The German Boy

by Tricia Wastvedt

  The noise of passers-by and traffic is far away. He kisses her again with his warm hands caressing her face.

  But it was nothing. He is hers and there is nothing else. He loves her.

  ‘My baby,’ he whispers.

  Everything should stop, now, here, always in this moment, because she will never be happier than this.

  • • •

  They moved into a new house twelve miles outside Munich. Pappa Landau said to her, ‘This is good. Artur will stay at home now there is more distance from his friends. For you, it will be better.’

  Artur had a car. He drove to Munich as often as before.

  The house was surrounded by fir trees and Hede said an ogre lived in the forest, which was why the birds didn’t sing. When the baby was born, he must not be put outside in his pram, she said, especially if he was blond and fat. The ogre was often hungry and he didn’t like intruders on his patch.

  One evening they were eating dinner at the big oak table. Artur was at home and Hede had cooked soft meat and yellow cabbage which she served on the Dresden china Mutti Landau had given them.

  ‘Hede says we must be careful of the ogre in the forest, Artur.’ Karen reached across and touched his hand. The happiness of this meal with him took away her appetite.

  ‘Hede is full of silly stories.’ He sawed the meat from the bone and the flesh fell away, rosy red inside.

  A smile skidded across Hede’s face. ‘I only tell her take care of fresh baby in old worn-out place,’ she said, hands on hips and her neck flushed from cooking. ‘It is English story too, ja? Ogre he is licking his lips about his face. Ho Hum, Ho Hum. He is not up a stalk in Deutschland, he comes gently sneaking out of trees.’

  ‘Hede, you’ll frighten her,’ Artur said. Then he spoke in German and Hede laughed with her mouth wide open.

  ‘What is it?’ Karen asked. ‘Artur? What did you say?’

  Artur chewed, smiling, and he swallowed. ‘It doesn’t matter.’

  • • •

  Karen thought she would forget the ogre but he hunkered down inside her mind. Mutti Landau had told her that pregnancy was a blissful shut-in world where nothing troubled you; it was the Virgin’s legacy, a treat to soften what came next, which was the opposite of bliss. If any woman told you otherwise she was crazy or pretending.

  Karen already felt the opposite of bliss. Her mind felt thick like glue, with sudden terrors swelling up like boils and puffing out their poison: Artur would be killed, shot through the head; Elisabeth had forgotten her; the baby would grow up to be a murderer; the forest would imprison her and she would never get away from Germany.

  At night, beneath the silence, she heard the ogre breathing. His shadow leaned against the wall while she lay in bed alone, and he took to moaning in the dusk as he settled down to sleep with a wolf curled behind his knees and another for a pillow. The shutters must stay closed and not the smallest chip of light should bother him, but if she turned off all the lamps, she could sit looking out at the bristling firs with the moon wheeling along their spikes and through the stacks of clouds. She could watch for the lights of Artur’s car coming up the hill.

  • • •

  One morning, she asked the question which had been troubling her: ‘Artur, who was the man who lit your cigarette?’

  ‘Kurt,’ he answered, and turned away. Something in the way he said the name told her. Nothing could be worse than this thing which must be false but she knew was true. She grasped his hand. ‘Stay at home today, Artur, please.’

  He sat down on the bed, pulling her on to his lap, but she knew his mind was far away and he was impatient to be gone. He talked about the progress of the Party – their leader was the finest man, a man with vision who was giving his life to Germany. ‘We will succeed in the election this time, but there is work to do.’

  The restaurant didn’t look like work, Karen thought but didn’t say.

  ‘Germany will be great again.’ Artur stroked her hair. ‘I work for you and for our baby. I have to go.’

  Then, because it didn’t matter, because something between them was already breaking, she said, ‘It’s not for me you’re going, it’s Kurt.’

  Artur stood up, tipping her off his lap.

  ‘I’m sorry, Artur. I don’t know why I said that.’ Karen lifted her hand to touch him but he caught her wrist and his grip was painful. He didn’t let her go, but squeezed tighter and twisted so she sat down on the floor at his feet, then he dropped her wrist as if it was something filthy in his hand. He picked up his jacket and suddenly her heart was bursting with fear of the door closing after him and being left alone again. She shouted, ‘You won’t go! I forbid it! I’m having your baby, you’ll be my husband soon.’

  ‘And you’ll be my wife,’ he said quietly. ‘You won’t tell me what to do.’

  She was still sitting on the floor, clutching her wrist. ‘But you love me. You said so in London.’ He was at the door. ‘Artur! I only came here because of you.’

  He turned, came back and sat beside her on the floor. He closed his eyes, let his head fall back. ‘You came for your own reasons, Liebling,’ he said. ‘Not for me.’

  She wanted to tell him she was different now, she hadn’t loved him then but now she did – more than anyone in her life.

  ‘I thought I would never find a woman I would want,’ he said.

  She kissed his cold cheek. ‘You have. You have and I love you.’

  He took her hand and held it. ‘You don’t listen to me, Karen. Listen. I had never loved a woman and thought I could not. But you changed me and I was happy. I thought, she is my heart, my blood, this English girl. Now I am as I should be.’

  ‘You see?’ She laughed. ‘I’m right. We’re meant to be together. You know it too.’

  He didn’t seem to hear her. ‘But then the Englishman. The mongrel Jew. Explain him to me. You were coming here to be my wife.’

  Karen sat back, surprised. He had never mentioned Michael before. ‘There’s nothing to explain,’ she said. ‘We travelled on the train together, that’s all.’ The lie was necessary. The past was gone so why hurt him now?

  The thoughts were rushing in his eyes like the moment on the street when she told him she was pregnant, and now she understood that all this time he had been thinking of the night when she arrived with Michael.

  ‘You should tell the truth to me,’ he said.

  ‘I have. It is the truth.’

  He still held her hand, uncurling her fingers, stroking them. ‘I know, you see. I know.’ He kissed her palm and for a moment she thought something was healed, or beginning to be healed. ‘It doesn’t matter now.’

  ‘My darling, I shall make you happy.’

  He kissed her hand once more and let it go. ‘I think not. But we will not be unkind. It is good for us both that we marry, Liebling. You will have money, anything you want. I will have a wife and my father will be satisfied.’ He stood up. ‘Now I must go.’

  ‘No!’ She leaped up too, quick with the panic in her blood, and pushed him hard against the wall. ‘You shan’t go!’ she shouted in his face. ‘You love me and you’re staying here!’ Now she couldn’t stop the words. Her fury would burn through the ice in him and she would make him care again as he had in London. ‘You won’t go. I won’t stand for it! I’ll take our baby back to England. I’ll tell your father about Kurt –’

  He hit her hard, the room wheeled over and she was lying on the floor with the iron taste of blood trickling down her throat.

  Artur stood above her looking down into her face for a long time – or perhaps it was no time at all; then he put his feet astride her body, pinning her hands to the floor. His weight crushed her fingers on the wooden boards and the pain was so fierce and sudden, she was squealing like a skewered rabbit, on and on. Then he stepped away.

  She curled up, pressing her burning hands into herself and crying with the pain. She didn’t hear him walk away and when she opened her eyes his shoes were still near her face a
nd she knew she must be quiet. She must be still.

  She heard him breathing; he bent down and cuffed her head almost tenderly, so her hair fell across her face and into the blood dripping from her mouth. She heard him going to the door, his footsteps on the stairs and sometime later the car driving away.

  • • •

  In the morning, her cheek was purple, there was a crust of blood in her hair and her lip was split. Although the pillowcase was stained and she had forgotten to undress, she had slept soundly through the night. She filled the basin in the bathroom and lapped, and threads of blood floated in the water. Later, Hede tapped on the door. ‘I come in, madam?’

  ‘I’m tired. I shall sleep this morning, Hede.’

  ‘It is good to rest, madam,’ Hede said. There was something in Hede’s voice which made Karen wonder if she knew.

  When she woke the second time, she had been dreaming of the house in Catford. Elisabeth had fallen on the path and cut her hands, blood was running down her dress and over her socks and shoes, but when Karen opened her eyes, the pain was in her own hands and she remembered that she, and not Elisabeth, had cut herself that day at home. My brave Kay, Dadda had said. My little soldier.

  After Dadda died, Elisabeth would sleep in Karen’s bed and eat from Karen’s spoon, following her everywhere as if Karen might disappear as well. Elisabeth would stare at Dadda’s empty shoes, at his hat hanging on the hook, at his dusty chair, but she would almost smile if Karen played the fool. And Ma couldn’t look away from grief even for a second unless Karen was distracting her with wildness and bad behaviour.

  It was so long ago. They didn’t need her now.

  Outside, the sun was shining. The ogre and his wolves would be relaxing in a hollow, blinking at the light, but they would have smelled the blood and Karen kept the curtains closed.

  • • •

  Munich

  Darling,

  Here is the most exciting news and I know it will make you happy. You are going to be an aunty!

  The doctor has confirmed it and Artur and I will be married sooner than we thought. I mustn’t get too fat for the dress Mutti Landau helped me choose but if the baby shows before the wedding, there’s no worry of a scandal here. It seems Germans are not so starchy and ready to disapprove as people in England.

  Pappa Landau is giving us a house! I haven’t seen it yet but it will be beautiful, I know. Doktor Hartog says I should have no excitement so the wedding must be small. You need not worry, he is looking after me very carefully.

  Isn’t it strange that so many wonderful things are happening to me? I thought my life would always be tedious and I should probably go slowly mad, but now it all looks different.

  You must marry someone and have a baby too, Elisabeth. It is the most wonderful happiness. All the things Ma fretted over after Dadda died, money and the roof, getting up the coal and tradesmen, etc., all that is taken care of. For the first time in my life, when I wake up in the morning, there is nothing to worry about or feel down about, only missing you. Please come and see me if you can. I shall ask Artur to buy your ticket if you will allow it. Please come.

  Karen

  • • •

  Toby’s mother wrote to say that Mr Schroëder had been called suddenly to New York but she would stay in Italy with the other children for a further month. Therefore, Ingrid Schroëder’s letter said, if Elisabeth wanted to remain in Kent she should find a little vacant cottage for herself and Toby.

  ‘You’ll stay with us,’ said Vera.

  ‘We’re vacant and beyond,’ said Rachel.

  Elisabeth did not miss the Schroëders’ house in Richmond. She was happy to stay in Kent although thoughts of Karen still preoccupied her. At first, the letters had seemed fond and full of joy, but now, rereading them, the tone was strange and smug. You have nothing, little sister, Karen seemed to say, I have everything, and I have Michael too. Why should she go to Munich to have Karen gloat? She took even what she didn’t want just because she could. At one time it would have been impossible to stay away if Karen wanted her to come, but everything was different now.

  17

  Toby’s pony was stabled six miles away in Saltwood. By the time the blacksmith had brought the pony to the bungalow for Toby to ride, it was almost time to take it back again.

  ‘Poor little scrap, he’s waiting in his riding breeches and always disappointed. We’ll keep it here,’ said Nanna Lydia, arms akimbo. ‘We’ll move the mangle out and the horse can have the lean-to.’

  ‘He’s not a horse,’ Toby said. ‘He’s an Appaloosa Dartmoor cross.’

  ‘Its feet will ruin the floor,’ said Vera. ‘I don’t want hoof prints on brand-new linoleum.’

  ‘He shan’t be standing on the floor, he must have bedding,’ Toby explained.

  ‘I know he must, my chicky,’ said Lydia. ‘We’ll see to that.’

  ‘There’s no bedding spare,’ said Vera. She turned to Lydia. ‘The animal won’t walk around on tiptoes. And it won’t be house-trained. And I’m not about to do the mangling outside in the rain.’

  Elisabeth could feel the temperature rising. ‘The sea is just across the road, and the donkeys. Toby has plenty to occupy him.’

  ‘The donkeys aren’t schooled sufficiently to go forward,’ Toby said.

  ‘My life!’ said Vera. ‘So all you poor little kiddies are going backwards for good money. It didn’t used to happen.’

  Lydia said, ‘I rest my case.’

  ‘For goodness sake,’ Rachel said, ‘let Eddie look after Toby’s pony. His place is nearer than Saltwood, and Elisabeth and Toby can walk along the beach to Eddie’s farm when Toby wants a ride.’

  ‘There you are, poppet,’ said Nanna Lydia to Toby. ‘Your horse will be just a step away and Vera can mangle in the dry, so everyone is happy.’

  The Saltwood blacksmith brought the pony and also two saddle mares. ‘You’ve got to ride along beside the little lad,’ he said to Elisabeth, ‘and someone’s got to ride along with you. They all belong to Mr Schroëder, so it’s all the same to me if you take the three.’

  The animals stood on the concrete path, nosing softly in the alyssum and marigolds. The two mares were black with clean white socks and polished hoofs. The spotted pony looked out from under its chocolate fringe. All three wore red saddle cloths with gold braid. They stood against the backdrop of a rinsed-out sea and powdery sky like cut-outs pasted on a faded postcard.

  ‘Aren’t they just as smart as paint in those nice coats?’ said Nanna Lydia. ‘Almost military.’

  ‘Military is what they are,’ the blacksmith said. ‘The camp at Shorncliffe cleared out their harness room. No one’s got a use for equines like they did. They’ll be sorry if there’s another war.’ He tugged his cap and the horses swung up their heads to watch him go, their manes blowing back like dark-haired girls. The blacksmith seemed to wade as he went on his way, knees apart as if his trouser legs were damp. The horses sniggered in their throats, but it was kindly and affectionate.

  • • •

  The evening was quiet; a low white sky, a flat rug of sea and not a breath of wind as if the world was suddenly indoors. Toby rode his pony and Elisabeth and Rachel walked the horses along the sands to Eddie’s farm.

  Rachel wore her gardening clothes. ‘It’s what Eddie likes. He says he can’t bear to see me go home in another dress with paw prints down the front. The collie loves me but Eddie says I’ll make the dog too soft to do its work.’

  Elisabeth was wearing a skirt and jumper she’d had since school. It was nice to be herself again and not dressed like Mrs Schroëder or Mrs Brion.

  The beach was empty. The holidaymakers had gone home, seagulls were picking over lumps of seaweed, and a man in waders dug for lugworms far out on the mud.

  They turned inland over grassy shingle with bits of driftwood and fishing net thrown up by the tide, and across the fields were some iron sheds, a barn and a white cottage with two chimneys. ‘That’s Eddie’s place,’ R
achel said. ‘It’s in a state but Eddie’s practical and all it needs is time. When we’re married I can help him more.’

  ‘Married?’ said Elisabeth, stopping dead. ‘Rachel! When?’

  ‘He hasn’t proposed exactly, but I know he will. We shan’t bother with an engagement ring. I wouldn’t have him shelling out just for me to show off to the girls in the shop.’

  Eddie Saunders came to meet them and the wagging collie was nudging up to Rachel. ‘Good evening, sir,’ Toby said to him. ‘Tobias Schroëder. And this is my pony, Little Bear.’

  Eddie was a big kind-faced man in clothes the colour of earth. He nodded to Elisabeth, and while they were walking back towards his farm she saw him often take a little sideways glance at Rachel, a sip of her as if a proper look might be too much.

  ‘It’s three horses after all, Eddie – do you mind?’ Rachel said. ‘I know I only told you one but Toby’s dad is paying.’

  ‘The pony I can cater for, but those mares are nervous. I’m not sure.’ The two horses stood peacefully in Eddie’s dusty yard and at last he said, ‘We’ll put them with the flock. There won’t be much to trouble them in the company of sheep.’

  It took a while to unsaddle the mares and the pony. ‘I don’t normally do this myself,’ Toby said.

  When they had finished and the gate was shut, Eddie said quietly, ‘Rachel, I have something for you. We talked about it and you said it was what you’d like sometime, when we could afford it.’

  ‘Eddie!’ Rachel said. ‘Oh, Eddie! I said I wasn’t in a hurry and I meant it.’ She smiled quickly at Elisabeth, who took Toby’s hand and moved away. Eddie would reach into his pocket for the little velvet box or perhaps already have it hidden in his hand.