Lennox explored the wood thoroughly. He found that its boundaries were very simple. On its west was the road which led past the Schichtl and Kasal houses. On its east was a steep hillside and, above that, the series of precipices which formed the mountain’s peak. From the north edge of the wood he could see sloping meadowland, a twisting road, scattered houses, distant villages gathered round church spires, and a sea of mountains as background to all this. From the south edge, there was the road curving down to Hinterwald. But the village itself was hidden by trees. Only the church, with its onion-shaped spire, and a few chalets were to be seen. Beyond the trees of Hinterwald were falling and rising fields, and then more mountains. There were mountains everywhere.
On these four sides of the wood Lennox had rested and stared at the views. They were incredible. He had often admired rows of savage mountains, but in this country they were strangely combined with smiling meadows and wide stretches of wooded slopes. The scattered chalets, the small neat villages, gave a comforting feeling. Mountains alone dominated and threatened. But here pleasant houses and a picturesque church and a comfortable inn would welcome you at the end of a lonely walk. This would be a country worth exploring. A man could find peace here.
Now it was almost midday, and he ate his piece of bread, and slowly drank a mouthful of water from a clear icy stream. He settled himself on a rock sheltered by the last fringe of trees on the high east side of this wood. The wood covered a steep incline from the mountain’s stony base to the Schichtl house, so that he could sit here and watch the pines drop away in front of him and look at the far mountains to the west. Over there was the Brenner railway in its deep valley, and beyond it the western mountains, and beyond them the Swiss Alps. He thought, at this moment I don’t believe I have ever been happier in my life. He remembered suddenly that he should be amazed, and yet he wasn’t. He looked at his scarred right hand. “Get well, blast you,” he said. “You’ve got to paint. Now you’ve found something to paint.” He was grinning like an idiot. “You’re drunk,” he told himself. “Drunk with this feeling of being free. Drunk with all this peace and beauty. You’re drunk.”
Certainly he felt wonderful. Those two Germans neatly handled yesterday, the successful meeting last night, Mahlknecht’s plans no longer hopeless, but fitting nicely into the latest news from the Allied front in Italy—all these contributed to this sense of jubilation. And he could laugh at himself again. This view of mountains and unlimited space put everything into proper perspective.
He rose, somewhat stiffly, carrying his jacket jauntily over one shoulder, and began the descent to the house. He was hungry, and thought with pleasure of the remains of some cold meat in the larder. He would reheat some of Frau Schichtl’s excellent soup. There was rich milk from the Kasal farm, and white bread baked only yesterday. He remembered the sour, stale food of the prison camps, and the meal he was going to prepare seemed an epicure’s delight. Then, after a leisurely dinner with some of the German-published newspapers, which Mahlknecht had brought from Bozen, to provide amusement on the side, he would—He halted his thoughts with his stride. He stopped close to a tree. Standing quite still, he listened intently. He heard nothing. Yet he sensed movement. Someone was coming quietly towards him. He drew quickly behind the tree, and prayed that its cover was adequate.
Then he saw the wide-skirted black dress and its bright silk apron. Above the gay scarf, with its tapering ends crossed demurely over her breast, was the face of the Kasal girl. She was looking puzzled, as if she had heard him and was now wondering where he had gone. She hesitated, and then stopped. There was something so pathetic in her sudden dejection, in her hesitation as her eyes anxiously searched the path ahead of her, that Lennox stepped forward into the open. She flinched at that, and her hand went quickly to her heart. But she didn’t cry out. And then she was smiling, and all the worry was gone from her eyes. They were very blue. Her hair, so smoothly parted and brushed back from the high forehead and with its long, thick plaits circling her head, was very fair. The colour in her cheeks had been deepened by her haste. She came forward to where he stood, walking with that easy step of hers. She was broad-shouldered and tall, taller than he had imagined, and her body was well shaped and strong. Good bones, he observed with a professional eye, and a face moulded in excellent proportions. It was a calm face, and a strong face, and a face still so filled with hope and belief that Lennox felt sorry for her. She wouldn’t look so trusting as that in ten years’ time. She’d learn that the world wasn’t so big and beautiful by then.
She said in her quiet voice, “Uncle Paul sent me.” He stopped thinking about the girl. He was suddenly alert.
“Yes?” he asked.
“He will not be back here tonight. Two friends have arrived.”
Peter Lennox watched her face: it was evident that she knew the message was important, but he was equally sure she didn’t know the reason of its importance.
“Where is Johann?” he asked.
“He’s with Uncle Paul. They want you to bring them their everyday clothes. You’ll find them on the chairs in their room. Bundle them up tightly—everything you see there. I’ll go to our house and change my dress. I can’t travel quickly in this.” She looked down at the silk apron, at the silver buttons on the black silk bodice, at the wide skirt banded at the hem with embroidery. She was smiling at the very idea. She suddenly noticed the look, half puzzled, half anxious on Lennox’s face. “I shall lead you to Johann and Uncle Paul,” she said. “They are only about three miles away from here. But they are a difficult three miles.”
“What’s happened?” Just when all the plans seemed ripe something had gone wrong. His good temper had vanished: he was worrying and heart-sick once more.
“Nothing. Not yet. Some Germans have come to the village. They’ve opened a police station, and they’ve put up notices that all men must register there today. The Germans are watching the processions and the people. They are very quiet and friendly. But they have two lorries hidden half a mile from the village. Andreas Wenter saw them as he was taking a short-cut to the village this morning. Paul Mahlknecht thinks the lorries have come for men to work in labour gangs on the Brenner railway. That’s what some of us think, although many won’t believe it. But the younger men believe it. They’ve listened to Paul Mahlknecht. They are all slipping out of the village before the dance begins this evening, for that’s when the Germans would expect all the young people to be together.”
She had already started to descend the path. He caught up with her, his mind filled with questions.
“Why were you sent here?” he asked.
She answered, “I was sent home by my mother. I’m in disgrace.” She wasn’t smiling. She was very serious, and he restrained a laugh in time.
“What...?” he began. But she shook her head. “Later,” she said. “We must hurry now.”
He was thinking partly that she was neither so young nor so helpless as he had first thought; and partly that the people of Hinterwald must be having a difficult time at their feast-day celebrations. What with Germans...two important strangers wandering in to join the fun...mothers sending daughters home in disgrace... He wondered if the stolid faces were still as expressionless, if the processions and all the other formalities were still following the usual routine. The postponed laugh began to take shape, and couldn’t be controlled this time.
“It isn’t funny,” the girl said reproachfully.
“No,” he agreed, “it isn’t funny.” But he went on laughing to himself.
The sound of a motor-car checked him. The girl looked at him anxiously. They halted, listening, judging the distance by sound. The car stopped. It was near them; perhaps in front of the Schichtl house. Quickly, he grasped her arm and led her to the left. They must get off this path. The girl not only understood that, she was untying the too bright apron from her waist, folding it up tightly to carry in her hand. If Lennox hadn’t been so worried he would have been surprised. She understood, all right.
“Let’s get to the edge of the wood. Let’s see,” he whispered. She nodded, following him obediently. He must see, he thought desperately. He had to know what was happening down on that road.
When they reached the edge of the wood it was the girl who led him to a point where the trees were thick enough for safety. From there they could watch the Schichtl house and the Kasal farm and the road in between. Lennox nodded, well-pleased.
He could see the car, drawn up at the left corner of the Schichtl house. German, of course. None of the people of this district owned a car. Two men were seated in the car, waiting. Civilian dress. Two others in black uniforms were coming out of the Schichtl house. They halted at the car. Much talking. The two civilians got out of the car. The two uniforms got in. The car, slipping in the mud, was turned around and pointed back to the village. The two civilians walked towards the Kasal farm. They went into the house. They came out. Then they walked round to the barn at its side. One was offering the other a cigarette. They were settling down for a long watch. They were hidden now by the barn. They didn’t reappear.
Lennox drew a deep breath. The girl was saying, her voice desolate, worry drawing her brows together, “We must leave now. Without food or proper clothes. We must leave.”
Lennox was thinking. So they were Germans. We were right. They were Germans, and not American flyers. For the two civilians, who had so leisurely lighted cigarettes and had wandered so innocently towards the cover of the farm buildings, were of the same build and size and colouring as the two men who had come yesterday to the Schichtl house. Somehow he was suddenly glad of this moment which had proved yesterday’s decision.
“Please.” The girl was shaking his arm. “Please, we must go. We must get to Schönau and tell them. We must go.” She was frightened now.
Lennox touched her shoulder encouragingly. “Don’t worry,” he said awkwardly. “They’ve only chosen your barn so that they can have a comfortable front-view of the Schichtl house.”
She nodded, and bit her lip. “We must tell Uncle Paul,” she said. “Come.” He realised then that she wasn’t afraid for the Kasal house: her fear was for the Schichtls. They backed carefully away from the outside fringe of pines. And then, safely in the depth of the wood, they began to climb. Lennox didn’t speak at first. He was trying to get his thoughts into order. These two Germans had come back to the Schichtl house because they could identify the men in it. But why had they come back? Why the openly official visit? Had they learned his true identity? They were waiting, certainly. For what? For him, or for Paul Mahlknecht, or for... He suddenly thought of the two “friends” whom the girl had mentioned in her first sentence. Had they been seen landing, and followed? Had their parachutes been discovered? Was the Schichtl house naturally suspected? Was the search on? He suddenly felt that he knew only half of this danger: Mahlknecht and Johann would know the other half. Together, they’d form a clearer picture. He forgot he was tired, forgot he was hungry. He only remembered the need to get to this Schönau, wherever it was. He followed the girl, watching the way she moved so easily, so capably. Mahlknecht had been right: the people who lived in this country made excellent guides. They knew the terrain: walking and climbing was a natural way for them to spend their free time. It was as natural for them to scale these mountains above, as it was for people at home to put on their best hats on Sunday afternoons for a stroll in the parks. He kept the girl’s steady pace, content to let her choose the path.