“This Austrian boy has a Swiss aunt?” the official asked.
“He does.” I didn’t offer an explanation. Emilie had said to seem nonchalant if I was asked additional questions, rather than too anxious to comply.
“Aren’t there plenty of Catholic schools in Austria?” His tone now sounded like that of a disgruntled man, a father of young children perhaps, as though he might’ve been wondering whyWilhelm’s parents would do such a thing to their young child, sending him so far away for school.
“It’s a very good school,” I said simply.
He appeared to be about to stamp our documents when Wilhelm’s weariness got the better of him and he let out a sound of exasperation. It was a strange, otherworldly sound. The official looked down at Wilhelm and then back at me.
“What’s wrong with him?”
“We’ve been traveling all day. He’s tired.”
Wilhelm pulled on my skirt and another odd, guttural sound escaped him. My pulse was racing as I raised a finger to my lips and said, as though Wilhelm could hear me, “Shh, darling. Be a good boy now. Almost done.”
The official was staring at me. So, too, was a second official now, who was standing behind the first in the doorway of a small building; it seemed to be an office of some kind just over the Swiss side of the bridge.
“What kind of school is this that you’re taking him to?” the first official asked, his brows puckered.
“Like I said, it’s a good one.”
“And you’re American,” he said, as if suddenly realizing I was in an odd place at an odd time for a U.S. citizen.
“I am.” I tried to sound confident, but I heard the nervous lilt in my words.
The second official took several steps forward and spoke to the first one.
“I want to see them in my office.”
“But why?” I said to this second man, my voice still slightly trembling. Had they picked up on it? “Our documents are in order.”
“If you would come this way and step inside, Fraulein,” the second official said. I could tell then that this other man was in charge and I was in trouble.
The first official took a side step so that I could do nothing other than move in the direction of the little office. I looked down at Wilhelm.
“It’s all right, sweetheart,” I said, knowing full well the boy couldn’t hear what I was saying. I took his hand. “I’m sure this will only take a moment.”
We left our travel cases and followed the second official inside and to a smaller room behind an administrative area consisting of two desks and an electric kettle on a small wooden table flanked by an assortment of teacups. No one was sitting at the desks. When we were inside the smaller office, the official closed the door. He took a chair behind his desk. Stacks of papers, ledgers, and half a sandwich on waxed paper lay atop it.
“Please. Sit.” He pointed to one of two chairs situated in front of him. Inside his well-lit office, I could see now that he was perhaps only in his mid-thirties. Young, I thought, to be in charge of this border crossing. He’d either proven himself or had family connections, I imagined.
I obeyed, pulling Wilhelm close to me. He crawled up onto my lap and laid his head on my shoulder, his eyes opening and closing drowsily.
The official held out his hand for my documents and I gave them to him. He studied each one carefully.
“What is wrong with the boy?” he said, but gently. Kindly.
“There’s nothing wrong with him.”
“Tell me truthfully, Fraulein. Does this child have an aunt in Lucerne? I want the truth, and unless you want to spend the night in jail, you better give it to me.”
Despite his polite tone, I felt all the carefully made plans to rescue Wilhelm falling to dust. “Aren’t I going to spend a night in jail now no matter what I say?” I replied.
“No.” His voice was still gentle. There was something in theway he was speaking to me that made me feel like I should trust him. I sensed compassion.
“He does not have an aunt in Lucerne,” I said.
“Why are you here with him?”
