Touching the Wire

by Rebecca Bryn

‘I’m fine. I’ll drive you to A&E. You’re bleeding.’

  Adam shook his head: blood ran down his forehead. ‘I’m going nowhere until you’ve sorted this with Robin and made your peace with your grandfather.’

  She stared at him; how could he worry about that after what she’d done? ‘Adam, I’ve never stopped loving you. My heart stayed true.’

  Adam gave her a sad, lopsided smile. ‘Talk to Robin.’

  She yanked open the passenger door. ‘You tried to run me down.’ Robin’s eyes were fixed on a scene only he could see; tears glistened on his cheeks. She slipped into the passenger seat and put a hand on his arm. ‘Robin, this isn’t about me, is it, or the baby? It’s about your mother, and Simon, and what your Dad said after the accident.’

  Robin stared ahead.

  ‘You can’t keep taking out your anger on everyone else. You have to talk to your dad. You have to forgive him, for both your sakes. He loves you.’

  ‘I still want you, Charlotte. I was afraid you’d leave me.’

  ‘So you drove me away before I could leave? I loved you.’

  ‘Is there no chance for us?’

  She couldn’t hate him. He needed her to hold him, comfort him, forgive him. She wouldn’t tread that path again, wouldn’t be a victim, but she gentled her voice. ‘Love died the first time you hit me. I’m sorry, but you have to accept that and move on. Sort yourself out… You have to learn to forgive yourself.’

  The hurt in his eyes flashed to anger. ‘Forgiveness? You’re great on that aren’t you? I didn’t see you rushing to forgive Walt. Why should I keep quiet about his crimes?’

  ‘Who keeps silence consents?’ She sighed: she’d kept quiet about how Robin had treated her. ‘The documents are public now, and so will the diary be, but I won’t let Gran and Mum suffer being pilloried by the media. If you breathe a word to anyone about Grandpa I swear I’ll have you charged with attempted murder. I have witnesses who’ll testify that you tried to run me down, and witnesses who’ll testify to your motive. I don’t want your money. I won’t contest the divorce. I’ll ask for nothing, not for me or the baby. Robin, let me go, please, for your own sake.’

  He leaned across her and opened the door. ‘Get out.’

  ‘And what about the baby?

  ‘It isn’t mine.’

  ‘How can you be sure?’ Robin wanted children. Why was he rejecting this one? Two and two obediently made four. ‘You went to the clinic alone. What did they really tell you?’

  ‘Enough to know the little bastard isn’t mine.’

  ‘My God, it’s you who was infertile…’ She pounded her fists on his chest. ‘You let me think it was my fault, that I’d never have a child of my own. How could you do that? You accuse me of lying?’

  ‘Go, before I change my mind.’

  ‘You’ll keep Grandpa’s secret?’

  He nodded.

  ‘Thank you.’ She paused. ‘Talk to your dad, please, Robin. He needs you as much as you need him.’ She watched the Porsche disappear round the corner in a shower of dust and flying gravel.

  Lucy’s voice behind her was tight with unspilt anger. ‘And you can’t bring yourself to forgive a man who loved you selflessly all your life, Charlotte? A man who only ever acted out of love?’

  She couldn’t look at Lucy and she didn’t deserve Adam. ‘We need to get you checked out, Adam.’

  ‘I told you, I’m okay. You need to see your grandfather. Go on, now.’

  ‘If you promise to go to hospital afterwards.’

  ‘If you get checked, too. Your baby…’

  ‘Our baby.’ She touched his cheek. A bruise was developing around the cut on his forehead. He looked stunned. She let her hand drop to her side. ‘I’m sorry, Adam. I let you think I was on the pill. Robin lied to me… I thought I couldn’t conceive. I’ll never forgive myself for what I’ve done to you.’ She turned towards the front door of the home, and Lucy and Adam moved to follow her. ‘No… please. I have to do this alone. I have to do what’s right.’

  The old man sitting in the chair with his hand on his chest was William Walter Blundell, Grandpa. He was not Hans Wolfgang Schmitt: he’d died when he met Gran. She sat beside him and held a thin, shaking hand. He opened his eyes.

  ‘I can’t condone what you did, Grandpa, but Adam and Lucy are right… you acted out of love. I won’t let Hitler’s evil destroy my family and my memories. I love you Grandpa. I always have, and I always will.’

  His eyes brimmed with tears. ‘You don’t know what that means to me, little one.’

  She smiled and patted her stomach, pushing down anxiety. ‘I have Miriam or Jani to think about now.’

  ‘I’m glad.’ He squeezed her hand and his eyes shone. ‘Fight for those you love, Charlotte. Don’t ever stop fighting for them.’

  ‘I won’t… I promise.’ Would Adam even be here when she went back outside?

  ‘I made a promise, too.’ He took a shallow breath. ‘I promised Miriam I’d tell what happened to her family and the children of Auschwitz. It’s why I stole the records and kept the diary. You’ve helped me keep my promise.’

  ‘Grandpa, why did you make the carvings?’

  ‘The crematoria, the burning pits. Flames in my dreams every night. Guilt smothering my heart.’ He rubbed his left arm and the pain moved to his throat. ‘I had to let it out somehow. The burr elm, the tortured grain… it seemed the right medium. The wolf… I never intended you to find any of them.’

  ‘But why didn’t you donate the documents anonymously?’

  ‘I was named in them. There were photographs of me. I could have been recognised.’ He paused and reached for her hand again. ‘Be careful, Charlotte, there are Nazi-hunters, even now. I’m the last of the Auschwitz doctors unaccounted for. If the press find out you protected me they’ll hound you to the grave.’

  ‘I know.’ She leaned forward and kissed his cheek. When she drew back he’d closed his eyes and his breathing was laboured. She’d exhausted him. She should go.

  ‘Tykhe gave me a great gift, greater… than I knew.’

  ‘Tykhe, Goddess of Fortune?’

  He roused and his face contorted with pain. ‘I wasted her gift… and Nemesis sent you both to me. The daughters of Night… the Keres.’

  ‘We’re not the Keres, Grandpa. We love you.’

  His voice was barely audible: she leaned closer. ‘At last… you have settled my account. Nemesis has decided.’ His breathing slowed. ‘Tell the children I’m sorry.’

  ‘All have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God.’ Nemesis was satisfied? Grandpa had paid the price for Tykhe’s gifts? She put an arm around his thin shoulders and rested her head gently against his heart, a child again seeking comfort. Its beat was slow and faltering. She had only just found him and too soon it was time to let go. ‘Out of Chaos came Nyx, Goddess of Night. She formed a veil between mankind and heaven, and rode in a chariot, bringing Night and trailing stars, and on her return she met her daughter, Hemera, bringer of Day. Hebe, bids you lay down your chains of guilt and accept the ambrosia of eternal youth. We are daughters of Night, sisters of Day, but our names are Elpis, Goddess of Hope, and Philotes, Goddess of Love and Friendship, and we ask Nyx to part the veil. Wselfwulf is dead, Grandpa.’

  His breathing slowed: too slow. Gran had done her grieving: he belonged to Miriam now. She raised her head and whispered the word he needed to hear, the word Miriam wanted her to say, her lips brushing his cheek. The slow thump ceased. Endless seconds passed; he gasped a breath of rattling air and his grip loosened.

  She sat with his hand in hers, listening to the silence of sleep without dreams. His debt was paid; he was at peace. She’d wanted to be someone, a name the world would remember: instead she’d found indisputable proof of the atrocities carried out on Mengele’s children, and no-one would know her part in it, though the candles of Auschwitz would burn forever brighter.

  She was the granddaughter of Jane and Walt. It was who she was and it was enoug
h. She walked outside, brushing aside tears. Lucy waited beside Adam, who held a bloody tissue to his forehead. She stopped an arm’s length away, trying to read Adam’s eyes; at least he was still here. ‘His heart… Grandpa’s dead.’

  Lucy’s lower lip trembled. ‘Did you… What did you say to him?’

  She caught Lucy’s accusation. ‘He thought we were the daughters of Night.’

  Her sister’s face softened in understanding. ‘But what did you say to him, sis?’

  Sis… She took a shuddering breath. Adam reached for her hand and gripped it reassuringly, his eyes gentle with love.

  She smiled through tears. ‘Szeretlek… I love you.’

  The End

  Rebecca Bryn lives on a small-holding in West Wales with her husband and dog, where she paints the coastal scenes she loves. She is happy to answer questions about her writing and novels at www.facebook.com/rebecca.bryn.novels and at www.rebeccabrynandsarahstuart-novels.co.uk

  Touching the Wire was inspired by a television report about Nazi war-criminals that made Rebecca examine her own feelings about forgiveness. It was written to commemorate the seventieth anniversary of Holocaust Memorial Day on January 27th 2015.

  Another novel, The Silence of the Stones, is set in Pembrokeshire. The poem, The Vigil, was inspired by the tragic disappearance of Madeleine McCann on May 3rd 2007.

  The Silence of the Stones.

  Alana is a struggling artist and sculptor, scarred by her dysfunctional parents and a lost love but determined to live life her way. Opportunity beckons when she is left a cottage in a West Wales village by an aunt she didn’t know existed, but strange runes, painted on her door and carved onto ancient stones in a stone circle, hint at a dark undercurrent of intrigue and she is caught up in the village’s conspiracy of silence over a thirty-year-old crime.

  An eccentric old woman, a young investigative journalist, a two-year-old girl, a male busker and an ex-lover seem unlikely bedfellows but combine to change Alana’s world forever.

  NB: Reviews are incredibly important to a novel’s sales and rating. If you’ve enjoyed Touching the Wire, please take a moment to leave a star rating and review at www.amazon.com/-/e/B00MX5TRPY or www.amazon.co.uk/-/e/B00MX5TRPY

  I really appreciate all reviews. Thank you - Rebecca