“No! You mustn’t say such a thing. We’ll think of somewhere.”
After many hours of thought they have a plan. Early on, Friedrich had suggested the barn. Both Gisela and Wilhelm had rejected it: Gisela because she couldn’t bear the thought of her boy sleeping in a place with so many rats, Wilhelm because he had seen a barn surrounded, the entrance boarded up then set on fire, heard the screams of the Jewish family who were hiding inside as they were burned to death. He doesn’t tell his parents about this, though – best keep these scenes to himself. But Friedrich keeps coming back to this idea for try as they might they cannot come up with anything better.
“We can build an underground room. We must, for anything else is too risky. It will have to be small, just a space big enough to sleep in. The entrance can be covered with hay to hide it. Tomorrow we will start work on it. There can be no delay.”
Gisela watches Wilhelm as his father speaks. His face is pale and drawn; he has lost a lot of weight. There are fine lines on his forehead. He looks older than his twenty years. She feels sick thinking of him in a tiny cell underground, but accepts that he will have to go there. There is no alternative.
Friedrich and Wilhelm work uninterruptedly for the next two days on the underground room. Gisela keeps watch for any visitors; she worries that there will be many visitors now that people know about Wilhelm being missing in action – but there is only one, a teacher from Wilhelm’s old school. His words are kind as he speaks about Wilhelm, telling stories about his mischief in school. Gisela has always liked this man, and she is tempted to confide in him. She’s sure he would understand that no one can be expected to kill women and children in the way that Wilhelm was. As he gets up to go, she broaches the subject.
“Mein Herr, have you heard any rumours about this war?”
“What do you mean?”
“About what they are doing to the Jews.”
His mouth tightens. “I’m not sure what you’re asking, meine Frau.”
Gisela takes a deep breath. “I’ve heard they’re killing women, children too, even the babies.”
The elderly teacher looks around as if expecting to see someone listening. He takes a hanky out of his pocket and wipes his brow. “Who told you this?”
Gisela stutters, wishing she’d kept her mouth shut. “I… I’m not sure. I think I heard someone talking in a café in the town. I just wondered if it was true.”
“Meine Frau, it is best not to speak of these things to anyone. These are dangerous times. You never know who may be listening. I too have heard such stories, about terrible things. But I speak of them to no one, do you understand?”
“Yes,” she whispers. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.”
He puts a hand on her arm. “Don’t worry about me. You look after yourself and remember what I said.”
After he’s gone, Gisela thinks about what he said. He’d looked terrified when she asked about the Jews. As if he were hiding something. But what could he be hiding, a respectable old man like that? She puts the thoughts out of her mind and carries on with her chores, mindful always to watch the track to the farmhouse, in case any more visitors are on their way.
The room is finished. Friedrich and Wilhelm take her to see it once Helena is safely in bed. They cannot risk her seeing it or hearing anything about it in case she says anything to anyone. She is too young to be let in on the secret.
Gisela looks down at it in dismay. It is tiny. When they mentioned a room, she thought they meant just that. A small room, yes, with space to walk about in. But this is little more than a box. It is about two metres deep and long, and a metre and a half wide, lined with wood to shore up the walls. Wilhelm has already taken the mattress from his bed and thrown it down along with some blankets. On one wall there are pieces of wood sticking out as a makeshift ladder so that he can easily climb in and out. “How will you live here?” she exclaims.
Wilhelm smiles. “I’ll read and sleep. At night, when it’s dark I’ll walk in the woods so that I get some exercise. It will be hard, but it’s infinitely better than what I was doing.”
Friedrich shows Gisela the wooden cover he has made for the room. It fits very precisely onto the wood that shores up the walls, and once it is covered with muck and straw like the rest of the floor, no one would suspect there was anything unusual about the barn. She has to admit they’ve made an excellent job of it. There are holes in the cover to let in air, and when the oil lamp is lit it is almost cosy. She worries that he will be too cold, but he reassures her that with blankets and quilts he’ll be fine.
Later that night they help him move to the hiding place. Gisela weeps as Friedrich places the cover on the room. It reminds her of how the undertaker put the lid on their daughter’s coffin.
19
Three days later, they come in the middle of the night. Ten soldiers, some are only boys, but a threat nonetheless, they kick open the farmhouse door and enter. Gisela is first to hear them. She lies petrified in bed, unable even to whisper a warning to Friedrich.
But Helena too has heard them. She starts to cry, a thin wail, and this forces Gisela to act. She leaps out of bed and runs to Helena’s room, scoops the child into her arms as the first soldier reaches the top of the stairs. He points his rifle at her.
“What do you think you’re doing?” says Friedrich from the doorway of their bedroom. He sounds angry, furious; it’s convincing, thinks Gisela. This is good; they must show no fear.
“We have information that a deserter is hiding here.” The boy who speaks looks the same age as Wilhelm.
“What deserter?” asks Gisela.
“Your son, Wilhelm.”
Gisela clutches Helena to her chest. She imagines how she would feel had Wilhelm really died in that ambush and her home were invaded by strangers accusing him of desertion. “What?” she whispers.
“You heard.” An older soldier pushes his way to the front. “Last month you received a letter telling you your son was missing in action. A few days later he turned up alive and well. It was your duty as citizens of the Third Reich to hand him over for appropriate action. Instead, the two of you conspired to hide him. We have reliable information that you have built a false wall in the attic, and that he is hiding behind this wall.”
“What nonsense! How dare you come into our home and say these things?” Friedrich is standing at his full height. The soldier shrinks back from him, but only a little. Almost immediately he regains his composure.
“I have every right to search this house. Here are the papers.” He hands them to Friedrich, who barely glances at them.
“I want name, rank and serial number,” he says, “from every one of you. I want the name of the officer who allowed this travesty to happen. I will complain to the Führer himself. My wife and I have lost our only son, a hero, and you dare come here and call him a deserter.”
There is shuffling and muttering on the stairs. Gisela can see that Friedrich’s certainty has unsettled them. She peers down the stairs to try to figure out what they are saying. One of the faces looks familiar. A school friend of Wilhelm’s.
Gisela calls to him, “Karl Heinrich, is that you?”
No response.
“It is you, isn’t it? What do you have to say about all this, then? You knew Wilhelm at school. You were one of his best friends. You must know he’s incapable of such a thing.”
The boy pushes himself to the front and whispers to the officer. “Sir, could I have a word, please?”
“Say what you have to say, so we all can hear.”
He blushes bright red, looks at his feet. “It’s true, sir. I did know the deserter at school, but I wasn’t friends with him. I would never desert, sir.”
Gisela looks on in disbelief. This boy often came to the farm. He often sat at the kitchen table sharing meals with them. One year he helped with the harvest, and they paid him well. Was this to be their thanks? The boy avoids her gaze and scuttles back to his place.
The officer turns to
Gisela. “Not much help to you, was he? I suggest you keep your mouth shut from now on. You, on the other hand,” he says, using his rifle to point at Friedrich, “show us how to get into the attic.”
Friedrich shrugs. “This is a terrible mistake you are making. I warn you for the last time, I will not let this rest.”
The officer sniggers. “I’ll take that chance. Now, before I lose my patience…”
Gisela sees that Friedrich is struggling to keep his temper. Before he can say anything else, she says, “It’s this way,” and shows them the hatch that leads into the attic.
They gaze up at it. “Is there a ladder?”
“Downstairs, in the pantry,” Gisela is quick to answer. She wants them out of her home as quickly as possible. Helena is very quiet in her arms, and she prays she will stay that way.
She’s barely said the words when a voice shouts from below that they’ve found it and will bring it up.
The officer speaks to two of the soldiers. “Take the woman and child into that bedroom and see that they don’t move. You” – he points to Friedrich – “You come with us.”
The attic is bare save for a couple of old chairs. Friedrich switches on the light at the request of the officer and tries to look at it as if he were a soldier searching for a deserter. To his eyes it looks as if it hasn’t been disturbed for years. As of course it hasn’t. He sneaks a glance at the officer. His face is impassive as he scans the attic space.
“Well,” demands Friedrich. “Do you see any deserter here?”
The man ignores him and strides across the beams to the far side. There he stands in front of the gable end wall and starts banging on it. Friedrich thinks that perhaps he expected it to give way, for he looks down at his hands as if puzzled.
“Not very likely that there’s someone behind there, is it?” Friedrich can’t resist sounding triumphant.
The officer turns round, his face red with fury, and points his rifle at Friedrich.
Friedrich backs away. Perhaps it wasn’t a good idea to taunt him. The officer moves towards him, and Friedrich sees that the rifle is in fact a machine gun. His mouth is dry; no matter how hard he tries he can’t moisten it. He can’t understand why he did not notice that it was a machine gun before. Not that it would matter. He’s powerless.
“We’ll soon see if there’s anyone behind there.” The officer raises the gun and lets off a volley of fire. Downstairs Helena screams, or is it Gisela? The officer strides back across the space and stands in front of the wall. For a moment he appears to be lost in thought, then Friedrich realizes that he is listening for any sounds coming from behind the wall.
“I don’t think you’ll hear anything,” he can’t resist saying. “And perhaps you can see the daylight coming through.”
The officer turns to face him. “Our information was good,” he says, before lowering the machine gun. He looks ashamed, thinks Friedrich.
“Can I ask where it came from?” Friedrich feels he must ask, though he knows it can only be Marguerite. It’s too detailed to have come from elsewhere. She must have heard them after all, that morning when she arrived unannounced at their door. He finds it hard to believe; she sat at their table pretending to sympathize with them, cooing over Helena.
“I can’t say,” says the officer.
“What will happen to this so-called informer?”
A shrug. “Most probably nothing.”
Friedrich runs his hand through his hair. “Do you think it right,” he asks, “that someone can smear our son’s name like this?”
No reply, the soldiers are being rounded up and marched out of the house.
“I expect an apology,” shouts Friedrich as they leave. “You can’t do this to us; our son is a hero. He died for his country.” He knows this is excessive, but feels that to react any other way might betray them.
No one answers as they leave. He and Gisela stand at their door and watch the column of soldiers until they are out of sight.
“That was close,” he says. She grips his hand tightly.
Later that day there is a visit from some people they know from the town. They have come, like Marguerite, to pay their condolences. Gisela spots them coming up the track and curses beneath her breath. Friedrich shakes his head, and she knows what she must do. She gets up from her seat and goes to the door to greet them. She brings them into the kitchen where they have just finished eating lunch, a simple meal of bread and cheese.
“Please, sit down,” she says. “Can I get you something to eat, to drink?”
There are five of them, including the priest from their church. He takes a seat without a word. Herr Pfeiffer, an elder of the church, is the first to speak.
“Gisela, Friedrich, we are so sorry to hear of your troubles.”
“Did you hear what happened last night?”
“About the raid? Yes, we did.”
“And what do you think?” asks Friedrich. “Do you think it is right that we should be subjected to this treatment, after all we’ve been through?”
“We’re here to show our support,” answers Herr Pfeiffer.
“That’s not the question I asked,” says Friedrich. He is belligerent, ready to argue with anyone. Gisela sees his point. She doesn’t want a succession of people visiting, offering sympathy. The fewer visitors they get the better. She’d be happiest if they could become social recluses and never have to speak to anyone outside the family again, but then the more realistic part of her wins through, and she accepts that she will have to speak to these people, acknowledge their condolences. “Friedrich,” she says, smoothing her skirt, “it’s not Herr Pfeiffer’s fault we were raided. And the soldiers too, they were only acting on orders.”
At once, she recognizes her mistake. Friedrich flushes an angry red and opens his mouth to reply. Frightened of what he might say, she rushes in. “Please gentlemen, what will you have to drink? Friedrich, will you get some wine?” She pleads with her eyes for him not to say any more. He nods to show he’s understood and vanishes to the store room where they keep a small supply of wine and beer.
Gisela’s hand shakes as she pours the wine. One of the men notices and speaks quietly to her, telling her to leave it to him to do. She pretends not to hear him and carries on with the task, taking care not to spill a drop. The raid by the soldiers is not mentioned again. Instead the men talk of Wilhelm, call him a hero, praise him with lavish words until Gisela can’t stand it any longer. She wants to tell them the truth, that he deserted, and she’s proud of him for refusing to kill any more women and children. She knows, though, that this would be suicide. Behind their friendly faces lies God knows what. She doesn’t know whether any of them are members of the Nazi party, but there have been enough mentions of the Fatherland to make her think that there is sympathy with Hitler’s aims.
At last they rise to go. They have not stayed long, perhaps only thirty or forty minutes, but it seems like hours. As they are about to go, Helena wakes up from her afternoon nap and starts to cry. The noise startles the men, and Gisela sees immediately that they are suspicious. Perhaps they believed the raid was justified after all.
“Who is that?” asks the priest.
“Haven’t you heard?” says Friedrich, his voice softening with pride. “We’ve adopted a little girl. Two months ago. Gisela, you should go and see to her.”
Gisela takes the chance to leave the room and runs upstairs to Helena. She lifts her out of bed and soothes her before starting to go downstairs with her. At the bottom of the stairs she hears the priest ask if they will be bringing her to Mass.
Friedrich mumbles a reply, which she doesn’t pick up. She prays he’s put the priest off. The thought of going to Mass, facing the treacherous Marguerite, makes her feel sick. She takes a deep breath and goes into the room.
“What a beautiful child,” says one of the men. He comes nearer as if to greet her, and immediately Helena clings to Gisela.
“She’s very timid, isn’t she?”
&nb
sp; “Not really. After all, she’s been through a lot, losing both her parents, then moving to a new family,” says Friedrich.
The men lose interest at the lack of response from Helena and make their farewells.
This time Gisela doesn’t watch them leave. She sits at the table, head in her hands, and sobs. Friedrich pats her on the back, murmurs soothing words, but it doesn’t help. She can’t stand this endless pretence. This game they are playing. Not until Helena runs over and strokes her face does she manage to pull herself together. Gisela wipes her eyes with her apron and smiles at the child. “Come on, there’s work to be done,” she says to no one in particular.
The soldiers’ visit has affected Helena badly. She rarely smiles, and she is as quiet as she was when she came to them two months back. She follows Gisela everywhere, watches her every move. One day in town she starts to scream when she sees a soldier. She makes so much noise that Gisela abandons her shopping to take her home at once. People are staring, and Gisela doesn’t want attention of any kind. It’s too late, though, the faces are turned towards them, and she sees the knowing looks exchanged between the town gossips. She lifts Helena into her arms and hurries towards the bus station. Gradually Helena’s sobs die down.
But there are footsteps behind her. She hears her name called. Someone is running to catch up with her. A man. Gisela daren’t look round. She runs as fast as she can, there’s a bus in a few minutes’ time, she has to get out of this place. She turns a corner, and the station is in sight; she relaxes. She can see the bus and the queue of passengers waiting to get on. Whoever is following her won’t want to make a scene with so many people around.
“Gisela, please, wait.”
She recognizes the voice, Wilhelm’s old teacher, Herr Knoller. He’s not so bad, it won’t do any harm to speak to him, so she slows down to allow him to catch up with her.
“Thank you.” He is out of breath, an old man. Immediately she feels guilty for running away.
She waits for him to speak, but it takes him a moment to catch his breath.
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