The Search Read online

  “It’s pretty that. I think the child will like it.”

  “Do you? I hope so.” Gisela pauses. She wants to talk, but Friedrich has been very quiet since the child arrived three months ago. She decides to press on. “So, what do you think of her?”

  Friedrich puts aside his book. “What do you think of her?”

  “I asked first.”

  “Yes, you did.” He rubs his nose as he often does when he doesn’t want to talk.

  “She’s pretty isn’t she?”

  “Mmm. Has she said anything yet?”

  “Not a word. Sometimes…”

  “Go on.”

  “Sometimes I wonder if she’s dumb.” The words are out before Gisela realizes what she is saying.

  “No, I don’t think so. She understands what we say. At least I think she does.”

  “Do you ever wonder about her real parents?”

  Friedrich shrugs. “Can’t say I do.”

  “I wish we knew more about her.”

  Friedrich nods and carries on reading. Gisela sighs. It’s so hard to get him to open up. Sometimes, it’s like living in a monastery it’s so quiet in the house. Still, Wilhelm will be home soon, on leave for a fortnight. She shivers. They haven’t told him about his new sister. Gisela hopes he’ll be pleased.

  The dress is finished. Gisela takes it upstairs and lays it on the chair beside Helena’s bed. She will rise early tomorrow for she wants to see the child’s face.

  Gisela is there when Helena awakes. The child stares at her with her customary silence. Gisela nods to the chair. “Look, mein Liebchen. Look what I’ve made for you.”

  Helena looks round. She gets up from her bed and picks up the dress from the chair. Her mouth moves into a different shape. She is smiling. Gisela catches her breath. She could swear the child spoke. “What did you say?”

  “Für mich?” Helena’s eyes are wide, blue as the flowers that bloom each spring in the nearby woods.

  Gisela nods, smiles, then laughs as the child smiles back at her. It is going to be all right.

  ‌10

  The boys take several months to plan their escape. Although they are impatient to leave they know that their German is not yet good enough for them to pass as native speakers. Jan thinks he’ll never manage it, but Pawel becomes more fluent by the day. By the end of July, they know they must leave soon while the weather is still warm. But they have not yet decided how they will get out.

  “We can climb over the wall, late at night.”

  “No, we’ll never get over that barbed wire.” Pawel points to the tight curls of lethal wire. It would tear them apart.

  “What about the gates? We could slip through after one of the women.”

  Pawel shakes his head. “I’ve watched them. There’s always someone with them to open the gate. As soon as they’re through, they lock it behind them.”

  “We could divert them.”

  “No way! I’m not trying that again. If we didn’t get through, they’d probably kill me.”

  “Or try to pick the lock.”

  They try. Four nights in a row, with a hairpin dropped by one of their minders and bent into a shape that should be able to manipulate the levers inside the lock. One of them looks out while the other fiddles away. They take it in turns. On the fourth night, Jan throws the hairpin aside. There are ridges on his fingers where the hairpin has dug in. “This isn’t going to work. We’ll have to think of something else.”

  The solution comes to them the next day as they work on their German in the afternoon class. The sound of an engine disturbs the class. Outside in the front yard is the truck that comes to pick up the rubbish every week. Jan is near the window and can see down to the yard. There is one man only with the truck. It is open at the back, piled high with garbage that has already been collected from other houses in the area. He leaves the truck unguarded and walks round to the side of the building where the bins are. This is it. This is the solution they have been looking for. He nudges Pawel so that he too can look.

  “That’s it. That’s our escape route,” he whispers.

  The teacher looks up from her desk. “I hear talking, and I don’t like it.”

  Pawel smiles at him, and they both put their heads down and get on with their work. One more week and they’ll be free.

  It is time. All week they’ve wondered how to get out of class and into the yard for when the truck comes. In the end, Pawel decides to make himself sick. “If I stick my fingers down my throat, I can throw up. They’ll let me out to clean up, and you just have to leap up to help.”

  “But what if they don’t let me go?”

  “They will. Remember when Vaclav was sick, I was allowed out to help him.”

  Jan is not convinced. “It’s too risky.” He frowns, thinking as hard as he can. “Got it. I’ll offer to go and get a bucket to clean up the floor.”

  Pawel shrugs. “Fine.”

  As the hour approaches, Jan’s palms are sticky with sweat. He cannot bear to think about what they are going to do. He thinks maybe Pawel won’t have to pretend to be sick, he could throw up now, he’s so nervous. They have each made up a bundle with a spare set of clothes and the little food they have been able to scavenge over the past few days. Money is still a problem. They have none, not a pfennig, but it can’t be helped. They’ve talked for hours about what to do about it, but it’s all come to nothing.

  The clock on the wall ticks loudly, seconds moving round to the time when the truck usually arrives. The supervisor isn’t looking, she’s writing a long sentence on the blackboard for them to copy. Pawel sticks his fingers down his throat and retches until he throws up. Jan looks on in horror as a shower of vomit lands on the floor beside him. He can’t help it – he heaves and he too is sick. The woman who is looking after them cries out in horror, waves her arms at them, “Out, get out. Go and find something to clean yourselves with.”

  The boys don’t need to be told twice. They exchange a triumphant glance and run from the room, across the hall and into the yard. The truck is coming up the driveway. They hide behind one of the bushes near the front door.

  The truck draws to a halt almost right in front of them. The driver switches off the engine and jumps down from the cab. They watch as he makes his way round to the side of the house where the bins are. He’s alone again today, just as they’d hoped. Sometimes he has a young boy with him, and they were praying he wouldn’t be there. The driver returns with two of the bins and hoists them up to the open back and empties them. He trudges back to get the other bins.

  Pawel nudges Jan. “Right, this is it. Time to move. You go first.”

  Jan runs towards the truck and throws in his parcel before he hauls himself up and over into the huge heap of rubbish. It stinks of everything bad he can think of: fish, eggs, smoke, rotten meat. For a horrible moment he thinks he might be sick again, but he thinks of breaking free from this dump, and it cheers him enough to forget the smell for a moment. Pawel’s bundle hits him on the head, and he cries out. Fortunately the driver is still far enough away not to hear him. Pawel clambers in beside him and clouts him on the ear. “Shut up, you idiot. Do you want us to get caught?”

  The boys push their way to the back of the truck through the piles of rotting vegetables. The stinking mess clings to them with a clammy stickiness. Jan tells himself it can’t hurt, but the smell is so bad it’s getting to him. Pawel pulls him down to sit beside him. “We should be fine here.”

  The footsteps of the driver clump nearer, and more rubbish is piled in. Jan is scared that it might all fall on top of him, suffocate him, and he takes in a deep breath. Pawel squeezes his hand. “You’ll be all right. Don’t worry.”

  “Pawel, Jan… are you there?” The call makes them jump. It is one of the younger children, sent to look for them no doubt. “Pawel, Jan, please, you have to hurry. Fräulein Weiss is getting angry.”

  They hardly dare breathe in case anyone hears them. Pawel’s nails are digging into Jan�
��s hand. There is the click of high heels on the flagstones in front of the house. Fräulein Weiss. They’re done for.

  “Boys, where are you? If you don’t come back at once and clean up this filth you’ll have extra duties for a month.”

  “Come on, driver. Start the engine,” Jan mutters under his breath. “Please…” His prayers are answered. The engine turns over – and sighs to a halt. They hear the driver swear. Please God, don’t let Fräulein Weiss come near! Her heels click fainter as she moves inside the house, still yelling her threats. The driver tries the starter again, and this time it works. They’re off.

  The truck lumbers through the streets of the village. It’s so slow that Jan wants to jump out, but when he suggests this, Pawel says no.

  “Sit tight and wait.”

  “Do you think that’s the right thing to do?”

  “How should I know?”

  “I thought you knew everything.” Jan is panicking.

  “Well I don’t.”

  Silence. Each boy fumes, mad at the other.

  Jan speaks, tries to keep his voice calm. “Should we wait until it stops?”

  “I should think so. We’re likely to get killed otherwise.”

  Tears sting Jan’s eyes at the sarcasm in Pawel’s voice. He’d thought they’d be happy as soon as they were out of that place. Instead they are bickering like two old men.

  Another ten minutes pass. The road is bumpy, and Jan risks a peep. They are in the middle of the countryside. He can’t decide whether this is good or bad. On balance he thinks it is bad. A busy town would be better. It would be easier to hide there, perhaps steal some food. He wishes he hadn’t thought about food. His stomach is empty after being sick. But still, the stench in this truck is enough to stop a glutton’s mouth.

  The truck is stopping. The boys clutch at each other in fright, but it is only to load on some more rubbish. They don’t want to find themselves at some great rubbish tip, miles from nowhere.

  The road is busier. They hear cars and lorries pass them. When Jan peers out he sees the houses are nearer together like they are on the outskirts of a town. They have left the countryside. “Next time it stops, I think we should make a run for it.” Pawel nods in agreement. Jan is beginning to feel that he doesn’t care whether or not he gets caught. Then he remembers his sister; he must escape.

  The truck is slowing down. The boys crawl towards the back of the truck. They must be careful not to let the driver see, for if he looks in his mirror and they are in the wrong place, they will be spotted at once. “As soon as it stops, jump out and run as fast as you can,” Pawel whispers. “Get into a crowded place and try not to draw attention to yourself. I’ll be right behind you.”

  They are at a busy road junction. The truck comes to a halt, and Jan clambers over the rubbish and up onto the side of the truck. He pushes his way through until he thinks he is out of sight of the truck driver. He scans the street for Pawel, but can’t see him anywhere. His mouth dries up. Pawel must be nearby; he said he’d be right behind him. Any minute now he’ll tap him on the shoulder. Jan spins round to catch him at it, but he sees only grim German burghers bustling their way home. He notices that they avoid coming near him, and when he sees himself in a shop window, he realizes why. A large dollop of some creamy substance is smeared on his hair making it clump together in one or two oily strands. There is a smudge of red on his cheek, jam perhaps. His shorts are stained with filth. He is a disgusting sight. He tears his eyes away; there is no time to lose. Pawel must be found. The crowds are increasing. The shops and offices are shutting, and it is time for workers to make their way home. Jan cranes his neck to try to see Pawel, but still nothing. The truck has vanished, and Jan looks onto the road wondering if Pawel is still on it, or whether he has been caught.

  Eight o’clock. It’ll be dark soon. Jan doesn’t know what to do. He’s eaten some of his rations, and this makes him feel better. There is a drinking fountain in the market place with clear fresh water. He splashes some on his face and gets the dirt off. He daren’t wander far from where he jumped from the truck, because he thinks that this is where Pawel will come looking for him, so he walks up and down the street constantly on the lookout for his friend. Jan feels a lump in his throat and blinks back tears. There is no point in crying. It gets you nowhere, and if he starts he won’t stop. He’ll cry for his father and his mother, and all the men who were shot in the village… No, he will not cry. He pinches his thigh hard to remind himself of this. Think, think, what can be done, where will he sleep, where can he pee? Oh Jesus, he needs to pee. Railway station, if there’s a railway station there will be toilets there. Jan searches the skyline for clues. There in the distance, a bridge across the road. It could be the railway. He puts his bundle of clothes under his arm and starts off towards it.

  As he nears it, he starts to worry. It is dark under the bridge, and he can see shadows of people lurking there. He makes up his mind to run, and he starts to jog, working up speed as he gets nearer the station. There are three men standing in his way, leering at him, and he dodges past them, feeling a cold hand grab his arm. He wrenches it away. Christ, it hurts like hell. He runs faster until he finds himself inside the station. Toilets, where are the toilets. He sees a sign and makes a dash for them, slipping in behind a man so the attendant doesn’t see, for of course he has no money. He decides to use a cubicle, and once inside it he sits on the toilet relieved to be away from the shades on the outside of the station. Oh dear God, the pain. Jan sits for ten, maybe fifteen minutes as his bowels empty. He leans his head on the tiled wall of the cubicle and wishes he were dead. If he’d been caught that night, he would be better off. Jesus, his guts writhe once more and a groan slips out.

  “Is everything all right in there?” A man’s voice.

  Jan’s mind empties. Although he has understood the German, he can’t think how to answer. Pawel would have known. At last he manages a quiet, Ja, mein Herr. The man speaks again. This time Jan doesn’t understand, and he realizes that in fact he doesn’t know all that much German at all. He thought he did because he could understand all that was said back at the house, but now it’s clear that that was because the routine was the same every day. Up for breakfast, wash dishes, clothes, peel vegetables, lessons in the afternoon. But never any normal conversation. If the man said something about the Führer or the greatness of Germany, Jan would have a better chance of understanding, but this… this is impossible. Jan repeats what he has already said and waits. He cleans himself and flushes the toilet. When he finally opens the door, there’s no one there. Jan decides to clean himself properly. The stink is beginning to get to him, so he takes off the filthy clothes and washes his body. There is no soap and no towel to dry himself, so he is still wet when he puts on his creased but clean clothes. The others he rinses, squeezing the water out as best he can. He’s tempted to dump them, but knows that would be foolish. Feeling more confident, he goes back into the station. Maybe he can find a quiet corner to sleep.

  ‌11

  Friedrich looks at the letter in his hand. His vision is so blurred he cannot make out the words. Dashing his hand across his eyes he wipes away the tears. It won’t do to let Gisela and the girl see how upset he is. He reads it through again. Although it’s over a page long, there is only one phrase he can take in: missing in action, presumed dead. He says the words aloud, quietly so Gisela, still in bed, will not hear him. “Presumed dead. Presumed dead.” Saying it out loud doesn’t make it any more real.

  He’s had the letter for three days now, and he knows he’ll have to show it to his wife. But he can’t bear to. Why should they, who were blessed with only two children, who wanted many more and lost so many before they were born, why should they lose both children? The tears course down his face, soaking his ruddy cheeks. How can he tell Gisela? He must do it today, for tomorrow Wilhelm is due home on leave, and it would be too cruel to leave it until then to tell her. Friedrich wonders about lying to her; he could say there was a
telegram sent to the local post office – all leave cancelled. Yes, that’s what he’ll do. The twisting in his stomach lessens a little, and then returns worse than ever. He can’t do that to his wife. She deserves to know the truth. He puts the letter back in his pocket. Later, he’ll tell her later.

  Upstairs, the little girl laughs. She’s settling in now, though she’s very quiet, and when she speaks, her words don’t sound right. The accent’s all wrong. When he mentioned this to Gisela, saying he thought her language was very poor for a child of her age, Gisela frowned and shook her head. “Poor thing, what do you expect? She’s lost both her parents.”

  “But she says so little! Perhaps she’s retarded.”

  “Have you seen how she helps me round the house? She’s smart all right, don’t you doubt it for a minute.”

  “But—”

  “No more buts, Friedrich. She has no parents, and she’s from Hamburg. That’s why she sounds so different.”

  Helena and Gisela come downstairs. Helena is wearing one of the dresses that Gisela has spent so much time making, and she looks prettier than ever. Underneath the dress, the pink sprigs of roses peep. Nothing can persuade her to give this up, and they no longer try. She lets Gisela wash it, and that’s enough. Now as they come into the kitchen he thinks that his wife looks younger than she has for years. Her eyes are more lively, and the shadows that dragged her face down have gone. Yes, it was the right decision to adopt. And now he will make her unhappy once more.

  “Show Vatti what we’ve been doing,” says Gisela.

  Helena holds out a piece of paper, which has a childish drawing of a house on it. Beneath it, Gisela has printed WELCOME HOME WILHELM.

  “Isn’t it lovely?”

  Friedrich cannot speak. His throat has closed with emotion, so he nods without looking at either of them and pushes past muttering that he has work to do. He feels his wife’s eyes on him as he leaves the room, and doesn’t need to look back to know that she’s shaking her head, wondering at his grumpiness. Outside he breathes in the fresh autumn air; it’s a sharp morning hinting of the winter to come. It isn’t fair; the child might think he’s angry or upset with her. He turns around and goes inside once more. She is sitting at the table, and in the early morning light she looks like Helga did at the same age, only her hair is lighter. He ruffles her curls and tells her the card is beautiful, and then, careful to avoid his wife’s perceptive eye, he leaves for his day’s work. As he leaves he hears Gisela say to Helena that in just one more day, Wilhelm will be with them.