The German Girl

by Lily Graham

  Lars tore his arm out of Hershel’s grip, then went back to the nearly extinguished fire, and started to rebuild it again. ‘Ruthie and I will stay here.’

  ‘Lars,’ said Ruth, in a shocked voice, blinking her dark eyes, and staring at Esther in horror.

  ‘We will rest – and in the morning when no trapper has come here looking for his imaginary kill, we will continue,’ said Lars, not looking at the others.

  Hershel frowned. ‘But you don’t know the way!’

  Lars scowled. ‘There’s signs. We’ll be fine. Or you could stay with us – your family.’

  Hershel looked at Esther and the two exchanged concerned looks. ‘Lars, come on now – just drop this – we need Goran. He’s the one with the map, for goodness’ sake. We need each other.’

  ‘No,’ Lars said. ‘I don’t need someone telling me what to do – making me give up my peiyes – no. But you made your choice – water over family – whatever, good luck, have a nice life.’

  ‘Lars!’ barked Hershel. ‘You’re being selfish, acting like a scolded little boy. Even Jürgen didn’t act like that, even though he had every right to feed himself. Act like a man.’

  Lars swore, and Esther shook her head. ‘Please, Lars, don’t be like this.’

  ‘I’m not being “like” anything.’

  Hershel shook his head. ‘Come on, Esther. If Goran is right, well, we can’t wait here for some trapper to find us. Lars, come or don’t come – we are not choosing a stranger over you, we are choosing to live – and to get away from a potentially dangerous situation.’

  Lars scowled but said no more.

  Esther and Hershel waited a full five minutes in a thick, soupy silence, Ruth darting anxious glances at them, until finally they both reluctantly joined the rest of the party and rushed after Goran.

  It was tense, and the mood remained low as they continued on their journey without Lars and Ruth. Goran didn’t say anything as he moved silently through the late afternoon, cutting a path through the tall spruce. The only sound was the occasional whimper from Esther, and the soft moans that were coming from poor Sofie as she attempted to walk.

  ‘We should go back,’ Esther kept saying. ‘I shouldn’t have left Ruth. Sofie can’t even walk.’

  ‘I’ll be all right,’ said the other woman, who clearly didn’t look it.

  Hershel looked just as torn, but he kept shaking his head and repeating, ‘They made their choice.’

  Asta stumbled along as best she could with Sofie, who could barely move. They were hardly getting anywhere. She looked at Jürgen, and could see how conflicted he felt, how responsible. If he’d kept his mouth shut, kept those sausages to himself, all of this might have been avoided.

  They hobbled on for half a mile until a sound chilled their bones, and they stopped stock still. It was a blood-curdling scream. They turned to each other in their fright when they heard something, even worse.

  A gunshot.

  16

  ‘No!’ cried Esther, her hands covering her face. ‘Ruth! That was Ruth, oh my God.’

  ‘It might not be,’ said Hershel. Esther looked at him, and he shook his head. They’d all heard it – a woman’s scream.

  ‘D-do you think it was the hunter?’ asked Sofie.

  Goran nodded. He didn’t look at all happy. He hesitated, looking at Hershel and Esther. ‘I don’t think it would be wise to turn back.’

  Esther stared, touching her red-gold hair, and her unadorned throat. Then she stopped. ‘It was only one shot.’ She turned and looked at her husband with hope in her eyes. ‘Ruth might still be alive.’

  ‘And in the hands of someone who will take her to an officer – and send her to a camp. It will be swift now that there’s a crime,’ Hershel argued, ever the lawyer.

  ‘What crime?’ cried Esther, tears coursing down her cheeks. Sofie tried to hold her, but she wouldn’t let her.

  ‘An accomplice.’

  ‘For a stupid animal trap?’

  ‘That and trying to cross the border.’

  ‘They can’t charge her for that – not until she’s actually done it!’ she said.

  He shook his head. ‘That’s not how it works – intention is also a crime.’

  She shook her head violently. ‘I am going back.’

  ‘No!’ cried Hershel.

  ‘Shh, be quiet, all of you,’ hissed Goran. ‘You’re making a racket. Sound carries with this wind.’

  Asta and Jürgen clutched each other’s arms.

  They all shut up quickly. But it was too late. There was the sound of dogs barking not far away.

  ‘Run,’ hissed Goran, who raced ahead through the trees, only to come to a grinding stop.

  The two officers they’d encountered before – the ones who’d questioned them, when they were pretending to be on a family camping trip – were heading towards them. The blond-haired one with the thin moustache was holding onto a struggling Ruth, his hand across her mouth. The red-haired officer who had given Asta a hard time pointed a shotgun at them all. But there was also a third man, a stranger, in full ranger gear, who came into view.

  Asta’s heart thundered painfully in her chest.

  ‘Ruth!’ screamed Esther, rushing towards her sister.

  The red-haired officer pointed his shotgun at the sky and fired, and Esther came to a screeching halt.

  Jürgen looked at Asta. ‘Run,’ he whispered. She stared at him in shock, but he grabbed her hand, and started to flee.

  ‘Are you mad?’ she cried to Jürgen, as they tore off away from the group. Their movement caused the others to panic as well. Goran dragged Sofie with him, as they too fled.

  Jürgen didn’t answer, he just ran, and Asta followed, their sixteen-year-old legs finding the energy required. Adrenaline pumped through Asta’s body and she was no longer concerned about her sore feet, consumed by the desperate urge to get away.

  One of the men tore after them. Asta glanced behind her and saw that it was the red-haired man. The other officer and the man in forestry gear were hot on the heels of Goran and Hershel. In their panic, they’d each hared off in separate directions.

  Gunshots flew overhead, and Asta and Jürgen ducked. Asta looked at her twin, who slowed for a second, but then kept going.

  ‘I’m fine, keep going, he won’t catch us.’

  She nodded and they raced, as far and as fast as their legs could carry them.

  Asta didn’t see the rocks on the path as she slipped, and fell down hard, onto her hands, grazing her palms, and skinning her knees.

  ‘Asta!’ cried Jürgen, rushing to help her. She sat up quickly, head pounding, only to frown in shock, but it wasn’t her own injuries that made her cry out, it was his – the entire left side of Jürgen’s face was covered in a thick coating of blood.

  ‘Your face!’

  Jürgen felt it, and looked shocked. In their rush of adrenaline, he hadn’t even sensed the wound. His hands shook as he stared at the blood on them, then he felt the back his head, where more and more blood was oozing out in a viscous flood.

  ‘You’ve been shot,’ she cried, jumping up to look at him, only to gasp in shock as she was suddenly lifted off her feet. It was the red-haired officer, and before she could scream, he had pressed a knife below her throat. With his other hand, he pointed a pistol at Jürgen, who’d picked up a log with every intention of using it to break the man’s skull.

  ‘I have one more shot here, you filthy dog. You’ll be dead soon from that wound in your head – so you decide,’ he said, pointing the knife ever closer to Asta’s jugular. ‘I slit her throat, and put you both out of your misery, or you put that down and she gets to live.’

  Tiny drops of blood were forming on Asta’s neck from the sharp knife. She couldn’t see Jürgen for the tears in her eyes. It couldn’t be true – Jürgen was fine – he couldn’t die from that shot, could he?

  ‘Drop it, Jürgen. I’d rather go to a camp, so long as I’m with you, we’ll be fine.’

  J
ürgen nodded, then dropped the log.

  The red-haired officer stared at him.

  ‘You think you’re both clever, don’t you?’ he said, anger flaring in his eyes. ‘Making up those filthy little lies. We realised there was something not right about your story when we didn’t find you back at the coffee station. Started to get suspicious…’

  There was a sound from behind, and they saw the park ranger making his way towards them. In the second that the officer looked away, Jürgen grabbed hold of the log again, leapt towards him, and cracked it over the man’s head. But he didn’t act fast enough, as the officer fired just before he hit the ground.

  Asta watched in horror as Jürgen fell backwards, blood blooming out of a bullet wound in his side, his face turning white.

  ‘Jürgen,’ she cried, racing towards him, only to have the wind knocked out of her as she was swept her off her feet by the ranger who threw her over his shoulder. She twisted and struggled against him, hands reaching out for her twin, but the ranger didn’t stop, as he trod silently through the forest.

  ‘Let me down,’ she screeched. ‘Jürgen!’ she cried. Her captor twisted her around, as easily as if she were a sack of potatoes, and clamped a hand over her mouth.

  ‘Listen,’ he said, in heavily accented German. ‘Shut the hell up, or you’ll get us both killed.’

  She blinked, tears falling from wide eyes, but she kept her mouth closed in shock.

  ‘He’s dead, okay?’ he said, and she screamed once more against his palm.

  ‘Stop that,’ he hissed and she did. ‘There’s no point in going back.’ He put her down, only for her to begin to bolt straight back towards her twin. But he caught her easily, and shook her hard. ‘He’s dead,’ he repeated. ‘I’m sorry. But we’re alive – we must keep it that way.’

  Her face crumpled into desperate sobs once more. His hands were at his hair, like he was ready to rip it out in frustration. For a moment, it looked like he might leave her, then he scowled and threw her once again over his shoulder and started to run.

  At some point, he’d slowed down to a walk. Night had fallen, and he finally let her slide off his shoulders. She stumbled, and he caught her. ‘You should have let me go back.’ Her face was stamped with heartbreak. ‘You had no right to take me.’ Then she gasped, as the shock and the horror and the agony of it all hit her, and she sank to her knees. ‘I don’t want to live if he’s dead.’

  To her surprise, he sat down next to her, closer than was necessary. ‘You have to,’ he said, simply.

  Angrily, she brushed the never-ending tears from her eyes, and glared at him. She looked at him properly, perhaps for the first time. He wasn’t as old as she’d first thought. Possibly somewhere in his early twenties. Just really big – tall and muscular. He wore a knitted cap, and had a thick blond beard covering most of his face. His eyes were sharp, and very blue.

  ‘Why?’ she snapped. ‘We were born together, we can die together. Sounds right to me.’

  She blew out her cheeks. The thought of living in a world without Jürgen was inconceivable.

  ‘You were twins,’ he said, understanding.

  Her face twisted in pain at the use of the past tense, and she sank her head between her knees.

  He patted her shoulder awkwardly. ‘Look, we stop – just there,’ he said, pointing at what looked like a hut up ahead.

  She looked up at him, frowning. It was getting harder to see him in the fading light.

  ‘Why are you helping me, who are you?’ she asked.

  ‘Come,’ he said, pulling her up once more as if she weighed nothing.

  ‘Where are you taking me?’ she demanded.

  ‘Out of the cold, somewhere safe, that’s all,’ he said. ‘Come on.’ And he took her arm, steering her towards the small hut.

  Asta followed the strange man into the hut. ‘Who are you?’ she asked again, trying and failing to get the image of Jürgen lying in a pool of his own blood out of her mind.

  He shut the door behind her, making her jump. The hut was small and basic. There was a rolled-up sleeping bag in the corner, as well as some tools mounted on the walls.

  ‘Kalle Blomkvist,’ he said.

  ‘You’re Danish?’

  He nodded. ‘I work for the forestry department but I also help to manage the border.’

  She stared, then frowned. ‘So, you’re working with them – the Nazis?’

  He shrugged. ‘Yes and no, I work for Denmark.’

  ‘So why don’t you just hand me over to them?’ she hissed. ‘To those officers, why carry me here?’

  He rubbed his hands together, then began to start a fire, keeping an eye on her at all times, watching her every move, as if she were preparing to run. He wasn’t misguided. Every inch of her wanted to run away, straight into the arms of danger, to find her brother.

  ‘To keep you safe.’

  She looked at the floor, angrily, dashed away more tears. ‘You had no right to take me away.’

  ‘No,’ he admitted, adding another log to the flame. Then he straightened, and took off his heavy coat, revealing a woollen jumper beneath. ‘But then, what right do they?’ he shot back.

  She blinked. ‘What do you mean?’

  He stared at her for a long while, but didn’t answer. Eventually, he said, ‘You’re Jews, right? That’s why you wanted to get into Denmark?’

  She didn’t say anything. Even now, she wasn’t sure that she could trust him. What if this was all some elaborate way to get her to admit to it? What was the penalty for crossing over into a country as an illegal?

  ‘We have had many refugees,’ he explained, then he sighed. ‘Here,’ he said, indicating what she presumed he meant to represent the Danish-German border. ‘Newspapers are full of the stories of the refugees. It’s a problem.’

  Asta frowned. Such a small word to describe such a wealth of prejudice.

  ‘They feel sorry for people like us – but not sorry enough to want to make room for us. They think we will come over and steal their jobs, take up their land – they never think that we could help, bring needed skills…’

  ‘I know,’ he said. ‘They forget that another language doesn’t mean another species.’

  She looked away, surprised at his view. ‘But you work in border control.’

  ‘Which means I have seen it for myself. It’s not easy to ignore someone’s humanity when it is staring you in the face.’

  He got up, and fetched a blanket from the small sleeping area on the floor. ‘Here,’ he said, handing it to her, ‘you’re shivering.’

  She took it but didn’t put it on. She didn’t feel like she deserved to be warm, not when Jürgen was lying somewhere in the forest, cold… and possibly dead. She stood up, the blanket slipping from her fingers. ‘Look, thank you, but I need to go back, I can’t leave him there. Even if he is de—’ She stopped, unable to say the word. ‘I have to go back, I can’t leave him.’

  He shook his head. ‘You can’t go.’

  ‘Why not?’ she said, anger giving her strength as she crossed over to the door. He jumped up and barred her from leaving.

  ‘There’s nothing left for you. The other officer – he would have radioed for more people, they wouldn’t just leave your brother lying there in the forest – they will have taken the body with them.’

  Asta winced at the word ‘body’ but clenched her jaw. ‘I need to go – I can’t let them take him. If he’s d-dead, I’ll need to bury him.’ Her lip shook.

  ‘They won’t give his body to you – they’ll lock you up first. He doesn’t deserve this.’

  ‘What?’ she said, eyes flaring. ‘You don’t know anything! My brother deserves everything!’

  He nodded. ‘That’s what I mean. I saw him – he was brave, he knew what he was doing. He saw his chance to protect you, and he took it. It cost him his life.’

  Her face crumpled, and she wobbled. He caught hold of her.

  ‘I caused his death.’

  ‘It was his
choice – he risked himself for you and if you go back there’s every chance that you won’t survive – maybe not now but they could put you to death for breaking the law. Either way, your brother died so that you could be free – it would be a pretty horrible sacrifice if he did it for nothing.’

  She looked up at him as she slipped from his embrace onto the ground; the shock of his words struck her dumb. But he was right, and the horror of it, the sheer, awful disgrace of it, the impossibility of the truth being that she had no choice but to leave the person she loved the most in the world with those monsters. She began to sob then, and found she couldn’t stop.

  17

  The next day, Asta was woken by the smell of bitter coffee. She’d fallen asleep on the hard, cold ground, and for a moment, between sleep and wakefulness, she’d forgotten. It winded her, the realisation, and she gasped, clutching at her stomach, as if she’d been kicked. Her eyes were swollen and painful, and she sat up, and simply held the cup Kalle was offering her, not saying a word.

  ‘Where is it that you are going?’ he asked.

  She stared at the tin mug in her hands. It was burning her palms and part of her thought, Good; it was good to feel the pain – pain was what Jürgen must have felt. When she set it down, it felt in some small, stupid way like yet another betrayal.

  ‘To Denmark,’ she said with a frown. Surely that was obvious?

  ‘Yes, I know,’ he said, his pale eyes staring at her deeply. He was sitting cross-legged from her, surprisingly flexible for such a large man. ‘But was there a plan – somewhere you were going to go once you got there?’

  She nodded. ‘My aunt, Trine.’

  He looked relieved. ‘That’s good.’

  Then he frowned. ‘If you have family there couldn’t you have just got a visa?’

  She shook her head. ‘There was no time.’ And she explained about her parents. She thought, sitting there on the hard wooden floor, that she would simply say a few words, but somehow, she found herself talking, telling him more than she normally would. She broke off, stopping suddenly, after she’d got to the part where the nurse had come to warn them not to go home.