Four weeks later, Henry sat, rattling, on a train to Adelboden. The doctors had cut off his cast the previous morning. His ankle was paper white, his calf thin, but his leg had held his weight. It was stiff, but solid. They’d ordered him to internment.
Next to Henry sat his escort, an aging Swiss soldier, reading. He seemed to Henry to be studiously inattentive. All that identified Henry as a transporting prisoner was a white tag around his wrist. He wore a civilian suit of clothes that had arrived at the hospital from the American consulate. But Henry hadn’t talked again with Uncle Sam about his escape. He had no idea what he was supposed to do. The train had just passed through the city of Thun. Adelboden was only two stops away, at most an hour’s worth of travel, maybe two. Henry wiped beads of sweat from his upper lip.
A crowd of passengers had boarded at Thun and elbowed their way down the aisle, looking for seats. All were already taken. One after another, people lined up, squared their legs to brace against the train’s swinging, and opened their newspapers. Henry noticed a delicate pregnant woman enter the car, lugging a hatbox and small suitcase. She sighed and shielded her round tummy as she tried to slip past the standing passengers, their newspapers, and bags.
What kind of men are they, thought Henry, who wouldn’t give up their seat to this woman? She obviously didn’t feel well. Henry stood and motioned to her. He looked down at the soldier, who assessed the woman, and then nodded to Henry. The woman smiled gratefully.
It took her a moment to wade through the passengers to him. “Danke,” she said. As she brushed past him to the seat, she seemed to stagger. She clutched Henry’s sleeve and whispered in his ear, “Leave your crutches. Go to the toilet one car back.” Then the woman sat down with a plop and “Tut mir leid,” to the Swiss soldier.
Had Henry heard right? The words had been breathed so quietly. Had he imagined it? He stood, hesitant, swaying with the motion of the train. A small foot began to nudge his. He looked down. It was the woman’s. He must have heard right.
Henry leaned over and said to the soldier, “Toilet?” He pointed to the back of the car.
The soldier grunted, annoyed, and closed his book. As he started to get up, the woman piled her hatbox and suitcase onto her knees. The soldier would practically have to pole vault to get out into the aisle. He scowled and waved Henry on. “Schnell,” he ordered.
Henry nodded. He’d hurry, all right.
Henry lurched down the aisle to the back door of the train car. He opened it to wind and racket. He watched trees and scrub whisk past. He’d break his leg all over again if he tried to jump. He opened the next car door, passed a row of private sleeping compartments, and found a narrow toilet door at the very end of the car.
It was open just a crack. As Henry approached, the door swung open. A fat, middle-aged man pressed past.
Henry slipped into the tiny bathroom. He only had to wait a moment before an envelope slid under the door. Hands shaking, Henry opened it. Inside was a ticket to Montreux plus a note. It read: The train will stop in ten minutes. Remain in the toilet until you feel the brakes. Step off the train quickly. Walk into the station. Cross the street to Café Spiez. Destroy this note.
Henry reread it three times, memorizing the sparse thirty-four words. He tore the note into bits, ripped off his wrist tag, and flushed them down the toilet. He crammed the ticket into his pants pocket.
SQUEEEEEEEAKKKK!
Henry fell against the bathroom wall as the train began to brake. He took a deep breath and walked out. People were crowding out the back door onto the black steps between train cars. Henry lost himself among them and quickly hopped to the ground as the train stopped moving.
Keep your head, now, Henry steadied himself. Don’t look around like you’re lost. Walk like you know exactly where you’re going.
He spotted a pair of Swiss soldiers idly propped up against the wall, watching the push and hurry of passengers. Henry stepped beside an older couple to block himself from view. He entered the small station through ornate doors, passed rows of wooden benches, and emerged on the other side. Across the way was Café Spiez, its door open to the warming spring air. Waiters were setting tables outside for lunch.
Henry’s heart was pounding in his head. But so far, so good. He checked for traffic and jogged across the street, limping only slightly. Where to now?
A waiter looked up as he smoothed out a tablecloth and fussed at Henry. “Schon wieder spät! Ab in die Küche. Schnell!”
Henry had no idea what the man was saying. But he could tell it was part of some play-acting. He fought the instinct to look back over his shoulder to make sure the waiter wasn’t really talking to someone else.
Henry skittered into the café. There was a huge curved bar inside, its wooden grain carefully polished and shining. On the back wall, large bevelled mirrors reflected the scene outdoors. A thick, bald man stood behind the bar. Several people sat at the scattered tables. At the sight of Henry, the bartender slammed his fist to the counter and threw up his hands. He hurled a torrent of angry words at Henry, “Noch einmal und du bist deiner Stelle los! Ab in die Küche!”
He came out from behind the bar to hustle Henry through swinging doors to the kitchen. Hastily the man yanked off Henry’s coat and wrapped a huge white apron around him. “Off tie,” he whispered to Henry. “Up sleeves.” Henry ripped off his tie and handed it to the man. He rolled up his sleeves.
When the man shoved him towards a huge sink, full of steaming water, Henry understood. He was to appear as if he were kitchen help, late arriving. He must need to blend in for a while before catching the train to Montreux. Henry nodded. He stuck his arms deep into the soapy water and began scrubbing.
“No speak,” was the man’s final gruff instruction before disappearing.
Henry could feel the eyes of two old cooks on him. He tried not to look back. Waiters began to drift in and out, pinning scraps of paper on a board, and barking orders at the cooks. The griddle sizzled with fat sausage.
With a heartstopping thump, the doors into the kitchen flew open and crashed against the walls. The soldiers Henry had seen at the train station entered and slowly scanned the room. His hospital escort accompanied them.
Henry stared down into the soapsuds and tried not to panic. Surely the old guard would recognize him. He stepped away from the sink, and rubbed his face with his hands to shield it. Maybe he could slip out the back. Was there a back door?
Henry bumped into one of the waiters who shoved him brusquely towards the sink and yelled at him. “Zurück zur Arbeit!”
Henry gaped at the man. Did he really expect an answer? Henry had no idea what he was saying. The man shook his head and continued angrily, “Dummkopf!” He shoved Henry’s hands back into the water.
Every inch of Henry screamed for him to run, to fly. But there was something about the waiter’s urgency. It’s part of the ruse, Henry. Get a grip. Henry nodded, trying to look as subservient and stupid as possible. He kept his hands in the water, to hide their shaking.
The soldiers began to circle the room. They paused by each man, waiting for the hospital escort to look him over and shake his head no, nein. They were getting closer. Closer. Henry quivered from head to foot.
“Guten Tag.” The soldiers stood beside him.
Henry bit his lip to keep from answering. He simply bowed his head to these army superiors and continued washing dishes as if his life depended on it.
The waiter who had shoved Henry bellied up again to talk to the soldiers. He pointed at Henry and unleashed another flood of abuse. “Ein Idiot” the man called him. His voice was loud, agitated, dismissive. The soldiers smirked and laughed. They strolled away.
Only his train escort lingered beside the sink. Henry couldn’t help it. He looked up and caught the old guard’s eye. The guard gave a slight nod of his head and then just walked away.
“Nein, nein. Nichts,” he said to the soldiers, holding his arms up in a shrug.
So his train escort had been in on his escape all along! Relief made Henry’s vision grow black, speckled with dancing white dots as the soldiers left the kitchen.
An arm steadied him. The bartender had appeared with a tray full of dirty dishes. “Wash,” he muttered. “One hour.”
The hour felt like a day. Finally, the lunch dishes stopped appearing and the cooks took a break. Only then did the bartender reappear. He motioned Henry to follow him to the men’s room. Henry was given an elegant double-breasted tweed suit, hat, and well-polished shoes. He was also handed a copy of Jean-Jacques Rousseau’s La Nouvelle Héloïse. The bartender opened the book to page one hundred. False identity papers were tucked between the pages. Henry was to be Gaston Sieber, a student of the University of Geneva.
A girl awaited Henry in the café. When she smiled, Henry recognized her as the pregnant woman, no longer pregnant. She too was clad in a sophisticated suit. “Viens, chéri.” She continued in French – something about saying good-bye. “Nous devons dire nos adieux.”
She slipped her arm through his and sauntered towards the train station. As a bus blew by on the street, belching smoke and backfiring, she whispered in English, “Board the train. Stay on the aisle where you can move if you need to. You will be met in Montreux. Once there, make sure the book is visible.”
The very same guards who had searched the café loitered by the awaiting train. Now she spoke to Henry in German, something about his journey. They reached the platform. As he pulled out his ticket and papers to show the conductor, the girl embraced him passionately. Her lips caught his for a long, insistent kiss. Then just as abruptly she shoved him away and slapped him playfully with her white gloves, saying, “Auf, geh heim.” She turned to walk flirtatiously towards the soldiers, who had begun to approach Henry.
He hurried up the steps, passed the inspection of the conductor, and threw himself into a seat just as the train began to roll away from the station. Through a window, he could see the girl laughing and talking with the soldiers.
Henry felt breathless from the secretive whirlwind of the day’s events, the multitude of unannounced players. He’d been handled, just like a hot potato. He was a package no one wanted to be caught holding.