The Children's War (44 page)

“What?”

“Do you have a family? Back in England, I mean?”

“No. None.”

“How can that be? Everybody has family!”

“That’s just the way it is. Now will you please go back to bed before your parents catch you up here? We can talk tomorrow. I’ll find time. I promise.”

“Oh, all right.” She squeezed his shoulder slightly, she had held it the entire time, then she let go and left the room.

He stared after her, an ache in his heart. He hadn’t failed to notice that she was indeed quite pretty, that she was nearly a woman. It had added a measure of desperation to his pleas for her to leave. But that was not why his heart ached. She was too young, too naive, too dangerous to be appealing to him. No, his heart ached because of her question, and because he knew he had hurt her feelings. And because of her touch. When was the last time someone had touched him with such gentleness?

46

N
EVER MIND WHEN HE
had last been touched gently, when the hell had he last heard a civil word? Elspeth had been snapping at him all day and now this! He stared morosely and shifted his weight uncomfortably from one leg to the other,
watching the glasses to see when they were emptied. He thought of the conversation he had promised Ulrike as he saw Frau Schindler’s mouth moving rapidly with her yapping complaints. Elspeth finished her drink and he moved quickly to refill her glass, topping up everyone else’s as he did so. He returned to his position near the door and waited. The Schindlers had hardly been in the house twenty minutes, but already the visit seemed interminable. He chewed on nothing, his mouth working mindlessly in search of food, but his dinner was in the kitchen, abandoned at the sound of the doorbell, growing cold. Karl motioned for a cigarette. Peter lit one for Karl and for Herr Schindler as well.

Again he returned to his square foot by the door. If only he could talk to someone! Anything to relieve the monotony! He breathed out, trying to calm his growing anger. They were talking about him now, as if he weren’t even there, as if he could not understand. To an extent, they were right. He did not care what they had to say, and he listened only enough to recognize a commanding tone.

“Your boy looks uncomfortable, is something wrong with him?” Frau Schindler asked snidely.

“Nothing is
wrong
with him,” Elspeth retorted, then pointedly asked, “Do you want something?”

It took a moment for him to realize she was talking to him, but he immediately decided to grab the opportunity her question presented and answered,“Yes,
gnädige Frau.
There’s some work upstairs I’d like to finish. I’ll still be within earshot.”

“You’ll do it later,” Elspeth snapped in reply.

He had to take a deep breath before he could bring himself to answer, “Yes,
gnädige Frau.”

Later, after he had helped the guests into their coats, Herr Schindler wagged a finger in his face and admonished, “I hope you realize how lenient your master is, boy. If you were in my household, I’d teach you a thing or two.”

Though he knew he shouldn’t, Peter looked at him, wondering what it was that made some people act so stupidly.

Herr Schindler tilted his head mockingly, “Did you hear me, boy? Are you deaf or stupid?” He turned his attention toward Karl, who was standing beside Peter. “Probably both,” Herr Schindler joked. “Give him to me for a few weeks, and I’ll beat some sense into him.”

Peter decided to stop looking at him, preferring to view the floor rather than his stupid face.

“There’s no need for that,” Karl returned, distinctly offended. “I can take care of my own.”

Laughing his usual loud, boorish laugh, Herr Schindler clapped Karl patronizingly on the shoulder. “Of course! Of course! No offense intended!”

Karl grinned in reply as his guests made their way out, all laughter and smiles. Peter raised his eyes from the floor to stare dismally after them, thinking there had to be a special place in hell for such people.

It was not very late, but there was still a mess to be cleaned. After everything
had been cleared up, Peter sat on the kitchen step stool, staring out the window into the night, holding his plate in his hand, chewing his cold dinner. He wondered if he had enough energy to talk to Ulrike, as he had promised, as well as slip out late at night to make a meeting, as he had also promised.

Elspeth surprised him by coming into the kitchen. He leapt to his feet.

“You’re not supposed to sit there,” she stated.

“My apologies,
gnä’ Frau.”

“And what are you doing eating up here? This is our kitchen—not your dining-room!”

She knew he frequently brought his food upstairs, and he was therefore quite taken aback by her question. All he could manage to do was to swallow his food and utter his formulaic “Forgive me,
gnädige Frau.”

She shook her head angrily. “That won’t do this time! You made a fool out of me in front of the Schindlers! Where the hell did you get it into your head to act like that in front of them!”

“My apologies,
gnädige Frau.”
He knew that would not placate her, so he quickly added, “I didn’t realize I was behaving inappropriately.”

“You didn’t realize?” Her voice grew loud and she repeated in disbelief, “You didn’t realize!” She shook with anger. “I put up with far too much from you, boy, and now you’ve made me look foolish in front of my guests! Well, it’s going to stop, do you understand?”

“Yes,
gnädige Frau.”
He was not sure what line he had crossed, but it was clear Elspeth was furious. He set down his food in preparation for her next action, yet she made no move to strike him.

She simply stood quaking with rage. Then, as if she had reached some sort of decision, she said much more quietly, “Get out.”

“What?”

“I said, get out!”

He shook his head, perplexed. Should he leave the kitchen? Was that what she wanted?

Elspeth quietly clarified, “If you can’t follow the rules of my house, then you can just leave.” She pointed toward the back door.

He turned to follow her gesture, then he looked back at her in utter disbelief.
“What?”
he stammered again.

“You heard me, get out!”

“Frau Vogel, I
can’t
leave.” He saw she looked unconvinced, so he added, “It’s illegal!”

She grabbed his arm and pulled him toward the door. “Get out.”

“Where am I supposed to go?”

“You should have thought of that earlier. Out!”

“It’s not permitted!”

“That’s not my problem. If you want to enjoy our hospitality, you will abide
by the rules of this house, and you will behave respectfully at all times, especially in front of my guests!”

“Yes,
gnädige Frau.
Of course,
gnädige Frau,”
he agreed readily. He had let her pull him as far as the door, but he stopped short of opening it. Surely, she had made her point.

“No. That’s just not going to do this time. Now get out!” She unbolted the lock and opened the door.

“Gnädige,
please don’t do this.” Cold, damp air drifted in.

“I’ve had enough already. Out!”

“Gnädigste,
I said I was sorry. Surely—”

“I’m sick of your apologies. Now, out!” She pointed out into the night.

He stared out at the freezing drizzle. The orange security lights reflected off the mists with an eerie glow. Reluctantly, he reached for his jacket and documentation.

“Leave those,” she said with cold determination. “They don’t belong to you.”

His eyes narrowed with a look of disgust, as though she, too, had crossed some line, but he did not take the items and instead stepped outside without further protest. He stood still, staring straight out into the yard, as the door snapped shut behind him and the bolt was thrown.

There was no awning over the door and the eaves were insufficient to shield him from the icy drizzle. He crossed his arms in defense against the cold, but otherwise he stood unmoving, staring sightlessly out into the yard. He felt she was watching him, and he did not want to give her the satisfaction of his reactions.

Eventually though, the cold and the rain grew to be too much, and he began to try to warm himself, breathing on his hands and pacing back and forth. He thought about going back inside, but he could never let Elspeth know how easy it was for him to overcome her locks. No, as long as she knew he was outside, he had to remain outside.

He continued to pace back and forth, swearing quietly under his breath, tryingto keep warm. The wind picked up and slammed the tiny crystals of ice into his cheeks with a stinging ferocity. His hair grew heavy, and he shook his head periodically to remove the accumulated ice. The sleet landed on his clothes, formed a thin crust, which then melted with his body’s heat and soaked in until he was completely drenched. Cold water dripped down his face like tears. He thought about just walking somewhere, anywhere, but he knew she could reappear at any moment, and if he was gone, then there would be hell to pay.

After several hours—it was well past midnight—Frau Vogel relented and unlocked the door. He stepped inside without either of them saying a word. She was dressed in her robe—clearly she had gone to bed and had only just gotten up to let him in. He was trembling with cold and miserably soaked; he found himself staring at the floor watching the ice crystals drop into little puddles at his feet. He was so furious he was speechless, but he knew that he was no longer afforded the luxury of anger and so he struggled to gain control of his emotions.

She stood waiting and finally he managed to look up at her. “Thank you,
gnädige Frau.
I do appreciate having a place here. I really do. And I know my behavior in front of Frau and Herr Schindler was appalling. I won’t do it again.”

Frau Vogel nodded her acceptance, told him to finish cleaning up, and then retired for the night. He looked at the plate of food still sitting on the counter. It looked inedible. Ulrike had long ago gone to bed; he had not kept his promise to her. He had missed his meeting, he had not kept his promise to his friends. His eyes burned with fatigue and the muscles of his face felt tired, as if betraying no emotion had exhausted them. He tried to take a few deep breaths, but the effort seemed pointless.

“You never kept your promise,” Ulrike gently chided as he set down her cocoa the following evening.

“I’m sorry. I have no right to make promises. My time’s not my own,” he answered coldly.

“Do you have a few minutes to talk now?” she asked with a pleading smile.

He inspected the hallway, then turned back into the room and nodded disinterestedly. He felt too tired to talk, certainly far too tired to concentrate, so he let her choose the direction of their conversation, only interrupting periodically to walk to the door and listen. She asked a lot of questions about racial theories, and then, out of nowhere, she asked, “Have you ever been in love?”

Her voice was strained, as though she were trying too hard to sound casual, as if the answer were important to her. She seemed ready to cross some frontier, but he could not fathom what it was. He walked to the door, ostensibly to check the hall, but he was furiously thinking about how he should answer her. It was late and he really did not want to enter into a discussion of his past life, but he knew that he would lose any trust she had in him if he lied to her now. He also remembered the look she had given him when he had said he had no family; though it was essentially the truth—a brother who did not even know he was alive hardly counted as family—he knew she thought he was lying then, knew that she was judging his worth as a human being by the answer he gave her now.

Reluctantly he finally answered, “Yes, I have.”

“Did she love you?”

“Yes.” As he walked back toward Ulrike, an image of Allison’s face came to him. He smiled at her memory.

“Did you marry?”

“No, that wasn’t possible at the time,” he whispered in reply.

“Why not?”