The officer takes off his gloves and lays them on the kitchen table. Gisela stares at them; she has never seen such fine leather in her whole life.
“So,” he says. “Let me tell you about what has been happening in this little corner of our Fatherland.”
Gisela looks up at this. There’s something about his tone that worries her. “What do you want with us?” she asks.
“All I want is for you to listen,” he is standing with his back to the range and has lifted the bottom of his jacket so as to warm his rear. “But perhaps you know already?”
“Know what? I don’t take much notice of what goes on around me these days,” says Gisela. “I have recently lost my son, but then you already know that.”
“Your son, yes. Well, we can talk about that later. I want to tell you about one of your neighbours, the Bielenbergs. They own a farm not far from here.”
Gisela knows the family. They are good folk, the woman is a little older than she is, and she was kind when Helga died. Came round, but didn’t say the usual stuff which angered Gisela so much, just held her hand as Gisela wept. Her heart grows cold. “What about them?”
“Perhaps you should take a walk up past their farm. I’d do it one day soon, before the smell gets too bad. Then you’ll see what happens to traitors who hide Jews.”
“Jews?” says Gisela. “But they’re not Jewish.”
“Maybe so, maybe so, but they had a whole family of vermin living in one of their barns. Up in the hayloft, behind the hay. They squealed like the pigs they are when we went in with hayforks.”
Gisela’s hand is at her mouth. She doesn’t trust herself to speak.
“So, now you see what happens to traitors. The Bielenbergs are hanging from a tree, for the ravens to feast on.”
Gisela can’t help it; there are children in the family, she has to know what has happened. “All of them?” she whispers.
The officer studies the ceiling. “All of them. And the Jews too, all dead. Impaled on hayforks. It makes you think doesn’t it? Hardly worth taking the risk, is it?”
Gisela wants to be sick. The Bielenbergs had four children; surely they didn’t kill them. But after what Wilhelm has told her of what ordinary soldiers are ordered to do, she could believe anything. And the SS are worse. She pulls herself together; she has to be strong, call their bluff. “I don’t know what you mean,” she says.
“Well, it’s obvious isn’t it? You have a farm with outbuildings. Perhaps you too, have Jews living there. Or,” he says, narrowing his eyes, “maybe your son is hiding there.”
She may vomit, her tongue sticks to the roof of her mouth. The officer is watching her closely; she stares back at him, unblinking, unglues her tongue. “Yes, we do have outbuildings. No, our son is not hiding there. The only thing you’ll find in our barn is hay.” She stands as tall as she can. “Our son is dead. He died a hero, fighting for the Fatherland. I don’t understand why you are bothering us, and I will complain about it, I guarantee it.”
He went on as though she hadn’t spoken. “And so, I thought, I’d give you a chance. You tell us where your son is hiding, and we’ll spare you and the child. We can’t spare your son. An example has to be made of him. To deter the others, you know how it is,” he rubs his eyes as if weary of it all. “Just tell us where he is.”
Friedrich steps forwards. “Wilhelm is lying in a grave somewhere, unmarked, in pieces, blown to bits by a shell exploding. Go on, search the barn, search the house, search all you like. You won’t find him here or anywhere else. He’s dead, dead.” He sits down at the table and starts to weep.
For the first time, doubt sweeps over the officer’s face. He moves away from the fire towards the table and picks up his gloves. “Come with me.”
They stand outside the barn. The band of soldiers has searched all the other outbuildings. “This is your last chance,” says the officer. “Just point us in the right direction and you’ll be spared.”
“Our son is dead,” repeats Friedrich once more. He sounds so weary, so sad that Gisela herself starts to wonder if something has happened that she doesn’t know of. They are standing near the trap door that is well hidden by the hay spread thickly over the floor of the barn.
“Very well.” The officer beckons to his men. Their rifles have bayonets attached, and one by one they stab at the pile of hay at the back of the barn. Nothing. The frustration on the officer’s face would almost be amusing if the danger weren’t so clear. He allows the farce to go on for five, maybe ten minutes, his face becoming more flushed by the minute. At last he gives the order to stop.
Although Gisela is feeling a sense of relief she is very much on her guard. Righteous indignation is the correct approach to take, she decides. “Last time you harassed us I said we would write to the authorities. We didn’t because we are in mourning. This is too much. This time we will complain. And to Hitler himself if necessary.”
The officer’s face surely cannot get any redder. He shouts to his men to line up and marches them out without another word.
Gisela and Friedrich walk back to the farmhouse together. Gisela’s heart is pounding with fear. She knows how close they have come to discovery and feels it is only a matter of time before they come again. For some reason, the Nazis are deeply suspicious of them. She thinks it must be because of Marguerite, but wonders why the woman seems so determined to frame them. As she nears the farmhouse she hears Helena crying; she must have woken from her nap. Gisela runs to the house and upstairs to the bedroom. Helena is sitting up in the bed, crying with great heaving sobs that seem fit to burst her chest. Gisela gathers her into her arms. “Liebchen, Liebchen, Mutti ist hier.”
Helena twists and turns in her arms as if demented. Rage rises up in Gisela; she wants to tear the soldiers apart for she knows that the stress of all this is affecting Helena. “Ssh, ssh,” she tries, but the child will not be quietened. She carries her downstairs, cuddling her closely. In the kitchen Friedrich is sitting at the table writing in his beautiful copperplate.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m writing a letter to complain about how we have been treated.”
“Do you think that’s wise?” Gisela is beginning to regret her words to the officer, thinking that perhaps it’s best after all to lie low for a while.
“It was your idea,” he doesn’t look up from his task. He is concentrating on making the letter sound as good as possible.
“Well, yes, I know. It’s just—”
He interrupts her. “We have the upper hand, now, for a brief moment. But if we don’t complain they’ll start to wonder why, and then they’ll be back. More soldiers, a more thorough search. We can’t live like this.”
Helena has stopped sobbing. Gisela lets her down on the floor, and she runs to the corner where her one doll is kept. She grabs it and hugs it to her. Gisela watches for a moment before turning once more to Friedrich.
“You’re right. It would look suspicious if we didn’t write. Let me see what you’ve written.”
He hands the paper to her, and she scans it, murmuring the words to herself: patriotic Germans, loss of our only son, outrage at this invasion of our privacy at a time of mourning. “You should add ‘unjustified’ before invasion. It makes it stronger.”
Friedrich takes it from her and looks at it again. “I’ll write it all out now, and we can add more as we think about it.”
That evening they take extra care when they visit Wilhelm. Instead of using a torch as they normally do, they walk to the barn in the darkness. It is nerve-racking, for Gisela expects Nazis to leap out at her from behind every tree; she jumps at every rustle of the leaves When they reach the barn, they sweep aside the hay and give the coded three knocks followed by five seconds of silence, then another two knocks to let Wilhelm know it’s safe to come out. The trapdoor is pushed up, and Wilhelm comes out. He staggers a little as he does so.
“What was going on? This afternoon… they were back weren’t they?”
“Ssh, not here. Let’s get back to the house.”
They make their way back in silence. The shutters are already shut so no one can look in on them, and the lights are on. Wilhelm blinks as he comes into the light. With a pang Gisela notices his pallor; his skin is grey and sickly. Poor Wilhelm who always looked so brown and strong – he is fading away.
“Tell me what happened,” he says.
When they’ve finished telling him and shown him the letter they’re going to send, he sits very still for a few moments. Then he gets to his feet. “I have to go,” he says. “There’s nothing else for it. If they find me here, they’ll kill you too, and I won’t have that.”
Friedrich bars the door. “You’re going nowhere. If you leave, the worry will kill your mother and most likely me too. We will go back to our original plan and build a false wall in the attic. They’ve shot into it so they know there was nothing to it. They won’t do it again.”
“They’ll be back, you know they will.”
Friedrich shakes his head. “I don’t think so, not this time. The officer looked very upset when he left, and when the authorities get our letter…”
It takes two hours to convince him. Only when Gisela says that if he leaves, she will come after him, search for him in every city in Germany, does he at last agree.
Friedrich thumps him on the back. “Just as well too, son. For if she goes, who’ll look after me?”
Wilhelm smiles dutifully at this weak joke, but the smile doesn’t reach his eyes, and Gisela thinks back to the past with sorrow, to a time when his laugh filled the kitchen.
They send off the letter the next day to the Kommandant of Wilhelm’s company. They don’t expect to hear anything back, the best they hope for is that no one will search the farm again, but one bright morning two weeks later, a letter comes for them.
Gisela hands it to her husband. “You open it, I can’t bear to.”
Friedrich takes it from her and opens it. It is a single sheet of crisp white paper, with an official crest at the top. He starts to read it aloud.
“Dear Herr and Frau Scheffler, thank you for your letter. I have investigated your son’s case in some detail. While I am sorry to have to tell you that we are in no doubt that he died following an attack on our company, I am pleased to let you know that steps are being taken to punish the person whose malicious gossip caused you so much distress. Please be assured of our sympathy in your time of loss, and that you will no longer be harassed. Heil Hitler.” He squints at the paper. “I can’t read the signature.”
Gisela grabs it from him and reads it to herself. She cannot believe what is written there. Her eyes are shining as she takes it in. “It’s too good to be true,” she says to Friedrich, who is sitting stunned at the table.
He looks up at her. “I hope we have heard the last of this. It worries me that they’re admitting it came from gossip. That means what we suspected is true, that Marguerite did hear us that day. I don’t see her letting this go.”
Gisela is determined to look on the bright side. “She’ll be punished. She won’t bother us again.”
“I hope you’re right,” says Friedrich. He jumps up from the table. “Dammit, you are right. It’s time to celebrate. I’m going to tell Wilhelm.”
The hope that they won’t be searched again lightens Gisela’s heart, but she is not foolish. She knows they have to be careful, and Wilhelm stays for the most part in his tiny space behind the false wall in the attic. For one thing, Helena mustn’t know that he’s still at home for she might say something to betray them. Luckily she’s so young that she almost seems to have forgotten that she ever saw him, and she rarely mentions him. When she does, both Friedrich and Gisela are careful not to react. They hope that by doing so she’ll forget all about him. And it seems to work. As the stress leaves Gisela, and she is more relaxed, so too does Helena blossom. She starts to speak more, and her accent sounds less strange. Gisela knows she should seek out other children for her to play with, but she seems happy enough with just their company. Time enough for other children when she is of an age to go to school. Gisela can’t bear to think of her going to school. Not only does she dread the indoctrination it will bring, she doesn’t want to be separated from this lovely child who has brought back some joy into their lives.
It is almost springtime, a year since Helena came to them, and Gisela decides she would like to buy her a present. This means going into town, something she has avoided for many weeks now. When people called to see them in the aftermath of Wilhelm’s “death” she was so quiet and sad-looking that they gave up trying to talk to her, and soon they were left in peace. Friedrich arranged to have their food supplies delivered. It’s been hard, for they’ve had to feed four people on food meant for just two adults and a child, but Gisela is good at making meals go further by adding potatoes and vegetables from the farm to eke out the little meat they have.
There’s a difference in the town. It’s not just that the buildings are shabbier; the people look more tired, less confident. The news from the war is not good. The Allies seem to be gaining strength, and the Eastern Front in particular is no place to be. Every day there is a huge list of casualties. Gisela doesn’t read the newspapers, though; she leaves that to Friedrich, barely listens as he tells her what is happening. She feels detached from this war; detached from the country she loved so much. It seems to her that everyone has turned mad.
The shops have little in them, and she wonders whether she will manage to buy the child anything at all. The haberdashers where she used to love to shop, is closed. She stands with her nose against the window, trying to see what has happened to it. Is it shut for good, she wonders, or just for the day? The little that is in the window looks tired and out of date, and she thinks it may have closed down. As she stands there, wondering where else she can try, she feels that someone is staring at her. It is not pleasant, and even as she turns round, she knows who she will see standing there.
But it takes her a second to fully recognize Marguerite. The plumpness has left her cheeks: they are now sunken and pale. Her mousy hair has turned grey, but it is her eyes that strike Gisela with force. They burn with hate.
“You,” breathes Marguerite. “You dare to show yourself here in this town.” Her breath is foul, smells of death, and Gisela recoils. She manages to control herself, however, and stands her ground.
“What are you talking about?”
“I don’t know how you did it. I don’t know how you managed to keep him hidden from the SS, but I wish they’d found him.”
“I assume you’re talking about my son, the same son who was blown to bits, who died for his—”
“Spare me the histrionics, meine Frau,” Marguerite spat the last two words at her. “I know you were hiding him, I know because I heard you and your husband plotting. I heard it all. Your faces when you saw me! How I laughed as I walked home that night!”
Gisela turns to walk away, there’s no point to this encounter. Marguerite follows her, shrieking at the top of her voice. Thankfully most of it is incoherent. She hurries across the road, praying that Marguerite won’t follow her. It’s maybe too soon to hope, but the noise seems to be lessening. She takes a risk and glances back. The parish priest is holding Marguerite, seems to be gently chiding her. She’s so busy watching she doesn’t look where she’s going and bumps into someone coming the other way.
“Excuse me,” she says, without looking up. It is rare that Gisela ever looks at anyone outside her family in the eye these days.
“Gisela.” The voice is that of Herr Knoller, Wilhelm’s old teacher. “How are you?”
She licks her lips, wishing her mouth didn’t dry up with fear every time someone speaks to her. “I’m all right,” she says, thinking as the words come out that she sounds like a sullen school girl.
“Are you really?” His voice is so kind that she wishes she could go to sleep to its tones. He sounds as though he really cares. She daren’t look up at him in case he sees the tears in her eyes.
She says, “Yes, I’m fine. Really.”
“Your friend isn’t so good, though.” He nods at the scene across the road. Marguerite is still shouting, though in a feeble, hopeless way. She punches the air around her, like a madwoman.
Gisela nods. “Yes.”
He puts a finger under her chin and raises it so that she has to look him in the eye. “She’s a dangerous woman, that one. Like a bear whose cub is threatened.”
“What do you mean?”
“She’s been doing everything to try to stop her son being sent to the Eastern Front. Informing on her neighbours, telling lies. She told the mayor of the town that her next-door neighbour hadn’t put up a flag for the Führer’s birthday. Turned out she’d taken it down, hidden it in a cupboard in her house. They found it when they searched the house the other day.”
Gisela is struck by this. So it’s not only her family that Marguerite is targeting. “Why did they search her house?”
“She went too far in claiming that Wilhelm is a deserter. Your letter set the authorities thinking. They started to think that she was up to something, had something to hide.”
“You know about that?”
“Yes, the whole town is talking about it.”
Gisela blushes to think that the whole town knows her business. He hurries to reassure her.
“Please, don’t worry about it. It isn’t gossip. It’s… Well, everyone knows that you lost one child already, and there’s a lot of sympathy for you. When people heard your farm was searched, not just once but twice, well…”
“Well what?” asks Gisela. She can’t imagine that anyone would have objected, not officially at any rate. These days it’s best to keep your head down. He seems to know what she’s thinking for he gives a sad smile as he answers her.
“Nothing, really. Everyone’s too… Well, you know how it is. But there was a great deal of sympathy for you, please believe me.”
Gisela says nothing. There’s nothing to say. After all, if it had been another family who’d suffered like theirs, would she have spoken out? She knows the answer only too well, thinks of the Jewish families in the town, driven out years ago, disappearing to God knows where. Did she speak out then? Did anyone?
“Gisela, I know what you’re going through, and I can only repeat, if I can ever be of any help, you only have to ask.”
Yet again she has the impression that he knows about Wilhelm. She nods and thanks him before adding, “Why is Marguerite doing this?”
“She wanted to keep her son safe. She thought that if she gave the SS good information, that they would release her son from the army or at least ensure he had a desk job away from danger. Instead she’s ensured that he’ll be sent to the Eastern Front. He goes next week.”
Despite everything, despite all the terror that Marguerite has caused her family, Gisela feels a sharp pang of pity for the woman. The Eastern Front. It’s everyone’s worst fear these days. The casualties are high; the conditions terrible. Gisela can’t condone what Marguerite did, but she can begin to understand it. “I see,” she says.
“You’re a remarkable woman, Gisela.” Herr Knoller smiles at her, before raising his hat and taking his leave of her. She watches as he walks down the street, hoping she’ll never have to ask for his help. He seems genuine, but who can be trusted these days? She shrugs and continues to walk down the street in search of that elusive present for Helena.
They decide that this day will be a special one for Helena. Gisela has made a cake. She couldn’t find anything that would pass as a present, but Wilhelm has whittled a piece of wood into a puppet for her. Gisela made dresses for it out of scraps of material, including Helena’s old nightdress which is now too small for her. Friedrich performs a little play for the child. Helena watches entranced as the puppet dances around her. “More, more,” she cries as the puppet twists and turns in a frenzy. Gisela and Friedrich join in with her laughter, and for a brief moment their cares are forgotten. Gisela wishes Wilhelm could join them, but takes comfort in the fact that he can hear the child’s laughter and hopes that it will bring a smile to his face.
Wilhelm smiles little these days. He is only too aware of the danger he has put his parents in. For a week or two after the letter came from his Kommandant, he let himself believe they were safe. But as the time goes on he is falling further into despair. He reads the paper every day, but it is nothing but propaganda, and he wonders if he will ever be free of what he has done. The war has gone on for ever, since before he was an adult, and it feels like this is all he has ever known. Sometimes he thinks he should try to escape to the other side and throw himself on their mercy. It surely can’t be worse than what would happen if he were discovered here.
Today it is worse than ever. He hears the laughter from down below and feels abandoned. The laughter is an offence to him. He doesn’t begrudge them their happiness, how could he when he has been the cause of so much worry to them, but laughter seems inappropriate when death is lingering so long in the land. He puts his hands over his ears to try to block out the sound, but it is there in his head, mocking him.