The Children's War (58 page)

59

T
HE BLACK OF THE
night sky slowly brightened into the red of dawn and then the blue of day. Peter watched through half-closed eyes, wishing the short summer night would last just a bit longer. He slept now on the floor of Uwe’s bedroom, on a heavy rug with blankets that he rolled up and stored out of sight during the day. His last shred of privacy, his attic bed, had been sacrificed to the unending demands of his irritable and petulant invalid patient.

Every night since his arrival, Uwe had awakened him. Every night. He wondered momentarily if there was anyone in the world, anyone at all, who felt more miserable than he did. He sighed his exasperation and began his day, making his way out of the house and to the bakery as usual. A morning rain had only just
stopped, and even though it was July, the air was thick with a cold mist. The usual collection of
Zwangsarbeiter
loitered near the bakery entrance, waiting for their morning ration. He joined the queue, but was too distracted by his thoughts to listen to the whispered gossip around him. He had to ask Roman to yet again convey his apologies to everyone. There was no way he could leave the house with Uwe there. It was impossible.

Eventually he reached the head of the line and looked into the bakery to greet Roman with a smile. A strange face returned his look. The young man was thin, pale, and looked thoroughly harassed by both his bosses behind him and the customers in front of him. Quickly, Peter dug through his papers to find all the appropriate documentation that the man would need. As the order was being filled, he worriedly scanned the interior of the bakery. Roman was nowhere in sight. He turned to the boy in line behind him. He did not recognize him but asked anyway, in a subdued voice, “What happened to Roman?”

The boy ignored him; he wore the uniform of an apprentice, and it would, no doubt, debase him to acknowledge someone of a lower strata. Peter turned back toward the window; the young man presented him with his order and turned his attention toward the next customer.

“Wait,” Peter insisted, probably a bit too loudly.

The man glared at him. “What do you want?”

“Where is Roman?”

“Who?”

“The man who used to work here.”

“Oh, him. Gone.” And with that the young man pointedly turned to the boy. The boy gave Peter a shove as he elbowed his way forward.

Peter scanned the line of waiting people, but none of them returned his look. A lone policeman lounging a few meters away, leaning against a wall and smoking a cigarette, caught his eyes. The policeman seemed to interpret the direct look as a challenge and, throwing down the cigarette, launched himself off the wall and began to walk slowly in Peter’s direction. Realizing he had lost any opportunity to find out what was going on, Peter turned and walked away as unobtrusively as possible. The policeman did not bother to follow.

This was an unexpected and unwelcome turn of events! What with his reassignment to sleep in Uwe’s room, what with Uwe never leaving the house and demanding attention at any hour of the day or night, he had lost every last chance of contact with all the others. He had become a prisoner of the house and of his patient. His once-a-day visits to the bakery and his chats with Roman had been the sole outlet left to him. And now Roman was gone as well!

Maybe, he thought, as he changed the sheets on Uwe’s bed, maybe it was good news. Maybe Roman had found a chance, had learned of someplace to go and taken the opportunity available to him. The thought buoyed him, at least a bit, but whatever had happened, no matter how good the news for Roman, it was a devastating blow for him. He missed his friends terribly, he was excruciatingly
lonely, and he was extremely annoyed that Uwe’s sleeplessness had so effectively imprisoned him in the house and denied him any chance of meeting with anybody for the foreseeable future.

Uwe slumped in the chair next to the bed as Peter changed the linens and watched his every move with an unnerving intensity. Once the fresh sheets were laid on the bed, he helped Uwe back into a reclining position. His patient was neither light nor cooperative, and as usual, he had a difficult time getting Uwe back into bed safely without straining himself. After he had finally deposited his irritable patient onto the bed and lit another cigarette for him, he finished tucking in the corners.

“Tell me about yourself,” Uwe said suddenly.

“Not much to tell. I serve my betters loyally.”

Uwe laughed at that. “Well, then, tell me about a woman.”

“I don’t know any.”

“Surely you must have fucked someone! Tell me about the last woman you fucked.”

“I’ve never had sex,” Peter replied with a straight face.

“Liar!”

“No, never.”

“You’re not human!”

“So you all constantly tell me,” Peter countered. He moved from one side of the bed to the other.

“Well, it doesn’t matter. Tell me about your childhood then.”

“Nothing much to say. Pretty average.”

“Did you graduate school?” Uwe asked, his eyes closed as if contemplating the great secrets of the universe.

Peter struggled to remember if he had ever answered that question. Yes? No? He supposed the answer must have been that he hadn’t. “No.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know. I guess education just isn’t important to my sort.”

There was a moment of silence and Peter wondered if Uwe had fallen asleep. He thought he should pluck the glowing cigarette from Uwe’s immobile hand, and he was just about to reach over when Uwe broke the silence.

“What about your parents?”

“What about them?” Peter answered irritably, momentarily forgetting that he was supposed to be a foundling.

“What did they do?”

“Does it matter?”

“You’ll show proper respect at all times!” Uwe warned, his eyes snapping open to survey his servant.

“My humblest apologies. Forgive me for my uninteresting life. I seek only to serve,” Peter replied with undisguised sarcasm.

“Pff!” Uwe huffed. “All right then, if your life is uninteresting, tell me about your thoughts.”

“I have none.”

“Come now.”

“I don’t have time to think. And as you are so fond of pointing out, I’m not really capable of rational thought in any case.”

“I asked about your feelings, not your thoughts.”

“Feelings? Oh. In that case, absolute loyalty. And gratitude, of course,” Peter snapped, more annoyed by Uwe’s blatant lie than he should have allowed himself to be.

“Gratitude?”

“Oh, yes, that my life is given a purpose.” Peter finished tucking in the sheets. He turned to leave.

“Hey, I’m not done.”

“What do you want?”

“Don’t take that tone with me!” Uwe growled.

“So sorry,
mein Herr.
How can my most lowly self be of service to my most gracious one?”

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed your attitude.”

Peter raised an eyebrow in response. “Attitude?”

“You think too highly of yourself.”

“My humblest apologies,
mein Herr.”
“You shouldn’t be here. It’s as simple as that,” Uwe stated incongruously.

Peter gave Uwe a long, hard look. Where did Uwe think he belonged? In a work camp? Deciding to deliberately misinterpret, he made another attempt at escape and said, “If that’s how you feel, I’ll leave. There are other things I’d be better off doing.” He started for the door.

“Don’t you dare!” Uwe thundered. “I’m not through with you!”

Peter stopped in the doorway. Staring forlornly into the hallway, he agreed, “No one ever is.”

“What? What was that?” Uwe asked petulantly. “What did you say?”

“Nothing,
mein Herr,”
Peter replied, half turning to be sure Uwe heard him. “I really must go, though.”

“No, come back here!”

Peter could hear Elspeth approaching up the steps. Trapped as he was, he gave up and returned to Uwe’s bedside. “Yes,
mein Herr?”

Uwe wagged a finger at him. “I’m going to catch you out, boy. Just you wait, and when I do . . .” Uwe made a violent snapping motion with his fist. “Your neck, boy! It will be your neck!”

The threat sounded real enough, but Peter was distracted by the fact that Uwe was no longer smoking and the cigarette was not in the ashtray. Peter scanned the bed and finally located the glowing end on the floor. He quickly picked it up and deposited it in the ashtray, stubbing it out with a casualness that masked his annoyance at such childish behavior.

Uwe followed his actions with mild interest, then flicking his fingers in the direction of his pack, indicated to Peter that he should light another one for him. Uwe sighed with pleasure as he inhaled from the cigarette and greeted his mother with a smile as she bustled into the room.

Elspeth returned his smile with a look of syrupy love and undying devotion, then she glanced down at the ashtray and the collection of cigarette ends and scowled at Peter. “You know the doctor said he should not smoke!”

Peter shrugged. “It is not my place—”

Elspeth slapped him before he could say more. “You selfish pig! You don’t give a damn about my son’s health!” she accused angrily.

That was not really true. He had a real interest in Uwe’s recovering enough to finally get fitted with artificial limbs. If he could move about, it would not only circumvent the awful need for bedpans and the like but would also mean Uwe might get enough exercise to be less bored and irritable and would perhaps even sleep through the night and allow Peter to do likewise. No, Elspeth was wrong: Uwe’s health was very much his concern, but the boy enjoyed the attention of being bedridden far too much and was malingering in a depression that was more debilitating than his physical injuries.

Of course, Peter said nothing of the sort to Elspeth and simply apologized. He did not bother to specify why he was apologizing: Was it for lighting Uwe’s cigarettes? Or for not caring about his health? Or for being a selfish pig? It did not matter, Elspeth had already turned her attention to her son, sweetly reminding him that it was not wise to smoke so much.

“Ah, Ma, but I’m bored!” Uwe whined, and added, nodding at Peter, “And he is always running off leaving me alone. Sometimes I shout myself hoarse and he doesn’t come.”

Elspeth turned toward Peter, livid with rage. Uwe continued,“He ignores me, Ma! Why, just a moment ago he said he had better things to do.”

Elspeth’s eyes opened wide with horror. “You piece of filth!” she hissed.“How dare you speak to my son in such a manner!”

“Gnä’ Frau,
I do my best,” Peter explained. “I can’t come if I don’t hear him, and I do have lots of work that must be done.”

Behind his mother’s back, Uwe grinned at him as if to say: See, I can destroy you in a minute!

“Nothing takes priority over my son’s needs! Do you understand?” Elspeth huffed.

“I understand,
gnädige Frau,
but I must do my other work! Certainly you see that?”

“You can do that when he does not need you. And you will make sure that you are always within hearing distance.”