Alex sighed. “It was a complete waste of time. We’re still pushing, using some documents Ryszard acquired, but nothing’ll come of it. That’s pretty clear.”
Ryszard nodded, still watching the two girls chasing each other in circles, flapping their arms like wings.
“So what are the Americans going to do with the information?”
“Keep it on file for leverage in negotiations,” Alex replied mordantly.
“What?”
“They’re keeping it secret from their own populace for some cack-arsed security reasons, or maybe it was to avoid embarrassing the Reich government or whatever. The upshot is they don’t care to use it for publicity.”
“I suppose it doesn’t matter,” Zosia said philosophically. “It’s not the sort of thing we’d get a popular response to anyway.”
“What do you think would get a popular response?” Alex asked.
“I don’t know,” Zosia said, looking thoughtful. “I really don’t know. Whatever it is, it has to be a human issue, something they can feel in their hearts. No statistics, no technology, just something to make them care.”
“Pictures from the camps? We’ve tried that,” Alex said despondently.
“Too distant, anyway,” Ryszard interjected.
“You’re right. It has to be something they can identify with. And we have to be able to control the story from beginning to end—no meddling with the security agencies, no political quid pro quos. It has to be something we own,” Zosia said.
“Sounds like what Adam was advocating,” Alex commented.
Zosia nodded. “We discussed it. We both agreed, it should be completely public-—no government involvement.”
“So any secretly gathered information is out,” Alex said.
“Yes, no secrets, no technology, nothing they can veto politically. I just wish I knew what it would be,” Zosia sighed.
“If only we could get some defector to talk publicly,” Alex suggested.
Ryszard snorted. “Not bloody likely. Any defector knows that would be suicide.”
61
IT WOULD BE SUICIDE, Peter thought. Trying to leave would be tantamount to suicide. There would be no more second chances, they would kill him, and they would do it very, very painfully.
He put the kettle on and stared into the void of his future as he waited for the water to boil. Months had passed and still he slept on the floor of Uwe’s room, still he was awakened at completely unpredictable hours of the night, and still he could not leave the house to meet his students or talk with his friends. And with the arrival of autumn, his last refuge, the garden, was winding down and his last excuse to leave his prison would evaporate with the coming of winter.
It was time to peel the potatoes, but he felt tired, so he decided to make himself-a cup of tea before beginning. When the kettle screeched, he poured the water onto some tea leaves he had set aside the night before, stirred it around a bit, and then poured the tea from the pot into one of Elspeth’s teacups. Then he gathered the potatoes and bowls and took them over to the table and sat down.
Elspeth came downstairs earlier than he expected and he groaned slightly but did not move. She was humming happily but interrupted herself as she saw him sitting down on her furniture. She glared at him meaningfully but he did not get up nor did he even bother to apologize.
She shrugged, apparently deciding to ignore his insubordination. “What’sthat?” she asked, walking over to the table and peering into the china teacup he was using.
“Tea,” he replied tersely.
“You’re out of tea.”
“Kind of you to have noticed.”
“Where’d you get it?” she asked accusingly.
“It’s the leaves from the pot I made for you yesterday evening, gnä’ Frau,” he answered without looking up.
“Our leaves? You didn’t throw them away?” Her voice conveyed shock.
“Obviously not, gnä;’ Frau.”
“Used tea? That’s disgusting!”
“I agree,” he answered with irony that was doubtless beyond her.
“And my china as well!”
“What else am I going to use?” He finally looked up at her. “I don’t own a teacup. I don’t own anything.”
“How dare you! You have forgotten your place, boy!”
“I know.”
It was insufficient to mollify her, and she went to her little book and picked up her pen.
Without meaning to, he exclaimed, “Oh, for heaven’s sakes, what are you doing that for? It’s only some worthless, used tea leaves!” As he uttered the last words, he closed his eyes in chagrin, wondering what the outburst would cost him. He attempted to ameliorate the situation and, forcing a smile, added somewhat more diplomatically, “If you provided me with a cup and some tea of my own . . .”
She surprised him by interrupting to say, “All right. You can come out shopping with me and Teresa after our supper—perhaps I’ll buy you something then.” She placed her book back on its shelf without marking anything in it.
He should have been grovelingly grateful, but he wasn’t, and it was all he could do to force a thank-you out of his mouth. He continued to peel the potatoes, setting the unblighted peels into a bowl of cold water so that they would keep and he could cook them later since they were a reasonable source of nutrients.
Elspeth continued to watch and was finally driven to ask, “Why are you putting the peels into water?”
“They’ll compost better,” he lied.
“Then why aren’t you putting all of them in?”
Sighing, he scooped up the separated peels and dumped them in the water as well. “No particular reason,” he answered tiredly, wishing her away.
She nodded and continued to watch, smiling at him fondly, and without even thinking, she brought her hand up to stroke his hair, sort of like petting a cat or a dog. She did not notice how he flinched when she touched him, nor did she know the self-control he used to keep from pulling away.
* * *
After the family’s meal, Elspeth and Teresa went to the local shops to pick out some shoes and a few other items and took him along with them to carry the packages. Elspeth had intimated that she would not only buy a teacup and some tea for him but a bit of food as well, saying that perhaps that would improve his grumpy mood. The stores were not far and they walked along the pleasant treelined paths, stopped to watch the ducks in the pond, and continued on their little journey enjoying the rare September sunshine. Teresa was her usual impish self, and even Elspeth maintained her good mood, going so far as to direct a few comments about the weather and the flowers to him.
The shops faced inward, away from the street, and formed a sort of pedestrian square, which, at this time of day, was fairly empty. The nearest of the shops was the bakery. Peter cast a glance at it as he went by. He had learned that Roman had simply been transferred to another bakery across town where his experience was needed.
The shoe store was on the other side of the square, and they headed in that direction, veering from their straight-line path only enough to skirt around the war memorial in the center. As they crossed the plaza, they heard a patrolman shout out to a woman who was striding obliviously out of the square. She was dressed in the uniform of a Zwangsarbeiterin, and on the shoulders of her blouse could be discerned the patches that identified her as a domestic laborer.
“Halt! Halt or I’ll shoot!” the patrolman shouted, waving his pistol around excitedly. He was young and looked thoroughly stunned that the woman seemed to be ignoring him. Her back was already to him and she simply kept on walking without taking any notice of his words. Peter wondered if she was committing suicide.
The three of them stood stock-still watching the drama unfold. The woman walked with a strange almost sideways gait, as if she were half limping. Peter thought he recognized her. He whispered, “No.”
“Halt!” the patrolman shouted even more angrily. Then, without a further moment’s hesitation he fi
red.
The woman spun around with a look of surprise and then crumpled to the ground, soaking the pavement in blood. Peter caught a glimpse of her face then.
Both he and Elspeth stared in silent amazement at the patrolman. Teresa retreated a step to stand closer to her mother; she looked repeatedly from the woman to Peter and back again as if making some mental connection. Elspeth put a protective arm around her daughter.
“I wonder why she didn’t stop?” Elspeth finally breathed.
“She probably didn’t hear him,” Peter answered evenly. “She’s nearly deaf. Her hearing was destroyed some years ago.”
He heard Teresa repeat softly to herself, destroyed, as Elspeth turned and looked at him. “You knew her?”
He was watching the patrolman and his colleague as they approached thewoman. He did not bother to look at Elspeth as he answered, “Sort of. I’ve seen her around, but I’ve never talked to her.”
“Why would you?” Elspeth asked. “What could you possibly have to say to each other?”
He turned to look at her then, but she met his glare with innocent superiority.He realized that she had no conception of their lives, and unable to answer her question, he turned back to look at the two patrolmen as they rolled the woman onto her back.
“I wonder who’ll compensate her people,” Elspeth mused.
Peter felt sick to his stomach. The woman’s blood glistened in the sunshine, yet, other than for the patrolman and his partner, everyone else was beginning to return to his or her usual business, afraid that staring too long might be interpreted as criticism of the police action. He wanted to go to the woman to comfort her, yet he lacked the courage. He wished desperately that he had reacted more quickly when he saw her—maybe he could have saved her life.
As if to put an end to the scene, Elspeth sighed to no one in particular, “Rather unfortunate, isn’t it?”
Her words washed over his grief, mocking him for his inaction. Before he could stop himself, he was saying, “You put children in uniforms, you arm them with guns, you fill their heads with lies and hatred, then when they murder someone in cold blood, you say, ‘How unfortunate.’ ”
Elspeth drew herself up and said in her most aristocratic voice, “I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.” With that, she began to walk off, pulling Teresa along, expecting him to follow.
He stood his ground, calling out scornfully, “You never hear anything, do you? You don’t see, you don’t hear, you don’t speak!”
She stopped and turned. Indicating to Teresa to stay put, she walked back to him, then using all her strength, she hit him as hard as she could across the face. There, in the plaza, in public, in front of everyone.
“Keep your hands off me!” he hissed at her.
Elspeth was rubbing her hand, but she stopped when he spoke. Her eyes widened in surprise, then narrowed threateningly. “What did you say?”
“I said . . .”
Teresa was staring at him, shaking her head slightly, pleading silently, No!
He became aware of the other people in the square—the two patrolmen, in particular, had looked up from their work and were watching to see what happened next. He shifted uneasily, scanning the familiar plaza as if it were alien to him.
“What did you say?” Elspeth demanded.
Some of the people were staring at him, but nowhere was there the face of an ally. He was alone, as alone as the woman whose corpse now marred the pristine plaza. He met Elspeth’s hard look, but it was too late; he had lost this battle years ago.
Defeated, he dropped his gaze miserably to the ground. “I said . . .” But still the words stuck in his throat. He continued to stare at the ground beneath her feet, at the earth that he wished would simply swallow him up. He swallowed and tried again. “I said, please forgive me, gnädige Frau,” he whispered.
“I didn’t hear that.”
He took a deep breath and tried to speak louder. “I said, please forgive me, gnädige Frau.”
“I thought that’s what you said,” Elspeth sneered.
He looked up then, his eyes taking in her triumphant look, the woman’s blood as it spread on the ground, Teresa’s fearful expression.
If it would be suicide, then so be it.
62
PETER TRIED NOT TO watch too closely as Uwe drank the hot, sweet tea he had prepared. Uwe slurped noisily, downed the last drops, apparently not noticing the combination of his own pain pills and Elspeth’s sleeping pills that had been dumped into it. When Uwe finished, he yawned and set the cup down on the tray. Peter picked up the tray and asked if there was anything else he could get him. When Uwe said no, Peter left, promising to return in a few minutes to check that everything was all right.
Once he was in the hallway, out of Uwe’s sight, he stopped to gather himself. He leaned against the wall, breathed deeply, and wiping the sweat off his palms, returned to his normal routine.
Ulrike was next. As he entered her room, she looked up from her book and studied his face. He thought for a moment that he had somehow betrayed himself, that she could read his intentions in his face, but then she said, “I can’t decide which civic service to join once I graduate from high school. It’s all so confusing!”
He sighed his relief and silently derided himself for being stupid enough to think that anybody would notice what was on his mind. In nearly three years nobody had ever taken even the slightest notice of his physical state, not to mention anything as ephemeral as his moods or feelings. He acknowledged her unstated question by saying, “Yes, it’s a big decision, isn’t it?”
“Do you have any suggestions?”
“I don’t think it would be appropriate for me to advise you.”
She sighed with exasperation. “Nobody wants to help. I wish I had some idea what I want to do!”
“Maybe you could find a service that does acts of kindness for poor, dumb animals,” he offered with subdued irony.
She cocked her head at him as if trying to determine if he was serious, then she shrugged and went back to reading her book.
He collected her cup, and as he left the room, he risked saying, “Good-bye, Ulrike.”
“Good night,” she called back absentmindedly.
As each member of the family retired for the night, he breathed a small sigh of relief. So far so good. Elspeth and Karl were the last to turn in, just after eleven. He returned to Uwe’s room and checked on the effect of his ad hoc concoction. He was pleased to see that he had not accidentally killed Uwe and that the boy was sleeping soundly. He went back downstairs and collected Karl’s satchel from the hall closet. Then he went to the kitchen and opened the pantry. He selected some supplies and several useful items from around the house and placed them in the satchel; he debated for a second and decided to add several personal items: the handkerchiefs Teresa had given him, the hair he had removed from the chair, and finally, the book from Karl’s study that had survived confiscation.
He unlocked a desk drawer and removed the packet of documents that pertained to him. He did not know what purpose they might serve, but since it contained his history, he felt they belonged to him. Satisfied with what he had packed, he placed the satchel by the back door. Grabbing his jacket, papers, and the morning pass, he stuffed them into the bag as well. If his absence was noted early in the morning, it would look as if he had simply gone to fetch the bread. The extra minutes that could afford him might well save his life.
After he had packed his supplies, he stood by the steps and listened for the sound of anyone stirring. All was quiet, so he proceeded to the desk and dug out the masking tape. Carefully, he wrapped the tape around his wristband to prevent the metal from reflecting light and rousing suspicion, and then he shoved the band as far up his forearm as it would go and taped it into place. He decided against trying to cover the numbers on his left arm. If anyone got as far as having him roll up his sleeves, then . . . He decided not to pursue that line of thought.
Once he had finished preparing e
verything downstairs, he returned to Uwe’s room and rested on his rug. It had been a long day, fraught with the fear that he would betray his intentions. Earlier in the day Elspeth had raised her hand to strike him, but he had impulsively reached up and caught her wrist in an iron grip. The look of shock on her face had been priceless. After just a second he had released her, but her fist had remained stuck in midair. He’d taken a step backward, and as she still did not react, he’d turned and walked away before she could reconsider her leniency. It had been, in retrospect, one of the stupidest and riskiest actions of his life: to have waited so long and borne so much just to betray himself at the last minute! Fortunately no ill had come of it. Elspeth had grown tolerant since their confrontation in Uwe’s room and chose to ignore his illconsidered action.
After about an hour, he got up and gathered the clothes he had selected fromUwe’s closet and placed them in the kitchen, near the back door so he could change into them just before he left the house. Returning to the first floor, he listened outside of Karl and Elspeth’s room. There was no sound. Carefully, grimacing with tension, he bent the door handle downward. Although they rarely locked their door—that would necessitate getting out of bed in the morning to let him in—he had, to be on the safe side, disabled the lock earlier in the day. He had also oiled the hinges, and the door opened smoothly and quietly under his gentle guidance. He slid into the room and waited there in the darkness, listening to the steady rhythm of their breathing.
After a few minutes had passed, he crept across the room and lowered himself to the floor by the bed. Karl snored lightly a few inches away; the bedside stand beckoned. He waited another moment to make sure that they were still deep in sleep. Karl stirred and groaned in his sleep. Elspeth awoke and sat up.
“Karl, Karl, did you hear something?”
Karl mumbled something unintelligible and rolled over. His arm dropped over the side of the bed, dangling a few inches above Peter’s nose. Peter lay as still as he could next to the bed, his heart pounding so loudly he felt sure Elspeth would hear it.
The Children's War Page 51