married and was expecting a baby. Where was the young couple going to live?
Getting an apartment overnight in the mid-fifties was an impossibility. Father found a remedy. He organized an exchange of apartments. As a result, we moved into a large and beautiful apartment on the outskirts of town, even with central heating. Our parents and the young people had enough space.
On the second floor there was a separate room where I was to sleep. But in advance the room remained empty and unoccupied. In the little time I was at home, I preferred to squat with my sister in her cozy living room and play with little Günther. Since my childhood, I had always slept in the same room with my sister without interruption, and that was about to change.
It was difficult for me to accept this. But as a wise philosopher once said, ‘The only constant is change,’ or something like that. The first change was when I sold the good old DKW and bought a three-five Jawa. The second change was joining the Jawa clique. But the most important change was yet to come and that was meeting my future wife.
Every morning I chugged past Building F62 on my motorcycle on the way to the workshop at the same time. One sunny morning, two young girls looked out of an open window on the first floor and waved. I noticed it too late and drove on. Curious, I wanted to stop the next day, but no one was to be seen.
The following day, too, the girls remained invisible. On the third day I was finally lucky. There they were again, the blonde and the brown-haired girl. After a brief flirtation, I arranged to meet the dark-haired girl after work. I did not really believe in the appointment, but she really came. So far, I had only seen her face. Now she stood in front of me, slim, bright eyes under the full brunette hair.
The dark complexion and her strong white teeth gave her a somewhat exotic appearance. I liked her right away. Whether she had a similarly positive impression of me remained to be seen. Apart from the leather crash helmet, the large driving glasses, and the stitched imitation leather motorcycle jacket, she had not yet seen much of me.
We gave our first names, and Marga opened up to me that she lived in a nearby small town with her parents. With a kiss at sunset, we arranged our next meeting. We learned to love and appreciate each other without floating on a rosy cloud in seventh heaven.
My Marga was certainly not without temperament, but she lacked the sense for dissolute love games, she was too hardworking and above all too neat for that. She was a woman who had both feet on the ground and on whom I could rely in every situation. I had made an extremely desirable choice. 𝓣𝓸 𝓑𝓮 𝓒𝓸𝓷𝓽𝓲𝓷𝓾𝓮𝓭…
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