The Girl from the Channel Islands

by Jenny Lecoat

  The German shifted on his wooden chair, trying to assume a pose of relaxation. “I’d just like us to get to know each other.”

  She lowered the crockery into the sink, keeping her back to him. “There’s nothing special about me. There are plenty of German girls at the compound who would prove far more interesting, I’m sure.” She bit her lip as soon as she’d said it, knowing he wouldn’t miss the dig. She was right.

  “You know, not all Germans, even in the military, are the master-race enthusiasts Hitler would like you to believe.”

  “Really?” She rubbed at the dirty bowls with her fingers so she didn’t have to look at him. “I thought that was one of the main reasons for your country going to war. Do you not consider yourself superior to Slavs? Or Jews?” She glanced up into the shard of broken mirror that Anton kept above the kitchen sink for shaving, and saw that her cheeks were flushed. She must have drunk too much wine after all; this was a suicidal path.

  “Can I tell you something in confidence?” Kurt replied. Hedy said nothing, which he seemed to take as consent. “Between you and me, I believe Hitler attacks those groups to elevate his own position—they’re nothing but scapegoats. Personally I’ve never had a problem with any Russian or Jewish person.” She heard him give a small sigh. “Look, would you sit down for a minute? It’s hard talking to someone’s back.” Hedy dried her hands and sat back down on the edge of her chair. “Thank you.” He leaned so close to her that she could see those tiny crow’s-feet around his eyes. His breath smelled of the soft red wine. “You know, Hedy, I’m not a military man. When I was a little boy, all I ever wanted to be was an engineer. I did my apprenticeship in a shipyard, and then one day, my company was told we had to make tank engines instead of trawlers, and we all had to wear this.” He indicated his gabardine wool tunic, unbuttoned at the top. “Next thing I know, we’re at war and I’m servicing Panzers. Men my age had no choice.”

  “So you just...accepted it?”

  “It was that or prison. Sometimes when a force is that strong, it’s pointless, arrogant even, to think you can fight it. Like King Canute, the king who drowned because he believed he could stop the waves just by the power of his own command? You know that story?”

  She sniffed. “Everyone knows that story. And that version is wrong anyway. Canute didn’t drown, and he wasn’t trying to stop the tide.”

  “He wasn’t?”

  “Canute was a good king. He was trying to prove to his egotistical nobility that no man can challenge the power of God, even a monarch. It was a gesture of humility.” She fought the urge to move back to the sink. She felt too exposed here, too close to him.

  Kurt was laughing. He had a beautiful laugh. “Well, I guess I learned something today.” He smiled, inviting one in return; she refused it. “All I’m saying is, I didn’t choose to do this, or to be here. I really didn’t have any option.”

  “So in your view you share no responsibility for what your country is doing, or the pain you are causing?” The words seemed to tumble out of her mouth.

  “What I’m trying to say is—”

  “What about the people I saw in Vienna, being put on trucks and driven away?”

  He reached across the table, and for a second she thought he was reaching for her, but his hand went toward the wine bottle, which he emptied into his cup. “I agree with you that’s wrong.” He took a long swig. “Moving people around like cattle, it’s cruel and unnecessary. But they’ll be put on good farmland, among their own kind.”

  “Farmland? You think they’re moving the...those people to farms?” The wine was mixing with her fury; the fountain was now unstoppable, her earlier promises of caution and courtesy forgotten. “Most of them have never been heard of again! You’re telling me they weren’t taken to some forest and shot?”

  “A lot of those stories are propaganda.” There was irritation in his voice now. “You think the Allies aren’t capable of that? What did you hear about us before we came here? I bet you were told we’d rape the women and eat babies alive! Of course there are stupid, ignorant people on my side, as there are on yours. But that doesn’t mean we’re all the same.”

  Hedy rose to her feet, and to her alarm, he did too. He was a good head taller, and she realized that one blow could knock her unconscious. She heard a door bang somewhere below and wondered if Anton was preparing to sprint up the stairs. Yet still her mouth ran on. “Why should I believe that? You wear the uniform of a Nazi, you accept the pay of the Nazis, you carry out the orders of the Nazis. What else are you but a Nazi?”

  He stared at her with an expression she couldn’t fathom. It wasn’t the anger or contempt she’d expected, it looked more like disappointment. He raised his arm, and for a second Hedy thought the blow was coming, but he just picked up his canvas bag from the table and threw it over his shoulder.

  “And you?” he barked. “You are an Austrian; we are technically countrymen. You work for the same people as me, you take their wages. You invite me here to get your hands on my food, but you continue to treat me like an enemy. And you know...?” He pulled his cap down tightly on his head. “If you lump an entire race together, and believe every person is the same—then you’re no better than Hitler.”

  Hedy stared at him. Her hands were trembling but she managed to keep her voice steady. “I think you’d better go.”

  “All right.” He moved toward the door then turned back. “You know, despite everything, I would like us to be friends.”

  “Thank you for the food.” She tried to hold her chin high, determined not to show weakness.

  Kurt looked despondent, but merely shrugged. “Thank you for the translation, and for dinner.” And then he was gone. Hedy stood for a moment, her hand on the table for support, as Anton rushed in, his face full of anxiety, and put a tentative arm around her.

  “It’s all right. He’s gone.”

  “I shouted at him.” Her whole body was shaking now.

  “Don’t worry. He won’t report it. How would it make him look, complaining that he’d been upset by a young girl? He won’t say anything.”

  Hedy nodded but the trembling continued. It went on long after Anton opened the second bottle of wine, poured her a large cupful and insisted she drink it while she reported the night’s events to him. She was still unsteady and a little nauseous when, having thanked Anton for everything, she scurried home, the precious groceries wrapped in newspaper under her old coat, and gratefully pulled the bolt across the door of her apartment. Lighting the stub of a candle, she breathed deeply and tried to talk herself down. Maybe she was simply shocked by her own rashness, speaking to a German officer that way? Or it could be a reaction to the unaccustomed alcohol. She drank cold water from her kitchen tap. Perhaps she was a little ashamed. Behaving that way to a man who, after all, had been kind to her and treated her like a human being.

  It was at three in the morning, when the dream woke her, that she knew the lie was starting to crack. A dream of such sexual charge that it drew sweat from every part of her and tossed her blankets from the bed. Kurt’s hands on her body, his lips on her mouth, her hips arcing up to meet him.

  In the shadowy darkness of her apartment, Hemingway arched his spine and hissed at her.

  * * *

  “I hear they’re finally confiscating the Judenschweine wireless sets.” Fischer shoved the gear stick into third with ludicrous force, causing a grinding in complaint. Kurt winced at the sound. “Can’t believe it’s taken them this long. I mean, if anyone’s going to transmit information to the British mainland it’s those devious little kikes, right? Should have been a priority.”

  Kurt gave a vague nod, but kept his eyes fixed on the world outside. The day was warm with a cloudless sky. Fishing boats bobbed in the harbor, and on the far side of the quay the outline of Elizabeth Castle sprawled in the bay. The best policy for these morning journeys, he’d discovered, was
to focus on the landscape. At first Kurt had found Fischer’s daily diatribes amusing—in fact Kurt had rather enjoyed lobbing in new statistics and arguments, watching his colleague’s face grow pink and sweaty. But now the guy just got on his nerves. And Fischer drove the staff car as if he were breaking a wild stallion, speeding up to stop signs and slamming on the brakes at the last minute. Kurt mentally ran through the other guys in his billet, wondering if anyone else could give him a ride to work. He’d ask around tonight.

  This morning was even worse than usual, because in the back seat was the odious Geheime Feldpolizei operative, Erich Wildgrube. At least, secret police was what everyone assumed him to be: the man studiously avoided direct questions. He was forever hanging around the barracks and social clubs, pumping out a stream of questions disguised as casual curiosity. His piggy eyes swiveled constantly, and he always wore a leather trench coat, felt Alpine hat and a musky cologne that turned Kurt’s stomach. Kurt could never figure out why someone whose entire job depended on anonymity deliberately drew so much attention to himself. Kurt didn’t trust Wildgrube further than he could piss.

  Fischer was pointing to a large white V-sign that had been painted on a granite wall. “And there’s another thing. Have you seen how many of those have appeared around town? God knows where they’re getting the paint.” He shook his head in bewilderment at the islanders’ persistence.

  Wildgrube leaned forward, his whiny, girlish voice cutting through the sound of the engine. “It’s pure insubordination. Needs to be clamped down hard, or the rot spreads. Don’t you think, Neumann?” A whiff of cologne brought Kurt’s breakfast partway up his gullet.

  “Sure,” Kurt replied. “Nothing spreads like rot.”

  There was no reply, and Kurt wondered if he’d overplayed his hand. But they were now approaching Millbrook, his drop-off point, and with relief Kurt hopped out, giving the roof a double bang to imply cheeriness, and jogged into the compound. With luck, there’d be a nice long list of jobs for him today. A full schedule meant no time to think about Fischer, Wildgrube or even—well, no point going back to that one now.

  In fact, it turned out to be a swine of a day. His entire morning was taken up with some misaligned pistons on the crankshaft of a Horch 108 that caused him to miss lunch, and he spent the afternoon chasing a bundle of dockets his junior mechanic had put in the wrong pigeonhole. By the time six o’clock came, Kurt was hot and grubby, and decided that tonight he would try out the new officers’ club in town. He usually avoided those places—the sight of the young French whores depressed him. But there was always a decent stock of the local apple brandy and enough friendly faces to take his mind off things. He was just about to shout to his NCO engineer for a lift home when he saw her.

  She was leaving Block Seven, wearing the same clothes she always wore—those tatty lace-up shoes and, for some strange reason, a heavy winter coat that was falling to pieces. She walked with an even, deliberate step, and her hair rippled gold in the breeze. Kurt slowed, wondering whether to hold back and let her pass through the exit gate first. They hadn’t spoken since that awful night, even though he’d seen her at a distance several times and pictured their next encounter more often than he’d like to admit. He’d thought about apologizing, but what was the point? He’d not really done anything wrong. And if she hated all Germans as much as she claimed, it was a loser from the start. Best to put it down to experience and move on—plenty more fish in the sea. Except that none of the others seemed to interest him. And he had fallen asleep every night with Hedy’s green eyes imprinted on his memory.

  Kurt pushed back his shoulders. No more of this schoolboy creeping around, he would clear the air once and for all. He walked purposefully in her direction. Hedy turned, as if sensing his approach, and then something extraordinary happened. To Kurt’s astonishment, she smiled at him. It was the first full, true smile he’d had from her, and the effect on his heart rate was a shock. He responded with a grin of his own, hoping his partial erection wouldn’t be obvious in his uniform trousers. Pushing through the crowd of employees toward her, Kurt felt a surge of optimism, possibilities flooding in, lifting him. As he drew breath to speak, a harsh German voice shouted from behind him, “What is this? To whom do these belong?”

  Kurt turned. Behind him stood OT Feldwebel Schulz, who, in his right hand, held a bundle of ten petrol coupons, now covered in mud and footprints. His nervous, blinking eyes scanned the crowd, evidently expecting a reply. Kurt looked around too, then his gaze landed on Hedy. The color had drained from her face and her hand was sliding into her coat toward her inside pocket. She fumbled around inside but her hand emerged, empty. At that moment, their eyes locked, and Kurt understood everything. Then, as if hearing another person’s voice somewhere in the distance, he heard his own.

  “Yes, they belong to me. Thank you, I must have dropped them.”

  From that second, everyone seemed to move a little more slowly, and when Kurt recalled it later, it seemed as if the events were lit by bright floodlights, like a film set. Hedy stared at him in pure disbelief. Kurt forced his eyes away from hers as Schulz marched toward him.

  “Why were these in your possession, Lieutenant? Do you have an allocation?” The evening sun was catching Schulz’s glasses, giving him the appearance of a blind robot.

  Kurt thought fast. “Actually, no. I got them from one of the drivers in exchange for tobacco.”

  “Which driver, sir?” Schulz shifted to his other foot, embarrassed by the inappropriateness of the situation.

  “I don’t know—there’s scores of those guys. They all look the same to me. Is this a problem?”

  “Yes, Lieutenant, indeed it is.” Schulz’s cheeks were flushed red. “This represents an illegal transaction of Reich property! Officers are meant to set an example.” His voice dropped an octave. “I’m sorry, sir, but I will have to report this.”

  Kurt felt a trickle of sweat run down his back. “Come on, Henrik, seriously? It’s just a few coupons—everyone does it.”

  “Perhaps so, sir, but you have admitted it.” Schulz hung his head, clearly not relishing his duty. “I must talk to my superior. Please be in my office in thirty minutes.” And he stomped off, stuffing the evidence into his top pocket.

  The onlookers began to disperse, murmuring quietly among themselves. Kurt forced himself to wait several seconds before glancing back to Hedy. Her face still registered incredulity but there was something else there now, a nameless emotion that turned Kurt’s insides to caramel. She looked as if she were about to say something, but Kurt warned her off with the tiniest shake of his head and a wink. He spun on his foot and walked back toward his cubbyhole office. He looked back only once, and was glad to see that Hedy had already gone.

  The military police arrived within an hour. A little after eight, Kurt was escorted to a Black Maria where one of the two MPs opened the door for him and offered him a cigarette for the journey. Kurt blew perfect smoke rings through the rear bars of the van as he watched Lager Hühnlein disappear behind them. What he still couldn’t figure out was why, at that moment, he felt more at peace than he had in months.

  * * *

  “Two weeks?”

  “That’s what all the typists are saying. Apparently they want to make an example of him.”

  Anton pulled a face. “Mr. Reis’s neighbor was in the Jersey section last month for black market trading. I hear that jail’s pretty grim.”

  “Better than being sent to France, I suppose. I would take him some food, but—”

  “No!” Anton put his hand toward her, the index finger raised. “You stay away, or you’ll make them suspicious. And I think you ought to look for another job.”

  Hedy sat back on her haunches, watching Anton wiggle his homemade fishing line deep under the rock. It was an ingenious contraption: a coat hook tied to a length of old hose, partially braced with a length of broken broom handle. Ormers, even
small lobsters, could be pried from these gloomy depths if you were lucky.

  “You know as well I do, I wouldn’t get another job.”

  “But you need to protect yourself. What if Neumann finds it too tough in there, and decides to tell them the truth?”

  Hedy blinked in the glare of the white sky, and peered across the lunar wilderness of rocks and shining pools toward La Roque beach. They were a long way out, and the people on the distant shore were no more than colored dots. One of them was Dorothea, waiting by the sea wall for their return.

  “If he was going to rat on me he would have done it by now.” Hedy hoped her tone sounded pragmatic.

  “Maybe, but what kind of reward will he want when he comes out? He obviously likes you, and now he has information on you. He could take advantage.” Anton’s probing was becoming more frantic, as if he could taste the seafood meal lurking just out of reach. Still nothing moved in the pool except minuscule, transparent fish, no longer than a fingernail, shooting through the water in a thousand directions, and a few shore crabs, smaller than silver sixpences, scuttling over the sandy floor to the shelter of the next stone. Such tiny creatures, Hedy thought, with no defense system; their only hope was concealment. She stood to stretch her legs.

  “So what should I do? If I leave now, that would look more suspicious. And my address is on record—if he wants to blackmail me, I can’t stop him.” She wiped the film of sweat from her top lip and fiddled with the strip of torn curtain fabric she had wrapped around her hair for a scarf. The day was hot, and every nerve in her body felt too near the surface of her skin. “How long do we have before the tide turns?”

  “Twenty minutes, if that. Then we have to head straight back.” Anton checked the watch in his pocket. “Dorothea says it comes in really fast down here. This island has one of the biggest tides in Europe, about twelve meters—it’s really powerful.”