BRANDT KNEW it was often the smallest of moments that defined a life, or ended it. If Ernst had been elsewhere when the Order Police had called looking for him, he might still be alive – not lying in a sheet on a cart swaying its way to his funeral. And if Brandt hadn’t needed to relieve himself the night before, he might be lying beside his uncle, just as dead, instead of sitting on the cart’s seat. Jäger might still be alive if the doctor had been able to come the night before. Even Peichl might have survived, if he’d kept his suspicions to himself – although where that would have left Brandt was another story. Chance – that was what damned you or saved you.
Brandt found Pavel standing in the yard of his father’s farm. The older man looked into the cart’s flat bed at the sheet-wrapped corpse.
‘Ernst?’ Pavel asked, and held out his hand to help Brandt down from the seat. It was the first time Pavel had spoken to him since the summer.
‘They’re letting me take him to Ursula,’ he said. ‘So she can bury him.’
Pavel examined him carefully, nodding towards his head bandage.
‘Something happened to you?’
‘Nothing.’
Pavel nodded, as if agreeing with him. There was another pause. Brandt wondered if he knew that it was his son Hubert who had spared him.
‘Your father says he isn’t leaving,’ said Pavel. ‘He says he has no reason to leave.’
Brandt squinted up at the house, in case he might see his father standing at one of the windows.
‘Do you think he would be safe here?’
Pavel ran a hand over his unshaven chin and thought about it.
‘I’d say go, all of you, and come back when things are more certain – we’ll keep an eye on the farm for you. And anything you might leave behind. Why take the risk? We owe you that and more.’
Pavel placed a slight emphasis on ‘anything’ – enough for Brandt to turn and examine him. Pavel returned his gaze, his expression unreadable – so unreadable as to be suspicious. Was he talking about the prisoners? Pavel nodded, as if reading his thoughts.
‘That would be – kind of you,’ Brandt said. He wondered if Pavel spoke for Hubert as well. He’d said ‘we’ instead of ‘I’, after all.
‘So what will you do?’ Pavel asked, and inclined his head in the direction of the hut rather than the farmhouse.
He knew about the women – Brandt was certain of it now. One more person to worry about. One more life to take into account.
‘I’ll talk to him. Aunt Ursula and the children need to leave as well. They’ll need him more than this farm will.’
‘Good,’ Pavel said. ‘I’ll feed the horse.’
§
His father sat in his usual chair. He pulled himself to his feet as Brandt approached. He’d aged since the day before. And his hand, which Brandt now held, was bone and skin and little else.
‘You have him? Ernst – poor Ernst, of all people.’
‘He’s down in the yard. In the back of the cart.’
His father reached a hand up to Brandt’s ear.
‘Münch fixed it up. A stray bullet. Just a scratch.’
‘He knows his business, Münch. A good doctor.’
He squeezed Brandt’s hand again – hard this time, the dampness in his eyes reflecting what little light there was in the dark room.
‘I thank God for preserving you.’
Brandt glanced down at the main valley road. It was lined with horse-drawn wagons and carts, women and children – all dusted with snow – moving slowly and sluggishly onwards. He was cold after the short journey from the hut; they must be frozen to the core.
‘Why are they so slow, these people?’ his father asked. ‘I’ve been watching them. If one stops, everyone stops. They need to keep moving. Why don’t they overtake the slow ones?’
‘There are orders to keep one side of the road free for military traffic.’
‘I don’t see any military vehicles.’
‘There are police and Volkssturm, however – and we’re under martial law now.’
‘Still.’
‘Don’t worry. They’ll learn not to be polite if someone slows them down. It will be everyone for themselves once the Russians are snapping at their heels.’
‘Where are they going?’
‘West. To the Americans. Or the British. Anyone but the Russians. We need to go with them.’
‘Ernst isn’t even buried.’
‘If we stay here, we’ll likely be buried beside him.’
His father glanced up at him – weighing up his options.
‘Why? We were born here. My father was born here, and his before him – for hundreds of years.’
‘We need to go because of what those men in the hut, and men like them, have done.’ Brandt took a deep breath. ‘And not just that. I said I’d a good reason for being at the hut, do you remember? There are five women prisoners there who I mean to get to safety. If I’m caught, there will be consequences, and not just for me. You and Monika are all I have left in the world. I will follow as soon as I can.’
For a moment, he thought it might have had some effect – but then his father shook his head in the negative.
‘You want us to leave – but are you sure Monika will go?’
Brandt thought about Hubert and Monika – their relationship that had survived five years of German occupation.
‘She’s staying?’
‘Ask her. I don’t know.’
It wasn’t impossible. He would have to talk to her.
‘Father?’
Brandt waited until the older man met and held his gaze.
‘Ursula has to take the children to safety. The journey will be hard. The weather will be freezing. She’ll be on her own. The children are our family as well as hers. And you’re a doctor. You and Monika can help them reach safety. I just have to do this thing first. Once it’s done, I’m not waiting around for the Russians. You can be sure of that.’
‘You’ll follow?’
‘If I know where you’re going, I’ll join you. I promise it.’
Brandt looked at his watch. He had to hurry – he didn’t want to leave the women without his protection for longer than he had to.
‘Think about it. Anyway, let’s take Ernst’s body to Ursula. We’ll help her bury him and then pack to go. You still have time to decide.’