Twenty-Five
Twenty-Five
I ’m up well before dawn. I pack my knapsack with two outfits and my raincoat. With shoes in one hand, I tiptoe downstairs in stockinged feet.
I flick on the light switch in the kitchen. Kuschi is curled in his basket. He opens one eye and thumps his tail a few times.
“Go back to sleep, darling Kuschi,” I tell him, scratching the loose skin on his neck.
I take some money from the housekeeping jar, solely meant for Bertha’s use, and stash it inside the knapsack, hoping she doesn’t keep track of her spending too carefully. I lift the bread from the bread bin and begin to cut slices for sandwiches.
The door creaks. Of course Ingrid would be up extra early this morning! I turn around to greet her, preparing an explanation, only it isn’t Ingrid. It’s Karl standing in the doorway, hair ruffled, still wearing yesterday’s clothes. Even from here, he stinks of smoke and liquor.
He leans on the doorframe and curls his lip at me.
“And just where do you think you’re going at this time in the morning?” His speech is slurred, accusing.
I turn away from him, my mind racing. I begin buttering the bread.
“I’m making sandwiches for the BDM. Where have you been?”
“None of your business.”
“Weren’t you with Erna last night?”
“Took her home nice and early so her parents wouldn’t worry. Then some of the boys and me went for a couple more drinks...”
“A couple? A dozen more like,” I say with a snort. “I wonder what Erna would think if she saw you like this?” I cut slabs of cheese and place them on the bread.
He weaves toward me and leans on the counter. “She loves me, whether you like it or not.” Up close, I can see his eyes are cloudy and bloodshot.
“You should go to bed,” I tell him. “Get a couple of hours’ sleep before Mutti sees you. What would your Hauptmann Winkler make of you now? I can’t imagine you’ll last long in the Luftwaffe in that condition.”
“What would you know about anything anyway?” Karl sneers. “Living like a spoiled princess. I always tried to protect you. Take care of my little sister... and what do you do? Huh? Abuse us all with your wanton disregard for everything—”
“What are you talking about? Go to bed, Karl, you’re drunk.”
“Oh no, I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what you’re up to.”
“I’m not up to anything.”
“Word is, you have a secret lover boy.”
The knife slips from my hand and clatters on the board. I snatch it up.
I slice off some butter and force my fingers to keep moving, trying to spread the butter but it’s too hard and the bread crumbles beneath it. “Who told you that?”
“Doesn’t matter who told me. That’s not the point. The point IS...” He waggles his finger at me again. “The point IS, why’s he a secret? Eh? After all the scrapes I got you out of... you owe me some honesty.”
“There is no secret. There’s no lover boy.”
Karl fetches a glass and fills it with water. He guzzles it down and refills.
“Not good enough, Little Mouse,” he says. “You need to tell me what’s going on.” He pulls out a chair and sits languorously on it. “See, I’ve got all morning. I’m not in any hurry.”
Perhaps he’s not as drunk as I first thought. What does he know? I wrap the sandwiches in newspaper. Whatever the case, there is a mistrust between us that was never there before.
“Whatever you’ve heard, Karl, it simply isn’t true. There’s no lover. Ask anyone, Erna, Mutti, Vati. You know I would never be allowed...”
I place the sandwich parcels at the top of the knapsack.
“You don’t seriously think I’m going to let you go, do you?” he drawls. “You still haven’t explained why you are making sandwiches at five o’clock in the morning.”
“I told you. These are for the BDM. A... Christmas community thing. For those in need. I was awake. Couldn’t sleep, so I thought I would do it now.”
“All very virtuous, I’m sure, Hetty, but a couple of sandwiches, wrapped in newspaper?
Not very festive, is it? C’mon, I’m no fool.
” He stretches out his arms and folds his hands behind his head.
“I tell you what, I shan’t mention your early Sunday morning meetings with Lover Boy to Vati, if you make me a promise. ”
Something explodes in my chest. He knows. Damn Tomas!
I bend down to fiddle with the string at the top of my knapsack, tying and retying it, hiding my tears from Karl. “And what’s that?”
“Give him up, and never see him again. If you don’t, I’ll have no choice but to do what I have to. I certainly won’t protect you anymore.” His voice hardens. I don’t answer and he says, “I’ll know if you break that promise. I have my spies.”
I wipe my eyes, take a deep breath, and stand.
“I’m not going anywhere this morning, Karl, and I have no idea what you’re talking about.
I have no lover boy, and I do not intend ever to get one.
I shan’t ever get married. One day I shall become a doctor, you’ll see, and I’ll travel, far, far away from here.
Right now, I’m going back to my room, and I suggest you do the same. Until you look and smell presentable.”
As I walk past him, he grabs my arm and pulls me to face him.
“Why risk it?” he says, his words lucid again, his tone pleading. “Don’t play with fire, Little Mouse. A dance with the devil... it can only ever end in disaster.”
I pull my arm away and leave the kitchen.
Closing my door, I throw myself onto the bed, pummeling the pillow with my fists.
Hot tears soak the covers. I picture Walter waiting in vain for me at the station, our plans in tatters.
Walter’s situation is perilous, and whatever happens to him, it will be my fault.
An idea comes to me, and I rummage in my drawer for some writing paper and a pen.
I will find a way to get this delivered when Ingrid and Bertha are up.
Lena,
I know we hardly know each other, but despite this, I hope you can accept me as your friend.
I rather need your help and I have nobody else to turn to.
Our mutual friend is in great danger. I cannot go to see this friend myself, for fear it will make things worse.
I would be extremely grateful if you could warn him that things are very bad.
This is why I couldn’t be at our rendezvous this morning.
Please tell him that I truly cannot risk seeing him again, certainly not at this moment.
Tell him, this is for the best, and that he means so very much to me.
Yours so very gratefully,
Herta