by Judith Kerr
But the German lady did not seem at all pleased. “Gudrun! Siegfried!” she said and pushed her children quickly inside. Then, with a sour expression and keeping as far away from Anna as possible, she squeezed past herself. It was difficult because of the parcels which nearly stuck in the doorway, but at last she was through and disappeared. With never a word of thanks, thought Anna—the German lady was badly brought up herself!
The next day she and Max had arranged to go up into the woods with the Zwirn children, and the day after that it rained, and the day after that Mama took them to Zurich to buy them some socks—so they did not see the German children. But after breakfast on the following morning when Anna and Max went out into the yard, there they were again playing with the Zwirns. Anna rushed up to them.
“Shall we have a game of chase?” she said.
“No,” said Vreneli, looking rather pink. “And any way you can’t play.”
Anna was so surprised that for a moment she could think of nothing to say. Was Vreneli upset about the red-haired boy again? But she hadn’t seen him for ages.
“Why can’t Anna play?” asked Max.
Franz was as embarrassed as his sister.
“Neither of you can,” he said and indicated the German children. “They say they’re not allowed to play with you.”
The German children had clearly not only been forbidden to play but even to talk to them, for the boy looked as though he wanted to say something. But in the end he only made his funny apologetic face and shrugged.
Anna and Max looked at each other. They had never met such a situation before. Then Trudi who had been listening suddenly sang out, “Anna and Max can’t play! Anna and Max can’t play!”
“Oh, shut up!” said Franz. “Come on!” and he and Vreneli ran off towards the lake with the German children following. For a moment Trudi was taken aback. Then she sang out one last defiant “Anna and Max can’t play!” and scampered after them on her short legs.
Anna and Max were left standing.
“Why aren’t they allowed to play with us?” asked Anna, but Max didn’t know either. There seemed nothing to do but wander back to the dining-room where Mama and Papa were still finishing breakfast.
“I thought you were playing with Franz and Vreneli,” said Mama.
Max explained what had happened.
“That’s very odd,” said Mama.
“Perhaps you could speak to the mother,” said Anna. She had just noticed the German lady and a man who must be her husband sitting at a table in the corner.
“I certainly will,” said Mama.
Just then the German lady and her husband got up to leave the dining-room and Mama went to intercept them. They met too far away for Anna to hear what they said, but Mama had only spoken a few words when the German lady answered something which caused Mama to flush with anger. The German lady said something more and made as though to move off. But Mama grabbed her arm.
“Oh no, it isn’t!” shouted Mama in a voice which echoed right across the dining-room. “It’s not the end of it at all!” Then she turned on her heel and marched back to the table while the German lady and her husband went out looking down their noses.
“The whole room could hear you,” said Papa crossly as Mama sat down. He hated scenes.
“Good!” said Mama in such ringing tones that Papa whispered Ssssh! and made calming motions with his hands. Trying to speak quietly made Mama angrier than ever and she could hardly get the words out.
“They’re Nazis,” she said at last. “They’ve forbidden their children to play with ours because our children are Jewish!” Her voice rose higher in indignation. “And you want me to keep my voice down!” she shouted so that an old lady still finishing breakfast was startled into almost spilling her coffee.
Papa’s mouth tightened. “I would not dream of allowing Anna and Max to play with the children of Nazis,” he said, “so there is no difficulty.”
“But what about Vreneli and Franz?” asked Max. “It means that if they’re playing with the German children they can’t play with us.”
“I think Vreneli and Franz will have to decide who their friends are,” said Papa. “Swiss neutrality is all very well, but it can be taken too far.” He got up from the table. “I’ll have a word with their father now.”
A little while later Papa returned. He had told Herr Zwirn that his children must choose whether they wished to play with Anna and Max or with the German visitors. They could not play with both. Papa had asked them not to decide in a hurry but to let him know that evening.
“I suppose they’ll choose us,” said Max. “After all we’ll be here long after those other children have gone.”
But it was difficult to know what to do with the rest of the day. Max went down to the lake with his fishing rod and his worms and his bits of bread. Anna could not settle to anything. At last she decided to write a poem about an avalanche which engulfed an entire city, but it did not turn out very well. When she came to do the illustration she was so bored at the thought of making it all white that she gave up. Max, as usual, caught no fish and by mid-afternoon they were both so depressed that Mama gave them half a franc to buy themselves some chocolate —although she had previously said it was too expensive.
On their way back from the sweet-shop they caught a glimpse of Vreneli and Franz talking earnestly in the doorway of the inn and walked past self-consciously looking straight ahead. This made them feel worse than ever.
Then Max went back to his fishing and Anna decided to go for a bathe, to try and salvage something from the day. She floated on her back which she had only just learned to do, but it did not cheer her up. It all seemed so silly. Why couldn’t she and Max and the Zwirns and the German children all play together? Why did they have to have all this business of decisions and taking sides?
Suddenly there was a splash in the water beside her. It was Vreneli. Her long thin plaits were tied in a knot on top of her head so as not to get wet and her long thin face looked pinker and more worried than ever.
“I’m sorry about this morning,” said Vreneli breathlessly. “We’ve decided we’d rather play with you even if it does mean that we can’t play with Siegfried and Gudrun.”
Then Franz appeared on the bank. “Hullo, Max!” he shouted. “Worms enjoying their swim?”
“I’d have caught a great big fish just then,” said Max, “if you hadn’t frightened it away.” But he was very pleased just the same.
At supper that evening Anna saw the German children for the last time. They were sitting stiffly in the dining-room with their parents. Their mother was talking to them quietly and insistently, and even the boy never turned round once to look at Anna or Max. At the end of the meal he walked right past their table as though he could not see them.
The whole family left the next morning.
“I’m afraid we’ve lost Herr Zwirn some customers,” said Papa.
Mama was triumphant.
“But it seems such a pity,” said Anna. “I’m sure that boy really liked us.”
Max shook his head. “He didn’t like us any more at the end,” he said. “Not by the time his mother had finished with him.”
It was true, thought Anna. She wondered what the German boy was thinking now, what his mother had told him about her and Max, and what he would be like when he grew up.
Chapter Ten
Just before the end of the summer holidays Papa went to Paris. There were so many German refugees living there now that they had started their own newspaper. It was called the Daily Parisian and some of the articles Papa had written in Zurich had appeared in it. Now the editor wanted him to write for the paper on a more regular basis. Papa thought that if it worked out they might all go to Paris to live.
The day after he left Omama arrived. She was the children’s grandmother and had come on a visit from the South of France.
“How funny,” said Anna. “Omama might pass Papa in the train. They could wave to each other!”
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“They wouldn’t, though,” said Max. “They don’t get on.”
“Why not?” asked Anna. It was true, now she came to think of it, that Omama only came to see them when Papa was away.
“One of those family things,” said Max in an irritating would-be grown-up voice. “She didn’t want Mama and Papa to marry each other.”
“Well, it’s a bit late now!” said Anna with a giggle.
Anna was out playing with Vreneli when Omama arrived, but she knew at once that she had come because of the hysterical barking that issued from an open window of the inn. Omama never moved without her dachshund Pumpel. She followed the sound and found Omama with Mama.
“Darling Anna!” cried Omama. “How lovely to see you!” and she hugged Anna to her stout bosom. After a moment Anna thought the hug must be finished and wriggled, but Omama held on tight and hugged her a bit more. Anna remembered that Omama had always done this.
“It’s been such a long time!” cried Omama. “That dreadful man Hitler ...!” Her eyes, which were blue like Mama’s but much paler, filled with tears and her chins—there were two—trembled gently. It was difficult to hear exactly what she was saying because of Pumpel’s noise. Only a few phrases like “torn from our homes” and “breaking up families” emerged above the frantic barks.
“What’s the matter with Pumpel?” asked Anna.
“Oh Pumpel, my poor Pumpel! Just look at him!” cried Omama.
Anna had been looking at him. He was behaving very strangely. His brown hindquarters stuck straight up into the air and he kept flattening his head on his front paws as though he were bowing. Between bows he gazed beseechingly at something above Omama’s wash basin. Since Pumpel was the same tubby shape as Omama the whole operation was very difficult for him.
“What does he want?” asked Anna.
“He’s begging,” said Omama. “Isn’t he sweet? He’s begging for that electric light bulb. Oh, but Pumpel, my darling Pumpel, I can’t give it to you!”
Anna looked. Above the basin was a perfectly ordinary round bulb, painted white. It seemed an eccentric thing even for Pumpel to wish for.
“Why does he want it?” she asked.
“Well, of course he doesn’t realise it’s a bulb,” Omama explained patiently. “He thinks it’s a tennis ball and he wants me to throw it for him.”
Pumpel, sensing that his needs were at last being taken seriously, bowed and barked with redoubled vigour.
Anna laughed. “Poor Pumpel,” she said and tried to stroke him—but he immediately snapped at her hand with his yellow teeth. She withdrew it quickly.
“We could unscrew the bulb,” said Mama, but it was stuck fast in its socket and would not be moved.
“Perhaps if we had a real tennis ball ...” said Omama, searching for her purse. “Anna darling, would you mind? I think the shops are still open.”
“Tennis balls are quite expensive,” said Anna. She had once wanted to buy one with her pocket money but had not had nearly enough.
“It doesn’t matter,” said Omama, “I can’t leave poor Pumpel like this—he’ll exhaust himself.”
But when Anna returned Pumpel had lost interest in the whole business. He was lying on the floor growling, and when Anna placed the ball gingerly between his paws he gave it a look of utter loathing and sank his teeth straight into it. The tennis ball expired with a sigh. Pumpel got up, scratched the floor twice with his hind feet, and retired under the bed.
“He really is a horrible dog,” Anna later told Max. “I don’t know how Omama puts up with him.”
“I wish we had the money for the tennis ball,” said Max. “We could use it at the fair.”
There was a fair coming to the village—an annual event which the local children were very excited about. Franz and Vreneli had been saving up their pocket money for months. Somehow Anna and Max had only just heard about it, and as they had no savings they did not see how they could go. Their combined assets would just about pay for one ride on the roundabout—and that, said Anna, would be worse than not going at all.
She had thought briefly of asking Mama for some money. This was after her first day back at school when no one had talked about anything except the fair and how much money they would have to spend. But Max had reminded her that Mama was trying to economise. If they were going to live in Paris they would need every penny for the move.
Meanwhile Pumpel, though no one could call him lovable, made life a lot more interesting. He had no sense at all. Even Omama who was used to his ways was surprised. When she took him on a steamer he made straight for the side and was only restrained with difficulty from throwing himself overboard. The next time she wanted to go to Zurich she tried to take him on the train, but he refused to get on it. However, as soon as the train pulled out of the station, leaving Omama and Pumpel on the platform, he tore himself free from his lead and pursued it, barking wildly, right down the line to the next village. He was brought back exhausted an hour later by a small boy and had to rest for the remainder of the day.
“Do you think there’s something wrong with his eyesight?” asked Omama.
“Nonsense, Mother,” said Mama who felt she had more important worries, what with possibly moving to Paris and having no money. “Anyway, even if there is you can’t buy him spectacles!”
It was a shame because Omama, in spite of being silly about Pumpel, was really very kind. She too was a refugee but her husband was not famous like Papa. They had been able to move all their belongings out of Germany and now lived comfortably by the Mediterranean. Unlike Mama, she did not have to economise and often devised little treats which Mama would not normally have been able to afford.
“I suppose we couldn’t ask Omama to give us some money for the fair?” said Anna one day after Omama had bought them all éclairs at the local cake shop.
Max was horrified. “Anna! We couldn’t!” he said quite sharply.
Anna had known really that they couldn’t—only it was so tempting. The fair was only about a week away.
A few days before Omama was due to travel back to the South of France, Pumpel disappeared. He had escaped from Omama’s room early in the morning and she had thought nothing of it. He often went for a sniff round the lake and usually came back quite quickly of his own accord. But by breakfast time he was still missing and she began to ask people whether they had seen him.
“Whatever has he got up to now?” said Herr Zwirn. He did not like Pumpel who upset his other customers, chewed the furniture and had twice tried to bite Trudi.
“Sometimes he seems to act just like a puppy,” said Omama fondly, though Pumpel was nine years old.
“It’s more like his second childhood,” said Herr Zwirn.
The children searched for him half-heartedly, but it was nearly time to go to school and they were sure that sooner or later he would turn up—probably accompanied by an angry victim whom he had either bitten or whose property he had destroyed. Vreneli came to call for Anna and they set off for school, and Anna promptly forgot all about him. When they returned at lunch-time they were met by Trudi with an air of great importance.
“They found your grandmother’s dog,” she said. “He’s drownded.”
“Nonsense!” said Vreneli. “You’re making it up.”
“I’m not making it up,” said Trudi, outraged. “It’s true—Pa found him in the lake. And I’ve seen him myself and he’s quite dead. One reason I knew he was dead was because he didn’t try to bite me.”
Mama confirmed Trudi’s story. Pumpel had been found at the bottom of a low wall at the edge of the lake. No one ever discovered how he got there—whether he had leapt down in a fit of madness or mistaken one of the large pebbles in the water for a tennis ball. Herr Zwirn suggested that it might have been suicide.
“I’ve heard of dogs doing that,” he said, “when they’re no good to themselves or to anyone else.”
Poor Omama was dreadfully upset. She did not come down to lunch and only appeared, red-ey
ed and silent, for Pumpel’s funeral in the afternoon. Herr Zwirn dug a little grave for him in a corner of the garden. Omama had wrapped Pumpel up in an old shawl and the children all stood by while she put him in his last resting place. Then, under Omama’s direction, they each threw a shovelful of soil on top of him. Herr Zwirn briskly threw on a whole lot more and then flattened and shaped it into a low mound.
“Now for the decoration,” said Herr Zwirn, and Omama tearfully placed a large plant-pot with a chrysanthemum on top.
Trudi watched her approvingly.
“Now your doggie can’t get out!” she said with obvious satisfaction.
This was too much for Omama, and to the children’s embarrassment she burst into tears and had to be led away by Herr Zwirn.
The rest of the day was rather gloomy. Nobody really minded about poor Pumpel except Omama, but they all felt they owed it to her not to look too cheerful. After supper Max went off to do his homework while Anna and Mama kept Omama company.
She had hardly said a word all day, but now she suddenly could not stop talking. On and on she went about Pumpel and all the things he used to do. How could she face travelling back to the South of France without him? He had been such good company on the train. She even had his return ticket—both Mama and Anna had to inspect it. It was all the fault of the Nazis, cried Omama. If Pumpel had not had to leave Germany he would never have drowned in Lake Zurich. That dreadful man Hitler ...
After this Mama gradually turned the talk into the usual list of people who had gone to live in different countries or had stayed behind and Anna began to read, but her book was not very interesting and bits of the conversation kept filtering through.
Somebody had got a job in films in England. Somebody else who had been rich was now very hard up in America and his wife had to go out cleaning. A famous professor had been arrested and sent to a concentration camp. (Concentration camp? Then Anna remembered that it was a special prison for people who were against Hitler.) The Nazis had chained him to a dog kennel. What a silly thing to do, thought Anna, as Omama, who seemed to see some connection between this and Pumpel’s death, talked more and more excitedly. The dog kennel was right by the entrance to the concentration camp and every time anyone went in or out the famous professor had to bark. He was given scraps to eat out of a dog-dish and was not allowed to touch them with his hands.