Time for Silence

by Philippa Carr

  When the first formal introductions had been made, the welcome was very warm.

  We were shown to our rooms. Dorabella and I shared, which we were delighted to do. We stood at the window looking out on the forest where a faint mist was beginning to settle, giving the scene a mysterious aspect and, just for a moment, I felt a certain apprehension which made me shiver. That mist once again reminded me of the forest in the Grimm books, where evil was so often lurking.

  It was gone in a moment, for Dorabella hugged me suddenly—a habit she had when excited.

  “It is wonderful!” she cried. “I know it’s going to be fun. What did you think of Helmut?”

  “I am afraid it is too soon for me to have made an assessment. He seemed very pleasant.”

  Dorabella laughed at me. “You are such a pompous old darling, dear sister. I’m glad all that side of us went to you.”

  She often said that she and I were one person, really, and the vices and virtues which fell to the lot of most people at birth had been divided between us.

  However, on that occasion she did manage to disperse that mild feeling of uneasiness.

  I remember our first meal in the schloss inn. I recall going down the narrow spiral staircase to the dining room where we dined with the family, apart from the guests who were staying at the inn; and we had our meal after they had had theirs.

  It was a small dining room which looked out—as so many of the rooms did—on the forest. There were rugs on the wooden floor, and two stuffed heads of deer protruded from the walls on either side of the open fireplace.

  We discovered that long ago—before the unification of Germany, when the country had consisted of a number of small states—the schloss had been the hunting lodge of some baron, and the animals’ heads must have been put there then. One looked somewhat ferocious, the other scornfully resentful. They seemed to intrude into the peaceful atmosphere of the room. There were pictures, too, of the Brandt family which I later learned had been painted before the disastrous years of 1914 to 1918.

  It was a merry party. The language represented little problem. Dorabella and I had learned a smattering from our school lessons which was of some small help to us. Kurt and Edward were fairly good; and Kurt’s parents seemed to have acquired a little English, possibly through visitors to the schloss; and Helmut and Gretchen had some English, too. So the language problems which cropped up now and then only added to the merriment.

  It was a very pleasant evening.

  Dorabella and I discussed it when we were alone in our room.

  “It’s going to be fun,” said Dorabella. “Helmut is rather disappointing, though.”

  “You mean he has not responded to the allure of Miss Dorabella Denver?”

  “He’s a bit stodgy,” she said. “I can’t bear these intense people. Like those men in the hotel. Helmut doesn’t laugh much.”

  “Perhaps he doesn’t see anything to laugh about, or it may be that he doesn’t feel it necessary to let everyone know what he is feeling.”

  “Tomorrow,” she went on, “we shall explore. It’s going to be interesting.”

  “I’m sure it will be…different from anything we have done before.”

  I went to the window and looked out. The mist had thickened. I could just see the outline of the nearest trees.

  “It looks exciting like that,” I said.

  Dorabella came to stand beside me.

  I went on: “Weird almost. Do you think so?”

  “It just looks like mist to me.”

  I found it difficult to turn away, and suddenly I saw a figure emerge from the schloss.

  Dorabella whispered: “It’s the maid.”

  “Else,” I murmured. “Yes, that’s her name. I wonder where she’s going. It must be nearly eleven.”

  Then we saw a man step out of the shadows. We could not see him clearly, but he was obviously not one of those whom we had seen in the schloss. He was tall and very fair. Else was caught up in his arms and for a few moments they clung together.

  Dorabella was giggling beside me.

  “He’s her lover,” she said.

  We watched them as, hand in hand, they slipped into one of the outhouses, which in the days of the baron may have been stables.

  We left the window. Dorabella got into her little bed and I got into mine.

  We did not sleep well that night, which was to be expected; and when I did dream it was of a fairy-tale kind of blue mist which turned into shapes of strange people, and the branches of the trees became long arms that stretched out to catch me.

  During the days which followed, we settled into the life of the schloss. I learned from Kurt’s mother that the inn was by no means full. They had at the moment only six people staying, and they considered that fairly good. Times had been bad, but they were in some respects getting better as the country became more prosperous.

  “It had a long way to come after the war,” said Kurt. “Now there are more visitors because people come from abroad…from England, America, and other parts of the world. But we have the Beer Garden and when the weather is not good customers come inside. We have the big room with the bar…it is from this that we make our living.”

  “We are grateful for this,” went on Kurt’s mother.

  She was a woman of great energy, and I was impressed by her devotion to her family. In fact, what struck me immediately was this attitude among them all. It was almost as though there was an element of fear in their feeling toward each other. It puzzled me.

  The grandfather was rather feeble and spent most of his time in his room reading the Scriptures. He would sit in his chair with a little black cap on his head and his lips would move as he said the words to himself.

  The grandmother would be in her chair, knitting most of the time. Among other things she made jerseys for the whole family. She told me that winters in the forest could be harsh.

  “We are so high,” she said. “Well above the sea…and the clouds come down and surround us.”

  She would croon to herself and Kurt told us that she lived in the past and seemed to be there more often than in the present.

  His parents were constantly working. The father was often in the forest. I had seen him felling trees, and logs were brought into the schloss from time to time on a long carriage-like contraption used for that purpose.

  There was a great deal to do in the schloss, and I guessed they could not afford much help.

  Helmut, that very serious young man, continued to be a disappointment to Dorabella. He showed no more interest in her than in Edward or me, though he was meticulously polite and considerate to us all, but equally so, and clearly he was unaware of Dorabella’s special charms—and that did not endear him to her.

  Gretchen was a charming girl—dark-haired, dark-eyed like the rest of the family—and I noticed that Edward’s eyes were often on her. I mentioned this to Dorabella; she shrugged her shoulders; she was not really interested in the romances of others.

  In a few days I felt we had been at the schloss for weeks. Kurt had driven us round so that we could see something of the countryside. Sometimes we descended to the lower slopes and walked among the spruce, silver fir, and beech; then we would make our way up to where the firs grew in abundance.

  We walked a great deal which meant much climbing, but it was the best way of seeing the country. It was delightful to visit the small hamlets. They were different from those at home and most seemed to have that Grimm-like quality. I always felt that there was something a little frightening about them. I was reminded of children lost among the trees and finding a gingerbread house or giants lurking in the undergrowth.

  I think these feelings were engendered by something I did not understand at the time. It was there in the schloss.

  What was it? Beneath all the bonhomie, the laughter, the merriment of the Beer Garden…and often in the bar where people came in from the villages around, sitting at tables drinking, often singing songs with beautifully haunting tunes,
usually extolling the Fatherland.

  If I mentioned this to Edward and Dorabella I felt they would have laughed at me. They would say wasn’t I always fancying something? I told myself they were right. It was the forest atmosphere which moved me in some way.

  Dorabella and I quite often went out alone. We had taken to walking into the town and we found it particularly enjoyable to sit outside one of the coffee shops, drink our coffee, and partake in one of the fancy pastries which were really delicious. The waiter now knew us as “The English Young Ladies,” and he would chat a little to us when he served us. We used our boarding-school German with him which he seemed to like. Then we would watch the people walking by; and after an hour or so of this pleasant occupation, we would stroll back to the schloss.

  It was the beginning of our second week. It was a lovely day, slightly less warm than it had been, with the faintest touch of autumn in the air.

  As we sat there, a young man strolled past. He was tall and fair, with a marked jaunty air, so different from the rather earnest people we met so often. He had a very pleasant face and, as he went past, he glanced at us. It was not exactly a stare, but he certainly did not look away immediately. I was aware of Dorabella’s interest.

  He went on into the town.

  Dorabella said: “He looked different somehow.”

  “I think he is a visitor…I mean, not a local.”

  “I thought for a moment he was going to stop.”

  “Why on earth did you think that?”

  “He might have thought we were someone he knew.”

  “I am sure he thought nothing of the sort. In any case, he’s gone now.”

  “A pity. He was quite good-looking.”

  “Would you like another pastry?”

  “No, I don’t think so. Violetta, do you realize we shall soon be going home?”

  “We’ve another week.”

  “By the way the time flies, we shall soon be there.”

  “It has been fun, hasn’t it?”

  “H’m,” she said. She was alert suddenly.

  She was facing the street and I had my back to it. Her face creased into smiles.

  “What is it?” I demanded.

  “Don’t look round. He’s coming back.”

  “Who?”

  “That man.”

  “You mean…?”

  “The one who just went by.”

  She appeared to become very interested in her coffee cup. And then I saw him, for he had seated himself at a table close by.

  “Yes,” went on Dorabella, as though there had been no interruption. “It won’t be long now. I expect the parents will be thinking that two weeks away from their beloved daughters is long enough.”

  As she talked it was clear to me that her attention was on that other table.

  Then suddenly the man rose and came toward us.

  “Forgive me,” he said. “I couldn’t help hearing you were speaking English. It’s such a pleasure to meet one’s fellow countrymen in foreign lands, don’t you think?”

  “Oh, yes, I do,” said Dorabella.

  “May I join you? One can’t shout across the tables. Are you on holiday?”

  “Yes,” I said. “Are you?”

  He nodded. “Walking,” he said.

  “Alone?” asked Dorabella.

  “I had a friend who was with me. He had to go back. I hesitated whether to go with him, but it was only for another week, so I thought I would stick it out.”

  “Have you walked far?”

  “Miles.”

  “And you have just arrived in this place?” asked Dorabella.

  “Three days ago. I thought I saw you before…having coffee here.”

  The waiter had approached and the young man ordered coffee, suggesting that we have another with him. Dorabella agreed at once.

  “This is a fascinating place,” I said. “And walking, you see the best of it.”

  “That’s true,” he agreed. “Have you walked much?”

  “A little.”

  “Are you staying in this town?”

  “No,” Dorabella told him. “In a little schloss about a quarter of a mile away…not exactly a hotel, but a sort of inn.” She waved her hand in the direction of the schloss.

  “I know it. Charming surroundings. How long have you been here?”

  “We are going at the end of the week. Then we shall have been here about fourteen days.”

  The coffee had arrived and the waiter smiled benignly to see us chatting together.

  “It is so good to be able to talk in English,” said the young man. “My German is somewhat inadequate.”

  “And so is ours,” said Dorabella. “But we have someone with us who is quite good.”

  “A friend?”

  “Well, a friend of the family. He is like a brother…only not really.”

  He waited for us to explain, but as neither of us went any further there was a brief silence. Then Dorabella said: “We are visiting a friend, really. He came to England and suggested we come here for a visit. That’s how it was.”

  “I’m very glad you did. It’s comforting to meet someone English…although I’m not exactly English.”

  “Oh?” we both said in surprise.

  “Cornish,” he said with a grimace.

  “But…”

  “A little quibble. The Tamar divides us and we always maintain that we are a race apart from those people on the other side of it.”

  “Like the Scottish and the Welsh,” I said.

  “Celtic pride,” he replied. “We think we are as good as…no, better than…those Anglo-Saxons…as we call you foreigners.”

  “Oh dear,” said Dorabella in mock dismay. “And I was thinking what fun it was to meet someone of our own race.”

  He looked at her earnestly. “It is,” he said. “It has made this a most interesting day for me.”

  “Tell us about Cornwall,” I said. “Do you live near the sea?”

  “Sometimes it seems too near…almost in it, in fact.”

  “That must be fascinating.”

  “I love the old place. Where is your home?”

  “Hampshire.”

  “Some distance from Cornwall.”

  “Are you looking forward to going home?” asked Dorabella.

  “Not at this moment.”

  “Shall you be walking tomorrow?”

  “I let each day take care of itself.”

  I could see that Dorabella was enjoying this encounter. Her eyes were shining; she looked very attractive and I noticed how his gaze kept straying to her. It did not surprise me. I had seen it so many times before.

  She was telling him, in her animated fashion, about Caddington, and he responded with some details of his home in Cornwall.

  He told us his name was Dermot Tregarland. “An old Cornish name,” he pointed out. “We seem to be either Tre, Pol, or Pen. It is like a label. ‘Where e’er you hear Tre, Pol, and Pen, you’ll always know ’tis Cornishmen.’ It’s an old saying I heard somewhere and it is true.”

  And so the talk went on until I said—although I was aware of Dorabella’s displeasure—that it was time we returned to the schloss.

  We said goodbye and started back.

  Dorabella said angrily: “Why did you want to leave as abruptly as that?”

  “Look at the time! They would be wondering where we were. Don’t forget we were about to leave when he came up.”

  “What did it matter?” There was a pause and she added: “He didn’t say anything about seeing us again.”

  “Why should he?”

  “I thought he might.”

  “Oh, Dorabella,” I said. “It was a chance encounter. ‘Ships that pass in the night.’ It was only because he heard that we were speaking English that he stopped.”

  “Was that all, do you think?” She was smiling now…secretly.

  The next day the weather had changed and there was a distinctly definite touch of autumn in the air. Kurt and Edward had
planned an excursion to one of the mountain villages, and it had naturally been taken for granted that we would accompany them.

  However, Dorabella decided that she must do some shopping in the town. I understood, of course. She wanted to go into Waldenburg and sit outside the coffee shop in the hope that the young man of yesterday would pass by again.

  And, of course, I wanted to be with Dorabella. I must, because she could not very well go alone.

  We watched Edward and Kurt go off, spent an idle morning, and after lunch went into the town.

  We did a little shopping for souvenirs and in due course arrived at the coffee shop. The waiter gave us his welcoming smile and we sat down—Dorabella in a state of expectation, I amused and a little cynical, wondering what she thought would be the outcome of this chance encounter.

  We talked desultorily while Dorabella was watchful. She had placed herself looking on the street, the way he had come before, and as time passed she was becoming more and more despondent.

  A horse and trap went by, and then some riders—two young girls with an instructor; then a van drew up and a young man stepped out. He was delivering something to the coffee shop.

  As I watched him carrying in a large box, I thought there was something familiar about him. He disappeared into the shop, and after a while came out carrying a sheaf of papers. The waiter was with him and they chatted for a while.

  Then I recognized the young man.

  I said: “Oh, look! Do you see who that is? It is Else’s young man.”

  Dorabella’s thoughts were elsewhere. She looked at me impatiently.

  “What?” she said.

  “That young man who is delivering something. He’s Else’s young man. You remember. We saw him from our window. He’s her lover. We saw them embracing the other night.”

  “Oh, yes…I remember.” Dorabella was not interested in that particular young man.

  He was standing by the van now. He called out in German, which I could understand: “Tomorrow night, then. See you there.”

  “They must be friends,” I said. “He and the waiter…they are meeting tomorrow night.”

  “What of it?” said Dorabella petulantly.

  “Well…nothing. Just that I was interested, that’s all.”

  Dorabella continued to glance disconsolately along the street.