Today, I found a photo of Magda - Christmas, 1965.
Magda was one of those friends with whom you knew you could be at ease. Her smile was always mischievous, her laugh was halfway between a snicker and a guffaw and it sounded so ridiculous that you had to laugh with her. If I had to guess, I’m sure she was one of those kids who always was in trouble for sneaking out or orchestrating some great scheme. I’m also sure she was impossible to punish, as she had such a knack for garnering pity - everyone adored Magda. She knew it.
Magda was one of the first friends I made when I moved to Rostok in 1963. My first impressions of her were her colorful outfits (she had this one emerald green dress with cream piping and cloth-covered buttons, oh how jealous I was of that dress), her simple but well-decorated flat (her record collection was small - I remember her saying she preferred the silence when she was alone), and though she seemed close to everyone, she never seemed attached to anyone. There was always a distance that was there that nobody noticed, at least not until everything happened and we started asking ourselves if there were ever signs. Of course, there are always signs in retrospect. But how can you know in the moment, in innocent conversation, if an answer to a question is an answer, or if there is more?
On Christmas evening of 1965 our friends gathered at Magda’s flat for the happiest gathering of my youth that I can remember. There was an ease that hovered in the air. Mulled wine was poured, stories shot out in reflecting the past year, we laughed over embarrassing memories, I so wish I could remember them - but I remember that warmth, the feeling. The belonging, the safety of close friendship at Christmas. Just a few weeks earlier, I had accepted a proposal and knew I would be moving to Hamburg soon, and that this would be my last Christmas in Rostok, but I kept it to myself - no need to cast a pall on the occasion. I cherished everything. The twinkle lights in the market, the stollen I made that turned out much too dry, but my friends graciously ate it anyway. And as the evening wound down in Magda’s flat, the raucous singing was now a contented hum. The light clanking of the glasses the girls gathered to wash peppered the air like fairy bells. And there Magda sat - cigarette in hand, laughing at who knows what, and for a moment, I saw the real Magda. The veil was down, and I thought, how beautiful she looks in this moment. I lifted my camera and snapped quickly, and that is how that moment became mine to keep forever.