He had to wait for a further twenty minutes before the Herr Major made his appearance. During their drive back he was extremely affable, even joking with his driver, and only relapsed into a stiff official silence as they approached the skeletal watch towers which were spaced out along the perimeter of the Camp’s boundaries.
After the Herr Major had been driven away Hilde went out into her garden on a tour of inspection. She gave a murmur of satisfaction. The piece of ground with which Zelini had occupied himself was raked carefully into a smooth carpet of dark unmarked tilth. Later on she would lime it and then leave it fallow until the time came for autumn planting.
She had been taken a little unawares when Karl had mentioned that the “kapo” would be accompanying him. During the summer months over the past two years he had been wont to come by himself. It had been generally in the autumn and early spring that Zelini had been his accepted companion. It had been such short notice that the cake had been still warm when they had arrived.
What a dear fellow was Karl Schultz! She was distressed that he had looked so pallid, for when she had first met him he had been so robust. It was caused by all the paper work and filing that he had to attend to and which kept him chained to his office. He had told her that he hardly ever put his nose outside. Running a Camp or, to be accurate, helping to run a Camp was, he had told her, similar to running a business. He had said humorously that his job was a cross between those of an accountant and a store checker, and was concerned chiefly with turnover. His chief, the Herr Oberst Frederick laid down the discipline, and the junior officers were responsible for carrying it out, leaving him to occupy himself with the records. Confidentially, he had confided, the Herr Oberst was a bit of a bastard.
She mused sometimes about Karl’s wife and could not help but be a shade jealous of her. He was so handsome and gentle and amusing, and was so methodical. He should have been the head of some important commercial enterprise. He was not really suited to war but, she thought regretfully, when finally the war was over she supposed that he would have to go back to Berlin and out of her life. He would return to that wife of his . . . Irma.
It was odd that up there in the bedroom he had sighed and said: “If we should chance to lose the war, Hilde, you, anyway, would have nothing to fear.” The look which he had given her had been quizzical. His words had been the same that Elsa had used earlier in the day. How could they talk so when the Luftwaffe, the Army, the Führer himself had all proved to be so invincible? As he had spoken there had been a hidden fear behind his eyes, or had it been in her imagination? Was it possible that the civilians were not being told the whole truth?
For Hilde it had been a dreadful spring. It could no longer be hidden that her country was going down to defeat. Hamburg, Berlin, Hanover and others of the larger cities were being shattered into shapeless mounds of rubble, and the bombers and fighters that patterned the sky were invariably those of the enemy.
Karl Schultz was dead by his own hand. He had been found slumped over his desk with a bullet through his head. He had taken his life the day before the English armor had reached the Camp. She tried so hard not to think of the Camp. During February and March and well into April the people of Krandorf had been unable to close their minds or their eyes as to what might be going on there. There were horrific tales of starvation and disease, and even rumors of cannibalism, and columns of oily smoke had risen unceasingly from the squat buildings on the far side of the serried ranks of huts behind the barbed wire, making vast and wavering pillars in the frosty air, and when the wind blew from the west the stench from them had been intolerable. She supposed that the cremation of the dead had been necessary. There would have been no time for decent Christian burial.
On the last occasion that she had seen Karl he had looked ghastly. He had arrived alone. He had not made love to her. He had not wished it. So they had sat in her sitting-room and suddenly he had told her a little about his work and of the appalling conditions which shortages and fear and broken communications had fostered. “Everything is chaotic,” he had said. “It is like the Black Death. It is not the Russians and the Jews that I mind. They are, after all, sub-human. It is the Hungarians, and some of the Poles, and the gypsies—especially the gypsies. Their children and their girls were so pretty, so appealing and . . . bewildered. They have always touched me deeply, but there was nothing that I could do . . . nothing. A few I managed to have drafted into hospital, until I learned that it was worse for them there.” He had given her a swift tortured glance. “You understand, Hilde, don’t you? The ovens . . .” he corrected himself quickly, “. . . the crematoria . . . and the mass graves . . . for them it did not seem to me to be right. They deserved better . . . a chance of reincarnation into another form of beauty . . . that is why when they had been . . . when you . . .” He had broken off abruptly and had shaken his head as if to rid himself of a nightmare. “But I don’t have to explain to you, do I?”
She had been puzzled, but in his overwrought state she had not questioned him. Instead she had stroked his hair and soothed him and had made him a cup of hot chocolate and tried to entertain him with more pleasant topics.
Her garden had been her one consolation in those depressing days. She used to sit and gaze out at it from her bedroom window and had drawn some comfort from the early bulbs which were thrusting up through the thawing earth, starring the drabness with patches of color.
For the first time, too, since the war had begun, she had known hardship. She had nursed her store cupboard with enormous care, but its contents had not been extensive, and after Karl was dead and the English installed everywhere, there had been no acceptable presents coming in, and she had been forced to live on the same frugal scale as did her neighbors.
But now it was August and the situation had somewhat improved. The sky was emptied of hostile aircraft and gradually life was struggling back to a more normal tempo.
Frau Berger bicycled the two miles to the field where the flower show was being held. This year it was a month later, but the British had not withheld their permission. They encouraged such activities. Her exhibits had been collected on the evening before by Hans Stein, Elsa’s young nephew, who had been young enough to miss the last call-up, and he had wheeled them away in a handcart, and she had gone up to the tent to arrange them after breakfast. The sweet peas were past their best, but the roses were still splendid as also were the early dahlias. She had every hope that she would meet with her habitual success. It would have pleased Karl, she thought nostalgically. He had been proud of her achievements.
When she arrived on the scene of action a crowd of people had already assembled. Upon a decorated rostrum a rather elderly five-piece band was spiritedly playing a Strauss waltz. She noticed at once the portly figure of Burgomeister Stockey in top hat and morning coat. He was engaged in earnest conversation with a British officer in the doorway of the main tent. It was the Burgomeister who had consented to open the show.
Hilde wheeled her bicycle over the trampled grass to the space which had been reserved for their accommodation and received a numbered ticket from the attendant in charge. Hilde had chosen to wear the same blue spotted dress that she had bought for the previous occasion, but she had freshened up the becoming straw hat by trimming it with a wreath of gardenias. She had grown thinner and the dress had had to be taken in at the waist, although her ample bust still strained against the confining silk. She was turning away and putting her ticket carefully into her bag when she was greeted by Elsa who, she observed, was unsuitably clad in a baggy tweed coat and skirt. Hilde pursed her lips in disapproval. Now more than ever one should try to look one’s best. There was no need to be shabby in adversity. They walked together towards the tent. It was a glorious summer afternoon, hay scented and tranquil.
Elsa was full of information. “That officer over there,” she said, “is the new Town Major. His name is Clarke. Major Clarke. His Germa
n is adequate, and they tell me that on the whole he is quite reasonable. When I am introduced I intend to practice my English on him, rusty as it is!” Smugly she was aware that Hilde was a poor linguist and had not had the advantages of her own education. She suspected that, although she now had money, her origins, before she had married Otto, had been quite humble. “I talked it more than passably well when I was a girl,” she went on. “We had an English ‘Miss’ at the school that I attended. Her name was Angela Laycock. I can see her face to this very day. She was a fool of a woman, timid and yet bossy, a fatal combination, and she was absolutely useless as a disciplinarian. She used almost to defy us to attend to her, knowing that it was a lost cause and then, when we failed to do so, she would get hysterical.”
“That must have been very thwarting for her,” said Hilde in an abstracted tone. She had no patience with Elsa’s airs. She caught the Burgomeister’s eye and he beckoned them over to join them.
“I would like you ladies,” he said, “to meet Major Clarke. Major, this is Frau Berger, one of our keenest, and I may add, one of our most invincible competitors. And Frau Stein,” he added almost as an afterthought. The Major bowed in acknowledgement of these introductions. The Burgomeister produced a gold watch on the end of a thick cable chain. “With your permission, Herr Major,” he suggested, “I think that we might begin?”
Major Clarke had a large brown moustache, and his gleaming Sam Browne served to emphasize his girth. He reminded Elsa of a benign porpoise. “By all means, Burgomeister,” he agreed.
He accompanied the women into the tent and stood with them while they listened to the Burgomeister’s lengthy speech which was larded with praise of the contributors to the show who had put on such a marvellous display under conditions that had necessarily been far from ideal, and also spiced with compliments to the members of the Military Government with whom it was his duty, and indeed his pleasure, to cooperate.
There followed the prize-giving and Hilde won two first prizes and one second for her entries, which provoked good-natured laughter. Elsa was highly commended for her mixed arrangement of wild flowers. The Burgomeister had invited them afterwards to his private tent for refreshments, and it was while they were making their way there that Elsa said: “I caught sight of a familiar face this morning coming out of their Headquarters building.” She laughed lightly. “Perhaps it was one that was more familiar to you than it was to me! It belonged to that sinister looking Czech, that prisoner with some outlandish name who used to drive your . . . your good friend Major Schultz when he came to call on you.” It would do Hilde no harm to know that she had been au fait all along with her intrigue. Elsa bowed to a passing acquaintance. “I hear that inquiries are being instituted,” she continued, “as to the running of the Camp, and that many of the surviving inmates are to be called upon to give their testimony.” She allowed a significant pause and shrugged her shoulders. “Personally I think it would be wiser if they let the dead bury the dead and let by-gones be by-gones. I am told that everyone is likely to be questioned, however remote their connection with the unfortunate affair.” Weighed down by her bunchy costume Elsa was uncomfortably hot, her forehead beaded with sweat.
Hilde walked with her in silence to the Burgomeister’s tent. She might have known that nothing could be kept a secret in a place like Krandorf. It was certain that she herself would be interrogated about her friendship with Karl, who had been an important figure and who had held such an important administrative post. It was as well, she decided, that he was dead. He had been a good man, whatever people might say now, and she was glad that he had put himself beyond their reach.
Only Elsa made a pretense of enjoying the Burgomeister’s reception, and Hilde took her leave as soon as she could do so without seeming impolite. It had been stilted and boring and no one had felt truly at ease, and she had been absent from her beloved house for nearly three hours. Her departure broke up the gathering, for Major Clarke also pleaded a further engagement, with the result that Elsa arrived to collect her bicycle just as Hilde, who had been waylaid by Hans wanting to offer his congratulations, was in the act of collecting hers.
Since Elsa had to pass by Hilde’s door on the way to her own home they set off together, and Elsa suggested that she might break her journey and come in for a quiet talk. It seemed ages since they had had a gossip. There was so much to discuss these days, wasn’t there? What had been Hilde’s opinion of their new Town Major? It was evident that she had made quite a hit with him, and such contacts could be useful. She was, Elsa declared, in no hurry at all, as her Heinrich was working late and she did not expect him back until seven at the earliest and there would be plenty of time before she had to prepare his simple supper. Hilde had no desire for company but it would be difficult to refuse Elsa’s proposal or she would appear churlish and unfriendly.
The road took them into the sinking sun, which was blinding, and Hilde was further discomfited by the difficulty she was experiencing in supporting in the crook of her left arm the massive silver challenge cup which, by reason of her having won it thrice in succession, was now her property. In addition she was burdened with a smaller bowl and a large square of pasteboard to which was attached a blue rosette, an award for the sweet peas. She found it awkward having to steer with only one hand.
As they neared Hilde’s gate they were astonished to see a knot of spectators gathered before it. There was also, they saw with disquiet, a British staff car and a truck parked in front of it, and two tall thick-shouldered soldiers with bands on their sleeves who were stationed, standing at ease, one on either side of the entrance.
“What is this?” exclaimed Elsa excitedly. “For the love of God what is going on here? Those men—surely they are army policemen?” She turned her ferret’s face to her companion. “Military policemen!” she repeated.
The two women halted and dismounted and noticed as they did so that a sergeant was coming briskly down the path. He spoke to one of the men on guard who at once began to urge the bystanders to disperse. Hilde pushed her way with determination through the sightseers, Elsa hard on her heels. The sergeant stepped hurriedly forward to bar their way, the sunlight glinting on the brilliant black polish on the bulbous toecaps of his boots. “No one’s allowed in here,” he said firmly.
Hilde regarded him with coldness. “This is my house,” she said in her own language. “I live here.”
He gave her a blank look. “Verboten!” he said. “Now off you go, lady. I tell you no one’s allowed in.”
Elsa translated. “This is Frau Berger,” she said. “She is the owner of the house.”
The sergeant examined Hilde with interest, and hesitated. Then he said curiously: “So you’re the owner, are you? You’d better follow me.”
An English officer stepped, frowning, out of the front door. The sergeant saluted and went over to speak to him in an undertone and they both glanced at Hilde and Elsa.
The officer came down towards them. He was young and stern and his eyes were as hard as basalt. “Frau Berger?” he said, and took a pace to one side to permit them to pass, motioning in the direction of the hall.
“What is happening?” said Hilde, and to her vexation her voice trembled. “What are you doing in my house? What is it that you are searching for? I have done nothing wrong.”
He did not answer, but waved them on into the kitchen. Through the windows they saw that the garden was milling with soldiers. They appeared savagely determined and had spades and shovels, working in silence, and with them, dressed in civilian clothing, stood Stanislav Zelini. As Hilde watched him, hypnotized, he lifted his head and his expressionless eyes met hers. She stared at him, uncomprehending. She had not thought of him in months and had had no idea until today that he had survived. He had been a minor character in a chapter of her life which was closed. She had imagined that there had not been many who had lived to see the “liberation”.
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At first all that she could take in was that her garden, her precious garden, had been ruined. The rose bushes had been brutally torn out by their roots, the sweet peas had been dragged up and thrown in a heap against the wall, where they lay in a cascade of broken flowers and foliage among a tangle of splintered canes. Trenches had been gouged out everywhere. Her darling garden resembled a battlefield.
And along the path of mown grass there had been tidily lined up what appeared to her incredulous eyes to be skeletons, to some of which gobbets of mold, hanks of hair, and in one instance, fragments of striped material still clung, the teeth in the skulls grinning bleakly from their disintegrated jawbones.
Hilde gazed at them, stunned, unable to take in what it was that she saw. She had never admitted to herself what the contents of the lorry might have been, never even allowed herself to make a surmise as to their nature. She had refused to dwell on it. It had not seemed important. She had always been determined to live her life on a “light” note. She had said once to Karl that gardening was impossible without sufficient fertilizer, just as she had complained about other shortages. She had not complained exactly, but she had bewailed the inconvenience. That had been all. She had asked him for nothing. It had not been her fault. She had not been responsible. She was innocent, completely innocent. She might have suspected, but she had not known. She had not paused to think. Who had known what went on in the Camp? No one. It was none of their business. It was nothing to do with the civilian population. In any case they would have been powerless to interfere.
The Smell of Evil Page 8