The English Air

by D. E. Stevenson

  “No, no, Franz, not you!”

  “But yes, it is people like myself who should do this work. I am not married; I have no ties; my future is hopeless.”

  “But, Franz—”

  “I want to join these men. I want to help in this work that they are doing.”

  For a long time Herr Oetzen held out against all arguments and persuasions, but at last he was forced to give in and before Franz left he had obtained certain information which would enable him to get into touch with one of the groups of the league.

  “I can tell you no more,” said Herr Oetzen with a sigh of weariness. “I trust you, Franz, but I must not tell you more. If you are really set upon this course you can get in touch with Group P—I have told you the way to do it. They will judge for themselves whether you can be useful to them or not.”

  “Thank you a thousand times!”

  “You will be careful,” added Herr Oetzen. “You will be very careful not to bring harm to your father or to Fräulein Heiden. I should never forgive myself.…”

  “I shall leave home,” said Franz. “Nobody will know where I am. Do not distress yourself about that.”

  Chapter Three

  When Franz returned to the apartment he found Tant’ Anna waiting for him at the door.

  “Franz!” she cried. “Franz, you have been away two whole hours. I thought something had happened to you. I wish you would return to England, you would be much safer there. You are so reckless, so impulsive … I feel sure that you will get yourself into trouble.”

  “I am going tomorrow,” said Franz, smiling at her, “so you will not be anxious about me any more.”

  “Going back to England!”

  “That is what you want me to do isn’t it?” he replied, turning away so that he did not meet her eyes.

  She hesitated, for she could not understand this sudden change of plan.

  “You will be quite happy about me, won’t you?” urged Franz, “you will know that I am safe. In England it does not matter if the tongue wags freely.”

  “Yes,” she said thoughtfully. “Yes, it is the best plan, of course. Otto need never know that you were here.”

  “You see!” he exclaimed with an assumption of light-heartedness. “It all fits in. I shall have to leave very early in the morning so we must make the most of our time together.”

  Even now she was only half convinced. “You have some plan,” she said doubtfully, “some plan that you have not told me?”

  “But yes,” he agreed. “There is work in England for people like myself who are good at languages. Plenty of well-paid work. There is no need for you to worry about me. I shall not be able to write to you, of course, but you will know that I am safe … that is what you want, isn’t it?”

  “Yes,” she said again. “Yes, Franz, to know that you are safe and well is everything.”

  “We shall have a quiet evening together,” he told her, putting his arm round her affectionately, “and then you will go to bed and I shall pack … I shall have to leave very early in the morning.”

  “But I shall get up and make coffee for you!” she replied. “You must have coffee before you go.”

  Supper was ready and they ate it together beside the big stove, and then they cleared the table and set out the dominoes. Tant’ Anna declared that it was like old times, and Franz agreed, but in his heart he did not feel that it was like old times at all. He was different in himself and Tant’ Anna was different—the whole atmosphere of the house had changed. It was true, of course, that the room looked the same as ever—though perhaps a trifle more shabby and less well-kept—and the fine old stove was the same, except that the fuel was poor and did not give out much heat. The table was the same table upon which they had always played, and it was the same set of dominoes with a little chip broken off one corner of the double five. Tant’ Anna and Franz were both aware of the chip and it had always been a little joke between them. It was still a joke, of course, for, when Franz laid down his three-and-five, he remarked as usual, “How pleased you are! You can get rid of your double-five now”; and Tant’ Anna laughed and replied, “My double-five—how could you know I had it!”

  She was so natural in her manner that Franz wondered whether she was feeling what he was feeling; whether she realised that this was the last time they would play dominoes together—the last time they would see each other, perhaps. She was old and ill, and he was going away … He wondered whether her nerves were stretched as his were, so that every time the old furniture creaked or the door rattled against the jamb his heart faltered for a second and then raced on … but, of course she felt it; she had told him that she was terrified of shadows.

  Tant’ Anna is braver than I, thought Franz, watching the thin hand as it chose a domino from the pile and laid it down. She feels everything and yet she can bear it. Shall I be able to bear my fate so bravely? His heart ached for her, he could do nothing to help her, nothing at all … and then he remembered something. It was a small thing compared with what he wanted to do, but he thought it would please her. He went to his room and, emptying his suitcase on the floor, he found the parcel containing the scarf which he had bought for Wynne. Tant’ Anna would like it and it would keep her warm.

  For a moment he hesitated with the parcel in his hands (he had bought it for Wynne. He had chosen it for her with so much love, with such pleasure and hopefulness in his heart) and then he carried it into the living-room and laid it on Tant’ Anna’s knee—

  “There,” he said. “It is something for you—a little present from me with my dear love.”

  “A present for me!” she exclaimed in surprise. “Oh, Franz, you should not spend your money on presents …”

  “Open it,” he said, plucking at the string.

  She opened it and the scarf rolled out of the paper. It was so thick and fleecy that it unrolled itself … it almost seemed alive.

  “Oh!” she cried. “Oh, how beautiful! I have never seen anything so lovely … it is real wool!”

  “Yes,” said Franz gravely. “Yes, it is real wool. I saw the sheep in the fields—hundreds of them—and I saw their fleeces in the mill. It is real wool off a real sheep.”

  “How warm!” she said, stroking the scarf with her thin hands. “What a pretty colour … blue like the sky! Oh, Franz, how kind of you!”

  He felt amply repaid by her pleasure and he tried to tell her so.

  “It is beautiful,” she said again. She held it up against her face and there were tears in her eyes as she smiled at him. “It is beautiful, my dear … it is too good for an old woman like me.”

  Franz had tears too, but they did not fall. He answered a trifle unsteadily. “Nothing could be too good for you … and it will keep you warm.”

  “Too good …” she whispered. “Too pretty … Dear Franz, keep it. Put it away safely. You bought it for the girl you love, the little English girl with the blue eyes … Keep it, Franz. Perhaps some day you will be able to give it to her.…”

  He did not deny that he had chosen it for Wynne, for that would have been useless, but he took the scarf and shook it out and wrapped it round Tant’ Anna’s shoulders. He had imagined himself doing this for Wynne.

  “Poor boy,” said Tant’ Anna, taking his hand and patting it. “Poor little boy! It has all gone wrong for you and I would give my life gladly if I could put it right … but you must never bring her here.”

  He shook his head. He saw that only too clearly.

  “No,” said Tant’ Anna, “no, she must never come here. This is no place for an English girl.”

  Franz knew what she was thinking—“Tell me about my mother,” he said.

  Last night they had spoken of the present and the future but tonight they spoke of the past. Tant’ Anna began to tell Franz about his mother. There were so many things to tell that once she had started she could not stop, it was like a ball of thread which has been rolled up for years and now must continue unrolling. Franz hung upon her words; he was int
ensely interested and this was strange because, before he had gone away, the reminiscences of Tant’ Anna would have bored him. His feelings towards his mother had changed completely. He had been ashamed of her before; he had been angry when he thought of her because it was her fault that he was not a pure-blooded German. When he had gone to school he had imbibed these ideas from his school-fellows and had decided to put his mother out of his mind entirely, as if by the mere act of forgetting her he could wipe her out of his life; but now he felt quite differently so he wanted to know about her and he asked Tant’ Anna all sorts of questions and helped the ball to unroll. What was she like to look at? Was she gay and happy and carefree like Wynne? Tant’ Anna told him all she could. She went and got a photograph of Elsie and showed it to him—it was the only picture of his mother in the house for Otto Heiden had been so anxious to forget his young wife that he had destroyed every reminder of her.

  Franz took the photograph and looked at it.

  “She was just like that,” Tant’ Anna said. “It was taken before the war—she had been here for six months or so. Otto had it coloured. He used to keep it on his desk … and then … afterwards … he threw it away. I kept it, Franz, because I loved Elsa. I always loved her. I hoped that some day you would ask me about her as you are doing now.”

  Yes, thought Franz, yes, she was like Wynne. She had the same sweet mouth, the same pretty hair—but Wynne had the look of unconscious courage which has never known fear … this was a softer face.

  “And here is something that belonged to her,” Tant’ Anna continued, putting a little gold signet-ring into his hand. “It was given to her by her father—so she told me—and she valued it greatly. She would like you to have it, Franz.”

  The ring was quite plain and it fitted his little finger—he put it on and looked at it.

  “Yes, I should like to have it,” he said.

  “Poor Elsa!” Tant’ Anna said with a sigh. “She was happy here for a little while and then she was not so happy. Even before the war she had begun to wear a bewildered look. She loved laughter and fun, but it was not our kind of fun. It is difficult to explain,” she added.

  Franz did not need it explained for he knew what it was like to find yourself amongst people whose jokes you could not understand.

  Franz was so interested that Tant’ Anna went on talking. She wanted Franz to have all the little intimate details that she could possibly give him, because if she did not give them to him now they would be lost for ever. Her head was clear and many things which she had forgotten—or thought that she had forgotten—came back to her out of the past … it was almost as if she were dying … but I am dying, she thought. Yes, I am dying, for I am moving towards death and in a few months—a year at most—I shall not be here. And Franz, my dear boy that I love so much, I shall never see him again … so this is the end of my life. There is nothing more.

  Tant’ Anna had started to talk with the idea of telling Franz all about his mother, but she went beyond that. The events of her life, big and small, crowded into her mind and she poured them out before him. They were like little pictures—brightly coloured—that was how she saw them.… Her first sight of Elsa arriving at the door with Otto—Elsa, very fair and straight and slim, wearing the big cartwheel hat beneath which you could scarcely see her small, scared face. Elsa in the kitchen, trying to cook (as a German wife should), bending over the hot stove until her face was flushed and gold curls in damp rings upon her forehead. Elsa wrestling with the language—phrase book in hand. Elsa calling out for help. “Anna, Anna, come and tell this stupid girl not to put so much garlic in the stew.” “Anna, how shall I get the chimneys swept?” “Anna, where am I to buy linen?” “Anna, how am I to get this dress altered?”

  Anna had loved her dearly—this little English wife of Otto’s and had always been willing and eager to come to her assistance, and later, when her own trouble came, Elsa had repaid the debt a thousand-fold. Anna’s own trouble—it had been heavy and bitter at the time but Anna was not sorry for herself, nor did she feel that her life had been dreary and useless because she had missed the happiness which all women crave. Looking back she saw many happy hours of sunshine and friendship and the scent of flowers. She remembered best of all the scent of flowers in a bouquet which had been brought to her by Frederick before he went to sea. It was in the war, so it was twenty-odd years ago but she remembered the scent of the flowers so clearly that she could smell them now. They were freesias from his mother’s garden, sweet and fresh—they were like honey. He had come to take leave of her, and they were to be married when he returned … “It is only for seven weeks,” he had said … but she had never seen him again. He was a U-boat Commander and often she had wondered how he had died. Had he died suddenly, the frail egg-shell cracking and the water rushing in, or had he known that death was coming and waited for it, lying helplessly at the bottom of the sea and the air growing foul? These thoughts had nearly driven Anna mad. Her friends had troubles of their own and had not tried very hard to help her but Elsa had understood. Yes, Elsa, in spite of her own misery, had held out a helping hand … It had seemed strange at the time and it still seemed strange to Anna that, knowing Frederick as she did—knowing every turn of his head and movement of his hands—she would never know how he died, or when. One would have thought that she would know the moment when he had passed over and left her alone in this world. It was the uncertainty which had been so hard to bear—day after day going past and hope dying. Hope died so slowly when you were young, and Anna was still looking for Frederick’s return long after his mother had discarded hope.

  This was Anna’s story and this was why she had had no real life of her own. All her life had been centred in Franz and was bound up in him. He had been given into her arms when he was a tiny infant and Elsa was so desperately ill that they had not thought she would live. She had stayed and helped to look after him when he was a baby, and later, when Elsa died, she had looked after him herself. He had drifted away from her a little when he went to school for he had been imbued with the Nazi doctrines which she could not accept. He had been taught to despise gentleness, and to doubt God. Anna was deeply religious at heart and she could not believe that good could come out of such evil as this but although she was very unhappy about Franz there was nothing she could do. Now she felt that Franz had come back to her and was nearer to her than he had ever been since he was a tiny child and had depended upon her for everything, and it seemed very hard that she must part from him, must send him away from her and never see him again.

  Tant’ Anna was sorry that she had nothing to give Franz — nothing to leave him when she was gone—she had no money, no furniture, no jewellery of any value at all, for anything of value that she possessed had been sold long ago. She possessed nothing in the world but her clothes, which were of such poor quality and so patched and mended that the veriest beggar would have disdained them. The only thing that Tant’ Anna could give Franz was these memories, and perhaps a little of her hard-bought wisdom which might be of service to him in the dark days that lay ahead.

  “Life goes on,” she told him. “Life never stands still. We are blind creatures, Franz, and we do not know where we are going. There are long dark tunnels and then we come out of them suddenly when we are not expecting it, and there is light all round us again. Remember this, Franz, the darkness is only a tunnel after all … Sometimes we hate and suffer, as we did in the war, and then we find that this was a tunnel too, and that the hatred was based on falseness and the suffering arose from mistakes. It is hatred that is the matter with the poor world today. Remember that, Franz. Hatred is deadly and kills all good things. Hatred blinds us to all that is beautiful … and so it is with the Fatherland which was full of so much goodness and beauty. People are being taught to hate. Jesus Christ taught us to love … to love even our enemies. It is for our own sakes we must do this, Franz, because hatred is bad for ourselves. If we hate people it does not hurt them at all … it hurts ourselv
es.”

  Presently Tant’ Anna went to bed and Franz was alone in his small, cold room making his preparations for departure. They were rather strange preparations. He examined his clothes carefully, cutting off all the name tapes and laundry marks and the names of the tailors who had made them. He removed the inner soles of his shoes which bore the name of an English bootmaker and substituted pieces of felt cut from the floor of his room. His handkerchiefs were marked with his name so he took a pair of scissors and cut off the corners. His suitcase had his initials on the side and he removed them with a piece of sandpaper. These elaborate precautions might be unnecessary of course, but Franz was taking no risks. Finally, when all was done and his suitcase packed, Franz opened a secret drawer in his bureau and, taking out a revolver slipped it into his pocket. He was ready to go now and he could slip away without saying goodbye. He did not feel that he could bear to say goodbye to Tant’ Anna … his young face was very stern and grave as he straightened his back and looked round the room for the last time.

  The hall was dark but Franz knew every foot of the way; he avoided a loose board and stepped silently across the floor. Pausing for a moment outside her door he thought of her … it was as near a prayer as he could manage, for he had not prayed for years … not since he was a little child at Tant’ Anna’s knee … perhaps there is a God, thought Franz and, if so, perhaps He will comfort her and give her strength.…

  The streets were deserted at this hour, and they were dark and damp. There were low clouds in the sky but it was not actually raining. Franz walked down to the bridge with his suitcase in his hand. He walked slowly and looked about him—it was here and at this hour that he would meet the man from Group P.

  Part Three

  rough winds

  Chapter One

  The sea mist was lying thick in the streets of Chellford, hiding the small grey stone houses with their jutting eaves. It was thickest near the sea where the fishermen’s houses were, and it surged and billowed inland up the little river Chell. On the hill, where the larger houses stood, the mist was thin and gauzy and the sun shone through it like a big orange ball. It was rather fun, really, decided Wynne as she came down the hill and plunged into the white clouds as if she were plunging into a pool. She liked the soft feeling of the mist on her face, and the salty taste of it on her lips. The familiar streets and houses were transformed as if by magic and, if she had not known every foot of the way, she might easily have been lost … lost in Chellford, that was a strange idea! Several people passed her, but they were like ghosts, they appeared suddenly out of the whiteness and were gone before she had time to recognise them.