‘It’s Horst’s car,’ I said, peering out of the window. ‘Wolfgang’s just helping him out. Quick!’
Rachel slithered back under the bed, and I piled the boxes and shoes around the door to her hiding place. I bolted back downstairs and managed to swill out the cups just in time.
‘What’s that smell?’ Horst said as he came in.
The cocoa packet was still on the table.
‘Red Cross parcel,’ I said. ‘It’s cocoa. I couldn’t resist. Shall I make you some?’
He took a look at the contents laid out on the table: the canned meat, powdered milk, the tin of Klim.
‘English shit,’ he said. He swept his arm across the table and everything went to the ground.
Of course. I should have realised. The news of the defeat of the Germans would have reached Horst too. He went up to his room and I heard the door slam.
When he came back to eat, he stank of whiskey, and even the meat roll and tinned vegetables couldn’t pacify him.
‘You think you’re so clever, you English, ja? What you look at?’
‘Nothing, Horst.’
He stood suddenly and pulled me back by the hair.
‘Upstairs,’ he said.
I did as he asked. It will soon be over, I thought. This war will soon end.
‘Lie down.’
I squeezed my eyes shut, let the fight seep out of me. Let him. Then it would be over. He would fall into his usual stupor and sleep. This grunting, groaning animal that stank of cigars was nothing to do with me.
It was taking too long. He was usually spent by now. A blow to my chest, a fist like a hammer.
‘Move, can’t you?’ he shouted, shaking me until my head rattled. ‘Do you think I want to do this with a dead thing? Move.’
I tried to move, but his weight pressed me down, like a butterfly on a pin. I made one intense effort. Life; that was what mattered. To stay alive. For Rachel. With horror, I felt him grow soft inside me.
He slid out of me. Incensed now, he rolled me off the bed. I landed in a sprawl, my face crushed towards the linoleum floor.
I tried to turn my head and caught a glimpse of the barrel of a gun.
Christ. He meant to kill me.
A hand grasped my hair, yanking, until my neck might snap. ‘They say the Führer is lost, and we are still stuck in this place. I’m tired of you,’ he said. ‘I don’t see why I have to see your face another day.’
‘What about Fred?’ My voice was thick, desperate.
‘Fred is dead. I heard months ago. Court-martialled for running away. Bloody coward. He won’t care if you’re alive or dead.’ He cocked the trigger and the sound of it was loud in my ears.
A flash of something metal across Horst’s neck. Several things happened at once. He tried to twist, but he buckled towards me, knocking me off balance so I fell with a crash, the breath forced from my lungs. Horst’s head hit the ground next to mine. His mouth made a sound like a groan, but his eyes were blankly open, and a gush of red was everywhere. Blood. The stink of it like iron and heat, and the gun skittering from his open hand.
At the same time I pushed his weight off me and turned. Rachel swayed there, white-faced, a sharp kitchen knife in her hand.
I sat up, woozily.
More blood pooled around Horst’s neck. He writhed a moment more, then was still.
‘You killed him.’ The words stuck to my lips in a whisper.
Rachel quietly put down the knife on the floor. ‘Every night I’ve covered my ears, trying to block out the sound of him. His shouts; his taunts. I swore I’d go mad if he hit you again, and I’d just had enough. I couldn’t take any more. He would’ve shot you.’
‘It’s the finish for us,’ I said.
‘I know. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it to end this way.’ She knelt beside me and we gripped each other tight. Her ribs trembled under her nightdress.
‘We were so close to making it,’ I said.
Chapter 18
In a frenzy, we scrubbed every trace of blood from the floor and wrapped Horst’s neck to stem the flow. In death, he looked calm, just another blond man in uniform.
‘What makes one man so different from another?’ Rachel said. ‘They have the same bones, the same flesh. And yet one can be kind and another cruel. Where does it come from, kindness?’
‘I don’t know. I’m glad Fred can’t see him. He worshipped his older brother.’
‘Why do you think he didn’t he tell you Fred was dead? That was a horrible thing to do.’
‘Shame, I suppose. Didn’t want to be associated with a coward.’
I stared at the soles of Horst’s boots, marvelling that I felt nothing for him. And the fact that my husband was dead made no impression either; I was just numb.
‘They’ll be here soon, though, to collect him in the car,’ Rachel said.
‘I know.’ It hadn’t escaped me that we had a dead German actually in the house.
‘What shall we do? It would be no use pretending it was an accident,’ Rachel said. ‘Nobody cuts their own throat, do they?’
‘We could hide him.’ I cast my eyes around the room.
‘The partition,’ Rachel said. ‘It’s the obvious answer. It’s my fault after all. It’ll give us a few more hours to think of something.’
I shook my head. ‘You can’t have him in there with you. That’s macabre. And anyway, as soon as they realise he’s missing, there’ll be a search, you know that?’
‘So you’d better tell the driver he decided to walk to town and left for St Helier already.’
‘No. If I do that, it puts him here. I’ve a better idea. I’ll act worried and tell them Horst didn’t come home.’
‘But they know he did,’ Rachel said. ‘Wolfgang drove him – you saw him help Horst out of the car.’
‘But it’s Wolfgang. Will he tell?’
‘I don’t know. I just can’t think anymore.’
She looked so tired and forlorn that I went to give her a hug. ‘Brace up. One thing at a time. Let’s get him out of the way.’
He was a heavy man to lift, and we had to drag him.
Once he was behind the partition, I checked his room, moved a rug over the damp patch on the floorboards and washed up the plates in the kitchen. On tenterhooks, we scoured the house, looking for telltale signs he’d been home last night. Of course, we found his coat on the hook and his hat on the settee. I hid them under my mattress. Please, let them not search us, I thought.
When the knock came at the door the next day, I was ready. It was a young man, the one who usually came for him in the mornings.
I acted flustered. ‘I’m sorry, but he isn’t here. I’m so worried. He didn’t come home last night.’
‘Not come home?’ The soldier looked like he didn’t understand.
‘I was expecting him as usual, but he didn’t come. Maybe he spent the night at a hotel? When you see him, will you ask him to telephone me?’
‘Yes. This I will do.’ Then he frowned. ‘Your face, what has happened to it?’
I thought quickly. ‘I was set upon by some people. They punched me and called me ‘Jerrybag’ because Hauptmann Huber lives here.’
‘Hauptmann Huber will be angry. What people? I will find them, they will be punished.’
‘I don’t know their names. I didn’t see their faces, it was dark …’ I was rambling but couldn’t stop. Panic was hot in my throat.
‘Don’t be frightened. We will take care of you, Frau Huber. I will see to it.’
‘Thank you.’
I shut the door and sagged against it with relief.
‘What is going on? Where is Hauptmann Huber?’ Wolfgang asked. It was midday by the time he came, and his face was creased with worry. ‘Is he ill?’
I shook my head.
‘The men are restless; he has not arrived for work. I make an excuse and come to ask you.’
‘Come in,’ I said, ushering him past the shop counter and into the sitting room.
‘Is
Rachel all right?’
‘Yes’ – Rachel appeared from upstairs – ‘I’m fine. But we have a problem.’
‘Where’s Huber? They told me he had not been home last night, but I know I brought him here and watched him come through this door.’
‘He’s dead,’ Rachel said flatly.
Wolfgang’s face dropped. ‘No.’ He glanced to me as if I might deny it. ‘What happened to your face?’
Rachel and I looked at each other. ‘We need to bury him somewhere,’ Rachel said. ‘Can you help us?’
Wolfgang sat back on the chair, his face grey. ‘Show me,’ he said. ‘I must know it all.’
Rachel took him upstairs, and I heard the bed castors creak across the floor, and her voice explaining.
When he came down he was even more grave. ‘If they find out he’s dead, we will all be executed. Every person on Jersey will be at risk. They will kill you one by one until you confess.’
‘Then they mustn’t know he’s dead,’ I said. ‘He must just disappear somehow.’
‘How many days I wish for that to happen,’ Wolfgang said. ‘But not like this. This is too … too difficult.’
‘Then we are finished.’ Rachel went to Wolfgang and lay a hand on his arm. ‘You are a good man, Wolfgang. We are grateful for your help. And we cannot expect more than you have already given.’
He took her hand and kissed it. They looked at each other a long while, and he ran a finger down the side of her cheek until she took hold of his hand and pressed it to her chest.
‘If I do this, I do it for you,’ Wolfgang said. After a few moments’ thought, he went on, ‘If I could get him to the sea we could bury him there and hope that nobody finds him.’
‘No,’ I said. ‘He might wash up somewhere.’
‘If he didn’t have his uniform, they wouldn’t know it was him,’ Wolfgang said. Many Todt workers, they are thrown into the sea.’
I was momentarily shocked. But then I realised it was the answer.
‘Don’t go to the door if anyone comes,’ he said. ‘I must go now. I will say I took him to a hotel and have not seen him since.’
The next day I searched Tilly’s room for a box of old gardening clothes that used to belong to Fred. I had to harden myself to use them. When I held them to my chest they smelt of Fred, of icing sugar and pastry, of earth and manure, and even now I couldn’t believe he was dead and that I’d never see him again. Rachel took Horst’s uniform and burned it in the range. We dressed Horst in the ragged clothes and bound his feet with strips of cloth. The sight of him was both repulsive and sad. He was stiff, so it wasn’t an easy task. But finally it was done.
That night Wolfgang drove up to the back door in the car. ‘They are searching for Huber everywhere. Yesterday was talk of him deserting his post. Today they suspect something. Tomorrow they will search house to house. You’d better be ready.’
Under the cover of dark, Wolfgang dragged Horst into the car. No one would be surprised to see an OT officer manhandling a prisoner’s corpse.
After Wolfgang had gone we cleared out the range and scraped the buttons and brass from the bottom of the firebox into a paper bag.
Rachel didn’t say much. She was worried about Wolfgang, and all night we expected a knock at the door, but none came. When I looked out of the window I saw the moon rising slim over the rooftops and heard the boom of guns from somewhere far off at sea.
The next morning at dawn I took a trowel and went down the lane to bury the paper bag. I stopped at a damp ditch and dug a hole good and deep. Once I’d covered it over, I stamped down the earth and dragged rough grass over it. As I was hurrying home, a lone soldier passed me. He gestured to me to look in the basket.
‘Nothing,’ I said. ‘Nichts.’
He saw the empty basket and trowel straight away. ‘You dig potatoes?’ he asked hopefully. His thin and bony wrists protruded from his uniform. He looked about seventeen years old, but his face was gaunt and his eyes shadowed.
‘Yes. But none left.’ I shrugged.
‘Same. Same for us,’ he said. ‘No food anywhere.’ And he walked on by. After he’d gone I found tears were rolling down my face. I wasn’t sure why I was crying, but perhaps it was for some lost innocence, for the way war had turned us all into less than we were before, and for that boy’s army adventure being so much less than he’d hoped for.
When I got back two armed soldiers were already on guard outside my house. They stopped me at the door until I shouted, ‘Ich bin Frau Huber!’ at them, and they reluctantly let me pass. Immediately I could hear boots on the upstairs floorboards and my wardrobe door’s familiar creak before it banged shut. I hurried through the shop and searched in vain for Wolfgang’s friendly face, but there was no sign of him. Another armed soldier stood by the fireplace, and Oberstleutnant Fischer, thinner and more tired-looking, sat on the arm of the chair in my sitting room. My senses were so on fire with listening I barely heard his first words.
‘I am sorry about the door,’ he said in German. ‘My men are a little enthusiastic. They hear how the war goes and they are angry.’
‘I was out searching for food,’ I replied, also in German. I kept up the pretence, aware of the bangs and scuffles from the rest of the house, my stomach clenched tight, expecting any moment to hear Rachel’s cry.
I sat down and crossed my legs in a semblance of calm. ‘Any news of Horst?’ I tried to keep my eyes ahead and not on the stairs.
‘No.’ Fischer looked at me closely. ‘I thought we might establish the last time you saw him. He wasn’t a man to shirk his duty. So, to speak plain, we think something might have befallen him.’
I kept my gaze wide and innocent.
‘You don’t think …’
‘It is war, Frau Huber.’ He sounded weary. ‘A good man disappears, and we must ask questions.’
‘I suppose so,’ I said. Upstairs, the slow scrape of furniture being dragged across the floor. I could barely breathe.
He sighed. ‘The news from Germany is bad. So many cities ruined, destroyed by this war. Dresden, it is rubble. Berlin too, a Pompeii. And what was it for, this great crusade? Thousands dead, thousands lost. A Europe in ruins.’
I was silent. He seemed to have shrunk into himself.
‘Your husband, is he still in France?’
‘No … he … he didn’t make it.’
He closed his eyes. I had to wait a good while before he spoke. ‘My condolences, Frau Huber. Such a bloody waste.’
‘Oberstleutnant! Etwas hier.’ The soldier on the stairs summoned him with a sharp movement of the head.
Fischer didn’t seem to hear him.
‘What is it?’ I stood up too fast. My voice came out dry as feathers.
‘Kommen Sie,’ the soldier replied.
Oberstleutnant Fischer snapped back into himself and took to the stairs, with me following behind. I could barely see through the door for helmeted men. One of them pushed me aside into my bedroom as they hammered on the false wall. What must Rachel be feeling, locked behind there? I knew they would find the hinged door as soon as the bed was moved, and they were dragging everything aside. My hand came to my mouth as a sob escaped.
A sudden shout of triumph made my heart plummet to my shoes.
Crashes and the splinter of wood. They kicked down the partition and dragged Rachel out. Surprisingly, she was calm, even dignified.
‘Who is this?’ Fischer said.
‘A cousin,’ I said.
Rachel shook her head at me. ‘I’m sorry, Céline.’ She turned to Fischer, raised her chin. ‘I am Rachel Cohen.’
‘Identity card?’ he asked.
She shook her head. The soldier who was holding her slapped her hard across the face. She reeled, but recovered herself enough to speak. ‘You have it already.’
‘Don’t hurt her,’ I said, but two men held me back.
Fischer stared at her a moment. ‘I remember. You are the Jew from the bank.’
‘She has a na
me! Rachel Cohen,’ I said.
‘Well, Fräulein Cohen, you are under arrest and it is time to go. Take her to the car, men.’
They bustled her down the stairs, hands behind her back. She called out, ‘I made her do it. She didn’t want to hide me, but I forced her.’
I tried to follow, but Fischer caught me by the arm. ‘Best not, Frau Huber.’
‘Wait! Where are you taking her?’ I wrenched my arm away.
He sighed. ‘Where all the Jews must go.’
‘Please, Herr Fischer.’ I spoke in rapid German. ‘Germany has lost. You know this now, and we are just waiting for the announcement. You are the last outpost of the Führer’s men. Already we almost have victory in Europe. Why ruin another life?’
‘Because I must do my duty to the end. You have been helping an undesirable. So, there will be a trial for you as soon as the paperwork is completed, and we will follow the correct procedure.’
‘But it’s madness. Today you have the power, but in a few hours it will all change! The British are coming, and you will have to surrender. Forget you found her. Just a few hours, that’s all I ask.’
‘No, Frau Huber. I need my certainties. If I fail in my duty now, I will always wonder why I did not fail in it earlier. Could I have saved more souls? Once orders are no longer orders then the whole bloody muddle of war becomes a pointless thing. Your husband died for the Reich; he and many more like him. I owe it to them, don’t you agree?’
‘He would have wanted you to save her,’ I said hotly.
‘Perhaps at the beginning of the war. We are all different men at the beginning of the war. We all have compassion then.’
An engine revved up outside, followed by the noise of trucks starting up. He walked downstairs with a heavy tread. I followed and watched in stunned silence as he put on his cap. When he got to the door, he turned back. ‘My men will fix this door. When they send for you, you will report as requested. Goodbye, Frau Huber.’
With the slam of the door my chest caved in towards my ribs. I ran to the shop window and watched the car drive away. Rachel’s small dark head was dwarfed by the men in the car. The two open-topped trucks full of helmeted men flanked it, either side. So many men for one small person.
The Darkest Hour Page 65