“Er ist, er, he is lying, Herr Oberst! He assaulted my foot and----.”
“Wait!” The German officer held up his hand. He nodded at Stuart. “Continue.”
“There was a crowd at the platform and I had come to meet the Wellington train. I heard the sound of the train’s whistle and stepped forward. I accidental y stood on Mr. Schroeder’s foot. I immediately apologized, said I was sorry but----.”
Unable to gauge from the officer’s stare whether or not his story was likely to be believed, he shrugged and tried to adopt the expression of a bewildered victim.
“You said that you were sorry? You apologized?”
“Yes, colonel. I----.”
“Ah, you recognize German army ranks?”
“Some of them, colonel,” responded Stuart hoping that the slight smile on the man’s face had gained him a small advantage.
“Good. Please, continue with your story. After you apologized…”
“Yes, after I apologized Mr. Schroeder shouted at me, said that I had insulted a German official, grabbed me, threw me down on the platform, handcuffed me and brought me here.”
“You are hurt?”
“I probably have a lump on my head where it hit the platform. But the handcuffs are very tight and causing me pain…. sir.”
The colonel appeared to be unmoved. “What was your business at the station?”
“Business? Oh, no business as such. I was meeting my girlfriend. She was coming up from Wellington. She had been visiting her parents. They haven’t been well.”
“They are sick? Our People’s hospitals----.”
“No, sir, they are not sick in that sense. Her brother Ian, their son, was killed in the western desert a week before the truce. He was their only son and….” Afraid that he had gone too far in referring to the recent war, Stuart shrugged.
The colonel regarded him for a long moment and then slowly shook his head.
“Ach,” he sighed. “An unfortunate story. And your girlfriend? Has she been your girlfriend for long?”
“Yes, sir. About five months.”
“And you are in love?” The colonel smiled.
“Yes, sir, very much. She’s lovely.”
“I am sure.” He turned to Schroeder. “Release this man.”
“Herr Oberst----.”
“I said, release this man! Are you hard of hearing, Herr Schroeder, or is it perhaps the effect of too much alcohol? Perhaps I should inquire further into----.”
“At once, sir!” Schroeder moved forward quickly and Stuart winced in pain as the blood began to flow back into his hands and fingers.
“I apologize, young man, for your treatment. It is our intention to work together with you and your countrymen.” He snapped to attention and favoured Stuart with a stiff bow. “Please, accept my apologies.”
“Thank you colonel,” replied Stuart, massaging his wrists.
“Schroeder!” snapped the colonel, indicating Stuart.
“Jawohl, er yes.” He turned to face Stuart making an unsuccessful attempt to metamorphose his baleful glare into an expression of suitable contriteness. Imitating his superior he bowed and muttered, “Please accept my apologies.”
Stuart, still angry at his unfair treatment and sensing the man’s lack of sincerity, jerked his head downward in a curt acknowledgement.
Nodding briefly to the stationmaster the colonel turned, and closely followed by his scowling underling, strode out the door.
There was a long silence broken by a deep sigh from the stationmaster.
“You were bloody lucky, mate. But, like I said, some of them are OK, as long as you---.”
“Keep you head down,” finished Stuart. His expression abruptly changed. “Jesus! Carol!”
Bursting through the stationmaster’s office door Stuart noticed that the crowd had grown considerably during the previous hour. The high ceiling and the stone masonry of the concourse caused the symphonies of sound to echo and re-echo from all sides. The rapid clack, clack of high heels mingled with the purposeful footsteps of suited businessmen carrying Gladstone bags, the noises of parents coping with suitcases and small children, the queues at the ticket offices and the regular arrival and destination announcements from the loudspeakers scattered throughout the complex. Stuart’s eyes swept the crowd seeking for some sign of Carol. In doing so he took care to avoid any eye contact with the occasional man in a trench coat and black tie moving silent on the perimeters, watching from under the brim of a Homburg hat.
A sudden impact caused him to stagger back, gasping for breath. Instantly he was on his guard, but the arms wrapped around him and the face thrust up towards his was wonderfully familiar.
“Stuart! God! I thought I’d never see you again!”
“Carol! Me too.” He wrapped his arms around her and held her tight. “How did you know where I was?” he asked, his face thrust into the edges of her hair.
“When I saw what had happened with that German I followed you and saw him take you into the Stationmaster’s Office. I didn’t know what to do so I sat on the seat over there. I saw the German leave and then return with the important-looking officer. I really thought you were done for.”
“So did I. But I managed to persuade the officer that the whole thing was an accident. I used you, actually.”
She pulled her head back and stared at him with wide eyes. “Me? How?”
“I told him that I was waiting for my beautiful girlfriend from Wellington. He ordered his henchman to take the cuffs off me and then, coming to attention, he bowed and offered his sincere apologies.”
“Good heavens! Really?”
“Yes, and he made Schroeder, the other fellow, apologize too.”
“And did he?”
“Of course. One thing the Krauts are good at is obeying orders. His apology was hardly the epitome of sincerity, though. He’s not a man I would like to cross swords with again.”
“Yes.” She paused and looked serious. “I have to talk to you. You are OK, now, aren’t you?”
“Sure. A bump on the head and my wrists are sore but I’ll be fine. Now, where’s your luggage? I don’t want to stay here another minute. Are you going to your aunt’s?”
Carol nodded.
“OK. I’ll catch the ferry with you.”
They decided to walk from the railway station to the ferry building. The next boat wasn’t due to leave for an hour and the day was pleasant. As they started strolling slowly along Beach Road towards the waterfront Stuart was conscious of her wish to discuss something important and, fearing the worst attempted to engage her in conversation.
“How are your parents? How are they coping?”
She didn’t reply but continued for a few steps. She then stopped next to a small wall and frowned up at him. “Let’s sit here, Stuart.”
He sat down and placed her suitcase on the ground. She sat for a moment with her gloved hands in her lap and, without looking at him, began speaking.
“Ian’s death has been a terrible shock for my parents. When the war stopped they thought he would be safe which, in a way makes it even worse. They’d had two brief letters from him after he embarked in which he sounded pretty cheerful. His last one was a standard army postcard with a drawing of a Kiwi soldier sitting on a pile of sandbags, his helmet tipped back, wiping his brow, his rifle across his bare knees grinning happily. On the top of the card it read, ‘A Merry Christmas’. Along the bottom it read, ‘2nd New Zealand Expeditionary Force Middle East’.”
“How come you know it so well?”
“I used to sit with it in front of me going over and over in my mind where he’d probably been when he sent it. Inside was a typically brief, hand-written message. Below the printed words ‘Wishing you a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year’ he’d written ‘Mum, Dad and Carol, from Ian’.
“Taciturn Kiwi bloke, your brother.”
She gave an elongated sigh.
“Yes, he is, er, was. The three of us nearly wore that card out
, looking at it and handling it, knowing that his hands had also been on it, way out there in the desert.” She paused, sighed again and looked down at her feet. “You’ve no idea, Stuart, how much I’ve grown to hate the Germans. They’ve killed my brother and now they’ve taken over my country.”
Stuart grunted. “Tell me about it.”
“I’m upset at what’s happened to our country, but the effect on my parents has been absolutely devastating. All their hopes and dreams were wrapped up in Ian and now,” her voice faltered briefly, “and now he’s gone.”
“I suppose,” said Stuart quietly, “you feel inadequate.” She looked up swiftly. “‘Inadequate’? What do you mean?”
“You probably feel that apart from offering your warmth and sympathy there’s nothing tangible that you can actually do to compensate for the loss of your brother, their son.”
She held his gaze for a moment and then looked away.
“Stuart they’ve asked me to promise to do something that would make them both very happy.” She looked up at him.
“Something that would give them some hope for the future.”
Stuart felt his stomach slowly turn over.
“They said that it would help them to overcome their grief - that it’s something they have both wanted for years.” She took a breath and with a deep sigh slowly expelled the air. “They want me to promise to marry Hamish,” she said softly.
Although his mind was reeling he kept his voice to a monotone. “What did you say?”
“Stuart, my parents owe a great deal to Hamish and his father. Ever since he started taking me out they assumed that one day we would be together permanently. For them, Ian, their son was the more important of their two children. He was the one who always got priority and was always praised for everything he achieved. All they wanted for me was that I would make a good marriage – to Hamish.”
“What did you say?” he repeated bleakly.
“What could I say? They’re both in a dreadful state so I had very little choice.”
An army truck full of New Order soldiers rattled past. Stuart stared at it unseeingly. When he spoke his voice was harsh. “So, what did you say?”
“I told them that I’d agree to become engaged to Hamish. He had some important government business to do in Wellington so I made him agree to let me come back earlier. Said that I couldn’t get any more time off work and that I had to return. He was so delighted that I’d agreed to the engagement that he let me go. He’ll be travelling up here on Tuesday night.”
Stuart’s voice was still harsh. “When’s the happy day?”
“Don’t know. He’s keen to get married as soon as possible but I said,” her voice faltered, “that I’d like to enjoy the engagement period.”
“I’m sure it’ll be an unforgettable experience.”
She took his hand but he immediately pulled it away. “Try to understand, Stuart. I really had no choice. Mum and Dad would have been devastated if I’d refused.”
He sat staring silently ahead.
“Stuart, we can still be friends.”
His thoughts swirled. ‘Engaged’ wasn’t ‘married’ and Hamish was still in Wellington. He breathed deeply and looked at her, the woman he now knew that he loved. With a major effort he smiled and touched her gently on the arm. “Of course we can. Now, tell me what your parents think about the surrender?”
She looked uncertain for a moment and then quickly took her cue. “Oh, Dad just wants to try to survive. He thinks the New Order will provide them with a reasonable, safe standard of living as long as we all---.”
“Keep our heads down.”
“Yes. He keeps saying that. Maybe it helps him make sense of Ian’s death. Mum, I’m sure doesn’t agree with him although she hasn’t said as much. I know that she’ll never get over the anger, hurt and pain. Deep down she really hates the Germans for killing her son.”
“I’m sure that view’s shared by thousands in this country. In spite of the best efforts of the New Order, the hatred will continue.”
“Yes, but Dad’s got a point. We’re not being too downtrodden.” She saw his frown. “What I mean is that we’re not being turned into slaves.”
“True. But there are various forms of slavery. There’s slavery of the body and slavery of the mind. And, as this morning’s little incident shows, we’re all walking a fine line. While I was sitting in that chair in the Stationmaster’s Office I realized that not one person tried to interfere or even protest. That Schroeder character, who’d obviously been hitting the bottle, was insulting not only me but all the other Kiwis. But everybody just stood there.”
“You’re partly right, Stuart, but only partly. I heard the shouting and couldn’t believe that it was you. I did hear people around me muttering angrily but, of course, you never know whose listening, especially in a crowded public place.”
She suddenly reached out and seized his arm in a tight grip.
“You have no idea how I felt when I saw that it was you being beaten up. I called your name but the German was yelling so he didn’t hear. A man next to me put his hand on my arm and said, “Careful, love, you’ll only make things worse.” So I just stood there, biting my lip to stop myself shouting again.”
Stuart, already stunned by the news of the engagement was unsure how to react. “It was a dreadful moment for both of us. But it’s over now and I suppose you’re keen to get home to Aunt Catherine’s.” He stood up. “Now, come on, or we’ll miss the ferry.”
The mellow sound of the Kestrel’s whistle echoed round the wharves and the ferry building as it moved out into the stream past the cargo ships at their berths. The cranes were busily transferring their cargoes from wharf to ship, assisted by teams of wharfies. The wharves were full and there were more ships anchored in the stream waiting to disgorge their cargoes and fill their holds with wool, butter and meat. The work was plentiful for the full-time wharfies and the casual labourers (the ‘seagulls’) like Stuart and his fellow students who earned good money loading and unloading the ships. Nevertheless, during the morning and afternoon ‘smokos’ he had heard dark mutterings from the old hands who had been used to working in a strongly unionized environment. Not only had it provided them with excellent working conditions but also ensured that they had a major say in the operation of the country’s waterfronts. All the workers knew that one of Hitler’s first actions on taking power in Germany was to abolish all unions and to make strikes and work stoppages illegal. It was rumoured that the same process would be imposed in New Zealand. Some were content that their working conditions were largely unchanged and that their wage packets, due to plentiful overtime, were increasing in size. Others were concerned at the implications of being on the losing side, seeing their government replaced and their unions abolished.
The sun was beginning to set as Stuart and Carol sat down outside the main cabin on the long slatted seats. Silently they watched the passing panorama of ships, docks, cranes, small waves and wheeling gulls.
The rattle by his right ear startled him. A teenage boy with a black air force-style cap on his head and a gleaming white diagonal canvas band across the front of his black shirt, stood rattling a collection box. The belt that held up the boy’s black shorts was highly polished and bore the motto ‘Sure and Steadfast’.
“I’m collecting for the Soldier’s Relief Fund, sir. Your support would be appreciated by the authorities.” Clearly the boy had learned the patter off by heart.
“‘Soldiers Relief Fund’? That’s a new one. What soldiers? What relief?” Stuart was annoyed by the interruption and by the reference to the authorities.
“I think it’s something to do with the New Zealand volunteers fighting on the Eastern Front in Russia. I read something on the way up in the papers,” said Carol.
“That’s right, madam,” responded the boy with a smile. “The brave soldiers fighting the Communists: the enemies of all the people.”
“You said ‘Relief Fund’. Why do they nee
d relief?”
“They need some nice things to eat and, you know, presents on their birthdays and at Xmas - that sort of thing. The brave soldiers are fighting on our behalf.” He rattled his collection box again. “Your support would be appreciated by the authorities.”
“Jesus, son are you some sort of trained parrot or something?”
Stuart immediately felt Carol’s elbow in his ribs. Smiling at the boy Carol asked, “Your uniform? Isn’t it the Boys Brigade? My brother Ian was in the 11th Wellington at our local church.”
“Yes, madam,” replied the boy politely. “We are being re, um, reconstituted as part of the New Order. The government is granting us extra money. They said they liked our black uniforms so they won’t be making any changes and they have given us extra medals to earn. Look,” he went on proudly, “I was presented with a new one at last week’s church parade.” He stepped towards Stuart and bent down to show the medal on the end of a ribbon, pinned to his chest. “It’s the Model Citizen Award.”
“What did you have to do to earn that?” asked Stuart, forcing himself to sound pleasant.
“I accurately informed my section leader about some seditious talk I heard from one of my teachers at Takapuna Grammar School.”
“Good God----,” began Carol. This time she was the recipient of a jab in the ribs.
“That’s very, er, commendable,” said Stuart smiling encouragingly. “What did the teacher do?”
“It was in history class. He told us that Napoleon’s Grand Army perished in the snows of Russia, and that the same thing could be happening to our volunteers.”
“And what did you do?”
“I told our section leader who told the authorities.”
“And?”
“The teacher was severely, er, reprimanded. And I received this new badge.”
The boy stood closer so that Stuart could view the badge more easily in the fading light. It depicted the head of a boy looking earnestly upward. Underneath was written ‘Model Citizen’. The head and the motto were encased in a laurel wreath. A chill ran through Stuart. At the base of the wreath was a small swastika.
Uncommon Enemy Page 13
