Opposite Sides (10 page)

She waited for him to
answer.

“
I
understand, Miss Turner.”

“
Good. That’s
what I like to hear. Now, how to help you? I am not the enemy you
take me to be and I take no pleasure in punishing you like this,
believe me. What I hear is that you are having a difficult time.
Most boys do when they first come here. You are not alone in that
so I suggest you try to make more of an effort to fit in with the
other boys. Let me give you some advice: do the things they like
doing and I am sure life will prove to be much better.”

Hans slid his feet over
the floor-boards, silently shuffling towards the door. He did not
want to tell her about the bullying or the threats he had received.
He had decided that he would have to deal with them
himself.

“
Hans!” It
was one of the very few times she had used his first name. “Are you
listening to what I’m telling you?”

“
Yes, Miss
Turner.”

“
Join in with
sports activities. I’ve heard you’ve got a good arm for cricket.”
That surprised him. He had no idea how she heard about that but
then Miss Turner knew everything that went on in, and even
sometimes out of school. “Also, listen to your masters. It will
make things so much easier.” She stepped forward and patted him on
his shoulder. She even smiled a little . . . very faintly, hardly
perceptible. “So, I have your promise that you will make a proper
attempt?”

“
Yes, Miss
Turner.”

What a ‘proper attempt’
entailed, Hans was not too sure. Miss Turner waved her hand. Hans
was about to leave when she called him back.

“
Before you
go. I am asking that you need to change your attitude towards my
niece for I saw the way you pushed her down the pathway this
morning. I was not impressed, young man. Remember . . .
Veneratio est
nostrum
rector
:
the
college motto
. Make that part of yourself
and everything you do. Never forget that, Mister
Resmel.”

Hans nodded, then left.
How he wished he was at home, his real home, his childhood home. He
felt a longing to belong and be accepted. He had the same feelings
when the family left Austria and moved to Germany where Papi was
closer to his sister and her husband. Hans had been wrenched away
from his friends and away from his grandmother. He had that feeling
again where he felt as though his insides were being torn apart.
Homesickness. Home was so far away. There was no-one he could tell
how he felt and now, not even Mr and Mrs Brymer.

Over the next few days,
as each bell rang between classes, he moved trance-like, from one
room to the next, from one lesson to another. He remembered the
time when the family moved away from Austria, riding for many hours
on the train and ending up in the large city of Berlin. For the
first week it was like being on holiday. There were new areas to
explore and it was exciting. Strange smells, the constant noise and
bustle of people and all the traffic. He had never seen so many
horses and carriages, buses and trams and honking cars in his life.
He could feel the hardness of the city surfaces under the tread of
his boots as he trotted along side the long strides of his parents.
But when the initial excitement had subsided, he was enveloped in
an empty feeling of sadness as he came to the realisation that he
had lost all of his playmates and may never see any of them again.
There was nowhere in this city where he could roll and tumble like
he did in the alpine meadows, or lie on sloping grass banks as he
did by the Salzach River. If only he were that young child again .
. .

“
Pssst!
Moose-head.”

Robert Brinkwater who sat
on the bench with Hans gave him a nudge that, luckily, escaped the
notice of the master and Hans was shot back to the reality of
1924.

Mr Moore was not in the
best of moods and by now his fuse was extremely short. He was
taking the boys for their afternoon double period History lesson
which was dealing with the development of the Trade Unions which
the majority of boys found to be uninteresting to the point that
their minds were often diverted to other things running through
their empty minds. The master had paused in his journey between the
desks and was now standing just out of arm’s reach from Henry
Smithfield, one of boys known for giggling like a girl.

The master’s attention
was centred on Hans.

“
Well, Mister
Resmel?”

A pen-nib clattered onto
the floor. Smithfield giggled. The master swung round and pounced,
the wide sleeves of his gown first swirling around before folding
inwards like two black bat wings.

“
And what do
you call these disgusting black blobs, Mr Smithfield?”

“
I believe
they’re ink blobs, sir,” the boy answered still with a grin playing
around his mouth.

“
Ink blobs
are they, Mr Smithfield? They look more like large black lakes on
your page, boy!”

“
They’re not
lakes, sir. They’re ink blobs!”

A stifled snigger crept
around the edges of room until it found a cupboard in which to
hide. The master was not amused. He looked for another
victim.

“
Mr Resmel
have you anything to say to that?”

“
No,
sir?”

“
I’m glad to
hear that! Now, maybe you can answer that question of mine before I
was so rudely interrupted by Mr Smithfield here.”

All silent eyes became
fixed on Hans as he desperately thought for an answer. Any answer.
Grab a word, any word; but answer.

“
Gewerkschaftbewegung
.
”

“
WHAT?”

The voice shot up to the
roof as ‘Moose-head’ spun round, creating a small whirlwind with
his gown. Hans looked at the master and bit his bottom lip. Mr
Moore was standing like a huge bird of prey, pushing back his arm
wings, glaring down at the boy, waiting for him to recoil and sink
downwards as if his body had been squashed into the hard wooden
bench seat on which the unfortunate victim was sitting. There was
silence. The boys in the room barely dared to breath as the master
waited for a response.

Finally, Hans thought he
had better say something.

“
Mr Moore,
sir?”

“
I don’t like
the tone of your voice! Both your work and your behaviour I find
unacceptable. This time report to the Headmaster!”

Hans was stunned and
remained seated. He did not think he had said anything to annoy the
master. It just seemed that Mr Moore could not tolerate him. It was
so unfair.

“
Stand up
when I’m talking to you!”

The master scribbled
something on a piece of paper, folded it and glued down the
edges.

“
You’d better
do as he says,” whispered Robert. “I’ll look after your
books.”

“
The door!”
The master pointed as he handed over his note. “Take this to the
headmaster. At once!”

Hans opened the door and
began to walk through.

“
You know
what to do, don’t you?”

“
Huh?”

“
Give him my
note. And you can tell him that you’ve been wasting both my time
and the rest of the students’. And, talking of time, sir, it’s time
you faced reality: either act like an Englishman, or go back to
where all you lot should be! We should have wiped out the lot of
you when we had the chance!”

The master’s outburst had
unsettled him. So, that was the problem; he could not stop the hate
which had been built up in the war. Hans wondered how long Mr Moore
had been on the battlefield. Maybe too long, for the battlefield
had been brought into the classroom and the ex-sergeant Moore was
having difficulty realising the fighting was all over. Reluctantly,
and feeling victimised, Hans left the classroom and dawdled over to
the office, his hands thrust so deeply into his trouser pockets
that he could easily feel his pocket seams. He knew the way well
now, knew every paving stone and crack in the path, knew the exact
edge in the building where students had rubbed their hands as they
walked around the corner of the hallway that led up to the offices.
If only people would leave him alone. If only people could accept
him for himself and not throw all the blame for what had taken
place when he was only just a child. He needed time to sort out his
homesickness. Instead, hate was increasing it’s appetite and things
were getting worse.

Mr Bowes-Heath read the
note. His face was serious.

“We do appear to have a
problem here, Mr Resmel,” Mr Bowes-Heath said calmly.

There was little emotion
in his commanding voice. His presence was one of authority that
demanded absolute obedience. Mr Bowes-Heath had also served at the
Front but his front-line experiences had been quite different to
those of Mr Moore’s. As one of the few surviving officers,
Second-lieutenant Bowes-Heath had met with some of those they had
been fighting with: battle weary men who were only too keen to
return home and leave the horrors of battle where such horrors
belong. Hans’ only choice now was to listen in silence, just as the
men in Mr Bowes-Heath’s unit would have done six to ten years
ago.

“
This
difficulty the master is having with you will have to go onto your
report. It is regretable and your uncle will have to be informed.
There need to be changes if you are to remain with us. We knew
things might prove difficult for you, and having received such a
glowing report from your previous school, I had hoped that you
could have dealt with anything thrown at you. For the time being, I
think you need time and space to think things over. Time for
everyone to reassess the situation. The holiday break should help.
Miss Turner has already sorted things out with the Brymers. Collect
your bag from the classroom as soon as the bell sounds and go to
Miss Turner. She has made all the arrangements for you.”

What ever did Mr
Bowes-Heath mean? Hans had no idea. He grabbed his bag and books
from Robert and bolted out of the school grounds before anyone
could see him. He had trouble understanding everything that had
been said to him and he knew the situation was serious but did not
not think he was entirely to blame for it. At this moment, he hated
everyone . . . everyone in this foreign land and he hated himself
for ever agreeing to come. Why couldn’t it have been Renard? He
always knew what he wanted and he would have known what to do. Hans
was so angry that his lips had become pale and his his limbs felt
as if they were about to shake out of their sockets. He was angry
with his grandmother for being born in such a stupid country; this
awful country she had wished one of her grandsons to know. The
Brymers would understand. They would know how much he was
hurting.

Hans reached the Brymer
cottage and opened the back door. He dashed through the kitchen
without stopping and flopped onto the couch in the living room. He
sat alone, brooding and fuming over his terrible day. It was
several minutes before he realised just how quiet the cottage was.
It appeared to be empty and where was Mrs Brymer when he wanted
her? It was not like her to be away from the house this late in the
afternoon. He went to the foot of the stairwell and called up the
stairs.

“
Frau
Brymer!”

No answer. Maybe, she was
weeding somewhere in the garden and in his haste, he had not
noticed her. He rushed back to the entranceway, gave another call,
and listened. Only the faint traffic noise and the soothing
clip-clop of a horse’s hooves. Maybe she was ill. Or worse, dead. A
corpse, lying face down somewhere on the floor, strangled or
stabbed by some enemy who wanted to put his own life in
ruin.

“
Frau Brymer!
Frau BRYMER! FRAU BRYMER!”

He edged open the
creaking door of Mrs Brymer’s bedroom. The usual small trinkets
that she kept on the dressing table were not there. Neither was Mr
Brymer’s spare pipe. Something made him check the wardrobe. What he
saw made the colour drain from his face. He staggered back against
the wall. it was much worse than he had imagined.

All the Brymers’
belongings had gone. The wardrobe was completely empty. He looked
around the room for other clues. On the dressing table was a note.
It shook in his hand as he picked it up.

Erwin,

Sorry. We had
to leave. Somebody will call for you and explain all the details. I
think that this way may be the best for you. You should see Miss
Turner. Some day we hope you will understand.

Be good and
strong. We know you can be a good student.

Good
luck.

Alice
Brymer

Hans was still staring at
the note when he heard the front doorbell sound. Taking the note
with him, he ran along the hall and down the stairs. He opened the
door.

He was surprised to see
Anne Sutherland and Robert Brinkwater standing on the
doorstep.

“
Yes? What do
you two want?” he asked with a snap.

Anne drew back. She had
never seen him like this. His hair was ruffled, his face muscles
taut as he clenched his teeth tightly together and the look in his
blue eyes made her freeze.