In their little compartment the other passengers jabbered among themselves. There were two women and four children – all under twelve years of age. One of the women had tried to strike up a conversation with Ula, but she had replied in very halting German. That was enough to dissuade further words.
When the slow dusk finally turned to night, Peter could stay awake no longer. With his head resting on the window, he fell into an exhausted sleep.
.
CHAPTER 35
August 10, 1943
.
Peter woke with a sour taste in his mouth and a thick head. He wanted to open the window of his stuffy compartment but everyone else still seemed to be dozing and he thought it would be mean to disturb them. It was light outside but when he wiped away the condensation on the window the view looked much the same – a milky opaque fog hung around the fields. The train had come to a stop.
Anna was snuggled next to him, her hand resting lightly on his lap, her head on his shoulder. She stirred and said, ‘Guten Morgen, Peter. Have you slept at all?’
He hushed her at once and at first she looked puzzled. Then she quickly realised her mistake.
The woman at the end of the compartment stirred too – and looked over at them.
Shortly before seven the train began to move and pick up speed. The North German plain sped by and before eleven that morning they were in Neustrelitz. Here the train stopped and platform vendors called out for customers. Coffee. Sausages. Pretzels. Pumpernickel with sliced ham. Ula spoke to them in Swedish with a big smile, and cocked her head towards the platform. ‘Ja’ they both parroted in what they hoped was a Swedish accent.
The woman at the end of the compartment spoke to them in German. ‘I could do with a coffee too, and some cake. I haven’t had anything to eat since yesterday morning.’
Peter bit his tongue not to reply. Ula spoke to her in halting German: ‘I get you somezing on ze platform?’
Peter wondered if this was the right thing to do. Surely it would invite more conversation? Ula left the carriage and bought them a small picnic. As she was gone, the woman looked at Anna and said, ‘Ah, you look just like your mother.’ Then to Peter, ‘But you – you must take after your father. I can’t see her in you at all.’
They both looked at her. ‘No underztant?’ said Anna.
The woman scoffed. ‘Come on now. I heard you this morning, talking perfect German. You’re just playing a silly game.’ She sounded indulgent.
They both shook their heads and smiled in a vacant way. Now the woman was getting vexed. ‘Well suit yourselves, you silly children.’
Ula returned with a cardboard box of food and drink, and gave the woman her coffee and cake. They exchanged a few coins. Ula spoke to Peter and Anna again in Swedish and they just nodded and said, ‘Tack’.
The woman was not finished yet. She turned to Ula. ‘Your children . . . they speak German, I heard them. But they won’t speak to me!’
Ula did her best to look puzzled. She assured the woman they spoke almost no German at all.
‘I vunder for how lonk we vill stay in ze station?’ said Ula, trying to change the conversation. ‘When they’ve been through the train,’ said the woman. She nodded towards a small group of policemen on the platform who were squeezing onboard. They would almost certainly be checking everyone’s papers.
Eugen Klein had done a good job on their documents. They’d certainly fooled the authorities in Berlin. But it was always an anxious moment when documents were checked. They waited only five minutes before one of the policemen came to the glass door of their compartment. ‘Papers please!’ he announced.
He began to chat to Ula – ‘Ah, Sweden. I spent many holidays there before the war. Do you know Angermanland? We loved to camp there.’
Ula smiled and made small talk in her Swedish accent. The policeman turned to Peter and Anna. ‘You lucky children. You’re safe there. Not like our poor German boys and girls. Facing those air pirates day and night.’
Ula stepped in quickly. ‘My children, zey only speak a tiny German.’
The woman in the compartment could not hold her tongue. ‘They don’t. They speak it perfectly well. I heard them this morning. Just when I woke up.’
Ula shook her head. ‘No, madame. You must have been dreamink.’
That seemed to be good enough for the policeman. He bid them all good day and moved on.
The woman had dropped all pretence of friendliness now. ‘I don’t think you’re Swedish at all. You don’t talk like any Swede I’ve met,’ she said to Ula. She turned to Peter and Anna: ‘And I think you’re deserters. You should be in Berlin with the Flakhelfer or the Fire Service.’
She turned to the other woman in the compartment. ‘Do you think she sounds Swedish?’
The woman shrugged. She would not be drawn.
‘Madame, you are quite wrong . . .’ said Ula. But the woman waved her away. She sat there fuming, looking at the policemen the other side of the carriage as they stood on the platform comparing papers. Then she stood up and left the compartment. She began to open the corridor window – no doubt intending to call the policemen back. But at that moment the train blew a long whistle, all set to depart, and her resolve deserted her. She flumped back in her seat and sat there, arms crossed, looking daggers at Peter and Anna. When the police boarded again, she was bound to make a fuss again.
Eventually she turned to Peter and Anna and said, ‘You’re very quiet, you two. Young people usually have such a lot to chat about.’
Ula spoke up. ‘Madame, you are beink most unkind. These children are going to a funeral. They are very unhappy. Now pleaz, leaf uz alone.’
Peter thought he would make his own contribution. He snorted in a derisory fashion and closed his eyes to try to sleep. This was all going very badly.
Early in the afternoon, the woman’s little boy told her he needed to visit the lavatory. They both got up and left the compartment, to push through the crowded corridor. When she was gone, the other woman in the compartment leaned forward conspiratorially and whispered, ‘I know you’re not Swedish either. You haven’t got the accent quite right.’
Seeing the shock on all of their faces, she said, ‘Don’t worry. I don’t care what you’re up to! None of my business.’
Ula kept up the pretence, protesting in her poor German. The woman just winked and tapped her heart. ‘Best of luck to you.’
The other woman and her boy returned and the carriage settled into a surly silence. When the train drew up at Neubrandenburg an hour later, they were deeply relieved to see her and her little boy get off.
By now the carriage was emptying, the corridors no longer packed with people. Peter could see right on to the platform and the last thing he noticed as the train drew away was the woman talking to a policeman.
When the other woman and her children left the carriage to stretch their legs, Peter said, ‘Did you see that busybody talking to the police about us?’
‘They won’t take any notice,’ said Ula.
‘He was taking notes,’ said Peter.
Their fellow passenger returned, but this time on her own. She smiled and announced that she and the children had found an empty carriage down the corridor. ‘Best of luck to you!’ she chirped again as she carried off her bags. Peter almost got up to help her with her luggage. He stopped himself and smiled blankly. No one wanted to call her bluff and actually talk to her in German.
Now they were on their own in the compartment, they began to hurriedly whisper. Ula said, ‘If the police do take any notice of that woman, they will want to search the train at Stralsund, it’s the next stop, or at Sassnitz. So I think we ought to play safe. If we get off at Stralsund and find a hotel, that might throw them off the scent.’
‘I’m so sorry. I feel such a fool,’ said Anna. She had been burning with shame all day but had not been able to say anything. ‘If we’d stayed onboard, we might even have been able to catch a ferry this evening.’
; Ula was hopeful. ‘No matter. We’re nearly there. One more night and we’ll be away. I can’t wait to see Mariel’s face when we turn up on her doorstep.’
‘Do you think they might be waiting for us at the station?’ said Peter.
‘No,’ said Ula. ‘They’ll be expecting us to stay on the train. I’m sure, if anyone is looking for us, they’ll just get onboard. Now when we get off, we need to do so separately. They’ll be looking for three of us together.’
The train made slow progress to Stralsund. Shortly before they arrived, Peter went out into the corridor. He opened a window and breathed in fresh sea air. They were so close to the Baltic now. Perhaps by tomorrow evening they would be safe. The apprehension was killing him.
.
CHAPTER 36
Stralsund Station was busy when the train arrived at half-past five that afternoon. People were finishing work and going back to their homes on the little branch lines. Peter, Anna and Ula got off at different doors of the train and mingled with a trickle of other passengers heading for the exit. Although he kept his head down for most of the time, Peter could not resist a quick look around. He noticed two soldiers and a policeman boarding the train together and wondered at once if they were looking for them.
On the way out, Peter spotted Ula first, then Anna. As he walked down the road away from the station, he took care to keep them both in sight.
When they were halfway into the town centre, they felt confident enough to walk together. The town looked quite beautiful – all red roofs and white walls in the evening sunshine, many of the buildings magnificent structures, and with two great churches dominating the skyline. ‘It’s an old Hanseatic League town,’ said Ula, when they were safely out of the station. ‘There used to be a lot of money here.’
There still was, by the look of the prosperous, well-kept shops and buildings. Signs to the seafront appeared and they all decided, without even saying it, to walk there. ‘You’d never guess we were fighting,’ said Ula wistfully. It was barely 200 kilometres from Berlin, but it seemed quite unmarked by the war.
But the swastika flag still flew on the municipal buildings. And arrest would still mean torture and execution. In Berlin they took that for granted. It didn’t seem right in a place like this.
Like the rest of the town, the harbour was full of remarkable old buildings. As gulls shrieked and circled overhead they stood on the quayside filling their lungs with sea air. Just across from the town, and linked by a bridge, stood Rügen Island, the final step in their journey to Sweden.
‘The thing to do now, of course,’ said Ula, ‘would be to take you to a nice restaurant. But I don’t want any more awkward questions. Especially if there are Swedish-speaking people. It’s just across the water after all. So we shall find a hotel and order a meal from room service.’
‘Mutti, that will be so expensive,’ said Anna.
‘No matter,’ said Ula. ‘We’re nearly there. Just one more train and one more ferry. I think we can afford to use a bit of our escape fund.’
A short walk from the seafront was the Steigenberger Hotel. It was a huge modern place with hundreds of rooms. The kind of place where you could feel anonymous. Ula booked a room and they ordered a pot roast and apple pudding cake. While they waited, they washed their clothes in the bathroom and hung them up to dry.
The waiter brought their meal on a trolley with silver salvers. He made no attempt to speak to them, other than the briefest of pleasantries.
It was such a pleasure for them to talk openly. The food was excellent, and it was good to feel safe.
Ula said, ‘If Otto were with us, it would be almost perfect. For now, we can only pray they are not treating him too badly.’
Anna’s eyes filled with tears. ‘They will kill him, won’t they,’ she said.
Ula knew it was true but she didn’t want Anna to think she had given up hope entirely. She went to sit next to her daughter and put an arm around her. ‘Strange things happen with the Gestapo,’ she said. ‘Sometimes people are sent to the camps rather than killed. Sometimes they even come home. We cannot give up on Otto.’
Peter chipped in. ‘Your mother is right, Anna. And your father’s a tough old soldier. He’ll be more than a match for them.’ He realised it was a stupid thing to say, even as he said it.
‘Tomorrow, my dears,’ said Ula, trying to sound cheerful, ‘we will buy tickets to Sassnitz and by tomorrow evening we shall be safe in Trelleborg. So let us drink to that!’
Anna perked up and said, ‘And let us drink to Stefan too. At least we know he’s safe.’
Another day in Nazi Germany. And then they would be free.
.
Next morning they set off for the station in better spirits. The sun was hot on their faces and after all the travelling and sleeping in railway carriages, it had been good to start the day with a proper breakfast and a shower. Eugen Klein’s passes and documents had been fine so far. Ula told them they had nothing to worry about.
When they reached the road up to the station, they could see a long queue forming outside. ‘They must have set up a checkpoint,’ said Anna. ‘I wonder if they do this all the time or is it just because they’re looking for us?’
Ula was worried too. ‘What shall we do?’ she said to herself.
Peter replied. ‘If we want to be really cautious, perhaps we could just come back again later?’
Anna thought that was a good idea. ‘All right, then,’ said Ula. ‘Let’s go to the seafront again and try to pass ourselves off as tourists.’ Then she thought better of it. ‘No. Let’s go somewhere out of the way. Maybe they’re looking for us in Stralsund too.’
They walked out of town and along the seashore. It was a good idea. Only a few people passed them and there were no soldiers or policemen to ask awkward questions.
When they returned to the station that afternoon, weary from carrying their bags in the hot sun, there was still a small queue outside the station. The checkpoint was still in operation.
‘Perhaps I should go on my own to buy a ticket for Sassnitz, and then you two go in a little later. If they are looking for us, I’m sure they’ll be looking for the three of us together,’ said Ula.
.
CHAPTER 37
August 11, 1943
.
Peter watched Ula walk towards the railway station and thought how alike she and her daughter were. She was still slim and almost the same height, and both of them tied their hair up in the same way. They even walked with the same graceful stride. He could imagine a flirty tradesman or postman asking if she was Anna’s elder sister. Then he thought it odd that he should be thinking things like that at a time like this. After all, they might never see her again. But he was so tired, not just from the journey, but with the constant undertow of fear, the constant need to be careful of what he said and the absolute necessity of watching his back every minute of the day. Now, the August sunshine and salty sea air reminded him of happier times, when he didn’t have a care in the world. He would like to be an eight-year-old again, on holiday in Dabki, on Poland’s Baltic coast, sitting on a golden beach that stretched away to infinity.
It was very difficult, being so close to freedom. They were less than a hundred kilometres from Sweden. A day’s travel at the very most. Way above their heads a northbound plane trailed white vapour across the cloudless sky. It would land in Sweden in less than an hour. Wouldn’t it be good, to be on that plane?
‘She might be ages,’ said Anna, ‘so let’s move and watch from further away.’
The thought of shifting his weary body back down the street they had just walked up did not appeal to Peter, but Anna was right. ‘We’ve got to keep our wits about us,’ she said. ‘It would be awful to get caught now.’
They dragged their cases away and waited. And waited. The nearby church clock struck its quarter hours and the afternoon ebbed away. Anna began to fidget. Then she screwed her face tight, trying to hold back her sobs. ‘They’ve got her. I kno
w it. Mutti and Vati, gone,’ she said. ‘How could God be so cruel?’
Peter placed an arm around her. What could he say? People were staring now.
‘We just don’t know what’s happening,’ he said. ‘There might be all sorts of reasons why she’s not come back.’
She shook her head. ‘Shall I go and have a look?’ said Peter. ‘She might be in a queue, she might still be waiting as the ticket office is closed?’
Anna wiped away a tear. ‘She would have come out if the office was closed,’ she said very quietly. ‘She would have told us. Don’t go in. It’s too dangerous.’
When the church clock struck six, they realised there was no point staying where they were.
‘We ought to get away from here,’ said Anna. ‘It’s a bit obvious, isn’t it, us just down the road from the station, if they come looking.’
‘But if we go,’ said Peter, ‘how can we meet up with her again, if they let her go? I can’t believe we didn’t talk about this – make ourselves another plan . . .’
‘Well we didn’t,’ she snapped. ‘So there’s no point saying it.’
Her eyes were darting around.
‘If they have arrested her, you’d think they’d come looking for us as well . . .’ she said.
Peter nodded. That was true. No police or soldiers had come out of the station exit.
‘We’re stuck,’ said Anna. ‘No passports, no travel permits, virtually no money. What can we do?’ Ula had been carrying all their documents.
They had enough between them to buy a drink and a sandwich in a café, so that’s what they did.
The Auslander Page 21
