Chapter Thirty-Six

The next time I arrive at the Müller farm, I hear giggling and squealing coming from the barn. I rest my bike against the wall, walk to the door and peer in. The slave boy is sitting on a haystack with Klaus and Dieter, the two smallest Müller children. The boy’s telling them a nursery rhyme about a ladybird who meets five worms. He squeezes one of Dieter’s chubby little fingers each time a new worm is met. Dieter squeals with delight, and Klaus mimics the actions with his own little fingers.

‘More!’ shouts Dieter when the ladybird has flown away and the nursery rhyme is done. The boy starts all over again.

This time, as he says the words, I join in. The rhyme is familiar, and saying it brings a tingle of happiness to my entire body. It’s only once I get to the end and make my hand flutter away into the air like a ladybird that I realise the rhyme is in Polish.

I gasp, and the boy looks over to where I’m standing. He smiles at me, his blue eyes sparkling. ‘You know the nursery rhyme?’ he asks in Polish.

My cheeks burn. ‘No!’ I lie. I say it loudly, in German, and shake my head.

I run back to my bike and ride home without even saying hello to Gudrun.

That night, when Mutti has kissed me goodnight and turned off the light, I whisper the ladybird rhyme into the dark, in Polish, over and over again.

Sooty jumps up onto my pillow and snuggles into my neck, purring. I rub my chin against his fur and sing another song about a kitten who dreams about a river of milk. It’s also a Polish song. I sing it with Polish words.

Sooty is comforted by the words.

I am comforted by the words.

I am confused by the words.

Where did they come from?