The Flyer (26 page)

CHAPTER 24

For seventy two hours William had been travelling north. During daylight he spent most of the time hidden in woods, where he concealed himself in the sparse winter undergrowth as best he could. He slept fitfully, waking often because he was cold, or because he imagined that he heard voices. After his plane crashed he’d seen German soldiers on their way to the wreckage, and he didn’t know if they were looking for him or had assumed he was dead. He had no clear recollection of the crash itself, only the tops of the trees rushing to meet him. He thought he must have blacked out, and when he came to he was lying on the ground, and it was raining fire. The wreck of his plane was lodged in the woodland canopy above him, where it had come to rest. The trees were burning. He’d managed to crawl clear of the fire. His leg ached badly and there was a gash in his scalp that had left his hair matted with blood, but otherwise he seemed to be uninjured.

He saw the soldiers soon afterwards. They were crossing a field towards the thick pall of smoke rising from the woods. He watched them until they passed him, and then he went in the opposite direction. Since then he’d travelled at night, following the roads away from the front. Progress was slow. His leg ached badly and he had to rest often. Other than the cold and the worry of being caught, his primary concern was food. He was constantly hungry, though at least water was easy enough to find in the many streams running through the area.

At the end of the third night he found a place to sleep among a copse of trees. He woke to the sound of voices and the rumble of wheels and horses’ hooves. No more than twenty yards from where he lay hidden, a column of German troops with artillery were passing by on their way to the front. The column came to a halt for some reason and the soldiers took the chance to light cigarettes or to eat something. Their uniforms were clean, which meant they were fresh troops; reinforcements for the trenches. Many of them were older men. One of them said something and another in his group laughed, a deep guttural sound. The one who’d spoken left the others and came into the trees, making his way straight towards the place where William was hidden. He was a big man with a beefy red face and a rifle slung over his shoulder. As he came closer William took his pistol from his pocket and cocked the hammer.

He thought about what would happen if he killed the soldier. Others would come after him and they had horses. He would be caught and shot. One of the soldier’s companions called out something and coarse laughter erupted among the others. The soldier grunted a reply and, putting down his rifle, he shrugged off his pack and dropped his trousers, then squatted beside a tree a few yards from where William lay. When the soldier was finished he returned to the others, leaving the pungent stink of his shit behind, and soon the column started off again and their voices faded and were gone. For twenty minutes, until the last of the column had passed, William didn’t dare to move.

As darkness fell again he continued north. He stopped at a stream to drink and rest his leg. He gulped down all he could to fill the gnawing emptiness in his stomach. He knew the relief wouldn’t last long. Before an hour had passed he’d be pissing it away again.

When the pain in his leg had eased he continued on his way. It was cloudy and there were no stars visible. Now and then squally showers fell and made his clothes damp. A freezing wind came up and chilled him to the bone. He knew he had to find food, and if he was going to walk all the way to the Dutch frontier without being caught he would need to get rid of his uniform. When he saw a glimmer of yellow light in the darkness he changed direction and climbed through a hedgerow to cross a field. The mud stuck to his boots, and in his weakened state, it made every step an effort. When he reached the far side of the field he saw that the light came from a window on the ground floor of a farm house. He watched it for a little while and then crept towards a barn across the yard.

The barn had wooden doors, which creaked when William opened them and set a dog barking furiously somewhere close by. Alarmed, he slipped inside and took the pistol from his pocket, waiting to see if anyone would come. After a few moments the dog stopped barking, but William waited a little while longer before he put the gun away and began to feel his way around.

The air smelt of hay and dry dirt. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness inside, William could see byres and stalls. An animal breathed heavily through its nostrils and moved restlessly; hooves on hard packed earth. He found a box filled with straw and potatoes. He put some in his pockets and then found another box that held apples. He ate one straight away and shoved more in with the potatoes. Further on he felt in the hay byres and touched something warm and soft. It moved and he recoiled as a hen exploded from the hay, squawking with alarm. Outside, the dog began barking again. More hens flapped around him, and he tried to grab one of them, but their feathers were soft and slippery. He felt something smooth and warm, and when he realised they were eggs he stuffed them in his pockets. Outside, the dog’s barking had become frenzied, and he knew it was bound to bring somebody from the house to see what was wrong. Quickly he made his way to the door and slipped outside again.

As he crossed the yard a door opened, spilling light from the house. William heard a questioning grunt, but by then he was around the corner, already swallowed by the darkness. Too late, he glimpsed a shape looming in front of him and then something wrapped around his face and arms. He struggled briefly before realising he’d run into clothes drying on a line. Hurriedly, he snatched at some trousers and a shirt and then plunged through a hedge into a field. His leg gave way and a bolt of agonising pain caused him to cry out, but he forced himself up and stumbled on.

On the other side of the field he stopped to get his breath. To his surprise there was no sound of pursuit. The barking dog had fallen quiet again. After a moment he felt in his pocket for the eggs. Two of them had broken when he fell, but he scooped out the yolk and albumen and ate it, then cracked the other two and sucked out their contents. Afterwards he ate two apples, but decided to keep the potatoes until he could cook them. The thought of hot potato, smoky from a fire, made his mouth water.

He walked on for half an hour until he came across the ruined remains of a barn. Though part of the roof was missing, he found a corner where it was sheltered and dry. He took off his uniform and exchanged it for the clothes he’d taken from the farm, and then he sat down in the corner to rest. Within minutes he was asleep.     

*****

When he woke, the grey light of morning revealed broken rafters and crumbling masonry. His leg was painfully stiff and he was cold and hungry again. As he struggled to his feet, William froze. A stockily built man stood in the gap where there was once a door. He was roughly dressed and unshaven, and beside him on a rope leash was a large brown dog that eyed William warily. In the crook of his arm the man carried a rifle.

‘Bonjour,’ William said. His French was passable but he knew he would never pass for a native.

The man didn’t respond. He looked at the discarded uniform on the ground and the clothes William now wore beneath his coat. The rifle remained in the crook of his arm. Though William didn’t feel threatened yet, he was aware that pilots brought down in occupied territory couldn’t rely on the local population for help, since the Germans would shoot anyone caught assisting the enemy.

Keeping an eye on the rifle, William bent down to rub his stiff leg and at the same time he pretended to lose his balance and stumble. The man took a step toward him, and then stopped as William took out his pistol and pointed it at him. For several seconds neither of them moved.

‘Anglaise?’ The man questioned.

‘Oui, Je suis Anglaise.’

The man nodded, but otherwise didn’t react. Keeping the pistol trained on him, William stepped closer and gestured that he should move aside. The dog growled, but the man said something sharply and it fell quiet. In the light of day William saw that the barn was on the edge of a large, sloping grass field. It was very early and the air was cold and damp. Thin mist shrouded the countryside and pale cloud blanketed the sky. It was as if the colour had been leached from the landscape. At the eastern end of the field was a wood. William gestured to the rifle and held out his hand. Warily, the man handed it over, and William began to back away. After he’d gone a short distance he turned and limped to the edge of the trees. When he looked back the man hadn’t moved. William held the rifle aloft so the man could see it, then placed it on the ground before slipping away into the woods. Once he was out of sight, he changed direction to head north again.

In order to put some distance between himself and the man with the dog, William travelled by daylight, though he was careful to stay away from roads. Around midday he made his way deep into a wood and risked lighting a fire. The flames cheered him up, and when the fire was reduced to hot embers he buried his potatoes and sat against a tree. An hour later he was tossing a scalding potato from hand to hand. The skin was tough and blackened, while the white flesh was steaming hot and soft. He’d never tasted anything so delicious, though he wished he’d kept an egg to crack over it.

When he set off again it was with the realisation that he would never reach the frontier without help. Either he would starve or else be caught by the Germans and shot as a spy. He decided that he must find a town, where he stood a better chance of finding food and some means of transport. Towards evening he came across a sign indicating the way to Cambrai. He knew from there he ought to be able to reach Lille, and then perhaps he could find a way to get to Bruges. He reached the outskirts of the town as it was getting dark, and found a place to sleep in the shelter of a stone wall.

In the morning William walked into the town. It was still early, but already the market held in the square was busy. Nobody paid him any attention. As he passed a shop window he was surprised by his own reflection. An unkempt and unshaven labourer dressed in rough working clothes stared back at him.

Everywhere William looked there was food, though the shortages caused by the war were apparent. There were a few skinny chickens and ducks for sale, and a rabbit or two. One stall sold offal and bones to make soup. Others displayed home-grown produce, but the vegetables were poor quality. The people were taciturn, and argued over the price of a cabbage. Their faces were pinched, their eyes sharp as they searched for a bargain. As he wandered among them, William was careful not to meet anybody’s eye. He tried to look as if he had a purpose, while he waited for an opportunity to present itself. He considered trying to steal money, perhaps by pretending to bump into somebody. After walking around the market once he found himself back where he started. Old men sat at tables outside cafés, drinking whatever passed for coffee, and smoking pungent cigarettes while they watched the women shopping. One of them stared at him. He imagined nothing would escape them. Suspicion was etched into their lined and weathered features.

He walked through the market again, and thought this time he had to make a move. He passed a stall where a young woman was arguing over half a pig’s head with a man wearing a bloody apron. William found it difficult to follow their rapid speech, but he gathered she was deriding the quality and price of his meat. She made as if to turn away in contempt, but the butcher regarded her impassively and merely shrugged. The woman hesitated, her mouth drawn in a tight line, and then offered him half of what he was asking. As they bargained, William loitered, and when an agreement was reached he saw her take money from her pocket to pay for the parcel that she put in her basket. As she turned to leave, she caught William’s eye for an instant. He looked beyond her as if searching for somebody. Suspicious lines creased her brow, but then she brushed past him and merged with the crowd. After a few moments William followed her.

He kept his distance. The woman was perhaps in her mid-twenties, small and dark haired, with pale olive skin Though there were purplish smudges beneath her eyes, she was pretty, William thought, or could have been if she’d been well fed and wore decent clothes, instead of a shapeless long coat and heavy boots. She stopped at a stall selling turnips and swedes and produced something from her basket. He couldn’t see what it was, but she bargained with the stall-holder until a trade was agreed.

His plan was to follow her until she left the market, then walk quickly up to her in some street where there were no people and steal her money. He didn’t like the idea very much, but he didn’t have a choice. Suddenly the young woman stopped and turned to look directly at him. Her expression was suspicious, even accusing, and he knew it was no good, that she had somehow guessed his intention. Abruptly he turned away and tried to vanish among the press of people. At any moment he expected to hear a shout from behind, and then people would look at him and move out of the way and he would be exposed. He pushed through them, determined to get away, aware that he was making himself conspicuous. People threw him angry looks and muttered as he rudely barged past. He knew he ought to slow down and behave more naturally, but he couldn’t quell his rising panic. He grasped the butt of the pistol in his pocket. He just wanted to get away, and he cursed his stupidity for going there.

Eventually he was free of the stalls and he walked rapidly along the edge of the square, back in the direction he had come from. Before he’d gone a dozen steps a car appeared, coming along the street towards him and it was followed by a lorry full of German soldiers. For an instant William froze before he turned to a shop window and pretended to look inside, his heart racing. He wondered how they’d known about him, and thought he must have been betrayed. He thought of the young woman, but realised it couldn’t have been her to bring the soldiers so soon. He must have been seen on his way into the town earlier, or perhaps even the day before. In the end he supposed it didn’t matter. All that mattered now was what he was going to do.