Rudi tucked the bag of provisions under one arm and practically ran down the road towards the trail, jaw clenched. He’d known he’d have to speak with someone at the store, but her? Did it have to be her? What was she thinking now? She must have heard his accent, though he’d done everything he could not to speak. Would she tell anyone that she’d seen him?
He never should have danced with her. He should have stayed in the background with the others and been satisfied with admiring her from across the room. All he’d wanted was some innocent fun, a little humanity for a change. Dancing with her had been impulsive, and that slip could ruin him. What would these people do if they realized they had a Nazi living right here in their woods? He knew nothing about Canadian laws. Did they execute their enemies here?
But he was here now. There was nothing he could do about that, and worrying about what might happen only made everything worse. Just in case, he turned around to check that no one was following, but he was alone. He’d lived in the camp a week already, and though it was lonely, it was going all right. He was warm, he was fed, and he was off everyone’s radar—except hers. If nothing went wrong, he imagined he could keep this up for the rest of the winter, but trappers—Canadian trappers—would probably be out this way by spring. By the time the snow melted, Rudi planned to be somewhere else, though he had no idea where that might be.
Despite the danger, he had to admit it had been nice to see her face again. He hadn’t been exaggerating at the dance; she was stunning. Like the princess in the German fairy tale “Snow White,” with her long black hair and ruby lips. And that smile—it was contagious. If only he’d met her at another time, in another place.
He peered back once again, then stepped onto the trail to the camp and disappeared into the shaggy spruce. Maybe he was still okay. Maybe he would survive this somehow. Maybe she wouldn’t tell.
As he walked, a familiar melody came to mind. He’d heard it on the radio in the store.
Stille Nacht, Heil’ge Nacht,
Alles schläft; einsam wacht . . .
So strange, to hear the carol in a language other than his native tongue. He remembered other words for the melody as well: the new German lyrics his mother had taught him five years earlier.
“For your protection,” she had explained. “We must all learn the new way.”
Holy infant, so tender and mild. Sleep in heavenly peace, sleep in heavenly peace
had quietly been changed to
Only the Chancellor steadfast in fight watches o’er Germany by day and by night,
and the part about
Round yon Virgin, Mother and Child
Adolf Hitler is Germany’s wealth.
Over time he’d noticed how everything people said or did made it seem as if the coming of Jesus was being replaced by the coming of Hitler. Especially at Christmas. As a boy he’d witnessed the transformation of Christmas first-hand. His mother had—quite rightly—followed all the instructions printed on the twenty-page Nazi leaflet, replacing the star at the top of the tree with a swastika ornament, baking cookies in the shape of swastikas or sun wheels, ensuring the correct number of baubles was hung from the tree branches. The family learned through Nazi teachings that the true reason for celebration was not the birth of a Jewish baby, but the arrival of the winter solstice. The true Christmas traditions, they were told, stemmed from the much older, more important pagan rituals, and when his mother lit the candles on the tree she was actually summoning light for longer days.
Der Führer was the future; the world would adjust. It was an exciting time, an end to obsolete concepts which could only hold his country back, and Rudi had been proud to be a part of that change, a valued member of the German military machine.
A branch overhead twitched and snow showered over him, bringing him back to the present. Another storm was rolling in; he needed to get to the camp before dark. This was no place to be stranded. Along the way he checked a couple of the traps he’d set out that morning and came up with two more rabbits, not yet frozen. As he entered the chilly cabin, he decided to cook them up in a pot of Hasenpfeffer using some of the tomatoes he’d just bought and a bit of flour from the cupboard. A poor man’s feast, but he wasn’t much of a cook. Never had been. His mother and sisters had always taken care of the kitchen. What he wouldn’t do for a bite of Apfelstrudel. There’d been delicious sweets at the dance the other night. Which one had Snow White made?
As he stirred his supper, he thought of her standing behind the counter, white apron tied over her plain brown dress, kerchief covering most of her hair. It didn’t seem to matter how she dressed. Once he’d recognized her, he had trouble taking his eyes off her—and he hadn’t missed the pink of her cheeks when she’d recognized him, either. He liked to believe that meant she found him attractive as well—though it could have just been surprise. How might she react if he went back to see her again sometime? Of course he couldn’t do that until he felt safe enough, but he would need more staples in time.
Thinking back on their brief conversation at the store, he was disappointed in the part he’d played. If he knew more of her language he could have said something more intelligent than yes or no, but he didn’t. As usual, his mother had been right. Rudi had always been more interested in his father’s lessons than hers.
“You are a smart boy,” his mother had insisted. “When you concentrate you have a very nice accent. Almost like an English person. Come on, Rudi. You can learn this. It will be good for you as you get older.”
“The school doesn’t see the value in teaching any other languages, Mother, so why must I learn? Besides, I have tried.”
“Not very hard.”
“I think Father wants to see me.”
“One more hour. Then you can go.”
After that hour he would fly from the kitchen and seek out his father, who never stayed in the room when the lessons happened. Rudi got a sense that he disagreed with his son learning English, but when Rudi asked him to interfere, his father raised an eyebrow.
“You will respect your mother, Rudi. I am disappointed to hear you questioning her.”
“But the teachers say—”
“To respect your parents. Enough. I will hear no more of this.”
Rudi’s sisters were better at learning English. They were smart and attentive and could string sentences together almost from the beginning. Rudi was smart too, but he would rather be with the men, learning to shoot and fight and march.
“Pay attention,” his mother constantly said.
With a sigh, he’d put his forehead in his hands, plunge his fingers into his thick blond hair, and stare at the page. She’d point at a sentence in an English book while his sisters held their breath in anticipation. They seemed to get great joy out of his mistakes.
“What does it mean, Rudi?”
“It makes no sense.”
“It does, and it is not difficult. Tell me what it says.”
“The boy . . .”
“Yes, yes. Good pronunciation with the ‘th.’ Go on. What about the boy?” his mother pressed.
He muttered something that made no sense at all, and his sisters burst out laughing.
“You’re so stupid!” Helga shouted.
“You’re not even close!” Marta howled, doubled over.
More often than not, he stormed out after that, frustrated and humiliated, but his mother refused to end the lessons. Instead, she changed tactics. Since she knew what he liked to read in his native language, she went in search of similar material printed in English: comic books. She started with Terry and the Pirates, a comic book full of adventure and drawings, and the challenge proved to be irresistible even to Rudi. Ever since then, his English vocabulary had come from comics and newspapers.
But tonight, as he flipped open the comic he’d bought at the store, sleep pulled at him like tar. Not even the pirates would have been able to keep him awake. He set the comic on the floor and closed his eyes, hoping to bring back images of earlier Christmases, but that was not what he saw. Instead he fell asleep with his mind on a girl with ebony hair and ruby lips, dressed in a red polka-dot dress.