“Mmm, that’s good. Friedrich, I must see Wilhelm tomorrow. I know I only saw him yesterday, but I have such a bad feeling about him. Can you look after Helena?”
“No, Gisela, I can’t. I must get that fence fixed. I’ve lost three sheep in the past week.” A pause. “Maybe Johann could watch her.”
Jan understands this all right. He holds his breath; this is too good to be true. He wills Gisela to say yes. Please, he prays.
“I don’t know,” she says.
“Please,” whispers Jan from behind the door.
“Well, it’s that or nothing,”
A sigh. “He’s a bit young, don’t you think?”
“Old enough to look after her.”
“All right, but I want you to check on him every hour.”
Yes! Jan wants to scream with joy. This is it; this is his chance. His thirst has vanished; thrilled, he darts back upstairs. This needs some planning.
27
Wilhelm knows he should be grateful he has such a good hiding place. The two girls are pleasant company. They are bright, intelligent girls who are eager to learn and spend most of the day reading. Hans allows them all to come upstairs in the evening. He feels it is safe enough to do that, and they sit round the fire and discuss philosophy and politics. Hans is a good teacher. He lets them have their say, but he doesn’t let them get away with anything. Always there are questions: why do you think that, what evidence do you have for believing this? And yet, Wilhelm is not comfortable. In the girls’ brown eyes he sees the reflections of other young women; women who pleaded for their lives as he and other soldiers shoved at them with their rifles, pushing them towards the edge of the pits that were to be their graves. He can’t bear it.
It’s worse when they discuss the war. For some reason they think he’s a hero because he deserted. In vain he protests, I am no hero, I have done terrible things. The girls smile at him disbelievingly. They think he is a good German, like Hans. And Hans encourages this, says to the girls, you see, not all Germans are bad. Remember, not everyone believes in Hitler. Wilhelm can’t stand it. He’s made up his mind; he’ll confess to his crimes and then go. And he knows exactly where he’s going.
Hans has made them a simple supper of bread and cheese. The bread has come from his mother. Wilhelm can’t bear to look at her when she visits. Her eyes are so concerned for him, and he doesn’t deserve it. He is not worthy of her love. He can’t eat the bread. It congeals into doughy lumps in his mouth, which he is unable to swallow. His stomach has cramped into a tight knot, which rejects all food. Sometimes he can take a little soup, if it’s not too thick, but everything else is impossible to eat. He knows that Hans worries about him, but he can’t help himself; he won’t eat.
As he does every evening, he takes a small piece of bread to appease Hans, but leaves the rest for the girls. They need it more than he does. Hans tries to get him to take more, but he pushes it back towards him. Wilhelm sees Hans struggle to take it. He wants it so badly for he is hungry. Until Wilhelm joined them he had to share his rations with the two girls, but now Gisela brings food twice a week, as much as she can, and they are less hungry than before.
“You need to eat, Wilhelm,” says Hans. “Your mother thinks I am stealing your food.”
“I have told her I give it to you,” says Wilhelm.
“But she wants you to eat it.”
“I can’t.”
Hans takes one of Wilhelm’s hands. “Why can’t you?”
Wilhelm stares back at him. The old man’s eyes are cloudy with age. He must be over seventy now. He was an old man when Wilhelm was at school, and he taught his father too. “Hans,” he says, “why do you think I deserted?”
“Because you are a good man,” the words come easily to him.
Wilhelm shakes his head. “It’s not true.”
“You refused to carry out the evil tasks that they asked of you.”
“But don’t you understand? I didn’t immediately refuse. I was in the army for months before I got the chance to escape. I did terrible things. Terrible things.”
Hans sighs. “I know. But who am I to judge you? What might I have done, if I had been in your place?”
“I killed children, in a village in Poland; Jewish children, in their mothers’ arms. I may have killed their mother for all you know,” he nods over at the two girls.
Over in the corner the two girls are listening, their faces pale and pinched. They’ve never considered this possibility, never for all their philosophical reasoning given any thought to the possibility that Wilhelm might be a murderer. They know he was a soldier, but have believed all that Hans said about him being a good German. Hannah, the younger one, begins to cry. It almost kills Wilhelm to hear her sobs. She’s so young, and he knows she looked up to him as a hero. He can’t stand having to disillusion her, but neither can he continue to live this lie.
“Tell me about it,” says Hans.
“I can’t tell you everything. You’d hate me.”
“Wilhelm, that’s not true.”
“I had been in the army for six months when it started. We were sent from village to village. In the first village we killed only men, but in others…”
Hans is kneading his forehead with his knuckles as if he’s trying to get rid of images of death. “What happened?”
“The east of Poland was the worst. In every village we were told to look for Jews. When we found them, we killed them, and then buried them in mass graves.” He stops speaking; tears are running down his face. “I can’t bear to think about it.”
The room is silent. Wilhelm senses the revulsion of the others. He cannot look at them. Slowly he rises to his feet. “You see now why I won’t eat. How can I, when so many deaths lie on my conscience?” He walks out to the hallway and goes into the cupboard under the stairs. “I’m going to bed,” he says to Hans, who has followed him.
“Will you be all right?”
Wilhelm doesn’t answer him. He lifts the trapdoor and disappears down into the cellar.
“What do you mean, he’s gone?” Gisela shouts at Hans.
“Ssh, someone might hear you.”
She sits down at the kitchen table. “Where is he?”
“I don’t know. I couldn’t stop him.”
It is what Gisela has dreaded. She knew something was wrong, felt it in her bones. Friedrich was scornful of her feelings, but she knew that morning, when Helga was knocked down, that all was not well, and she has the same feeling now. “When did he leave?”
“This morning, I think. I’m not sure. Or it could have been last night,” admits Hans.
“Last night!”
“Well I don’t know for sure when it was. He told us about the terrible things he did, and then went to bed. He was sleeping when the others went down to the cellar. Gone when they awoke. So it could have been any time between midnight and seven this morning.” His voice quavers. “I’m so sorry, Gisela. If I thought he was going to disappear…”
She can’t stay angry with him; it’s not fair. Gisela lets her hand rest on her arm. She’s wretched with worry, but it’s not his fault. She has to get back to the farm to tell Friedrich, though what he can do is beyond her.
The bus has never seemed so slow. It stops several times to let passengers on and off. Gisela sits near the back, praying that no one she knows will come on for she doesn’t want to speak to anyone. The lump in her throat is too huge to let her speak.
“Gisela.” Her heart sinks at the sound of her name. She looks up. It is the parish priest. She nods, not trusting herself to speak. He sits down beside her.
“Have you heard the news?”
“No” – a whisper.
“I’m afraid it’s not good. Herman, you know, Marguerite Durr’s son, he died at the Eastern Front last week.”
Gisela turns her face away so he can’t see the tears fall down her face. Poor Marguerite, all her efforts to protect her son were in vain. She can’t feel angry with her any longer in
spite of all the pain she caused her. Beside her the priest prattles on, but his words wash over her, until, at last, it is her stop. She gets up and squeezes past him.
“I’ll give her your condolences,” says the priest.
It would be better to say nothing, but of course she can’t admit that, so she nods instead and hurries off the bus.
She’s glad to see the house. The rain that started five minutes ago is getting heavier, and she’s soaked through in seconds. She puts the post she picked up from the postbox at the bottom of the track into her bag and starts to run. When she reaches the house, she pushes open the door and shouts out for Friedrich, then Helena. But there is no one there. Friedrich must have gone to mend the fence and taken the boy and Helena with him. She’ll have to find him and tell him what has happened. He’ll know what to do. First though she must eat, for she’s weak with hunger. She puts down her bag on the table, remembering the post as she does so. She takes it out and examines it: three letters for Friedrich, two bills and something official looking. This catches her eye. He won’t mind if she opens it. She shouldn’t, but she’s so anxious, and it could be about the other boy from the Hitler Youth, there’s been no word about him. She rips open the envelope and starts to read. It’s impossible, they must have got it wrong or she hasn’t understood properly. She reads it again, but it’s clear – thank you for your cooperation… have to inform you… boys’ parents have decided to keep them in Berlin.
Gisela can’t breathe. She drops the letter, tugs open the top button of her blouse. It can’t be true, it can’t. All that effort to try to keep Wilhelm safe: entrusting him to someone who only a few weeks ago was almost a stranger; the risky journey that he and Friedrich had to make; the pretence that she was Hans’s housekeeper; having to go hungry so that she could give extra rations to Hans’s household. All that damned effort, and for what? She’d wanted Wilhelm near her so she could look after him and now he’s disappeared to God knows where. Dear God, he could have been safe with her all along. They needn’t have gone through any of this. If only the letter had come sooner. But now… now there’s a stranger in their midst, calling himself Johann. Who is he, and where is he now? And Helena, where is she? Could he have stolen her away? No, it’s not possible; what would a boy like him want with a child so young. Gisela’s breath is coming in gasps, her chest is taut. She sits down and tries to calm herself. She’ll be no good to anyone in this state, and she has to be strong. Her two children are out there somewhere, and she has to find them. Once she’s found them, then she can worry about what to do about the boy.
28
Wilhelm stumbles over the fields towards the farm, but he’s not going home. Although he longs to be with his parents he knows that seeing them will weaken his resolve. And he must do what he has to do. It is only right. He’s sorry for the pain he will cause his parents, but it’s better this way. His legs can barely hold up his body; he’s weak from hunger. He’s been walking since early this morning, not caring whether he was seen or not, though in fact he has not met anyone.
It starts to rain, gently at first, then harder. It soaks into his thin clothes, chilling him. He thinks of the fire in his mother’s kitchen, the smell of bread baking in the oven, the tang of wood smoke in the air. How he yearns to be with his family, but he mustn’t give in to this feeling. On and on he staggers, feet sinking into the mud in the fields. Most of the crops have been harvested, leaving the fields bare and empty.
The rain is coming down in torrents now, bouncing off the ground. He can hardly see two metres in front of him, but he carries on with one aim in mind. It can’t be far now.
At last, Jan is on his own with Lena. He rushes into her room and grabs some clothes from a drawer, making sure he has some jumpers and a coat. The sky is overcast, and they have a long way to go. He’s going to make his way back to the border and try to reach Anatole’s house. From there perhaps he’ll be able to find Marek. It’s not too far, he tells himself, and Marek will help them, he knows he will. Once he has bundled her clothes together he searches for food. Bread and ham, that will be good, and there’s cheese too. Lena ignores him as he dashes round the farmhouse. She’s playing with her doll, dressing her up in a blue cotton dress that Gisela made.
Jan has gathered everything together; he’s ready to go and rushes over to pull her up from the floor. “Come on, Lena, we have to go.”
She bursts into tears, frightened by the sudden movement. Jan closes his eyes, wishes for patience. He drops down to her level. “Do you want to play a game?” he says.
Her lip is pouted, and she doesn’t answer.
Jan wants to shake her. Friedrich said he’d be back in an hour, and it’s already fifteen minutes since he left. Every second is vital. Deep breath and a casual “We could hunt for treasure”.
A flicker of interest. “Where?” she says.
“Out in the field, come on, let’s put on your shoes.”
Lena sits passively while he puts on her shoes. When she’s ready, he holds out a hand to her. He mustn’t rush her. “Ready to go?”
She takes his hand, and he wants to cry with relief. “Let’s go,” he says.
It’s much colder outside today than it has been for some time. Jan pulls Lena up the hill. He’s going past the barn towards the woods, where there’s a track that will take them on their way. The main road is in the other direction, and he trusts that when Friedrich discovers they’re missing, he’ll think they’ve gone that way. Jan has dropped the cardigan Lena was wearing earlier, on that path, hoping that this will divert them long enough to give him and Lena a good start. They’ve been walking for five minutes when it starts to rain, very quickly changing from a soft drizzle to a thunderous torrent. He curses. This is disastrous; they’ll have to shelter. Still pretending it’s a game, he runs with Lena to the barn, praying that it will go off soon.
“We’ll sit here for a minute,” he says to Lena.
“Is the treasure here?” she asks, shaking the rain from her hair.
“Not here, no. We’ll wait until the rain stops, then we’ll go on.” Jan catches his breath as someone dashes into the barn. Damn! Is it Friedrich? He pulls back into the shadows, taking Lena with him. But it isn’t Friedrich, it’s someone much younger. The young man scans the barn, and Jan holds his breath; what if he spots him and Lena? But it’s so dark he doesn’t see them, and fortunately Lena doesn’t notice what’s going on. What’s he doing? He’s sweeping the hay aside, and now he’s kneeling on the floor, pulling at something. A trapdoor rises, and the man disappears beneath it, closing it behind him. Jan is baffled, then remembers the conversation that Gisela and Friedrich had. This must be what they were talking about.
Wilhelm climbs down into the hidey-hole. He’d forgotten how small it is. Doesn’t matter, he won’t be here much longer. The blankets, lamp and matches are still there. Good, he wants some light to comfort him. Everything’s worse in the dark, more frightening. Wilhelm lights the lamp and shakes out the blankets. He wraps one round him, settles into the corner and gets out his razor from his jacket pocket.
Jan can’t help himself. He wants to know what’s going on. It’s still raining hard, so he might as well take a look and see what’s happening. Lena’s almost asleep; he’ll leave her for a second to check it out. He creeps across to where the young man vanished and examines the ground. There is a trapdoor, and it has holes in it. Jan’s heart beats faster. There’s light coming through the holes. He kneels down and puts his eye to one of them and squints to see what’s going on. It takes him a second to adjust to the change in light. It’s a deep hole, a hiding place. The man is down there; he takes up most of the space. He’s wrapping a blanket round himself. Jan wishes he had a blanket; it’s so cold today. The man settles down, leans against the wall. It looks cosy in there, Jan thinks. He wonders why the man is hiding and hopes he is not an enemy of Gisela and Friedrich, for although they’re not very nice to him, they dote on his sister, and he wouldn’t want to see a
ny harm to come to them. But it’s not his concern, and he really should be on his way; the rain is tailing off. One last look… Jesus! The man has a razor and is holding it to his wrist. Jan looks down at him in horror.
Gisela runs out of the house, but the rain forces her back inside. As she goes to close the door, she sees Friedrich appear. He’s drenched through. She pulls him inside.
“Some day, eh?”
“Never mind that. Where’s Helena?”
“With the boy.”
“There’s no one here. And look,” she says, thrusting the letter at him, “he’s not who he said he was.” Her voice rises. “Who is he, Friedrich?”
Friedrich scans the letter, a deep frown on his forehead. “I don’t understand.”
“Neither do I, and there’s more. Wilhelm has disappeared from Hans’s house. He walked out earlier today. Hans said he was behaving oddly and was very depressed.” Gisela sinks onto a chair and bursts into tears. “We have to get out there and find them. But where do we start?”
“Wilhelm could be anywhere, but the children can’t have gone far. You go down towards the main road, and I’ll go to the upper fields.”
“No, they can’t have gone down to the main road. I would have passed them on the way back,” says Gisela. “We’ll concentrate on the upper fields.” She puts on her coat. Rain or no rain she’s going out to find them.
Outside the farmhouse, Friedrich spots the red cardigan that Helena was wearing. It is by the side of the path, which leads to the main road. “Are you sure you didn’t miss them?”
“Yes, I told you. There’s no way I could have missed them. I’ll go up to the barn, and you go into the woods. They can’t have got far in this rain.” Gisela starts to run up to the barn closely followed by her husband.
The mud is treacherous, slowing her down. It’s too hard to keep going at speed; she has to stop to catch her breath. I’ll get there, she tells herself. Two minutes, and I’ll be there. The rain is hammering down, sheets of it.
The Search Page 22
