Frans stared at Ingrid, his divergent eyes worse than ever in the semi–gloom of the darkened living room. Otto and Dieter had gathered around them, Dieter still sitting on the floor, hugging his knees as he might have done as a boy while listening to a story being read to him.
“Had your pa already left for the Etosha hunting trip?” Frans asked.
Ingrid sniffed away tears and licked her dry lips. “No. He was home.”
Frans frowned almost imperceptibly. “So, what did he do?”
Ingrid shrugged. “Nothing. Johan was already dead.”
“From the scorpion sting?” Dieter asked.
Ingrid nodded.
“Jesus,” Dieter mumbled.
“If it was a black and yellow scorpion,” Frans said, turning to Dieter, “as I’ve told you, they are very poisonous, especially if you are a small child.”
Otto felt his heart pounding in his chest. The thought that he had been crawling about in juvenile ignorance beside Johan, perhaps inches away from the lethal sting that had claimed his young nephew, horrified him. How cruel and arbitrary the fates could be.
“And then what happened?” Frans asked.
Ingrid took a deep breath. “Father panicked. Nobody in Lüderitz knew that Inez had an illegitimate child – let alone with a Jewish man – and Dad was deeply concerned about his reputation, his honour and esteem.” Ingrid’s voice betrayed a bitter tone.
“Did she have the baby in Otjiwarongo?” Otto asked.
“I think so.” Ingrid nodded, looking briefly at Otto. “He and Mum went to his study and locked the door for a few hours. They told me to put Dieter and Otto to bed. When they came out it was already dark.”
Ingrid bit her lip. Otto felt nauseous, both from knowing what was coming and seeing Ingrid in such an atypically emotional state. He had never seen her like this before, stripped of her layers of armour.
“Dad went out and dug in the back garden for hours.” Ingrid stared ahead blankly for a few moments, though whether trying to recall or banish images from her mind Otto was not certain. “I was so exhausted, but I couldn’t go to sleep. Little Johan was wrapped up in a sheet or something in Dad’s study, like a doll.” Ingrid covered her eyes momentarily, drawing a few shuddering breaths.
“Did you see all of this?” Frans asked.
Ingrid nodded, her pink eyes refusing to engage with anyone in the room. “I remember it like it was yesterday. I watched first from Dieter’s bedroom upstairs, while I put him to sleep.”
“You saw your father dig a hole in the back garden – where we found the body a few weeks ago?” Frans asked.
“Yes.”
Frans wiped his stubbly chin with one hand and frowned. “Man,” was all he said, blinking furiously as if to straighten his eyes.
“It must have been after midnight before the hole was deep enough.” Pause. “They carried him out – Mum was crying and Dad told her to be quiet, and all I did was watch from the landing on the stairs.”
Otto studied Ingrid’s tortured face, tears streaked through her perfectly applied make–up like bicycle tracks. He had never seen his sister like this. She was always in control, aloof, confrontational. It was unsettling to see her struggling with such bitter memories, and he felt a sudden surge of empathy for her, feeling that he had probably misunderstood her motivations all these years.
“I’ve had a dream for many years,” Dieter said, quietly at first, clearing his throat into a balled fist. “It’s always the same, and it takes place at the back of our house.”
Frans turned around to fix one of his eyes on Dieter.
“I see people carrying a rolled–up carpet – a green one – out of the house.”
“Your bedroom carpet was green,” Ingrid said.
“I know, it makes no sense. In the dream I know there is something in the carpet, something that is wrong, very wrong, something that could get me into trouble, but I don’t know what it is. For some reason, I think it is a body.”
“Can you see who is carrying the carpet?” Frans asked.
“Never. The faces are always in shadows. There are a few people – two, maybe three. It leaves me with a hollow fear that one day it will be discovered and I will be in trouble.”
They all sat in silence.
“Do you see the carpet being buried?” Frans asked.
Dieter shook his head. “No. I never see a hole and I usually wake up then, so I don’t know where the carpet goes.”
Ingrid stared at Dieter with a deep frown etched into her forehead. “You couldn’t have seen that. You were… what… five? You were asleep.”
Dieter shrugged. “I know. Maybe I heard it later, you talking about it…” He shook his head. “I have no idea. Until today, I have never understood the dream, but now…”
Frans turned back to Ingrid. “What happened the next day?”
“Father left for his hunting trip and told us never to speak of Inez or the baby again.” Ingrid pulled a face.
“Christ, Ingrid. You’ve shouldered this all your life?” Otto said. “You should have told us, it would have eased your burden.”
“I promised Mum. Then it just became a…” She trailed off, unable to find the words.
“And your ma?” Frans asked.
“She would never say anything against Dad. That’s how she was. Love and obey,” she said sarcastically.
After a while Frans stood up slowly, as though his back was hurting. He arched his body and pressed his balled fists into his lower back. It seemed that he wanted to say something, but he took his time before speaking.
“I am really sorry for you guys. This is a terrible thing to discover, especially so soon after your ma’s funeral. Terrible.”
“It was Dad’s fault,” Ingrid said coldly.
“Eh?” Frans turned.
“It was all because of Dad. He drove Inez to suicide, he wouldn’t have her child in the house, he buried the body in the garden, he swore us all to secrecy to protect and preserve his honour.” Ingrid was seething. “When I saw that film of him prancing around in his fucking SS uniform…” She shook her head slowly.
Otto stepped forward and embraced Ingrid. She hesitated and then he felt her head against his shoulder and her arms around him. Dieter joined them, placing one arm around Ingrid and one around Otto. They stood in silence for a while; Otto could not remember how long. There was nothing to say.
Otto heard Frans let himself out the front door.