Come from Away

by Genevieve Graham

  They settled into an uneasy truce, then Rudi got up to start more water boiling. He’d worked up a hunger, so he prepared two bowls of oatmeal and brought one to Tommy.

  “How you are feeling?” he asked as he tucked into his food.

  “I’ll live.” He took a bite. “I could fall asleep, but I’m afraid you’ll kill me in my sleep.”

  Rudi waved his spoon. “I am not killing you,” he said. “I am making you to live.”

  The boy finished his oatmeal and watched Rudi warily until he fell asleep from exhaustion. At last he laid back down and closed his eyes. He was snoring quietly within seconds.

  Rudi observed the weak rise and fall of Tommy’s chest under the blanket, and he thought terrible thoughts.

  Until that night, he had kept his secret hidden. Now Tommy knew. Who might he tell? It would make life so much easier if Tommy . . . wasn’t here, and it would be a simple thing to make that happen. The military had taught Rudi many techniques for how to kill a man quickly and easily, and this enemy was alone, injured, and sound asleep. From across the room Rudi could almost sense how easily his new knife would cut through the boy’s pale white throat. No different from gutting an animal, though a lot messier. He could deposit the body in the snow and be gone before the spring thaw. If the roles had been reversed, he didn’t doubt his enemy would kill him. He had been trained with that understanding for years. But training was different from the real thing. He had never had to kill anyone. Not with his own hands, anyway.

  Troubled, Rudi climbed onto the top bunk and doused the lantern. The walls flickered with firelight from the stove, a comfort against the relentless snow and wind outside. Already his tracks to the lake would be buried. Without Rudi’s intervention, Tommy would not have survived. Would that have been a bad thing in the long run?

  He stared at the ceiling, marvelling at how this day had changed everything. He’d awoken to a sunny, almost warm day, and he’d had a real conversation with Grace. Then winter had roared in and he’d rescued Tommy from drowning. Now he was sleeping under the same roof as the enemy. If he ever saw Grace again, he could honestly tell her that he was no longer bored.

  FOURTEEN

  At first light, Rudi rolled off the bunk and tried to land softly.

  “I’m already awake,” Tommy informed him. “Been awake for hours. Just can’t move.”

  “Good. You are not dead. I make coffee.”

  Rudi put the pot on, then excused himself to go outside. Sunlight sparkled through the trees and danced on fresh drifts like fallen stars, and he cursed the sight. All his traps were buried; he’d have to dig them up and scout better sites to set them. At least the splintered trunks of broken trees had created deadfalls everywhere. Those were ideal locations for setting traps.

  When he got back inside, Tommy was sitting up, one arm across his chest. “My feet feel weird. Kinda numb. Not sure if I can walk on them.”

  “Do you . . .” He made a motion like he was rolling dough between his hands.

  “Rub them? Yeah. I can kind of feel one, but the other I can’t feel at all. Help me up?”

  Mindful of Tommy’s sore chest, Rudi pulled him to his feet, helped him get to the table. While he settled, Rudi took bread from Tommy’s pack and cut a few slices to make toast. The camp suddenly smelled divine.

  “I think there might be eggs . . .” Tommy suggested, indicating the pack with his chin. “There’s a box in there. Go ahead. Just dig through it. Nothing secret in there. Nothing you can kill me with, anyway.”

  “Again you think I am saving your life, then I am killing you?”

  “You’re a Nazi.”

  Rudi shook his head, trying to look disappointed rather than concerned. “You say this again?” He tapped his head. “Maybe ice make you forget. I am not Nazi.”

  He could tell from Tommy’s face that he wasn’t about to let Rudi off the hook that easy, but he appeared willing to let the argument ride for now. Rudi found the box of eggs and a small block of cheese, then got to work making breakfast, all the while trying to think of a safe conversation he could start. One that wouldn’t end in accusations he couldn’t answer. Unfortunately, Tommy spoke first.

  “You know,” he said through a mouthful of eggs, “it doesn’t matter if you’re deserting or not: we generally hate Nazis around here.”

  “Sorry to hear this.” Rudi gestured towards the window with his toast. “You not see for long time persons. Too much snow.”

  Tommy’s eyes darted to the window then back again. He shifted on his chair, looking uncomfortable at the reminder. “Yeah. I guess I didn’t expect that big a storm. I should have known better.”

  Rudi pointed to his head. “I know storm coming soon. My head is making big pain.”

  “You get headaches when the weather changes? So does my mother. She told me it was going to snow.”

  “Headache,” Rudi echoed.

  “What?”

  “I am learn English.”

  “How do you say headache?”

  “Kopfschmerzen.”

  Tommy laughed. “Sounds like a sneeze.” He acted out the motion just in case Rudi didn’t understand.

  Sneeze, Rudi repeated to himself.

  “Well, I’ve got a bit of a cough-schmertzin,” Tommy said. He paused. “Hell of a thing, breaking through that ice. I’ve been out here a hundred times but last night, I couldn’t see a thing. How’d you find me?”

  “Tree falling is loud. And screaming. You are making loud scream.” He looked at Tommy’s feet. “Did you take off . . . Socke? Is that right word?”

  “Yep. Sock. No, I’m gonna leave it on, just in case my foot’s still frozen. The sock will warm it up.”

  “Maybe.” Rudi wasn’t sure about that logic. Maybe it was a Canadian thing.

  Tommy’s scrutiny made Rudi uncomfortable, but he couldn’t escape it, so he grabbed the newspaper he’d bought from Grace and settled back onto the chair.

  “I think you guys are losing in Russia,” Tommy said, eyeing the paper. “I read something about Stalingrad beating a whole lot of Nazis. Not sure if that’s bad or good, though. I’ve heard Russians are just as awful as you fellas.”

  Rudi pretended not to hear, just handed Tommy a different section of the paper, then focused on his own. “Reds Seize Two More Nazi Bases,” read the Chronicle. Above that was another headline: “Nazi Buildings in France Bombed; Purge Reported.” Tommy was right. Things weren’t looking all that good.

  Rudi pointed at the paper. “It say ‘Liquor Rationed in Nova Scotia.’ News is not good for Nova Scotia too.”

  “Yeah, well, that’s Germany’s fault. Never should have started the war, should you?”

  A pile of snow slid off the roof, tumbled past the window, reminding Rudi he had work to do outside.

  “If you are okay, I go to fix traps.”

  “Can I read your paper?”

  After handing it over, Rudi headed outside, grateful for the excuse to leave. Everything had gotten much more complicated with the arrival of Tommy, and he needed time to himself to consider his predicament. At least he knew one thing for certain: over the last twelve hours, he’d come to terms with the fact that he wasn’t a killer; Tommy was safe around him. But the boy would start asking more difficult questions soon, and Rudi needed to be prepared with answers. He’d admitted to being a deserter, but that wouldn’t be enough. What reason could he give for being here, in this place? What could have brought him here—besides a sunken U-boat, that is? Because he would never admit he’d been onboard U-69. If people found out he’d survived that explosion, they might go searching for others. The last thing Rudi wanted to do was inadvertently sabotage his crew’s plans to set up a bunker on the island—if any of them had made it there in the first place.

  As he pocketed a frozen rabbit and a marten from a couple of traps, he thought back to the stories Otto had told him on the U-boat. Some of his family, he’d said, had emigrated from Germany to Nova Scotia after the last war. He’d s
aid there was a settlement of Germans near here, maybe more than one. Could Rudi bluff about that? The idea was unnerving; Tommy knew every detail about this shore, and Rudi knew absolutely nothing. If only he’d asked Otto more questions at the time. Then again, how could he have known those answers would someday be important?

  By the time Rudi returned to the cabin, Tommy had managed to crawl over to the stove—at least Rudi assumed that’s how he’d gotten there—to add logs. Now he was sitting in Rudi’s chair, whittling a stick to a point, his pack open on the floor beside him. That explained where he’d gotten the knife. Tommy hadn’t had one on him before.

  He watched Rudi’s every move. “Traps okay?”

  “Ja.”

  Tommy held out a hand for the rabbit. “I’ll skin, you gut. Do you trap a lot where you’re from?” he asked, making a starting cut. “And hunt?”

  “I do this before, ja.”

  Tommy pointed his knife towards Rudi. “Now you just hunt people.”

  Rudi closed his eyes. “You and me are here for long time. We cannot go out. You want all the time fighting?”

  The boy’s lips tightened, and Rudi understood. If he had been trapped somewhere with an enemy, he would have felt antagonistic as well.

  “I am sorry for war. I do not make war,” Rudi added. “We can talk something not war?”

  “Like what? How Nazis eat babies?”

  “What?”

  “That’s what they say.”

  Apparently, this was going to be a long day. “We do not eat babies.”

  “ ‘We’! So you admit you’re a Nazi! I knew it.”

  Rudi didn’t even bother to answer.

  Tommy finished and handed Rudi the naked rabbit. “Where are your buddies from the dance?”

  For a brief moment Rudi imagined his crewmates again, enjoying themselves at the party. It had been a good night. A night to be themselves for a while. But in the next instant the memory vanished and Rudi’s cheek was frozen to the ice, the murderous flames flicking through black, black smoke.

  “I do not know,” he said. “I think maybe dead.”

  Tommy grunted, unconvinced. “Where did you come from? I don’t mean Germany—that’s obvious. I mean how come you’re out here in the middle of nowhere?”

  Years ago, Rudi had lied to his mother. It had been a small, unimportant matter he couldn’t even recall anymore, but she’d caught him at it. The one lesson Rudi had taken away from that experience was what his father had quietly said to him later.

  If you must tell a lie, keep it as close to the truth as possible. That way you will have less to trip on as you navigate around the truth.

  “My boat sink,” Rudi said. “East of here.”

  “I haven’t heard of any Nazi ships going down around here. Which ship?”

  “Hannover,” he said, praying Tommy knew nothing of German ships from the first war. “In November.”

  “Huh. I would have heard about that, wouldn’t I?”

  “Maybe you do not know everything. Maybe you do not know all about German boats.”

  Tommy pulled the fur over the stretcher board, then set it by the heat to dry, and Rudi was glad to see he was doing it the right way. They’d be easier to sell if they were dried properly from the start.

  “I suppose. What about your crewmates?”

  “I tell you before. I do not know. They are gone.”

  Tommy appeared skeptical, but at least he didn’t question Rudi’s vague answer. Not yet, anyway.

  “So . . . what, you just wandered around and found this place?”

  At least he could tell the truth about that part. “Yes.”

  “That’s when you decided to desert?”

  This boy had endless questions. Fortunately, Rudi had compiled a short list of answers over the past twenty-four hours. “I do not want to go to Germany. I am no more fighting. I trap here. I hope to stay to spring.”

  “You might have been able to get away with that, but I needed some time away. Things around home are . . .” He scratched a spot behind his ear, seeming ill at ease with the topic. “My cousin was in the army, and he got killed a few months back. It’s been really hard on my family.”

  He knew Tommy was waiting for a reaction, but Rudi didn’t move, reminding himself that he was not responsible for everything that happened in this war. He’d certainly been a part of some devastating attacks that kept gnawing at him—like that ferry back in October—but Rudi was an officer in the German Navy. Going against his conscience was the price he paid.

  “I guess you’re right.” Tommy said after a while. “I don’t want to talk politics with you. We’re living in pretty tight quarters.” He absently tapped his fingertips together, and the movement gave Rudi an idea.

  “You have Spielkarten?” He moved his hands to simulate dealing out cards.

  “Playing cards? Sure. In the drawer. What do you play?”

  “I teach you Sechsundsechzig. Simple game.”

  Tommy caught on quickly, then he insisted they play cribbage using the board Rudi had spotted in the drawer along with the cards.

  “What’s it like in Germany?” Tommy asked. “Does everyone wear a uniform?”

  “Only in military, same like here.”

  “Isn’t everyone in the military there?”

  “Everyone? No. My mother was teacher. She teach at Kirche, too.”

  “Keershe?”

  He put his palms together and rolled his eyes skywards. “Mit Gott und Jesus, ja?”

  “Church! Okay. Your mom teaches Sunday school. That’s interesting.”

  “Not only Sunday. Every day she teaches.”

  “But Sunday at church. I understand. So people still go to church in Germany, and kids still go to school. Do the stores still open? People still work?”

  Rudi didn’t want to think about home. Out there in the quiet wilderness, it all seemed so far away, almost as if it didn’t exist. Tommy’s questions made him apprehensive, as if he were being dragged out of a deep sleep and shoved into the cold.

  “Most,” he said vaguely. Without his bidding, the Steins came to mind. The family had owned a store by Rudi’s home, and they had four children the same age as Rudi and his sisters. Then one day he’d seen the six of them wearing yellow badges, just like the other Jews. The last time Rudi had been home, the store was gone and so was the family.

  “Is there lots of marching?”

  “Yes. In big streets is marching many times,” he replied. “Here?”

  Tommy snorted. “Here? In East Jeddore? No, any marching is done far away from here. Besides, a lot of our men are gone now, off fighting. Like my cousins.”

  “Why you are not fighting?”

  “I’m too young. Another year or so and I’ll go, but my mother says the war’ll be done by then. Of course they said that three years ago, and we’re still fighting.”

  “You want to fight?”

  “I guess I do.” He chose a card, changed his mind, and picked another one. “If I didn’t go people might call me a coward, wouldn’t they?”

  Rudi grunted. “You do not want to fight.”

  “Honestly? I don’t know if I’d be any good.” Tommy paused. “Are you? Good at fighting, I mean.”

  Rudi’s jaw clenched. “Yes.”

  “How did you learn to fight?”

  “Practise. Much. I am in Jungvolk when I am ten. Must always do practise.”

  “ ‘Yoongfoik?’ ” Tommy tried. “What’s that?”

  “We learn to fight and we are . . . children. When I am older I am Hitlerjugend.”

  “Those are training groups? For war?”

  “More than this. We are Mannschaft—”

  “Mun-Chuft?”

  “We do all things together.”

  “A team?”

  “Ja, okay. A team.”

  The Jungfolk had been so much more than a training group or team, though athletics were certainly a priority. It had been a world of education, and Rudi had
excelled at practically every activity. He recalled the thrill of standing side by side with the others, firing at targets, and he’d been fascinated by the lessons on mechanics. Together he and the other boys played football, boxed, wrestled, even went to camp, where they hiked for miles and got bloody playing war games. Most of it was a lot of fun.

  When he and the other boys turned fourteen, they were old enough to graduate to the Hitlerjugend and then take part in the parades that January. Their hearts had nearly exploded with pride when they’d heard they would not only be marching behind their flag with the other forces, but that they would actually pass in front of der Führer and President Hindenburg, their polished leather jackboots clipping along the cobblestones with so many others. That April he’d been with the squads assigned to storm the Berlin offices of the Reichs Committee of German Youth Associations, responsible for either shutting them down or integrating their members into the Hitler Youth.

  It had been an exciting time, one filled with personal and national pride. They were young and strong, they were mad with power, they were determined to please Hitler. They had been such a force, with their youthful optimism and dedication, their dreams of glory! Wherever they marched, the police had to block off the roads. And everyone—from the youngest to the very oldest—stood by and saluted them. Saluted him. The sense of power Rudi got from that had been incredible.

  “—into the woods?”

  “What?”

  Tommy huffed. From the annoyance on his face, he’d plainly been speaking the whole time. Rudi had been thousands of miles and quite a few years away.

  “I was asking if you’d figured out what you’ll do when I leave.”

  Rudi took a breath and hoped Otto had been telling the truth. “Other Germans live here. They come before me years ago. I am going to there.”

  “Sure. There’s a settlement down the shore and more in the city.” Tommy chuckled. “Oh, and there’s the crazy German couple on Borgles Island, but they’re not what I’d call a settlement.”

  Borgles Island? Rudi forced himself not to react despite his shock. Someone was already living on that island? Impossible! His crew had been told it was deserted, that it would be a safe vantage point. But if someone already lived there, could any of Rudi’s men have managed to meet them?