If the soldiers believed her they did not show it but continued to study him.
‘He was wounded and sent home. He’s not spoken a word since.’
The taller of the two suddenly turned his attention to her. ‘What is your name?’
She hesitated, her mind momentarily turning blank as his hard features waited for an answer. ‘Fräulein Elsa Kalbach,’ she announced proudly, hoping her confidence would reassure them.
‘Do you have anything to prove it?’
She searched her pocket and produced her identity card.
The soldier studied it and glanced at Klara. ‘This is a Gollnow identity card. Why are you here?’
‘We are returning to Bremen to be with the rest of our family.’
He nodded, understanding the reason for her journey without needing to ask further questions.
He turned his attention back to Sam. ‘Let me see yours.’
Elsa licked her dry lips. Sam did not move. She stepped between them again. ‘He has lost them along the way.’
‘Or he’s trying to avoid combat.’
The soldier barked an order at Sam, and then another. After much shouting, Sam rested his hands on his head, widened his legs and endured his body being roughly patted down. Elsa pressed her lips together as the soldier withdrew some papers from his coat pocket and began to study them. She had no idea what identity the papers proved.
He looked up and pinned her with a piercing stare. ‘Your brother, you say.’
She nodded confidently, although in truth she was in a precarious position. If their stories didn’t match they were both done for.
The soldier held up Sam’s papers and thrust them in front of her face. The photograph looked familiar, and not dissimilar toSam. Now she remembered where she had seen the man before. He had lain dead near his children’s two shallow graves. She looked at Sam, who refused to look at her.
‘It says here your brother is called Frantz Müller. How come you have different surnames, Fräulein?’
Elsa looked over the papers to meet the soldier’s gaze. ‘Because Frantz is my half-brother. My father died when I was ten and two years later my mother married his father.’
The soldier considered her reply. To her relief he nodded and pushed the papers into her hands. He looked at Klara. ‘And who is that?’
‘My niece.’
‘She doesn’t look like you.’
‘She takes after her father. He’s away and in the SS.’ It was a bold lie, but it worked.
‘You should look after your brother’s papers if he is as dumb as he seems.’ He looked around him. ‘Our truck has got stuck in a rut. We need help pushing it out and thought he looked strong enough to help.’ With an abrupt wave of his hand, he indicated they should follow them, which Sam did after a reassuring nod from Elsa. Elsa fell into step beside him, determined not to let him out of her sight.
At first they walked in silence, the soldiers’ military boots scraping louder on the stony road than Elsa and Sam’s walking shoes. They soon left the town behind and followed a narrow country road. As the countryside opened up to them and the sun warmed their skin, the soldiers began to relax and talked amiably between themselves. After some minutes they started to include Elsa in their conversation. She had little choice but to chat to them, but strangely she felt as if she were betraying Sam in some way by doing so. Sam continued to stare at the ground in silence as he walked, purposely ignoring the soldiers’ laughter and exchanging of cigarettes. Eventually they arrivedat the precariously tilted military vehicle. Its front dug into the earth while one back wheel hung impotently in the air. Sam’s head sagged with relief.
They all took up positions and strained every muscle to push the vehicle out of the rut. Several attempts failed, and finally Klara was ordered to steer the wheel so all four adults could push while she steered. After much heaving, the military vehicle rolled out of the ditch onto firm ground again. The soldiers jumped in and were soon on their way, waving their thanks to the half-siblings and child who had helped them.
Elsa turned on Sam and pushed him hard. ‘Don’teverkeep something like that from me again!’ she shouted, pushing past him and marching angrily back to the village.
‘Keep what from you?’ asked Sam, striding to match her steps.
‘Your papers belonged to those poor children’s father. You didn’t tell me.’
‘We looked so similar. I needed something in case I was stopped. It worked, didn’t it?’
‘But you didn’t tell me. I said you were my brother! How can I trust you when you keep things like that from me? What if our stories did not match? Don’t you trust me?’
