Fireshadow

by Anthony Eaton

  ‘Do you think? Ghosts, perhaps?’

  ‘No idea. Just something I felt the other day when I came here the first time.’

  ‘Do you believe in ghosts, Vincent?’

  ‘Nah.’

  ‘Good. That sort of thinking defies rationality. Still, I am thinking that you are right about this place.’

  Turning, the doctor murmured, ‘Let me remember . . .’

  The blue eyes closed and the old body relaxed. Vinnie tried to imagine the prison camp rebuilt in the old man’s mind – wire and guard towers, lights and wooden buildings.

  ‘Over here, I think.’

  The old man led off again, shuffling up a gentle incline towards some decaying foundations a few hundred metres away.

  ‘Mess hall, guards quarters . . .’ Each landmark, now no more than grey, mouldering blocks, was indicated with small, impatient gestures.

  ‘There,’ he continued, indicating a small square foundation set some way apart from the others. ‘There was the German detention compound – the isolation cells. Boiling hot in the summer, freezing cold in the winter, and tiny. I only visited it once, for a week.’

  ‘Why?’

  He smiled.

  ‘A little matter of a disagreement with a guard. Silly to think about now.’

  The matter clearly closed, the tour continued. Making slow progress between the ruins, Vinnie was struck by the change in the old man’s demeanour. It was clear that memories and visions of a lost place were transporting him not only out of time, but also out of place and body.

  ‘How different it all seems,’ the old man said, almost as if reading Vinnie’s thoughts.

  ‘It’s the same forest, though, surely?’

  ‘In some ways, yes, in many others, no. Ah. Here . . .’ A shallow ditch scored the mossy ground, running off towards a clump of trees several hundred metres away. ‘The German fence line. That means . . .’

  With no further remark, the old doctor led the two young people up the slope towards a rectangular foundation a little way off. There he eased himself down, settling on the cold concrete. A smile hinted at the corners of his mouth as he gazed around, left and right.

  ‘There. Just so . . . familiar.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘This building.’

  ‘This, Vincent, is all that remains of the place where everything changed.’

  September 1943

  ‘What happened to your face?’

  Doctor Alexander crossed the room quickly, concern in his expression.

  ‘Nothing, Doctor, a little mishap at rollcall last evening.’

  Arriving at the hospital after his run-in with Thomas the night before, Erich had found the little hut deserted, apart from the sleeping form of Günter, and not wanting to disturb the patient he had retreated again to his own bunk. Now, in the light of day, his lower lip was swollen and crusted with dried blood.

  ‘Let me take a look at that.’

  ‘I’m certain that it will be fine, Doctor.’

  ‘Nonetheless, I’m going to make sure.’

  ‘You have been fighting, youngster?’ Günter looked up from the old woman’s magazine he had been flicking through.

  ‘No. Go back to your knitting.’

  The soldier grinned. In the last few days his spirits had been rising steadily and he was almost back to his old self.

  ‘Your lip should have been stitched right away. How did you do this?’

  ‘An accident, Doctor. Nothing serious.’

  ‘Erich, either you tell me yourself or I’ll get Commander Stutt in here and he can inform me.’

  Erich considered the doctor. Behind his moustache his eyes were hard, a flinty quality reflecting in the dull light.

  ‘I had a run-in with one of the guards, sir. Commander Stutt has already dealt with the issue.’

  ‘Which guard?’

  ‘I do not know his name, sir.’

  It was clear that Doctor Alexander knew he was lying, but there was little he could do unless he was prepared to push the point.

  ‘If something like this happens again, Erich, you are to inform me immediately, do you understand?’

  ‘I will try to, sir.’

  ‘No, not try, immediately. If I am not around you ask one of the gate-guards to get me. All right?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ It was an empty promise. Both knew that there was no way the doctor would ever be able to enforce it.

  ‘In the meantime, I think I will speak to Stutt about this.’

  ‘I would rather you didn’t, Doctor.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘It has already been dealt with.’

  For long seconds the doctor regarded his young orderly, tugging thoughtfully at his left moustache.

  ‘I will think about it, Erich. That is all I can promise. Now come here and let me see if there is anything we can do for your lip.’

  With the swelling, there was little to be done, so when Alice entered the hospital a few moments later the doctor was daubing brown antiseptic onto the cut.

  ‘What happened?’ Alice crossed to them.

  ‘It appears Erich had a run-in with one of the guards last night.’

  ‘Are you all right? Who did this?’ Her concern seemed genuine, and for the first time Erich regarded the girl through different eyes.

  ‘I am fine – just a little cut.’

  ‘Now that you’re here, Alice, would you mind finishing this for me while I see to Günter’s dressings?’

  Erich was only faintly aware of the feather-light touch of the cotton wool against his lips. Involuntarily, his tongue flicked out at the irritation, and the acrid taste of the antiseptic caused him to start.

  ‘Careful!’ The girl smiled. ‘You’re not supposed to eat it.’

  ‘I am sorry.’ Erich’s voice seemed thick through his swollen lip, but he made an attempt to return the smile. ‘I have not yet had breakfast.’

  ‘Well, that’s all right, then.’ She finished applying the rest of the antiseptic. ‘There. You’ll probably need to put some more on in a little while, when this lot wears off. Now, who’d like a cup of tea?’ The girl crossed to the wood stove, stoked the flames and placed the kettle on the top.

  ‘That would be nice, my dear.’ The doctor didn’t look up from his work. ‘This is healing nicely, Günter.’

  Günter, understanding roughly what the doctor had said, replied in German, which Erich translated.

  ‘He says that he can still feel his toes, Doctor.’

  ‘A quite normal response, I’m afraid. The nerves are still alive, even though they’re no longer connected to anything. Poor Günter here is going to get the occasional itch and have nothing to scratch.’

  Erich translated again and to his surprise Günter laughed.

  ‘At least he can see the funny side.’

  ‘I cannot understand how he does so.’

  ‘Perhaps you need to go through a tragedy in order to really understand one, Erich.’

  ‘Excuse me, Doctor?’

  ‘I am saying that it is a matter of perspective, which you cannot realise until you are actually faced with the prospect of dealing with a changed life. You and Alice would both be too young to know what it is to face a life different from the one you had envisaged for yourself.’

  ‘I have seen many tragedies.’ A trace of the old anger blossomed inside Erich. ‘In Africa and Italy.’

  ‘I’m certain that you did, Erich. And I’m not for a minute suggesting that you are any less of a man or a soldier. All I am saying is that at this point in your life your foundations haven’t yet been shaken, and you should be glad of that.’

  Erich still wasn’t quite certain what the doctor was trying to imply, but the conversation was getting da
ngerously personal so he stayed silent. After a couple of minutes the doctor finished Günter’s bandaging.

  ‘There. Perhaps, Alice, you could make a cup for Günter as well?’

  ‘Of course, Grandfather.’ She fetched another cup from the sideboard.

  ‘And Erich, if you don’t want a cup of tea, you could deal with these for me.’

  The doctor gestured at the bloody bandages which he had removed from Günter’s leg.

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Taking the bowl, Erich made his way over to the laundry hut, where a copper full of boiling water steamed in the cold morning air. Franz, the private assigned to laundry duty, greeted him cheerfully.

  ‘Youngster! How’s the mouth?’

  Despite himself, Erich had stopped responding to baits about his age, and now ‘Youngster’ was his accepted nickname.

  ‘Fine. Looks worse than it feels.’

  ‘He’s a swine that one.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘That guard, Thomas.’ Franz lowered his voice. ‘They say he’s a little mad.’

  Erich shrugged. Franz was a notorious gossip and the less he said the better.

  ‘Whatever. I have these bandages to clean.’

  ‘Of course.’ Franz emptied the dirty bandages into a trough and ladled cold water over them. ‘You know he is in love, don’t you?’

  ‘The guard?’

  ‘Ja.’ Franz touched the side of his nose in a gesture of conspiracy. ‘You should be careful not to get between him and his girlfriend.’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘Of course, Youngster.’

  ‘How could I get between him and his girlfriend?’

  ‘You might not mean to. From what I hear, the affection is very much from him to her and not the other way around, if you know what I mean.’

  ‘She doesn’t like him?’

  ‘From what I’m told.’

  ‘But what has that to do with me?’

  Franz winked as he fished the bandages from the water. ‘There, we will boil these up now, I think.’ He wrung the water from them and dropped them in the copper. ‘Think about it, Youngster, there are not too many attractive young ladies here in the forest, are there?’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So who do you think our friend has his eye upon?’

  Erich realised what the other soldier was saying. ‘Do you mean . . . ?’

  ‘Ja. And the handsome young orderly who spends his days working in the hospital with her might be seen as competition, don’t you think?’

  Eleven

  Vinnie

  ‘So you’re heading back to town tomorrow?’

  The afternoon sun dropped below the tree line, throwing long shadows and sinking the clearing into premature twilight. Vinnie and Helen sat at a picnic table beside the creek.

  ‘I imagine so. I can’t see him wanting to make that walk a third time.’

  The journey back from the prison camp site had been arduous. Helen’s grandfather, already tired, had lost his footing a couple of times, and on one occasion Vinnie had leapt forward and caught him before he toppled onto the rough gravel path. The old man had snapped at him, then not spoken again for the rest of the walk.

  ‘I’m sorry about Grandad this afternoon.’

  ‘Nah, it’s okay. He’s a proud old bloke.’

  ‘Too proud, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Eh?’

  Helen looked at him. ‘He’s dying, Vinnie. Cancer.’

  ‘Ah.’ Vinnie struggled for something to say. ‘I’m sorry.’

  He reached down, picked up a small handful of red gravel pebbles from the ground, and lobbed one into the creek.

  ‘Me too. Until this trip, I’d never seen much of him, living in Germany as he did. He’d phone at Christmas and on my birthday and send presents, but that’s not the same. I’ve never had him around as a grandfather and now I’m going to lose him, and he won’t let anyone help.’

  ‘He’s letting you look after him out here, isn’t he?’

  ‘Not willingly. Mum had to insist. He was planning to come alone.’

  ‘Seriously?’

  ‘Yeah. It’s strange. He’s spent most of his life healing other people, and now that it’s his turn to be looked after he won’t do a thing to help himself.’

  ‘He can’t be treated, then?’

  Helen shook her head.

  ‘No. Perhaps six months ago, when he first noticed the symptoms, but not any more.’

  ‘Didn’t he do anything at the time?’

  ‘My grandmother, his wife, she died a couple of years ago, and he’s been wanting to join her ever since.’

  ‘Ah.’ It was hard to imagine that tough old body riddled from the inside. ‘So why the trip here, then?’

  ‘Not sure. He hasn’t really told anyone, only that he wanted to come here one last time. I guess it’s just some kind of farewell. I can’t understand how he’s so accepting.’

  ‘Accepting?’

  ‘Of the cancer. It’s a death sentence, and yet he just seems to take each day as if it were any other. If it were me, I’d . . .’ She stopped.

  ‘You’d what?’

  ‘I don’t know. I wouldn’t just accept it, that’s for sure.’

  Vinnie glanced back up the slope to the campervan. The old doctor sat under the awning, reading. Before him, spread out on the table, were all manner of documents: maps of the old camp, forestry surveys, an old notebook. Through a pair of thick half-frame glasses, Doctor Pieters studied the documents intently.

  ‘He looks okay.’

  ‘He does at the moment.’ Helen picked up a couple of pebbles and threw them, watching the concentric circles of their splash waver slowly towards the banks. ‘He won’t in a month or so.’

  ‘Is he going to stay here?’

  ‘No. Mum’ll go back to Germany with him. That’s where Grandma is buried, and he’ll want to die there.’

  ‘Will you go too?’

  ‘Don’t know. It’ll depend on my study. This trip is sort of my goodbye, I guess.’

  They lapsed into silence while evening settled over the clearing. Above, the sky faded red into purple, against which the first few stars winked into being. Somewhere nearby a frog chirped lazily in the mud.

  ‘You got grandparents, Vinnie?’

  ‘Not in Perth. Dad’s folks still live in Italy, and Mum’s people are interstate.’

  ‘You miss them?’

  Vinnie thought for a minute.

  ‘I do nowadays.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Before the accident, well, family wasn’t so important to me, you know? But now . . .’ He paused. ‘I dunno, things are just different at home, and sometimes it’d be nice to have them around.’

  ‘Them?’

  ‘Grandparents. Just for somewhere to escape to. For a bit of support.’

  ‘But what about your parents? They must be giving you heaps of help.’

  Vinnie threw another stone.

  ‘Vinnie?’

  ‘They don’t even know where I am.’

  Helen’s brow creased. ‘You mean right now?’

  ‘Yeah. I took off. Couldn’t take it any more.’

  ‘Take what?’

  He shrugged. ‘Home. Mum and Dad can’t handle it without Katia around. Dad blames me.’

  ‘Blames you?’

  ‘For the accident. For not getting her out. It’s fair enough. I mean I did get out, after the crash, and she couldn’t, and if I’d been a bit quicker, listened to her earlier or somethin’, I dunno . . .’ Vinnie’s voice trailed into silence.

  ‘Are you certain that’s how he feels? I mean . . .’

  ‘Yeah, I’m certain. He told me as much on the night I ran off.’

  ‘He told you it was your fault?’


  Vinnie nodded.

  ‘Shit, Vinnie.’

  ‘He apologised later, but at the time he said it, he meant it.’

  ‘How could he?’

  ‘You don’t know my dad. He’s a tough bloke. All his life he’s worked his arse off so that Kat and I would have the opportunities that he didn’t have.’

  ‘But I don’t see how that makes everything your fault.’

  ‘Kat was the smart one, she was gonna be a doctor, but I was more interested in having a good time with my mates and stuff. Anyway, I didn’t want to spend my whole life in a library, I wanted to be out, actually doin’ stuff. That’s why I dropped out and got a job in a nursery.’

  ‘You mean with babies?’

  ‘Babies?’ Vinnie looked at Helen as though she’d gone mad.

  ‘The nursery.’

  ‘Ah, no.’ He laughed. ‘Plants. Natives, mainly. A plant nursery.’

  Now Helen laughed too.

  ‘So you work with plants. What’s wrong with that?’

  ‘Nothin’, far as I’m concerned. I love it – getting my hands dirty, workin’ in the sun. You know where you are with plants. Dad didn’t like it though. Thought I was chucking my life away. He reckoned that he’d slaved to make sure that Kat and I would never have to do something like work in a nursery. That was what he said. So when Kat died, and he was left with me, well . . .’

  For a long time the two sat still and silent. Helen shot small glances at the boy hunched beside her, wondering how much of the damage from that accident was on the inside.

  ‘Vinnie?’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘We’ll probably be heading back to town tomorrow. You want a lift?’

  He looked at her. ‘Nah. I think I’ll hang here for a little longer. Thanks.’

  ‘You can’t hide forever, you know.’

  ‘I know. But I can’t go back, either. Not yet.’

  ‘It is not mattering anyway, I am afraid.’ Both turned, startled to see the old doctor standing in the shadows only a few metres away. ‘The only place we will be going tomorrow is back up the hill to the camp.’

  ‘Grandad . . .’ Helen started to interrupt, but he silenced her with a wave.

  ‘We will be paying one more visit, and Vincent’ – he focused his stare again on Vinnie – ‘we will be needing your assistance, if that is possible.’