Frauleinstein

Chapter XII "I must remember to forget that...", Part II

Fräulein Stein flipped through another album of newspaper clippings. She had been in the room, looking at everything, for over two hours now.

The only remotely interesting thing she had found was a video tape labeled 'Enemies'. After wondering to herself, 'Who the heck still uses video tape?' the Fräulein popped the cartridge into the ancient VCR provided. It turned out to be a five minute segment of a television program:

"I was at New York Fashion Week last month," said the woman on screen. "And I bumped into my very good friend Valeria Engel! Do you know, she is the only person I know who has had more cosmetic surgery than me. She's had her face lifted so many times she can't even blink anymore! But she's rich. Only the best for her. She flies down to Brazil and gets all her work done by Josef Mengele himself.

"I'm telling you, she is the brainiest person you will ever meet, but she never heard an order she wouldn't follow. There was a sign at the entrance to the building that said 'Wet Floor' and you know what? She did!

"But wait! Don't you start thinking – No, no, no! I know what you're thinking, and stop it! She is not a war criminal! She is my very good friend. She invited me over to her home after the show, and my gosh she has the biggest kitchen I've ever seen! She has an oven that seats twelve."

Unfortunately that was all that appeared on the tape, and Fräulein Stein had to return to the stacks, searching for her memories.

Absolutely nothing in the room was of the least interest to the girl. There were books filled with corporate legal contracts; she actually attempted to read one, but the resulting headache convinced her to never try that again.

There were stacks of handwritten notes dealing with anatomy and other scientific topics, but what any of it could possibly have to do with her, she had no idea. Other than, maybe they were trying to tell her she was human. Which was actually a comforting thought, given all the odd things that were happening lately.

There was a lot of information about fashion. Fashion articles, fashion advertisements, reviews of fashion shows. Maybe she used to be a model; could that be what they were trying to say? But she couldn't believe that was true. Fräulein Stein just didn't get fashion. All the money and effort that went into all of it, hair and makeup and clothes and shoes; what was the point? She couldn't understand what was the big deal.

One thing did jump out at her, sparking some interest. She was reading a newspaper clipping about a fashion show in Toronto Canada in 1978. Apparently after the show, all the models went out to a Stanley Cup playoff game.

"Now that would be cool," she said aloud. "Definitely worthwhile, putting up with all the dresses and makeup and stuff, if at the end of the day you get box seats for the hockey playoffs!"

But that was all the article had to say. No scores, no stats, nothing about the game. Not even the team names! The most interesting thing going on, and they had nothing to say about it. Fräulein Stein set the article aside, and returned to searching for anything she could relate to.

She quickly figured out, all the pictures of old ladies were mostly pictures of one old lady; some woman named Valeria Engel. In fact, Valeria Engel seemed to be connected with just about everything in the room. Valeria Engel signed all the contracts. She wrote many of the articles. The diplomas were all hers, the awards were in her name.

The most logical thing she could think was that they were trying to tell her that she was, in fact, Valeria Engel. Except that made no sense. Valeria Engel had to be about a thousand years old. There was no way she could be as old as her! No, the one thing of which Fräulein Stein was certain, in her vast sea of uncertainty, was that she was not Valeria Engel.

"Maybe she's a relative or something?" the Fräulein thought. Except the more she thought about it, the more convinced she became; she had never heard the name Valeria Engel before in her life. Or lives. Why the woman would figure so prominently in the Fräulein's memory room was a mystery. Hopefully it would all make sense at some point.

Fräulein Stein returned her attention to one of the big books of newspaper clippings. She was flipping through the articles when one in particular caught her attention, although she couldn't say why at first.

The article was written in 1962 and had a picture of, guess who, Valeria Engel. In this picture she was standing with some old military guy. She had no idea why the article attracted her attention, but she started to read:

"German multi-millionaire Valeria Engel created controversy this week by signing a deal with General Francisco Franco of Spain. According to sources, the deal will see Spanish ports used to ship products manufactured by Engel's 'Strong Angel Industries' to North America. The deal is controversial as many nations feel that Franco's brutal regime should be sanctioned, forcing him to conform to international humanitarian principles. Engel was quoted as saying..."

That was as much as Fräulein Stein was able to read. It was all just way too boring. But there was something about this article. Dr. Pretorius told her to follow her feelings, and this article meant something; she just had no idea what it was. The idea that she might actually have to read the whole thing was giving her great concern.

Rather than read, the Fräulein looked at the photograph once more. Another picture of Valeria Engel. In 1962 she would have been around forty, she figured, but could have easily passed for thirty, or even twenty-five. So maybe she got the math wrong. Whatever. In the picture with her was this General, your typical aging dictator in military uniform and sunglasses, holding her hand. The caption read:

"Valeria Engel and General Francisco Franco shake on deal, as stevedores load ship in background."

Fräulein Stein suddenly sat up, and read the caption again. This was it, she was sure!

"Stevedores? Franco," she tried to piece it together but it wasn't quite there.

"Here you will find your name, your history, your passions," she remembered Dr. Pretorius telling her.

"My name!" she exclaimed. "Stevedores, Franco. Steve Frank. My name, it's Steve Frank! I found it!"

Suddenly all the clues began to make sense.

"My history!" she cried out, picking up the video tape she had watched earlier. "I remember, my parents own a VCR. It's broken, but for some reason it's still hooked up to the TV."

She then picked up the article she had read about the Toronto fashion show. "And my passions! I watched a hockey game once! And I used to play hockey. In middle school gym class, for two weeks!"

Okay, so they weren't great clues, but at least they made some kind of sense. And at last she understood what Pretorius was trying to tell her with everything in the room.

"This room is like, the worst cryptic crossword ever!" she exclaimed.

In spite of her misinterpreting every clue, the memories came flooding back. Knowing her own name led to everything she had ever known, everything she had ever done as Steve Frank becoming clear. And then she finally realized...

"I'm a guy?" she said. Steve looked down at himself and considered. "Well, that explains a couple of things."

A/N: I hope you recognized my take on Joan Rivers in the video! I usually try to write completely original material, but when I thought of the possibility of fashion critic Joan Rivers riffing on fashion icon and Nazi collaborator Valeria Engel, I couldn't resist adapting some of her jokes!