by Lizzie Lane
The cars pulled up, and several officers got out.
‘We saw someone leave here,’ one of them said, in German-accented French. ‘Who was it?’
‘Just a child. My granddaughter,’ said the stationmaster. ‘She brought me coffee and food as she does every morning.’
They seemed satisfied enough with his answer. He had not heard the enemy was looking for an escaped Jew and they’d not mentioned it. It was possible. He’d heard a train was going east, loaded with poor souls destined to never see their homes again.
As for the girl, he hoped she was long gone by now.
CHAPTER FOUR
Leah welcomed the night. Although it was cold she was glad of the darkness cloaking their steady progress westwards. Nobody could see them at night and she could afford to sleep snuggled against the warmth of Rudy’s thick fur.
Sometimes in response to sounds she did not hear, he would jerk awake, ears erect. Sometimes they would see dark shadows moving through the night, keeping low as though they too preferred not to be seen.
Nobody saw them. They remained undiscovered.
Weighed down by recent events, Leah had forgotten about the coins her mother had sewn into her threadbare dress. She smiled at the thought of her father, a keen reader of Sherlock Holmes and other English detective novels. ‘Always prepare for the unexpected.’ A tear slid from the corner of her eye.
Perhaps she could buy a loaf of bread in a village. She closed her eyes and imagined the taste of warm bread on her tongue. Back in Vienna she had relished warm bread spread with bright yellow butter, the butter melting so quickly she used to add even more. Butter was now a luxury. The bread and cheese given her by the stationmaster was all gone.
The next village she came to was very small, just one street bordered by a jumble of small houses with square windows set into sloping roofs. She was frightened but so hungry she had to do something – even if it meant being discovered. Sheltering against a tumbledown wall, she ran her fingers along the hem of her skirt but found only one coin. Only one! There should have been more. Without noticing, she’d torn her dress on a thorny bush and not seen the coins dropping out.
Sighing, she began to make plans. She decided it would help if she didn’t have the dog with her. Wrapping her arm around his neck, she explained to him as best she could. ‘I have to go by myself. You must stay here.’
Struggling to her feet, her knees weak and her heart thudding, she began to walk away. After a few faltering steps, she turned round. Rudy was sticking with her.
‘No,’ she snapped, shaking a finger. ‘You must stay here. Sit!’ So firmly did she speak that the dog did exactly that. Again, she pointed her finger. ‘Stay! Lie down.’ The dog whimpered but much to her relief he obeyed, his head resting on his paws.
It was just before sunset. The street was deserted and the houses threw solid shadows across the road. An old woman in black, her hair a concoction of wispy grey sitting like a nest on top of her head, was bent over the doorstep of a small shop, seemingly the only one in the village.
Leah’s steps slowed as she approached. Her nervousness rising like a rock in her throat. The woman, sensing somebody was close by, looked up. On seeing Leah, her eyes widened in surprise. Having lived in Fougères all her life, she knew every man, woman and child by name. This skinny urchin was unknown to her so she was immediately on her guard. There were so many vagabonds nowadays, likely to steal anything that came to hand. The child approached stealthily, which only increased the woman’s suspicion.
‘Go away. I have nothing for you. Go on! Shoo!’ She waved her hand as though flicking away a particularly pesky fly.
Leah’s stomach lurched with hunger and the vision of bread, perhaps even some cheese, made her mouth water. It also gave her courage.
‘Please. I want a loaf of bread. I have money.’
She fetched out the coin that had been hidden in the hem of her dress. The old woman’s fierce look tempered at the sight of the coin, far too much for a pre-war loaf of bread, but just about right for a wartime village shop.
The old woman squinted. ‘You are alone?’ she said at last.
Leah nodded nervously. Desperation had brought her to this course of action even though she knew that there were people who would hand her over to the Germans because of what she was. It seemed odd to her: she could see no difference between herself and any of the other non-Jewish girls she’d known back home in Austria.
The old woman seemed to consider her next course of action very carefully before holding up a handful of work-worn fingers, the joints misshapen and gnarled, beckoning her into the village shop. Inside it was dark and full of a mixture of familiar and not so familiar smells. Oil for kerosene lamps mingled with the spicy aroma of a smoked ham hanging from the ceiling, the warm smell of freshly baked bread, autumn fruits and the earthier smells of freshly dug potatoes, celeriac and coffee.
Half a loaf of bread was produced from somewhere. The woman shoved it into a sack, the sort used for storing garlic.
‘Give me the coin.’
Leah handed it over, thinking it was far too much to pay for half a loaf. The old woman brought the coin up close to her eyes. After satisfying herself that it was genuine, she grunted something that sounded like approval, slapped the sack on to the counter and opened its yawning neck.
To Leah’s astonishment, out came the remains of a meaty bone, the only remaining flesh the dark brown skin clinging on with a fatty sinew. Next came the end of a cooked sausage, the thick rind of a piece of cheese and three apples. Leah’s eyes opened wide and her stomach rumbled. Her family had not been strictly observant in the eating of kosher food, and, anyway, Rudy was hungry too. The sausage was his.
The old woman heard the noise and raised her eyebrows. Leah murmured an apology. The woman jerked her chin and did not smile as she pushed the sack across the counter. Her brow was furrowed with wrinkles as though she thought too much. Her thin lips, creased with age, stretched into a straight line.
‘Go. And don’t come back here. Ever.’
Although the woman had given her more for her money than a loaf of bread, her sour face made Leah want to run. Grabbing the sack, she bolted for the door thinking that the old woman might have been playing a game, and would tell the authorities she’d not paid her for the food. Perhaps somebody would follow her. They might have a gun. She ran from the village without looking back, fearing that if she did she would see the old woman watching her from the doorway of her dingy shop.
Madame Serena Bertrand was indeed watching from her shop doorway. Where was the child going? She answered her own question. The child was running away from something that had hurt her badly and that she could not understand. And neither do I, thought Serena. What I do know is that tonight I will be going to bed with no supper. The child was in need. It was all she could do. And, anyway, there was always coffee and a cognac, perhaps an apple and the last piece of cheese. The country was starving. Everyone was starving.
CHAPTER FIVE
The bread lasted for two days, the piece of fatty smoked skin peeled from the bone she held on to, sharing the fat between herself and Rudy who had already devoured the end of sausage. He had also crunched the bone to nothing on the first night.
There were no more coins. Although Rudy could fend for himself, he feared going off and leaving her. Leah was getting weaker. She slept fitfully now, her stomach convulsed with hunger pangs, and because she was growing weaker, their progress across the countryside was slow.
Rudy hunted for food, but Leah had no way of cooking it and she couldn’t bring herself to eat anything raw. Once he brought her a loaf of bread. She had no idea where he’d got it from, only that it was a bit stale. Not that it mattered. She ate it regardless, washing it down with cold water scooped in her hands from a swiftly running brook.
The mud at the side of the brook was slippery and the night was dark. Making her way back up the bank, her feet slipped from under her. She went down, slamm
ing her head on a rock as she did so. She lay there getting colder and colder, her legs immersed in the icy water, a trickle of blood flowing over the rock and into the mud. Eyes closed, she didn’t hear Rudy’s small cries of concern. Neither was she aware of his teeth snagging on her coat as he dragged her away from the water into the tall reeds.
The next morning, she came to with him lying at her side licking the crusted blood away from her eyes. She saw the name written on the silky scarf hanging from his neck. Rudy. Instinctively she held on to the dog’s neck and struggled to her feet. She still feared moving by day but the nights were cold and it was very appealing to fall asleep against the warmth of her dog’s body.
She couldn’t quite recall when she had decided to call him her dog, as though he’d never been anything else. But he was all she had to cling to, to tell her troubles to and cry against his thick fur. Her energy was draining fast, all the springiness gone from her step, dragging her legs as though they were made of lead.
In her dreams, bodies pressed around her, their weight crushing her into the ground, their eyes staring and lifeless. In her dreams she smelled dirty clothes, blood and death, the rank smells of bodies that no longer lived. All she knew was that it was better to be alive and sometimes she awoke screaming, not stopping until Rudy licked her face and nuzzled his cold nose into her cheek.
Tonight the moon was bright, a silver disc hanging in an indigo sky. There were no clouds and the land was bathed in a gossamer light. Leah was staggering now, her strength almost gone, her mind weary and wandering between what was now and what had been, between dreams, nightmares and reality.
She thought she was on a train with plush seats and brightly dressed people all on their way to a concert in Salzburg where they would stay in a smart hotel, eat lovely things and talk about their families, their lives, their hopes for the future. Then halfway through, the dream would change into a nightmare, the train from one of luxury to a cattle wagon where people were squashed into a small space like sides of meat packed in a cold store, en route for the butchers’ shops in upmarket Vienna. Then the people became carcases and the butchers chopped them into tiny pieces …
Her head aching with remembrance and fear, girl and dog snuggled down in the long grass, all that remained of a field of lavender, the smell lingering on the air. The field was flat and very large, enclosed by a thick hedge, thick enough to shield them from the worst of the frost.
Leah shivered. Her muddy, worn coat did little to keep out the cold. She barely noticed her runny nose and couldn’t stop her eyes from closing. Neither could she prevent her knees from giving way, so she fell on to the spiky remains of the lavender. Finding herself on the ground came as a surprise, but all she could do was snuggle down between the hedge and the dog.
Cold, hungry and weary, she fell into a deep sleep and, without knowing it, grew colder and colder. She didn’t hear Rudy’s concerned whining or feel his hot breath as he licked her face. Instinctively he knew that he had to keep her awake if she was to live, had to move, make noises, do anything to stop her freezing to death.
He’d had to do this before. She’d awoken then, her eyes flickering as she came to, seemingly surprised to find herself in a strange place with a dog and without her parents. But on this occasion, her face lit ghostly white by the full moon, her eyelids remained closed. Rudy snuggled closer to her, trying to warm her with his own fur-covered body. He barked sharply, nudging her with his nose and licking her face.
Leah remained motionless. She was yet again on the train to Salzburg, seeing her mother enjoying the glittering company, the smell of her perfume, her happy face and avid conversation. The train rattled onwards. The plush upholstered seating and amber light from pretty glass shades went out. The light and the happy atmosphere were replaced by darkness and the smell of fear, of people travelling to the butchers.
Leah felt helpless. This was the last stage of the journey. The butchers were waiting to cut them up. If she didn’t leap from the train she too would be cut into little pieces. But what would it mean to leap from the train? Something better than being slaughtered like cattle, came the answer. Cattle travel in cattle wagons. Cattle get slaughtered.
Somehow the door of the cattle wagon was jerked open. The train was racing through the night. In the distance she could just about make out the spires and towers of her native Vienna. If she jumped, is that where she would end up?
Encompassed in her nightmare, Leah was not aware of the brightness of moonlight or of the low drone of an aircraft getting closer. She was not aware of Rudy’s protective instinct kicking in as his nose twitched in response to smells and sounds he perceived close by. No matter who they were, he would be here for her. Nobody would approach unless he sensed they were trustworthy.
His gaze turned upwards to watch a dark shape cutting through the sky. He heard a rumbling, thudding sound as it came down, its wheels flattening the shorn stubble of the field, its propellers slicing through the air before slowing and coming to a stop.
Crouching figures, the ones he’d smelled and heard, emerged from the hedge to either side. Rudy got to his feet and growled, disturbing the hedge at his back.
‘Who’s there?’
There was a clicking sound the dog recognised. A gun. The guards had carried guns. He knew the sound of them, knew what they could do. His first instinct was to run away. His second was to stand firm beside his new friend. He would not – could not –leave her. In compromise he merely growled, a deep throaty growl, ears erect and every sense alert.
‘Un chien.’
Language meant nothing to him. Tone of voice was everything. The crouched figures were speaking to each other. He growled another warning as one of the figures leaned closer and saw Leah.
‘Une fille!’
‘Are you lot ready?’ Another voice. Another tongue.
The droning of the aeroplane engine had stilled. The pilot had climbed out. Ray Malin, a broad figure made more bulky by his sheepskin-lined flying jacket, loomed out of the darkness.
‘Come on. I haven’t got all night.’
‘We have interlopers,’ said the softer voice that had spoken first.
‘Shoot them.’
‘It’s a child. And a dog.’
Ray, a confirmed dog lover, was instantly diverted from the tough job he’d been sent to do – picking up a British spy. He held out his hand palm down so the dog could sniff it and ascertain that he was no threat. ‘Hey, boy. It’s all right. Nobody’s going to hurt you. What are you doing here anyway? And who’s your friend?’ His voice was gentle, his manner mild and not at all threatening.
It had been many days since Leah had bought the supplies from the old woman in the village shop. Eyes closed, oblivious to the situation, she lay cold and still. The dog growled a warning. He’d grown wary of men, especially those in uniform.
Ray kept his movements slow, his voice even. ‘It’s all right, old chap. I’m not going to hurt you.’
Serge, codenamed Blue Dove and the man he’d been sent to pick up, spoke again. ‘It’s a child. A little girl. What the hell is she doing here?’
‘Hold the dog a moment.’ The speaker was Alphonse Revere. Besides being a member of the Resistance, he also happened to be the local doctor. Fearing the worst, he checked the cold little face already wondering what he was going to do with her, noticing the ragged yellow stitching still left on her coat. ‘This child is very sick. She won’t last long if she doesn’t get help shortly.’
‘Is she local?’ asked Serge.
The doctor shook his head. ‘I don’t recognise her. I’ve treated every child around here. I don’t know her.’
Serge grunted, ‘A train full of Jews went through here a few days ago, heading across the border into Germany. I wonder if she could have escaped. As for the dog …’
He went to grab hold of the dog’s ear. The dog growled, leaving Serge in no doubt that he was treading on dangerous ground. He snatched his hand away.
‘
Here. Take my flashlight. Look into his ear … if you dare.’
Ray looked at him in consternation before doing so. ‘Easy boy,’ he said gently. ‘Nobody’s going to hurt you.’
The uniform of the RAF pilot was partially obscured by his flying jacket. His manner was reassuring. Rudy allowed him to look into his ear.
‘Hello,’ said Ray. ‘There’s a number tattooed into his ear.’
‘Let me see.’ A slim hip nudged against that of the pilot, easing him gently but firmly aside. Ray fancied he smelled something flowery and knew he’d been nudged aside by a woman. He saw her face in profile, her nose rising pertly from a sleek face, strands of dark hair fluttering from beneath her oversized beret.
‘He is right. It is a serial number.’ There was something tenacious in the look she gave him, as though she was weighing him up with a single glance.
Serge nodded. ‘An army number. The Wehrmacht tattoo all their dogs. I bet you, my dear friend, that this dog was also with that train. A guard dog.’ He frowned, curious as to how and why the dog was with the child. Part of him wanted to kill this animal. It was a German Shepherd, a dog bred by and beloved of the enemy.
The woman, Nicole, suggested they shoot it.
Ray stiffened. ‘Why?’
‘There is precious little food for people, let alone dogs.’
‘He’s a useful animal, aren’t you?’ said Ray, ruffling the dog’s ears. The dog’s initial growling had ceased. Ray had the feeling he’d been weighed up and found to be acceptable.
‘What’s he doing with the little girl – if he was with the train, that is?’
Ray wished her perfume wasn’t so enticing. Concentrating on the dog helped him ignore it. He addressed the dog rather than actually answering her question.
‘I bet you’ve gone absent without leave, old boy.’
Nicole smiled at him. ‘You RAF boys always say that – old boy – even when someone is young.’
Ray grinned. ‘A term of endearment, my dear. Merely a term of endearment. Still,’ he shone the flashlight on the face of his watch, ‘I can’t stand around here chatting.’ He turned to the small group of French Resistance fighters and the agent he’d been ordered to pick up. ‘What will you do with these two?’