Swastika Night
Page 24
“Ja,” said the Nazi. Then he added, “Probably.”
“Then I want to see—Fred, my eldest—son. Can I?”
“I don’t know. I’ll see.”
The orderly went off and Alfred again concentrated on breathing as little as possible. He felt a lot of strength had gone out of him just with those few whispered words. But he was still conscious and carrying on pretty well when Fred came. He sat beside his father and took his right hand which by some miracle was whole except for a cut on the knuckles.
“You talk, Fred,” Alfred whispered.
“All right. I must talk very low. If you can’t hear me, move your hand a little. The Nazis went mad when you hit that man and beat you up. The corporal didn’t try to stop them. He helped them. Now everyone’s rather sorry, in spite of your bad behaviour with the Red. The ground-foreman at the aerodrome is furious, and all your German friends are upset. You’ve been unconscious for two days and they’ve had time to think it over. No one has the faintest idea I was there. People are—are very sorry for me and poor little Jim.”
Alfred moved his hand.
“Can’t you hear, Father? I daren’t speak much louder. There’s a man only three beds away.”
“Can hear. Sorry for you and Jim—Robert—give them—my love.”
“Of course. The book is in a safe place. Much better than the dug-out, I think. It’s with Joseph Black.”
Alfred’s one eye looked worried.
“Christian—gave us away.”
“I expect so. But that was accidental. Joseph knows the book is something precious to you and to me. But he can’t read it. And there are just two kinds of people who are free from search. The Knights and the Christians. We ought to have had it with Joseph all along. If I hadn’t been such a fool—oh, well. But, anyway, Father, that’s the place for it. The Germans despise the Christians so much that they won’t sully their noble hands with turning over their bits of belongings. I asked Joseph if the Germans ever searched their huts, ever had been known to, and he looked at me as if I were mad. Then he said, in his sly way, not his religious way, ‘The Lord protects us from search of any kind. Do you search hedgehogs? And if you did, what would you find but lice ?’ So you must understand,” Fred whispered very earnestly, “that the book’s safe as long as there are Christians in the land. It’s the very place for the Truth. They can’t understand it, and yet no one else would dream of looking for it among them. And I shall train the men who are to spread it when the time comes. It’ll be difficult, but I shall be able to do it.”
“Write your name—under mine. And be—less stupid and less—violent.”
“Yes, Father.”
“Edith,” whispered Alfred.
“Who’s that?”
“My baby girl.”
“But what do you want me to do about her?” Fred was almost convinced his father was wandering, and yet his one eye looked still intelligent.
“Don’t know. Nothing—to be—done. Must be left. In time——” Alfred’s whisper died away. He shut his eye. The pain was dull now. He opened his eye again and was quite sure that the old Knight von Hess was sitting there instead of Fred. The Knight did not speak; his fine hooked nose was bent kindly down on Alfred; his eyes looked pleased. Alfred tried to greet him, but it was too much trouble and after all it was Fred sitting there. So that was all right. He drifted off into unconsciousness. No one disturbed them. For hours Fred sat there till his father’s hand began to get cold.
THE END
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First Feminist Press edition, 1985
Introduction copyright © 1985 by Daphne Patai All rights reserved.
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Burdekin, Katharine, 1896—1963.
Swastika night.
Reprint. Originally published: London: V. Gollancz, 1937.
Bibliography:P
I. Title.
PR6003.U45S’.912 85-12980
eISBN : 978-1-558-61627-1
Introduction photoset in North Whales by Derek Doyle & Associates,
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