An Elephant In The Garden Part 2

I think it was Marlene's sudden, unexpected reappearance that gave us all fresh hope, new strength, Mutti most of all. "Well, children," she said, brushing the snow off her coat, "we have no house to go back to, and certainly there will be very little left of the city. So I have been thinking. There is only one place we can go to. We shall go to the farm, to Uncle Manfred and Aunt Lotti. It is a long, long way to go on foot, but there is nowhere else."

"But you and Papi," I said. "You told us we could never go back to the farm, not after..."

"I know," Mutti told him. "But we have no choice, have we? We shall be needing food, shelter. They will look after us, I know they will. It was a family row we had, that is all. I am sure everything is forgiven by now, and that we can all put it behind us. When we get there, they will welcome us in with open arms. It will be fine, I promise you. You will see."

"Elizabeth?" Karli said, his hand stealing into mine. "Elizabeth? Why do they do this terrible thing? Why have the bombers come?"

"Because they are our enemies, and because they hate us," I told him. "And because they are brutes. To do this they must be brutes, the Americans, the British, all of them."

"But why do they hate us?" he asked me.

Mutti answered for me then, and I was glad she did because I had no answer to give him. "If they hate us, Karli," she said, "it is because we have also bombed their cities. What we are seeing now is a world gone mad, children, a world full of brutes, all intent on killing one another. And we should not forget that we are all responsible for making it happen, for letting it happen."

As we turned and walked away, we had to cling on to one another, so that the wind did not blow us back towards the city, towards the fire-the gusts of wind were so strong. I remember Karli looking up at me, and pointing at the trees. "The trees in the gardens, they are shaking, Elizabeth," he said. "I think they are frightened of the wind. They want to run away like we are, but they cannot. Why is the wind blowing so hard? Why is it so angry?" Not even Mutti had an answer to that. Karli was crying then, crying for our burning home, and maybe also for the trees we were leaving behind, that could not run away.

So began our long trek through the snow, along a road that was quickly becoming ever more clogged with dozens, hundreds, then thousands of others like us, streaming out of Dresden, all of us desperate to leave the city behind us. When I looked back-and I tried not to-Dresden was no longer a city anymore. Rather, it looked to me like one vast bonfire, where fire caught fire with fire, a fire whipped up by a mighty wind of its own making, that buffeted our faces, that was doing all it could to stop us from escaping, all it could to suck us back into the burning city. There was the stifling stench of smoke all about us. Karli was finding it difficult to breathe sometimes, and kept having to stop to cough the smoke out of his lungs.

Mutti and I were worried that it might bring on one of his asthma attacks, but thankfully it did not. And still the planes came. Still they dropped their bombs.

That was the longest night of my life. I had never before witnessed human misery on such a scale. It is the sound of a people in despair that I shall never forget: the weeping, the sobbing, the screaming and the praying. How fast we all wanted to get out of the city that night, and how slowly we were moving. We shuffled forward through the cold and the dark, most of us on foot, but many on bicycles, in cars, trucks, farm carts, everyone jostling to find some way to get ahead, to move just a little faster. So many were desperate to find someone dear they had lost, and so many were wrapped in bandages and were crying out in their pain.

It was like a walk through h.e.l.l, and it seemed never-ending. Only the military convoys and ambulances were able to find a way through, honking their horns at us, waving us all aside. We longed with every moment to be out of the blazing suburbs and into the welcome darkness of the countryside. Everyone on that road knew that there was safety in that darkness. I think that was all that kept us going.

All night long we trudged on, but as the hours pa.s.sed, the road became even more congested-mostly refugees, on foot like us, but many more now, it seemed, pulling carts loaded up with old people or children, their possessions piled around them. As the growl of the bombers at last died away, the air was filled with whimpering. It was as if the whole world were in mourning. By first light there was the shuffling of feet to be heard, and creaking cartwheels and occasionally a neighing horse. Looking back over my shoulder from the top of a hill, it seemed to me like a gigantic funeral procession.

It was mostly one-way traffic. But at dawn, more convoys of trucks filled with soldiers came roaring past on their way back into the city, motorcycle outriders waving us frantically to one side. They were the first to take any notice of Marlene, some of them pointing at us and staring, as they pa.s.sed us by. As for our fellow refugees, maybe they had been too dazed, too traumatized, or just too tired to pay much attention to this young elephant that was wandering along with them. A few of the children were curious, but everyone, including the children, was subdued. There were no smiles of excitement among them, only a dull amazement.

I have no idea how far we walked that first day of our long march-probably only a few kilometers, but it felt like a hundred. We had no food, no water, only the snow by the roadside to eat. And progress was still painfully slow. We were simply a part of a long wretched trail of refugees that was filling the road ahead of us and behind us as far as the eye could see. Sometimes the road became so jammed we could scarcely move at all. That was the worst of it. We seemed to be getting nowhere. Arguments were breaking out. Tempers were fraying.

Karli, though, seemed quite happy to be tramping alongside Marlene, holding her trunk and talking to her all the time. He did not once complain, about his leg, about his wheezing, about the cold. I wish I could say the same for myself. My feet were in agony, my ears ached, and I was longing for something to eat, anything. When I mentioned any of this to Mutti, which I did, often, she would just put her arm around me, and say with a gently reproving smile and a shrug, "Me too, Elizabeth, me too." It did not help, it did not make me feel any better.

Sometime in the afternoon of that same day-we were walking along a road through a pine forest, I remember, and were making even slower progress than ever-Mutti suddenly took Marlene by the ear, and without any warning, led us off down a forest track away from the road. The walking was at once more difficult here, the going more arduous, the snow deeper, but at least we weren't dragging along with hundreds of others, being endlessly held up. Karli kept asking her why we were going this way. I did too, but Mutti wouldn't answer.

"Just keep walking," she told us. Some of the other refugees back down on the main road were shouting out after us, telling us we would get lost in the forest. Mutti paid them no attention, but just walked on without answering, without even looking back. "I don't want any of them following us." she said. "We're better off on our own."

After a while, once we were well out of sight of everyone on the road, she stopped and told us what she had in mind. "Papi and me, children, when we were young, when we were first married, before you two came along, we used to cycle all the way from the city out to Uncle Manfred's farm. On the main road it was a very long way 'round. Papi was good with maps, and he discovered this shortcut. So after that we always came this way. On our bicycles it was a whole day's hard ride. On foot I think maybe we could do it in two, but we must not stop. We shall get too cold if we stop. Best of all, children, there is a stream only a couple of hours ahead, where Papi and I used to sit and have a picnic. We may not have the picnic, but we can drink all the water we like, can't we? We will just have to imagine the picnic, that's all. And maybe we shall find a house somewhere, and can beg some food, you never know. One thing is for certain, we were never going to find either food or water back down on that road. And traveling that slowly, it was going to take us forever to get to the farm. We may have a bit of a hard slog ahead of us, children, but we shall manage. We have got to, haven't we? And once we get to the farm, we will be warm as toast, and we shall have all the food we can eat. You remember how Aunt Lotti piles the plates? And there'll be hay in the barn for Marlene. All our troubles will be over, you will see."

The thought of a drink of water, and the hope of food, must have given new strength to my aching legs. I strode on ahead up the snow-covered track. I heard the stream before I saw it, a great rushing torrent tumbling down off the hillside and into a pool of bright water. I could see it was iced over in places. The water was freezing, of course, but we didn't mind one bit. Marlene stood in the pool and drank there right with us, sloshing her trunk about in the water, loving every moment of it, as we were too.

Here, for the first time, we could forget for a few moments everything that had happened. But once we were walking on again through the forest we soon fell silent and thoughtful. None of us, I think, could forget the burning city we had left behind us, the suffering we had witnessed on that long march. And we could still smell the smoke-it seemed to be clinging to the trees all around us, drifting about us like a yellow mist.

Karli was breathless now, stumbling ever more often, wheezing and coughing almost constantly. We were becoming more and more worried about him. I told Karli I would carry him, so did Mutti, but Karli would have none of it. He insisted on staying with Marlene, on walking alongside her, holding her trunk, and there was no arguing with him. But walking side by side behind him now, Mutti and I could see that his wheezing was becoming worse all the time.

It was my idea, and all these years later, I am still quite proud of it. "When I was little, before the war, Mutti," I said, "I went on elephant rides in the zoo, didn't I? You took me, didn't you, before you worked there? So Karli could ride up on Marlene, couldn't he? Why not?"

"I thought of that, but it is no good," Mutti replied. "It was only the older elephants that were used for rides, and they have to be properly trained. And besides, Marlene is still too young. She has never in her life had anyone on her back. I have no idea how she would take to it."

"It is worth a try, Mutti, surely," I argued. "Karli cannot go on like he is."

"Maybe you're right. And it is in Marlene's blood, that is for sure," Mutti conceded. "I mean, her mother used to give rides in the zoo for years, till she got sick."

Moments later-and, as you can imagine, we had no arguments from Karli about this-we were lifting him up, and sitting him there astride Marlene's neck. Much to Mutti's relief and mine, it did not seem to bother Marlene in the least. She just flapped her ears a little and groaned quite contentedly. With Karli riding now-and he was as happy as he could be about that, of course-he was very soon wheezing less. As for Marlene, she plodded on through the snow as if she had been giving rides all her life.

Somehow, the water I had drunk at the stream had managed to satisfy my hunger as well as my thirst. By the time the dark of night came down around us, it was no longer hunger that bothered me so much, as the cold. I had by this time lost all feeling in my feet and hands, but now the intense cold seemed to be seeping into my whole body, and chilling me to the bone. Time and again I begged Mutti to stop. All I wanted to do was to curl up in the snow and go to sleep forever. It was only Mutti that kept me moving that night. Time and again she had her arm around me, helping me on, and every so often she would whisper words of encouragement. "Every step you take, Elizabeth, you are nearer to the farm, nearer to food and a warm bed," she would say. "Just remember that, and put one foot in front of the other. That is all you have got to do, and we shall get there."

To be honest I cannot remember a great deal about the rest of that long and terrible night. I do know that at one moment we seemed to come out of the trees and out onto the open hillside. Here we heard again that sound we all feared so much-the air-raid sirens, a distant rumbling and then the roar of approaching bombers. In no time they were right over our heads.

"What are they bombing?" cried Mutti. "Can they not see there is no city left to bomb? All they are bombing is fire."

We stood there on that bleak hillside, quite unable to take our eyes off the huge fireball that was rising now over the city. No words could speak our horror, no tears could cry our sorrow. Even Karli had no more questions. We were some distance away from the city, but I could feel the warmth of that great fire on my face as I watched. I felt it shivering some of the cold out of me, and I have to admit they were shivers of pure pleasure.

But I was at once overcome with guilt. I was thinking about what a terrible thing it was, that while I was basking in the heat of it, many thousands of people must still be trapped in the city, some of them my own friends from school. I thought of them down in their shelters, and wondered if any of them could possibly survive such a raging inferno as this. Mutti turned me away from it. "This is the last time we look back, Elizabeth," she said. "From now on, we only look forward." So we left the city to burn and went on our way.

There was one more incident I do remember about that night, and it makes me ashamed to tell you about it. But I will tell you because I want you to know the story as it happened, not simply as I would have wished it to happen. No matter how often I begged Mutti to stop and give us a rest, Mutti would not listen. The more she refused, the nastier I became. In the end she lost her patience, and turned on me. "What do you want, Elizabeth?" she cried. "Do you want us to freeze to death out here? Do you? The farm is only a few hours away, twelve kilometers, maybe less. Now get a grip on yourself and just walk."

I was angry back at her, hysterical almost, saying all manner of things I should not have said, about Papi going off and leaving us, about how parents always ruin the lives of their children. She took me in her arms then, and hugged the anger out of me, telling me how much Papi loved me, and she loved me, and how we had to survive to be there for Papi when he came home. Karli, I remember, looked down on us, bewildered, from high up on Marlene.

So as the bombs fell and Dresden was destroyed, we walked away, on and on, no strength left for arguing anymore, no strength left even for speaking. The next morning, a gray-pink dawn it was, the growing light soft on the snow, we came down from the hills into the valley, a valley we knew and loved so well. And there below us we could see the farm where Uncle Manfred and Aunt Lotti lived, the familiar farmhouse with the barns and sheds all around, and beyond them the lake, now frozen over, and the island in the middle, our island. We had known such despair and sorrow during the night, and found such joy in the morning.

Marlene quickened her step noticeably, and, following along behind, so did we. She knew we were nearly there, and this was hardly surprising, I suppose, since Karli was whooping and waving up there on her back, and Mutti and I were laughing out loud in our relief. I noticed from some way off that there seemed to be no animals outside, but then I knew that was only natural. We had been there often enough in the winter, for Christmas a few times, and I remembered that Uncle Manfred kept his animals inside during the worst of the winter months. But all the same, the place did look strangely deserted.

Mutti spoke my thoughts exactly. "There is something wrong, I think," she said. "Aunt Lotti, she keeps that stove of hers going all the time, winter or summer, I know she does. There is no smoke coming out of the chimney."

As we came across the snow-covered fields, and past the frozen lake, flocks of crows lifted off, most of them from the poplar trees out on the island cawing at us, cackling at us, angry at our intrusion. But they were the only sign of life. I ran on ahead of the others and opened the farmyard gate. The snow had drifted up against the front door of the house. There were no footprints in the yard, not one. A quick look told me that all the sheds were empty. Tomi was not in his stable. No chickens warbled from inside the hen house. Mutti knocked at the door, and called out again and again. No one answered. No one came.

I left them, and walked around the back of the farmhouse towards the hay barn, where Karli and I had played so often, leaping from the top of the stack to the bottom into piles of soft sweet hay. That was what I was thinking of, as I opened the barn door. It was dark inside, so I pushed it wide open to let the light in.

There was a man lying stretched out in the hay, a man in a uniform, an unfamiliar blue uniform. He looked fast asleep, or dead-I was not sure which. Mutti was there beside me suddenly, and Karli too. Marlene came wandering in after them, and wasted no time at all, before reaching up with her trunk, tugging at the hay, and stuffing it into her mouth. The sound of her grinding jaws was loud in the silence. "Who is he?" Karli whispered.

"That is the enemy, Karli," Mutti said. "An airman. From one of the bombers that has destroyed our city. British. RAF." She reached for a nearby pitchfork, gripped it tight in two hands, and advanced slowly towards him.

Part Three.

Ring of Steel.

One.

Lizzie broke off from her story, and turned to look at us. "I'm so cross with myself. I meant to bring my photograph alb.u.m with me," she said. "But I left it at home in my little apartment when they brought me here. I miss it so much. I used to look at it almost every day, you know. The things I could have shown you. There is a photo of us all down on the farm, when I was a small girl, and Karli was even smaller, just a baby in Papi's arms-in happier times. I love that photo. We are all outside that same hay barn, and I am sitting up on Tomi, with Mutti holding him, and I have long plaits and a big gappy smile-my two front teeth are missing. Uncle Manfred must have taken the picture because he is not in it, and Aunt Lotti is looking very serious as usual. When I look at this photo I can see it all so clearly. I can almost breathe in the air of the countryside. And I have a photo also of Marlene, only one, but mostly it is of her trunk because she was trying to eat the camera! It is enough though. Sometimes I worry that everything that happened might be some kind of a dream, or that maybe I have made the whole thing up. But I only have to look at those photographs to know I did not, that it really did happen. I wish I had brought them with me. I wish I could show you."

"We could always go and fetch them, if you like," I said. "If you trust us with your key, that is."

"Of course I do, dear," she replied. "After all, I am trusting you with my story, aren't I? I have never told anyone else, you know. That would be kind, very kind. I have the key to my apartment here, in my drawer, Karli. You might have to wiggle the key in the lock a bit, but you will manage. You can find it easily enough. Just around the corner from Main Street, on George Avenue, the first house. You go up the steps. Number two." She was reaching towards her bedside cupboard as she spoke, but hadn't the strength to pull open the drawer. So Karl did it for her, searching around till he found them. There was an elephant on the key chain.

"To remind me," she said, smiling. Then she noticed something else in her drawer, and her eyes brightened suddenly. "Ah, now this I never leave behind, Karli. I never go anywhere without it. Can you pa.s.s it to me? This is what I wanted to show you."

I had no notion at first as to what it might be, and from the look of puzzlement on his face as he handed it over to her, neither did Karl. It was a small, round object, made of metal, black in color. "It's very heavy, and cold too," Karl said. "What is it?" By now I was beginning to think I recognized it for what it was.

"A compa.s.s?" I said. "Is that what it is?"

Lizzie was cradling it lovingly in her cupped hands, and for several moments seemed too overcome to speak.

"You are quite right, dear," she replied at last. "This is a compa.s.s, to help you find your way. But this is not just any old compa.s.s. It is the best compa.s.s in the whole wide world, I promise you. Because it has shown me the way all through my life." She opened the lid, and touched the face of it with her fingertips. "I first saw this compa.s.s on that day," she went on, "the day we found him lying there in the barn..."

I think sometimes that perhaps I had two beginnings in my life: the moment of my birth, of course, and the moment I set eyes on this man, this airman who I knew had bombed my city, a bomber, a killer, who had caused so much suffering to so many. As Mutti had said, here was the enemy, close to, in the flesh.

He was not the first I had seen. Several times I had watched columns of prisoners of war being marched along the streets in Dresden. To be honest, I had never taken that much notice. They looked much like our soldiers, only dirtier, sadder. Some people would scream obscenities at them, and spit at them, and throw things, so I would look away. It made me feel ashamed. I never thought people could be that angry, that vindictive. I could not imagine what would make them do such things. But for just a moment, looking down at him lying there in the hay in Uncle Manfred's barn that morning, I understood it completely, and I hated him, and I hoped he was dead. Then he opened his eyes and looked at me, and I knew right away that he was no more of a killer than Papi was.

I often wondered afterwards what it must have been like to wake up and see the four of us staring down at him, Mutti with the pitchfork pointing at his chest, and Marlene towering over us, her trunk reaching down towards him. His eyes were wide with alarm, as he sat up in the hay, and raised his hands in the air.

"English?" Mutti said. Her voice was shaking, from anger, I thought, more than fear.

"No...nein," he replied. "Canadian. Canada. Canada."

"Bomber?" Mutti was holding the pitchfork at his throat now. "RAF?"

The man nodded.

"England, America, Canada, it does not matter where you come from. Do you know what you have done? Have you any idea?" Mutti was shouting at him now, and crying too in her fury. "Did you see the fire you made? Are you proud of that? Do you know how many you killed? Do you care? Do you have any idea how beautiful a city Dresden was before you came? Do you? I should kill you, kill you right now."

Mutti raised the pitchfork. I really thought she was going to do it.

I grabbed her arm, and held it fast. "You cannot do it, Mutti!" I cried. "You must not! How often have I heard you say it? To Papi, to me, to Uncle Manfred and Aunt Lotti. All killing is wrong, no matter what. It is what you always told us. Remember?"

It was many long moments before Mutti lowered the pitchfork. Then she stepped back, and handed it to me. "Maybe I cannot do it," she said. "But I wanted to. That is what your bombs do. They make hate. I think at this moment I hate you more than I have ever hated anyone in my whole life."

"I do not blame you." To our astonishment, the airman was speaking to Mutti in almost perfect German. "I saw the fire from the plane. I could not believe it. I did not expect it to be like that, that the whole city would burn like that. None of us did."

"Oh, really?" said Mutti. "So tell me, what did you think it would be like then, some kind of a carnival, a fireworks display perhaps?"

"We thought it would be like the blitz on London, I suppose, when the Luftwaffe came." The airman replied softly, not responding at all to Mutti's fury. "I was there. And that was terrible enough. But last night it looked like the fires of h.e.l.l. That's what we're doing in this war, all of us, on your side, on our side; we are making a h.e.l.l on earth, and we do not seem to be able to know how to stop. I am sorry. I know that is not enough, but it is all I can say."

No one spoke for some time, until Karli piped up, breaking the silence between us. "Do you really fly a Spitfire?" he asked.

"No, only a Lancaster, I'm afraid. And I didn't fly it anyway. I'm not a pilot, I'm a navigator." And when he smiled then, I remember thinking that he looked more like a boy than a man.

"And you navigated your way to Dresden so you could drop your bombs on thousands of innocent people," said Mutti. "Well, bravo you! How do people like you sleep at night? That is what I want to know." Mutti was looking about her, suddenly nervous. "And the others? Where are the others of your crew? Are you alone?"

"All dead," the airman replied. "We were hit by flak over the city. Everyone in the plane was killed, except for Jimbo-he was the pilot-and me. Jimbo told me to get out right away, to jump. He said that he would hold the plane as steady as he could, and then follow me. But he never did. I saw the plane blow up as I was parachuting down. He saved my life. And that's funny, you know, because Jimbo and me, we never got along not really. Bit of a joker, he was, thought it was all just one big game-the war, I mean. Him and me, we'd have big arguments. He turned out to be a pretty good buddy after all, didn't he? They were all good buddies, and they're all gone now."

"Don't you dare expect me to feel sorry for them," Mutti said, not so threatening towards him as she had been, but still angry at him. "Not after what they did, what you did. And how come you speak German anyway?"

"I have a Swiss mother," the airman told her, "and a Canadian father. So I grew up speaking German and English."

Karli was not concerned at all with any of this. He was full of his own questions. Mutti kept trying to stop him from speaking to the airman, but Karli ignored her. He wanted to know the man's name.

"Peter," the airman said. "Peter Kamm."

Karli wanted to know how old he was.

"Twenty-one," came the reply.

Then Karli took it upon himself to introduce everyone. "I am Karli, and I am nine years old. This elephant is named Marlene, and she is from the zoo in Dresden, and she is four years old, and I am the only one who is allowed to ride on her. And this is Elizabeth. She is sixteen, and is always telling me what to do. And Mutti is...well, she is Mutti. And I am hungry. Are you hungry, Peter?"

Mutti took him by the arm and pulled him away then. But Karli could not stop looking at the young man, and the truth was, neither could I. I think I must have done nothing but stare at him the whole time. Now that he had a name, I found I was not looking so much at the uniform anymore. He was much taller than I expected when he got to his feet.

Pitchfork in hand again, Mutti ushered him out through the barn door. We left Marlene shut in there, helping herself busily to the hay, and rumbling with pleasure.

It was not difficult to break a window and let ourselves into the farmhouse. Mutti said she felt bad about having to do it, but that needs must. We could hardly stand out in the snow and wait, could we? She would explain it all later to Uncle Manfred and Aunt Lotti, when they came home, she said. They would understand. I was not so sure that they would. The stove was out, but it was still warm, so we thought they could not have been gone that long. Things were a mess too, as if they had left the place in a hurry. The more we looked around the more we were sure that, like so many others, they had left to join the great exodus westwards, taking with them what they could.

Luckily for us, Uncle Manfred and Aunt Lotti must have left in too much of a rush to take all their food with them. There were some rounds of cheese-Uncle Manfred always made his own-and we found some fruit in jars, and pickles too, and some honey. But best of all, down in the cellar Mutti discovered a whole ham. I got the fire going in the stove. Karli fetched in the wood from the shed. And all the while, the airman sat at the kitchen table, forbidden to move by Mutti, who kept a fearsome eye on him-and she took the pitchfork with her, I noticed, wherever she went around the house.

When he offered to help me with the fire, she snapped at him, and told him to sit where he was and be quiet. Karli and I were under strict instructions from her not to talk to him at all, even when we were sitting down with him to eat at the kitchen table, but that did not stop us from sneaking a look at him from time to time as he was eating-he was obviously as ravenous as we were. So we all ate in silence, not a word being spoken between us-until, that is, Mutti left the kitchen, telling us she was going to check on Marlene out in the barn. Before she went out, she handed me the pitchfork, and told me to use it if I had to.

I hate silences between people, I think I always have. I was longing to say something to Peter while Mutti was out of the room, but I was too shy, and anyway I could not think of a thing to say.

Karli was never shy though, never backward in coming forward. Before I knew it, he had gotten down from the table and was juggling with two large pine-cones he'd found on the windowsill.

"Can you do this?" he cried.

"My little brother likes to do tricks," I explained to Peter. "He likes to play the fool. He is a bit of an actor, I suppose."

"I can see that," Peter said. "He reminds me of me, when I was little. It is what I used to do back home in Canada. Acting, I mean. It was all I ever wanted to do, go on the stage, like my mother before me, and my father. I had just gotten started in Toronto, and then all this happened. Anyway, it will be over soon enough now, and when it is, I'm going right back there. I can't wait."

I liked to listen to him talk. He was so full of spirit, so determined. The truth was that I was enjoying his company, even though, of course, I knew that I should not be. The thing was, you see, that I could tell he liked being with me, talking to me, looking at me. I think maybe that is why I felt at once so much at ease with him. When you are young, and you find for the first time that someone likes you like this, it is powerful. Very powerful.

But Karli soon had Peter's attention again, with his wretched juggling. Four pine cones now. He was getting ambitious. A few minutes later, when Mutti came back in again, she found Peter and Karli sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the stove, deep in conversation. Peter had something in his hand and was showing it to Karli, who was fascinated by it. I couldn't quite make out what they were saying, or what it was, but I was busy at the sink by now, and not paying much attention. Mutti shouted at Karli to get up and come to her at once.

"Look, Mutti!" he said, ignoring her completely. "Peter has a compa.s.s. He says it is like magic. He's been telling me all about it. Do you know, he's only got to point it in the right direction, and it will take him all the way home."

"He's not going home, Karli," Mutti said, taking Karli by the arm, and pulling him to his feet. "And I told you not to talk to him, didn't I?"

"It was my fault," the airman said, holding up his hands. "Look, I am sorry..."

"You are always sorry," Mutti went on bitterly. "You are very good at being sorry. Well, you can be sorry in a prison camp. As soon as I can, I shall turn you over to the Abwehr, the police. They are bound to be out searching for you. They must have seen the parachute come down. Sooner or later they will come looking, and I shall turn you in. Meanwhile, you will not ingratiate yourself with my children. You will not speak to them, and they will not speak to you. Do you hear me? And if you try to run away, you will either freeze to death out there, or the Abwehr will catch you. Either way, you are not going home." She held out her hand for the compa.s.s. "And I will have that compa.s.s, please. Without it you are not going home, you are not going anywhere."

Peter took some time getting to his feet. He did not say a word. Towering over Mutti, he looked down at her, closed the compa.s.s and handed it to her.