At the gate Krista stood trying to make Paul go away. He wanted her to go into town with him. He was angry and miserable. He did not know how long he would be away from the district. Joseph’s behaviour had astounded him; but it had made him all the more determined to get Krista away from the family. Where was the crime in wanting to marry her? Surely her foster-father would prefer that to the illicit unions of his own daughters?
To his pleading that she should write to him Krista turned a deaf ear. She wanted him gone and gone quickly. That Pa could believe she could trick and deceive him was agony to her. Beside this the unhappiness of Paul seemed at the moment of secondary importance. If only he would go quickly she could get back to Joseph and explain to him.
“Please go,” she begged, “Pa’s right. It’s no good. I never thought that it was!”
“I’ve as much right to you as they have,” said Paul angrily. “You don’t belong to them. Krista, don’t you care for me enough to fight your foster-father? You must see that he’s unreasonable over you.” He pulled her to him and kissed her roughly and angrily. She struggled to get free, resenting his attentions in sight of the others, but he would not release her.
Robert sprang from the hedge behind which he had been watching the farewell. At the first sign of trouble he had hidden himself. When adults quarrelled and shouted at each other he was terrified, as was Franz Joseph. They had learned to disappear.
“Leave Krista alone! Leave her alone or I’ll kill you,” he screamed, while Franz Joseph began pummelling the American’s legs.
At Robert’s cries Moe came running. She began laughing when she saw what was happening.
“Ah! So our little saint’s being kissed,” she taunted. “Well done, young man! Take another one, now, a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush!” She went into fits of laughter while Krista, white-faced and frantic, pushed Paul away and ran past them into the house. Paul was aghast. “I shouldn’t have done that, but she makes me desperate,” he burst out miserably. “She seems to have no spirit in her . . . and I’m mad about her.”
Moe suddenly became serious. She put a hand on his arm, thinking how attractive were the dark wings of his hair and the steady blue eyes. What an appalling scene he had made for them by coming here tonight. Joseph was besotted with the girl, always had been. He thought of her as his property, his special find. She loved Krista herself, but she bitterly resented Joseph’s absorption in his adopted daughter to the neglect of his own flesh and blood. She decided suddenly that the best thing for everyone would be for Krista to marry this foreigner and get right away from her foster-father. What future would there be for her if Joseph was going to behave in this way to every man who came after her? And there would be plenty. The girl was not just attractive; she was growing really beautiful.
“You’re in too much of a hurry, silly,” she said, laughing again. “She’s still a child, whatever you may think; she’s not like other girls you know. Have a little patience. She’ll come round—she likes you. Did you see her face when she came in and found you here? It was lovely.”
“But your husband?”
“Oh, him,” said Moe contemptuously; “you can see what he counts for. Who cares about him?” She laughed again.
“Krista cares a lot,” said Paul glumly.
“Well, don’t look so miserable, the world’s full of girls, all just waiting to fall into a pair of arms like yours.”
Her roars of laughter angered him, but in spite of his anger he sensed its heartiness and her wish to comfort him as she took his hand and pumped it up and down.
“I only want Krista,” Paul said, “and I mean to get her.”
“Well done! But true love never runs smoothly. Be off and find a more willing one, and you’ll soon have Krista come running—and if you can’t find one, come and ask me.”
Her laughter followed him down the road as he walked under the willows to the ugly station. It had started to rain and looked drearier than ever. His heart was leaden, like the sky, he saw only the white anguished face of Krista and heard her voice begging him to go away.
Hurrying steps behind him made him turn. Anna was pounding after him.
“Paul, wait a minute,” she panted. She was a heavy girl and Paul had been walking like one pursued. “Don’t be angry with Krista, please. Oh, I know she’s upset and doesn’t know what she wants. It’s all father’s fault. He idolizes her. She’s a saint to him. You’ve no idea. He’ll never let her go—and she must get away. She must marry and get away from the family. I’ve told her so. She’s just a normal girl like me but father’s given her a halo and she’s trying to live up to it. Don’t you see?”
“But what can I do?” retorted Paul angrily. “You saw how she sent me packing. She wouldn’t even promise to write to me, and she begged me not to write to her.”
“How stupid you are,” cried Anna. “Write to her at the factory, lots of us get letters there, and give me your address at the place where you’re being sent. I may need it, you never know.”
“You’ll help me?” asked Paul eagerly.
Anna nodded and put his slip of paper in her pocket.
XX
LEILA lived with her grandmother in a miserable little hovel by the river. The grandmother was wise, with the wisdom of one now dependent on her grand-daughter. She said very little about the fractured arm and accepted Leila’s explanation of the accident even if she doubted its truth. She had learned that it did no good to nag at the girl whose way of life appalled her. What else could one expect from a child whose mother had run away with another woman’s husband just because her own was missing in Russia? The old woman had taken her grand-daughter gladly and had worked at a laundry to support her. Now Leila was old enough to work for herself and for the last two years had worked at the rubber factory where the twins Hans and Heinz were employed.
They made rubber goods—horrible things about which the young should know nothing in the old woman’s opinion. They were now making women’s breasts which could be inflated to any size required. Leila had brought some of them home with her, and had demonstrated their correct use to the scandalized grandparent. She had put a tight jersey over them to show how they added to her attractions. The old woman had not minced her words, but Leila had been unabashed, saying that she was glad enough of the money they brought in, and at the same time determined that she would not show her grandmother the very newest kind with a certain improvement added.
The smell of rubber—hot rubber—permeated the once lovely fields and woods for miles. In a strong wind it was wafted right to the village where its pungency caught the pit of one’s stomach, but after a few weeks’ grumbling everyone had accepted it as they did the employment which the factory brought their young people. It was accepted that this post-war drive brought compensation for expansion in the wage-packets brought home regularly by those who for too long after the war had known hunger and unemployment.
The grandmother made little comment on the fractured arm but the old village doctor made a great deal. He accepted Leila’s version of an accident with a wide smile.
“Come off it!” he said. “D’you take me for a fool? Now tell me the truth, how did this happen? And why didn’t you come to me immediately?”
Leila had been taken home by Eddie that night and without a word had crept into bed to lie all night in agonizing pain from an arm which next morning was so swollen and black that deception was impossible. The bruising of the entire arm prevented the finger-marks of her torturers being seen. After her explanation of a fall from a motor cycle the doctor had asked for the real one. When she stuck to her story he demanded brusquely to see her back and the other arm; in short, he told her to strip. Her terror was so obvious that he had called in the grandmother and asked her to remove Leila’s clothes.
When she stood naked the old man was horrified. The girl’s left arm, shoulders and back were a mass of bruises—which could be consistent with a fall—but some of the livid marks on her youn
g skin had obviously been made by deliberate pressure of fingers. The old woman looked on in silence. She knew perfectly well that Leila went out in the night and concluded that she went, as did so many others, to meet a man. But what could she do about it? She was old, no longer able to work, the laundry said she was too slow, her fingers were getting twisted and bent with rheumatism. When she remonstrated with her, Leila had retorted sharply that if she were nagged she would go elsewhere to live and the old woman could fend for herself.
Leila was generous. She earned more than the laundry had ever paid the grandmother for her long day’s work. Growing old was a terror when one was alone. Her husband was long dead, her two sons lost in Russia. This girl, daughter of her most beloved son, was her sole source of support until she could claim the old age pension. That was not so easy. She came from the East, she did not belong here.
She loved Leila, had loved her from childhood, but she feared for her since the girl had been mixed up with these flashy young men and that red-haired girl from the bunker family. Leila was often away all night now. The grandmother sensed that something sinister was going on, and had been for some time when this accident occurred.
When the girl was dressed again the doctor said abruptly, “You must come to hospital and have an anaesthetic for that arm. Apart from the fracture, it’s been wrenched from its socket, almost—” he looked sharply at her—“as if someone had been twisting it.”
He noted her increased agitation as he said this and drew his own conclusions. The police sergeant whose district covered her village was a friend of his. He would say a word to him and have the young woman’s obvious ill-treatment recorded.
Leila went into the hospital where Carola was, and after two days there, during which she steadfastly stuck to her story of the motor cycle accident, was discharged with her arm in plaster. As she was coming out she met Moe going in to visit Carola. Moe, with her arms full of packages, stopped, surprised. She didn’t know Leila very well but had seen her occasionally with Katie.
“Whatever have you been doing?” she asked.
“Fell off a motor cycle,” said Leila laconically.
Moe’s eyes narrowed. She remembered those blood-stained gloves of Katie’s and her explanation of someone falling off a motor cycle, but that had been some weeks ago.
There was something going on among these young people, something dangerous. She didn’t like it. “Was it that Leo’s machine?” she asked.
“No!” replied Leila. And that was all. She seemed to have no interest in her own fractured arm—a topic which in Moe’s life would have been of absorbing interest.
“You won’t be able to work,” she said. “How long will it be? Whatever will your grandma do?”
“I can use both hands,” said Leila abruptly. “The machine I’m working is easy; I’ll be able to use the hand soon although the arm is in plaster.”
“So!” Moe looked at the pallid face and the blue shadows under the eyes.
“Where do you kids go at night?” she shot out suddenly.
Leila was taken off her guard. She had no answer ready. “Up the river,” she said vaguely, “we just meet sometimes and talk.”
“Oh yeah!” said Moe bluntly. “Tell that to someone else.”
“Why don’t you ask Katie then?” said Leila stung by her tone.
Moe went home and did exactly that. She found Katie lying in the summer-house stretched out on the seat asleep. It was late afternoon and as she lay there utterly relaxed the lines of her pregnancy were already visible.
When the girl awoke at her shakings she was astonished at her mother’s question. Why should she ask it just now? She had never made any serious attempt to find out what they did at night. She had been too occupied with her own affair with Rudi. Katie was sullenly silent.
“Oh, I know well enough what you in particular have been up to,” Moe said, “but what do you all do—there are a lot of you going and coming home at all hours. What do the others do? Or do you have combined necking parties?” She laughed her great hoarse laugh. “I’ve just seen that Leila at the hospital,” she explained, and did not miss the flash of fear in Katie’s face. “Funny the way you all seem to be falling off motor cycles lately! Who was it you helped tie up when you got all that blood on your gloves?”
“One of the boys—no one you know!” was the quick reply, but her face belied the lightness of her tone. Katie didn’t like this subject and would not answer Moe’s inquiries about Leila’s accident, insisting that she knew nothing about it. Moe did not insist—Katie had to be relied upon to smooth the way for her visits to Rudi. She had resumed the relationship with the young man in spite of his misgivings about Joseph’s threats. It was costly, for the landlady where he now lodged had to be bribed. She pretended to be shocked, but Moe had rightly concluded that it was the kind of shock that can be reduced in terms of cash.
Katie was left to wonder how much Leila had disclosed as to the cause of her injuries. That she had told Moe it was from a motor cycle fall indicated that she was using that way out. Katie thought of her persistent refusal to take the oath after she had learned that the tourist had been murdered. She could see that Leo had admired her courage even while redoubling the torture. Who would have thought it of the quiet Leila? Katie had seen her face as Eddie, who had brought it all upon her, approached her after she had been revived from fainting from pain. The horror and contempt on it had been appalling. There was going to be trouble from Leila. Katie wondered if a real accident to that young woman would not be safer for them all. She began to think about a little push near the edge of the river by their hide-out. It was particularly deep just there and in the strong current no one with a broken arm would have much chance. She was frightened now, not of Leo or of Hank and Eddie but of Leila, who would bring peril to them all.
It was that very evening that Hank told her she was to take Leila’s place. Eddie had let them know that a wealthy tourist had been coming regularly to the restaurant in the evenings and that he had asked Eddie to introduce him to an attractive girl. It had to be tonight, for unless they made haste the best part of his wad of notes would be gone.
Katie demurred at the short notice.
“You always knew it would be at short notice!” said Hank. “That’s the whole idea of the thing—we act on the signal from Eddie. He telephoned me at the repair station today. The man is due there tonight for dinner and Eddie has promised a girl. You see you’re there or you’ll get what Leila got.”
“I won’t do it,” said Katie flatly. “I don’t like it either. Hank, please tell Leo it’s dangerous. We’ll get caught—these men are well-to-do business men—there’ll be a hue and cry from the police soon, there’s bound to be.”
“Getting yellow?” sneered Hank putting his great hands—hands very like his father’s—round Katie’s neck and pressing hard. “It’s Leo who gives the orders, not me.”
“But why shouldn’t it be you?” coaxed his sister. “You’re just as clever and stronger than Leo, and the twins would support you—so would I. This decoy business is all wrong. We should have stuck to the housebreaking: it was good enough for everyone until Eddie started this new stunt.”
Hank let go of her neck. His face wore a bitter look.
“You know damn well why it’s Leo who gives the orders and not me! He’s educated and I’m not, see? He can make me look pretty silly when he likes. Why, I can’t read any too easily—you know that—I left school at twelve; he can understand anything, and Eddie can speak English and French too.”
“That’s only because he’s a waiter, he picks it up from the tourists.”
“Be your age!” said her brother brutally. “It’s because he was in with a set of British and Belgian sods before he took up with us. I don’t trust that fellow. He’s too slick. He let us down over that last business—swore the house was empty.”
“I loathe him,” said Katie.
“Leo orders you to be there at ten o’clock tonight,” sai
d Hank; “look out for yourself if you’re not. What Leila got is nothing—a mere flea-bite to what we’ll give you.”
“Leila’s going to make trouble,” said Katie. “Moe met her coming out of the hospital today. We’d better make sure her mouth is shut.”
“You can see to that yourself, but you’ll answer to Leo if you’re not on time tonight.”
Katie shivered. She didn’t feel any too well. Pregnancy did not agree with her. All the time she had carried Peppi she’d been sick, and now it was just the same. Moe said it was her flaming red hair—that people with red hair had fewer skins than others and that there was something wrong with their blood. She herself had always bloomed during her pregnancies, she said. Katie was peculiar.
Soon, thought Katie angrily, she would not be able to get into the tight satin frock which Leo had bought her, then he would notice and that would be the end. If only she could have done something, as Moe had said. The Frenchman was definitely interested. He liked her. She went indoors and took the dress from the cupboard. She couldn’t find the belt. It was black with a bright emerald ribbon in broad velvet. Leo had said that it suited her hair. That had been when he had first been attracted to her. Only a few months ago—it seemed a lifetime now. She felt heavy and spiritless. At the thought of having to attract the tourist tonight she felt furious. She was constantly having nausea at the smell and sight of food and to have to eat and drink with him filled her with apprehension. But there could be no let-up. Leo was already tired of her. He would have no mercy.
When she came out Krista was with Hank. “All right. I’ll go and see Leila,” she said sullenly.
She was worried that she couldn’t find the belt. She envied Krista’s supple slimness. Krista was growing taller and slimmer every day—or so it seemed to Katie, who watched herself swell in terror.
She hated Krista. Hated her wide grey eyes, her milk white skin, and most of all her lovely soft cloud of ashen hair. She hated her innocent virginal look, she wanted to take her somehow and smirch her in dirt, to soil her beauty and her breathtaking freshness.
A House on the Rhine Page 20
