All for Nothing

  •

  Peter was standing in the hall. His mother’s white fur cap. So a strange man had been staying with his mother. He’d never have expected her to do anything like that.

  He felt a little proud of her for doing it.

  He met the Pole in the stables. Did the man put a hand on his shoulder, draw him close for comfort? No, he shook his head.

  The two Ukrainian maids told the people who had come to stay the night what had happened here. Sonya said she wouldn’t have thought the lady of the house could be so brave. But fancy running such risks for a lousy Jew. The women cried, and kept telling stories of all the things that had happened to them. It was a long time since they’d had chocolate to eat.

  •

  ‘We’ll leave in the night,’ said Vladimir. He was talking to Vera.

  There was rumbling and pounding beyond the red horizon, and now and then louder music struck up.

  17

  Setting Out

  See, good sirs, the watchman’s light.

  The hour of twelve has struck tonight.

  May you and your fraternity,

  Good sirs, think of eternity.

  At midnight Auntie said, ‘Let’s be off.’ She looked at her wristwatch, as one does on New Year’s Eve.

  Should they wait for Katharina to come back? Who knew when that might be? Sarkander had said it could take a long time. ‘A very long time. You needn’t wait for her, you’d better leave at once. We’ll look after her if she comes back again.’

  Frau Hesse also advised them to leave, saying that if they could, they would go themselves – but four of them, and still no travel permit?

  She too said, ‘If Frau von Globig turns up we’ll look after her.’

  •

  Auntie had phoned Uncle Josef, and he had said, ‘Yes, that’s fine, all of you come here. We have plenty of room. We’re not leaving, we’re all staying here. We’ll be glad to see you; families should stick together in these times.’

  No further mention was made of Katharina’s fate. Uncle Josef had heard from other sources that she was under arrest in Mitkau. There was no need to discuss these things on the telephone. However, he said, ‘Poor Kathi,’ although he had always had reservations about her. Poor Eberhard, more like. ‘Well, you come to Albertsdorf and rest for a bit. You can find out more news of her from here.’

  Dear good Josef! Now at least they had an immediate destination before their eyes, and they knew what to do next. One way and another, they’d never done justice to Josef. He was a good sort really.

  •

  ‘How could she do this to us?’ Auntie said to Frau Hesse. ‘A Jew! Dragging us all down with her!’ And she said to Peter, ‘We’re not abandoning your mother, you mustn’t think that. She can join us any time if they let her out of prison. On her own she’ll get through more easily. And she’ll want us to go now . . . Sheltering a Jew, how could she do it? Dragging us all down with her! Now, let’s get a move on or she’ll bring us even more bad luck.’

  She had heard of being an accessory after the fact, which was a crime – would that accusation be made now?

  •

  Peter wore two pairs of trousers, one on top of the other, shirts and pullovers, two or three of each. He cleaned his shoes, and Vladimir put the two bays between the shafts of the farm cart and harnessed the gelding up to the coach. Auntie was also wearing several layers of clothes. She had drawn money out of the bank in Mitkau weeks ago, gradually, 500 marks at a time, and she stuffed it into her pockets. It represented the working capital of the estate. In the end the bank clerk took to winking at her. He may have been thinking: this woman wasn’t born yesterday.

  •

  They left the Georgenhof at midnight; Auntie thought they would make better progress by night. Vladimir agreed with her. Whatever happened they must stick together now. They were sensible people.

  Vladimir had a sore finger. Frau Hesse put ointment on it and bandaged it carefully.

  One last time, they went from room to room – all clean and neat – and then they left the house.

  We go into the world so wide,

  We can no longer stay;

  With many thousands at our side

  We also march away.

  Auntie drove the coach; she knew how to handle the gelding. And the gelding hardly looked behind him at all, because he in his turn knew Auntie. It was child’s play for the huge animal to pull such a light vehicle.

  She had considered leaving the coach behind. There should be some space left on the big cart. And what would that old-fashioned coach look like among all the farm carts? Perhaps people would laugh: taking to the road in a coach?

  But then Auntie decided to drive the coach herself, to get on the box, take the reins and release the brake. She had learnt to drive a carriage in her Silesian childhood. It had been a donkey cart then; a photo showed her and her three sisters, all of them in white, in the donkey cart. They hadn’t driven the donkey up and down the park very often; the animal had had a mind of his own.

  She put on a soldier’s cap and wound a scarf round her neck. The gelding shook the reins straight and rolled his eyes; yes, everything was in place. He was a good horse, you could rely on him any time. Auntie had only to say ‘Gee up!’ and click her tongue, and he was moving on.

  •

  Auntie didn’t trust herself to drive the heavy cart drawn by two horses; the reins got tangled up, and it wasn’t easy. She couldn’t deal with that. But they had Vladimir to drive the cart, the good-natured Pole who had proved his worth in so many situations.

  Vladimir was wearing his square military cap, and Vera sat beside him in her quilted jacket and felt boots, with the wooden suitcase that she had brought from the Ukraine with her; she hadn’t acquired many more possessions in all those years. From now on the two of them would stay together, for ever and a day. After all, something was growing inside her belly.

  •

  Sonya had changed her mind and was staying behind. She had braided her hair that day and put on the check jacket. She would rather wait quietly for the Russians, she said. She would look after everything: the dog, the cat, and she would lend the Hesses a hand. Everything else would sort itself out. After all, there was Katharina to be reckoned with, she told Auntie, as if Auntie hadn’t thought of that.

  ‘Perhaps she’ll appear on the scene again one day,’ said Frau Hesse. ‘Things often don’t turn out as we expect. And it would be terrible for her to come back to an empty house!’

  She was impatient because Drygalski still hadn’t brought them a travel permit.

  •

  Auntie placed herself and the coach at the head of the family procession, and then they set off into the darkness.

  Unfortunately the first thing went wrong as she drove out of the yard. The glass pane in the left-hand door of the coach broke because the door was hanging off its hinges. Why hadn’t they had it repaired? But there was nothing to be done about that now. Peter put a sheaf of straw and a suitcase in front of the window. Now he could see only out of the right-hand side of the coach, but that was enough for him.

  The heavy cart followed, creaking and groaning, with all those crates and boxes, and the milk cans filled to the brim with dripping, sugar and flour under the tarpaulin. The feather beds, Katharina’s dresses and Eberhard’s uniforms were also part of the load. They wanted to press on; they ought to make good progress overnight, when the road was almost clear. Vladimir had spread a stout tarpaulin over everything in the farm cart and tied it well down. Vladimir was a capable man in any situation.

  You got a reassuring feeling from Vladimir. He could be trusted.

  •

  Sonya took a few steps after the little convoy, but then she turned back. Jago followed for a short way as well before turning round. He too had changed his mind. Go off into the unknown? And where was his mistress? She couldn’t be left in the lurch.

  There was no sign at all of the cat. The crows didn’t fly up eithe
r; they sat in the oak tree, looking as if they were shrugging their shoulders, and the dog went into the house.

  •

  Auntie didn’t look back. The road led slightly downhill here and she had to brake a little, not too hard or the coach might fall to pieces . . . And behind them the Georgenhof disappeared, a dark silhouette in front of the reddish horizon.

  Auntie did not look back, and no one watched her go. Even the foreign workers in the Forest Lodge, who usually took an interest in everything, didn’t lift the curtain. They could sleep peacefully all night.

  •

  Auntie was well muffled up, with her soldier’s cap on her head and her legs in a driver’s sack to keep them warm, and bundles of straw to right and left. And the gelding was such a good-tempered animal. She took a sip from her flask. But then she felt afraid of the icy wind and the darkness on the road. Thank God the moon was shining, and the snow had settled, so you could get some idea of where you were.

  •

  Peter burrowed into the straw. The air was cold, but bearable. He had the binoculars round his neck, the air pistol in his belt, his microscope and Auntie’s bags and suitcases beside him. Her lute lay on top of her bags. He had played hide-and-seek in the dark with the Albertsdorf cousins – stay where you are and don’t move! He looked forward to seeing the Albertsdorf cousins.

  Auntie was sitting at the very front, and Peter stared through the oval back window of the coach, past the dried-up wreath of flowers and out at the road behind. He saw the two bay horses following, pulling the heavy farm cart, and he could make out the figures of Vladimir and Vera on the box.

  The ice-cold sky was full of sparkling stars, and their wheels crunched as they drove over the frozen snow, with the red horizon behind them. The distant rumbling had slackened off slightly during the last few days. Could Mother be coming after all? that was the question. Was she running after the cart shouting stop, stop! Why are you going away without me?

  •

  The trees and bushes at the side of the road; the tracks in the snow. They went along at a jog-trot pace. And then they saw someone else’s cart ahead, visible as a black mound against the snow. They had nearly caught up with it and could move into the road behind it. It kept driving straight ahead; they had only to keep an eye on it and nothing could go wrong.

  •

  First to reach Uncle Josef in Albertsdorf. Then they’d see. Everything could be discussed with Josef. Rather a strange man, but on the whole his heart was in the right place. He didn’t have an easy time of it, with his wife’s bad hip.

  Auntie had a plan; she would first go in the direction of Elbing and then turn north to the Frisches Haff, the zone of brackish water just inland of the Bay of Danzig. She was going to discuss that with Josef. Hanni had a good head on her shoulders too.

  But weren’t the Russians already in Elbing?

  •

  Hour after hour they drove on at an easy pace. It began to snow in thick flakes that drifted back and forth in the wind like a curtain, ruffling up as they fell to the ground. The ditches beside the road were full of snow, and you could hardly make out where they began and the road ended. It was a strain, keeping your eyes fixed on the cart in front. Peter joined Auntie on the box, and when the gelding slipped he shouted, ‘Gee up!’

  Sometimes a vehicle came towards them; a truck with dipped headlights, a motorbike, once even a tank. To make room for the tank, the cart ahead of them moved a little way aside, and then it slipped into the ditch.

  Should they stop and help?

  Peter was going to jump down, but Auntie said, ‘No, we must keep going. We don’t have time to stop now.’

  Peter saw small figures crawling out of the cart, their shadows enormous in the light of their electric torches, and then it was all dark again.

  Vladimir stopped to help the people in the ditch and stayed behind for a while. Auntie drove slowly on and finally stopped. Johannsen’s old mill should be somewhere near here. In clear weather you could see it from the Georgenhof, so they would be able to see the Georgenhof from the mill.

  •

  Soon Vladimir was behind them again, having helped the other cart back on the road.

  The longer they drove, the more carts joined the road from left and right. Auntie was now following a trailer with rubber tyres on its wheels and cat’s eyes at the back of it. If you briefly flashed a torch at them, they shone red in the darkness.

  The first light of dawn was showing; Vladimir closed the distance between their two vehicles so that no one else could come in between them. If they were separated they might never find each other again.

  •

  A solitary aircraft flew overhead. Did the pilot have a light on in his plane? Was his thumb hovering over the button to release his bombs? Was his machine gun trained on the road below?

  •

  Around now, Katharina was lying on her straw mattress in a cold police cell. She couldn’t sleep; she had spread her coat and two blankets over her. A guard was doing his rounds in the yard. He shone a light on the windows, and when it reached her cell the shadow of the bars fell on the wall. She thought of a film in which there was a woman in prison, like her, with barred shadows cast on the walls.

  But this wasn’t a film. The key turned in the lock, and she had to get up and go with the man who came to fetch her. Flights of iron steps, barred doors. Then she was sitting on a hard chair in a warm interrogation room. The officer there sat at his desk signing files.

  At last he turned to her. She was asked whether it was true that she had given shelter to a Jew, and was shown the drawing with the arrow on it saying Georgenhof, and the instructions to the man to climb the fence. She had admitted all this already, and it had been written down.

  The police officer said that this was very, very serious, and he would like to know whether the man had made approaches to her in her room. Had she known he was a Jew? Then he delivered a long lecture about the children of Israel, describing them as filthy blowflies and a pack of criminals.

  She couldn’t deny anything, and making excuses seemed a bad idea. She said she hadn’t guessed that; she hadn’t known anything about a Jew. She’d thought, oh, she didn’t know what. And she wondered, she said, whether she would have given the man shelter if she had known he was a Jew. Yes, she said that, and she asked the police officer if he really thought that she would have sheltered a Jew if she’d known who was being sent to her?

  ‘Well, who did you think he could be? A deserter, perhaps? Or an enemy of the state?’ He didn’t quite like to say that that would have been even worse.

  She thought of Pastor Brahms and his persuasions. He had made her do it, she said. Would she have thought of such a thing of her own accord? With her husband at the front . . .

  ‘At the front?’ said the police officer. ‘Sitting in a cushy job in Italy, that’s where he is.’ Then he became insistent, and wanted to know whether matters had gone any further up in her room. Had there been anything in the way of racial defilement? ‘Did you drink alcohol? You had quite a nice little stock of it . . . Did he touch you? Did he make advances? Stand up!’

  •

  At last another officer came into the room. It was the man who had brought her here. He was taking her back to her cell. There was coffee that had gone cold in the cell, and a piece of bread. She longed to say, ‘Stay here, stay here with me for a little while.’ But he had already closed and locked the door.

  •

  The two vehicles from the Georgenhof went on. Hours later, they passed a crossroads. The signpost said ALBERTSDORF 7 KILOMETRES. So they turned right. They could rest once they reached Uncle Josef ’s house, they’d be at home there. Maybe news from Katharina had already reached Albertsdorf? They could discuss it all with Josef, and then they’d decide what to do next. We’ll go on to the Frisches Haff, thought Auntie. First we’ll go towards Elbing and then turn off for the Frisches Haff.

  Uncle Josef had always spoken brusquely to her; we
ll, that was just his way. When he came to the Georgenhof, alone on business, or on a Sunday with his whole family, he used to say hello to her, but that was all.

  •

  They reached Albertsdorf when the sun had risen. There was a heavy chain on the gate of the yard. Even though they had said they were coming, the whole place seemed to be locked up. The family must be sleeping late.

  Vladimir got out of the blankets in which he had wrapped himself and opened the gate. The farmyard dog immediately went for him, but he used his whip and soon made it respect him.

  The whole yard was full of other people’s carts. Some of them were being made ready to go on.

  ‘There’s no room left here,’ said the strangers, who didn’t know that the newcomers were part of the family.

  Finally they left the two vehicles beside the silo, one to the right and one to the left of it. The stables were already full of horses, but there was just enough space for the gelding and the two bays to fit in. Vladimir mixed oats and chaff, and gave the animals water.

  Then he fetched Vera, and the two of them settled down in the hay along with some French POWs. It was very romantic in there by the light of the lantern. Vladimir got a bottle of vermouth that didn’t really belong to him out of the cart, and pulled the tarpaulin covering it tightly over the contents again. Then they all drank vermouth, even the man guarding the POWs. After all, he was only human.

  •

  Auntie knocked at the front door of the house. Peter walked all round it, but everything was locked up. It was some time before anyone came to let them in. And no one welcomed them with open arms . . . ‘There you are at last, my dears!’ Nor was there a fire crackling in the hearth and a table laid for them. All the reception they got was a basic shrug of the shoulders.

  Yes, the whole family had already left, they heard. Even though they’d said they were staying, they had left! It was lucky that Frau Schneidereit, staying behind to look after the house, even recognized Auntie. A visitor so early in the morning?