Three days later, they come in the middle of the night. Ten soldiers, some are only boys, but a threat nonetheless, they kick open the farmhouse door and enter. Gisela is first to hear them. She lies petrified in bed, unable even to whisper a warning to Friedrich.
But Helena too has heard them. She starts to cry, a thin wail, and this forces Gisela to act. She leaps out of bed and runs to Helena’s room, scoops the child into her arms as the first soldier reaches the top of the stairs. He points his rifle at her.
“What do you think you’re doing?” says Friedrich from the doorway of their bedroom. He sounds angry, furious; it’s convincing, thinks Gisela. This is good; they must show no fear.
“We have information that a deserter is hiding here.” The boy who speaks looks the same age as Wilhelm.
“What deserter?” asks Gisela.
“Your son, Wilhelm.”
Gisela clutches Helena to her chest. She imagines how she would feel had Wilhelm really died in that ambush and her home were invaded by strangers accusing him of desertion. “What?” she whispers.
“You heard.” An older soldier pushes his way to the front. “Last month you received a letter telling you your son was missing in action. A few days later he turned up alive and well. It was your duty as citizens of the Third Reich to hand him over for appropriate action. Instead, the two of you conspired to hide him. We have reliable information that you have built a false wall in the attic, and that he is hiding behind this wall.”
“What nonsense! How dare you come into our home and say these things?” Friedrich is standing at his full height. The soldier shrinks back from him, but only a little. Almost immediately he regains his composure.
“I have every right to search this house. Here are the papers.” He hands them to Friedrich, who barely glances at them.
“I want name, rank and serial number,” he says, “from every one of you. I want the name of the officer who allowed this travesty to happen. I will complain to the Führer himself. My wife and I have lost our only son, a hero, and you dare come here and call him a deserter.”
There is shuffling and muttering on the stairs. Gisela can see that Friedrich’s certainty has unsettled them. She peers down the stairs to try to figure out what they are saying. One of the faces looks familiar. A school friend of Wilhelm’s.
Gisela calls to him, “Karl Heinrich, is that you?”
No response.
“It is you, isn’t it? What do you have to say about all this, then? You knew Wilhelm at school. You were one of his best friends. You must know he’s incapable of such a thing.”
The boy pushes himself to the front and whispers to the officer. “Sir, could I have a word, please?”
“Say what you have to say, so we all can hear.”
He blushes bright red, looks at his feet. “It’s true, sir. I did know the deserter at school, but I wasn’t friends with him. I would never desert, sir.”
Gisela looks on in disbelief. This boy often came to the farm. He often sat at the kitchen table sharing meals with them. One year he helped with the harvest, and they paid him well. Was this to be their thanks? The boy avoids her gaze and scuttles back to his place.
The officer turns to Gisela. “Not much help to you, was he? I suggest you keep your mouth shut from now on. You, on the other hand,” he says, using his rifle to point at Friedrich, “show us how to get into the attic.”
Friedrich shrugs. “This is a terrible mistake you are making. I warn you for the last time, I will not let this rest.”
The officer sniggers. “I’ll take that chance. Now, before I lose my patience…”
Gisela sees that Friedrich is struggling to keep his temper. Before he can say anything else, she says, “It’s this way,” and shows them the hatch that leads into the attic.
They gaze up at it. “Is there a ladder?”
“Downstairs, in the pantry,” Gisela is quick to answer. She wants them out of her home as quickly as possible. Helena is very quiet in her arms, and she prays she will stay that way.
She’s barely said the words when a voice shouts from below that they’ve found it and will bring it up.
The officer speaks to two of the soldiers. “Take the woman and child into that bedroom and see that they don’t move. You” – he points to Friedrich – “You come with us.”
The attic is bare save for a couple of old chairs. Friedrich switches on the light at the request of the officer and tries to look at it as if he were a soldier searching for a deserter. To his eyes it looks as if it hasn’t been disturbed for years. As of course it hasn’t. He sneaks a glance at the officer. His face is impassive as he scans the attic space.
“Well,” demands Friedrich. “Do you see any deserter here?”
The man ignores him and strides across the beams to the far side. There he stands in front of the gable end wall and starts banging on it. Friedrich thinks that perhaps he expected it to give way, for he looks down at his hands as if puzzled.
“Not very likely that there’s someone behind there, is it?” Friedrich can’t resist sounding triumphant.
The officer turns round, his face red with fury, and points his rifle at Friedrich.
Friedrich backs away. Perhaps it wasn’t a good idea to taunt him. The officer moves towards him, and Friedrich sees that the rifle is in fact a machine gun. His mouth is dry; no matter how hard he tries he can’t moisten it. He can’t understand why he did not notice that it was a machine gun before. Not that it would matter. He’s powerless.
“We’ll soon see if there’s anyone behind there.” The officer raises the gun and lets off a volley of fire. Downstairs Helena screams, or is it Gisela? The officer strides back across the space and stands in front of the wall. For a moment he appears to be lost in thought, then Friedrich realizes that he is listening for any sounds coming from behind the wall.
“I don’t think you’ll hear anything,” he can’t resist saying. “And perhaps you can see the daylight coming through.”
The officer turns to face him. “Our information was good,” he says, before lowering the machine gun. He looks ashamed, thinks Friedrich.
“Can I ask where it came from?” Friedrich feels he must ask, though he knows it can only be Marguerite. It’s too detailed to have come from elsewhere. She must have heard them after all, that morning when she arrived unannounced at their door. He finds it hard to believe; she sat at their table pretending to sympathize with them, cooing over Helena.
“I can’t say,” says the officer.
“What will happen to this so-called informer?”
A shrug. “Most probably nothing.”
Friedrich runs his hand through his hair. “Do you think it right,” he asks, “that someone can smear our son’s name like this?”
No reply, the soldiers are being rounded up and marched out of the house.
“I expect an apology,” shouts Friedrich as they leave. “You can’t do this to us; our son is a hero. He died for his country.” He knows this is excessive, but feels that to react any other way might betray them.
No one answers as they leave. He and Gisela stand at their door and watch the column of soldiers until they are out of sight.
“That was close,” he says. She grips his hand tightly.
Later that day there is a visit from some people they know from the town. They have come, like Marguerite, to pay their condolences. Gisela spots them coming up the track and curses beneath her breath. Friedrich shakes his head, and she knows what she must do. She gets up from her seat and goes to the door to greet them. She brings them into the kitchen where they have just finished eating lunch, a simple meal of bread and cheese.
“Please, sit down,” she says. “Can I get you something to eat, to drink?”
There are five of them, including the priest from their church. He takes a seat without a word. Herr Pfeiffer, an elder of the church, is the first to speak.
“Gisela, Friedrich, we are so sorry to hear of your troubles.”
“Did you hear what happened last night?”
“About the raid? Yes, we did.”
“And what do you think?” asks Friedrich. “Do you think it is right that we should be subjected to this treatment, after all we’ve been through?”
“We’re here to show our support,” answers Herr Pfeiffer.
“That’s not the question I asked,” says Friedrich. He is belligerent, ready to argue with anyone. Gisela sees his point. She doesn’t want a succession of people visiting, offering sympathy. The fewer visitors they get the better. She’d be happiest if they could become social recluses and never have to speak to anyone outside the family again, but then the more realistic part of her wins through, and she accepts that she will have to speak to these people, acknowledge their condolences. “Friedrich,” she says, smoothing her skirt, “it’s not Herr Pfeiffer’s fault we were raided. And the soldiers too, they were only acting on orders.”
At once, she recognizes her mistake. Friedrich flushes an angry red and opens his mouth to reply. Frightened of what he might say, she rushes in. “Please gentlemen, what will you have to drink? Friedrich, will you get some wine?” She pleads with her eyes for him not to say any more. He nods to show he’s understood and vanishes to the store room where they keep a small supply of wine and beer.
Gisela’s hand shakes as she pours the wine. One of the men notices and speaks quietly to her, telling her to leave it to him to do. She pretends not to hear him and carries on with the task, taking care not to spill a drop. The raid by the soldiers is not mentioned again. Instead the men talk of Wilhelm, call him a hero, praise him with lavish words until Gisela can’t stand it any longer. She wants to tell them the truth, that he deserted, and she’s proud of him for refusing to kill any more women and children. She knows, though, that this would be suicide. Behind their friendly faces lies God knows what. She doesn’t know whether any of them are members of the Nazi party, but there have been enough mentions of the Fatherland to make her think that there is sympathy with Hitler’s aims.
At last they rise to go. They have not stayed long, perhaps only thirty or forty minutes, but it seems like hours. As they are about to go, Helena wakes up from her afternoon nap and starts to cry. The noise startles the men, and Gisela sees immediately that they are suspicious. Perhaps they believed the raid was justified after all.
“Who is that?” asks the priest.
“Haven’t you heard?” says Friedrich, his voice softening with pride. “We’ve adopted a little girl. Two months ago. Gisela, you should go and see to her.”
Gisela takes the chance to leave the room and runs upstairs to Helena. She lifts her out of bed and soothes her before starting to go downstairs with her. At the bottom of the stairs she hears the priest ask if they will be bringing her to Mass.
Friedrich mumbles a reply, which she doesn’t pick up. She prays he’s put the priest off. The thought of going to Mass, facing the treacherous Marguerite, makes her feel sick. She takes a deep breath and goes into the room.
“What a beautiful child,” says one of the men. He comes nearer as if to greet her, and immediately Helena clings to Gisela.
“She’s very timid, isn’t she?”
“Not really. After all, she’s been through a lot, losing both her parents, then moving to a new family,” says Friedrich.
The men lose interest at the lack of response from Helena and make their farewells.
This time Gisela doesn’t watch them leave. She sits at the table, head in her hands, and sobs. Friedrich pats her on the back, murmurs soothing words, but it doesn’t help. She can’t stand this endless pretence. This game they are playing. Not until Helena runs over and strokes her face does she manage to pull herself together. Gisela wipes her eyes with her apron and smiles at the child. “Come on, there’s work to be done,” she says to no one in particular.
The soldiers’ visit has affected Helena badly. She rarely smiles, and she is as quiet as she was when she came to them two months back. She follows Gisela everywhere, watches her every move. One day in town she starts to scream when she sees a soldier. She makes so much noise that Gisela abandons her shopping to take her home at once. People are staring, and Gisela doesn’t want attention of any kind. It’s too late, though, the faces are turned towards them, and she sees the knowing looks exchanged between the town gossips. She lifts Helena into her arms and hurries towards the bus station. Gradually Helena’s sobs die down.
But there are footsteps behind her. She hears her name called. Someone is running to catch up with her. A man. Gisela daren’t look round. She runs as fast as she can, there’s a bus in a few minutes’ time, she has to get out of this place. She turns a corner, and the station is in sight; she relaxes. She can see the bus and the queue of passengers waiting to get on. Whoever is following her won’t want to make a scene with so many people around.
“Gisela, please, wait.”
She recognizes the voice, Wilhelm’s old teacher, Herr Knoller. He’s not so bad, it won’t do any harm to speak to him, so she slows down to allow him to catch up with her.
“Thank you.” He is out of breath, an old man. Immediately she feels guilty for running away.
She waits for him to speak, but it takes him a moment to catch his breath.
“I heard about the raid,” he says, “and I wanted to let you know that if there’s anything I can do… anything.” He looks into her eyes, and she gasps; the look is so direct. He is reading her mind, he knows all about Wilhelm, everything. She lowers her eyes and says nothing.
“You know what I’m saying, don’t you?”
She cannot take the risk. Gisela takes a deep breath, forces a thin smile. “I have no idea what you mean, but thank you for your offer of help. It was very distressing to have Wilhelm’s name sullied in that way. If perhaps you would like to write to the authorities…” She breaks off, unable to continue.
He smiles, a kind warm smile, a smile that can be trusted. “You are very careful,” he says, “that is good. You need to be careful. But you also need to know your friends, and remember this, I am a friend. You know where I am if you need me.”
Gisela can only nod. She is clutching Helena so tight that the child starts to cry once more. She bends to soothe her and, when she looks up, Herr Knoller is gone. She looks round, but he is nowhere to be seen, and for a wild moment she wonders if she imagined the whole scene. She feels comforted, though. His presence was a good one. Feeling better than she has since the soldiers came, she gets on the bus. All the way home, she thinks about the old man’s words. Can he be trusted, could they ask him for help in hiding Wilhelm? The more she thinks about it, though, the more she thinks she has imagined that he knows everything. He was only offering to help, like lots of people, probably meant he’d say a prayer for them or some such pious nonsense. She has read far more into one look than was actually there. By the time she reaches the track where she leaves the bus, she has decided to say nothing to Friedrich. This is their problem, theirs and no one else’s. No one is to be trusted. They must deal with it themselves.
A month since the soldiers’ raid and Helena continues to fret. She has lost her smile and remains as silent as she was when she first arrived three months ago. The silence is unnerving. Gisela thinks that it would be good for her to see Wilhelm, but she is frightened to suggest this to Friedrich. He too has been very quiet these past few weeks.
They are very careful with their visits to the barn, taking care to go there only after dark, and to check carefully before they do so that there is no one in the vicinity. Friedrich insists that only he should go at first, but Gisela will not allow this. She needs to see her son, to check that he is well, even though it breaks her heart to see the space where he is confined.
The days are getting shorter. At night the temperature falls to freezing, and Gisela frets about Wilhelm. She wants to bring him back into the house, but Friedrich will not have it.
“You saw what they did, shooting into the wall like that. They’re ruthless. Next time they could bring dogs, and where would we be then? Dead, the lot of us.”
She knows he’s right, but begs nonetheless. “What are the chances of them coming back? They’ve been once. They found nothing. To come again would be harassment.”
“Have they punished that woman for her lies?”
“No,” she concedes. It is true. Marguerite is free, Gisela saw her in town, the day before yesterday. She crossed the road to avoid her.
“Don’t you think if they were sure she was lying, she’d be locked up?”
“I don’t know, Friedrich. She’s a party member. Perhaps she has influential friends.”
“Perhaps, or maybe they’re just biding their time waiting for us to slip up, to relax, and they’ll be back. With more men, for a more thorough search.”
Reluctantly she agrees with him, and Wilhelm stays where he is. She’d hoped they might revert to their original plan of the false wall in the attic, but Friedrich’s argument is persuasive. She talks to Wilhelm about it.
“I want to bring you inside, but Papa thinks it’s too risky.”
“He’s right, Mutti. I think they’ll be back.”
He’s so pale her heart aches for him. His cheekbones are pushing through his skin for he isn’t eating enough. Although she tries to feed him well, as often as not he barely touches what she gives him. It breaks her heart.
“I don’t think so. They searched so well the last time, what possible excuse could they have?”
“They don’t have to have an excuse. We think that Marguerite, you know, Herman Durr’s mother, has told them she heard you discussing where to hide me. She’ll keep on pressing for another search. I don’t know whether they’ll listen to her, but I suspect they will. We have to be prepared for the worst.”
A few days later, and the worst is here. This time they haven’t bothered to wait for the cover of night. They have come prepared to search the whole farm. When Gisela sees them marching up the track she feels as though they have sent the entire German army, there are so many of them. Her heart is hammering as she goes out to greet them. Friedrich is in the fields, mending a fence. There is no one to warn Wilhelm, to tell him to stay quiet and still.
The officer stands in front of her. He is so close she can smell the sweat from him, a stale smell like cabbage. She recoils from him. Once again he has papers. He thrusts them into her hand, but she lets them drop to the ground.
“You’re wasting your time,” she says.
His voice is loud, grates on her. “We’ll see. Where are your outbuildings? This time we’ll do a thorough search. This time we’ll find him.”