On the path that led to the Hoffmann’s farm, a small coach towed by a single spotted horse was waiting for Wilhelm. The horse was called…

“Fleck!!” he shouted, throwing his arms around his neck, standing on the tips of his toes as he proudly brushed the wonderful creature.

The name of the stallion was very well known to the people of the property…as well as the neighbours, the passer-by’s and to everyone that lived no further than two estates away from the Hoffmann’s. The culprit here was not Wilhelm’s thunderous volume, however: the young man was ready, at any and all times, to have a chat about his long-time equine friend and their mischief and misadventures through the countryside. After all, Fleck had been there for him since he had memories that could be called such.

And so, it did not surprise Johann, the coachman, that the energy Wilhelm invested in greeting him was just a residual ember of the blazing furnace that had been reserved for the stallion. As the young man jumped on the carriage, the reins were pulled and the old horse started trotting along the path, headed towards the small train station some kilometres away.

Young Wilhelm’s crowned eyes, as it often happened, were drawn to the west. They scanned the angular outline, dotted with watch towers and machine gun emplacements, of the concrete walls that encircled Berlin. However, his gaze was headed further than that. The dark, deep green of the so-called Großwald towered above the grey encirclement which, supposedly, was holding back the forest…despite the spruces and pines beyond it standing at almost double its height.

To Wilhelm, whose mind was quick to conjure images involving fantastical beings and absurd scenes, it felt like the Great Forest and the Walls were in some precarious and embarrassing predicament. The Walls were awkwardly trying to hide the Great Forest, like a child hiding a broken vase with his own small body; meanwhile, the clumsy, coniferous giant, by virtue of being just that, was incapable of making its presence hidden, peeking and leaning over its grey friend’s shoulders with endearing curiosity.

This entity often manifested itself in his mind, while he was sleeping or simply wandering in thoughts. During his nocturnal fantasies, he could see the evergreens. He saw their roots, their trunks thicker than he was tall and he could feel the conifers and leaves under his bare feet. Like carpets concealing dust, they had been laid over the streets and paths of small cities and villages, the buildings therein replaced by imposing flora.

He felt slightly worried at the thought that the presence beyond the walls was soon going to disappear. It happened each time he went back to Berlin.

Some minutes later, the chariot stopped in front of the modest train station. A small bunch of city men and women, returning from a short, pleasant vacation in the countryside, were waiting by the railway tracks. Like Wilhelm, they were headed to Bahnhof Alexanderplatz. The monumental train station was the closest stop to the pub where his meeting was going to take place. He jumped off the chariot after bidding his goodbyes in the form of hugs to both Johann and Fleck. In exchange for those he received a “Viel Spaß!” and a neigh, gathering the courage needed and dashing into the wooden building.

As he looked around, however, the bravery bestowed upon him by a horse and its coachman were rapidly running out, soon melting into jumpiness. He had never taken the train by himself before that day…but the event he was going to be a part of was worth the preoccupation of a first time.

‘All right…you just need to wait by the tracks and…’

The passengers were all holding tickets in their hands. A shiver of dread began to crawl on his back as… he felt the small sliver of paper in his coat’s pocket.

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‘Frau Kramer, I will forever be in your debt!’

The sudden surge of gratefulness and relief, following heart-gripping terror, almost brought him to tears. He wasn’t exactly sure when that ticket was put in his pocket but feeling it between his fingers was enough to burn the blossoming fear away.

Now much calmer, he took a deep breath.

The air that permeated the small enclosed area of the station smelled quite distinct from the rest of Berlin’s countryside. The scent of the Great Forest beyond the walls, of fields and grazing animals was slowly giving way to the smell of metal and burnt coal. For the duration of the summer holidays, Wilhelm was happy to forget the unmistakably metallic aftertaste that the capital possessed.

Young Wilhelm certainly did not hate Berlin. After all, the capital was truly immense: to hate it in its entirety was nothing short of impossible.

However, if a foreigner (something quite difficult to find these days) had asked him “what is there to see in Berlin?”, Wilhelm would have probably thought of the elephants residing in the Tiergarten rather than the imposing Brandenburg Gate or Museum Island. But perhaps he would’ve made a special mention of the linden-lined road that led to the zoo. The road that he would soon walk alongside a group of extraordinary painters, poets and philosophers.

He was already there with his mind…

Until the rattling and clattering of the train reminded him where his body actually was. The dark green locomotive in front of him bore the emblem of the Prussian eagle and like everything Wilhelm laid his eyes on, that symbol had already turned into a lump of coal inside the boiler of his mind.

As he boarded the train, the black eagle was speeding through his thoughts, wings sparking as it left a trail of dense white steam in its wake.

However, looking at that creature for more than a few seconds made him smile... because he remembered how bizarre its appearance was: a long tongue sticking out, a bulky crown on its head, a golden sceptre in one talon and, just so that you couldn’t possibly miss how opulent this bird was, a golden globe in the other.

As he took a seat in front of the window, the eagle in his mind became decidedly more comical: with its tongue hanging out of its beak, the bird looked exhausted as it clumsily attempted to balance a crown on its little bird head and, at the same time, trying its best not to drop the incredibly heavy golden objects.

‘They must be really expensive…’

Wilhelm's tutor had always been peremptory and precise about what that symbol meant... but they never managed to explain to him why the proud Prussian eagle was sticking its tongue out at him.

The train began to move with a clang of metal and a puff of steam. Staring out of the window beside him, he saw that different walls were approaching. The ones that protected the heart of the German empire… or at least the parts of it that didn't lie under a mantle of immense trees.

Standing still and waiting, however, was not a field in which Wilhelm could be considered an expert. In fact, he wasn’t even a beginner. If he ever took the most basic entrance exam to figure out his proficiency level in standing still and waiting, he would have failed it, standing up from his desk after just five minutes just to go for a walk. He decided to keep himself busy retrieving the letter that he had, by now, completely memorized.

His eyes settled on the name of the pub chosen as the meeting place.

𝔗𝔞𝔱𝔷𝔢𝔩𝔴𝔲𝔯𝔪!

After reading it the first time a week ago, the young man had quickly read up on what a tatzelwurm was. As with all things that gave him any sort of interest, he had become a nationwide expert on the subject. Four stumpy lizard legs, two of which on its rear next to a thick reptilian tail, and two on the front just slightly below its large feline head, crowned by a thick, leonine mane. All of these bits were placed on a long, sinuous snake-like body.

That's why there was an exclamation mark after it, he thought. It was everyone's spontaneous reaction were they to ever meet one of those creatures. Besides…

‘Oh, good Lord, what is that?! doesn’t have quite the same ring for a pub’s name as Tatzelwurm!’