The sun graciously began its descent to meet the horizon. It was time to leave. Their new destination was Rosche, another town of timber-framed buildings which nestled comfortably in a relatively flat landscape. They made the decision to keep to the minor roads and hedges of the neighbouring fields, takingmuch-needed rests when they came across the occasional cluster of trees. Their long journey was taking its toll on Klara, whose youthful energy was fading, despite Sam carrying her on his back as often as he was able.
The tumbledown barns and rickety gates reminded him of home: serviceable things that endured all weathers, imperfectly mended over the decades. Rural life appeared relatively unscathed, whereas the cities had another tale to tell. He remembered that Elsa had said that many were now cities of rubble thanks to the Allies’ relentless bombing raids.
They had travelled far. His journey had begun to the tune of explosions and Russian bombers from the east. Over time, the battle noises of the Eastern front line had fallen silent. Now it was the sound of the Allies’ attacks that dominated. In the last few hours, he had heard the distant roar of another squadron. His stomach churned with conflicted feelings. The familiar drone of bomber planes brought him hope even though they might also bring about his own death. Yet, he knew the sound did not mean the same thing for Elsa or Klara. And even for him it meant something else: civilians and soldiers who wanted the war to end just like he did would not live to see tomorrow’s sunrise. It was sobering to be continually swamped by such thoughts, and today it left him physically weak and tired.
As the light began to fade, they entered yet another wood in the hope of finding shelter for the night. After walking some time, the wreckage of a long-range bomber emerged from the trees like a stranded whale caught in the wooden network of branches. The sight took them all by surprise. Despite its enormity, it had been well hidden. The cockpit was smashed like a broken eggshell, exposing the seats and dials to all weathers and the debris of pine trees. The span of the bomber would have once been vast, but now its wings were fractured and twisted back along the path it had entered the forest. Despiteits previous military might in the sky, now it lay abandoned and worthless, decaying in a foreign land.
Elsa had stopped, possibly because she recognized it was British. She needn’t have worried; from the looks of it the plane had crashed several years ago and the crew were long gone.
‘Let’s see if there are any rations inside,’ he said to Klara as he lifted her into the plane. He climbed in after her and helped Elsa inside too. He mimed to Klara to join him in looking for food and she immediately understood and sprang into action. Elsa sat down to rest and watched them as they enthusiastically rummaged through the contents. They showed each other their finds with great excitement as if it was an exciting treasure hunt. Elsa watched silently and played no part. For the first time Sam felt he was seeing the real Klara, the way she should always be. Excited, childlike, her pure voice joyful. War did not only leave physical injuries, it also stole childhoods, he thought as he watched her proudly show him another find. He handed her a chocolate bar he had found with a smile.
As they ate their chocolate, he showed Klara the cockpit and encouraged her to sit in the seat and play with the impotent switches and knobs. Soon she was lost in her own make-believe world. He left Klara to play and rejoined Elsa. He had not spoken cordially to her since the school, yet somehow he felt it was he who was suffering the most. She was sitting on the edge of the open wound of the plane and was staring into the distance, seemingly at peace. He sat down and leaned against the wall of the plane so he could see her as he ate. Her hair brushed her shoulders, her posture was proudly straight, hiding the fact they had been walking all day, and her hips curved provocatively in the moonlight to frame a feminine bottom.
‘She likes you,’ she said clearly. ‘I think you will make a good father.’
He dragged his eyes away from where they had rested far too long. ‘Who?’
‘Klara.’
Sam paused in his chewing. Him? A father? Even though he’d been willing to give everything up for Moira, he had never envisaged fatherhood with her. Yet, somehow being a father now no longer seemed so far out of reach. He liked Klara. Each time she showed a little more trust in him, it nurtured something inside him and he felt protective towards her... and selfishly better about himself. If a child he had only met a little while ago could make him feel like that, what an amazing gift his own child would be.
Muffled explosions in the distance brought him back to the ransacked, broken plane. He looked towards the open sky.
‘It must be Hamburg this time,’ Elsa said quietly. ‘The city has a major port at the mouth of the River Elbe. There will be ships there.’
Sam resumed his chewing. He watched her sitting still in the moonlight, which highlighted her shadowed frame like a ghost in the night. Her hair was lank and in need of a wash; her once blonde hair was now verging on light brown. Her clothes were soiled and her shoes were worn. She nervously glanced over her shoulder at him and he could see shame in her eyes. Were they so very different? How could they be so far apart in views when it had not felt uncomfortable to walk and scavenge for food together in silence? It still felt as if they were bonded, even when they were not. Perhaps it was time to build bridges. She had been trying. He should meet her halfway.
He moved from his place by the wall of the cabin and sat down beside her. He offered her a ration package. ‘You should eat something.’
She tentatively took it and began to eat under his watchful gaze.
He turned his head to stare out at the trees. ‘We could stay in here for the night. No one has taken these rations, which shows no one comes here. We should be safe enough to sleep.’
She nodded solemnly. He wanted to hate her for teaching all that hateful stuff, but he also knew that to blame others without trying to understand would be nothing short of idealistic and arrogant. The school had affected him badly, but how he felt now would not change the past.
‘I hope the crew survived,’ said Elsa.
‘They are your enemy.’
‘So are you but I do not wish you harm.’
He felt ashamed to think she would. The Elsa he had come to know did not wish harm on anyone, really.
He studied the wrapping of the rations he had just eaten. ‘There are no skeletons and the plane crash-landed. They must have used their parachutes.’
His words brought a glint of reassurance to her eyes. ‘I’m glad.’
Sam believed her. Who was the real Elsa, away from the brainwashing propaganda of the Nazi Party? He suddenly remembered the handkerchief he had stolen for her from the washing line and dragged it from an inside pocket.
He hesitantly offered it to her. ‘Here. Take it. It’s a handkerchief.’ He thrust it towards her again. ‘I thought you might like it.’ She tentatively reached for it.
‘Thank you.’ She appeared visibly moved by the gesture. Her pale fingers caressed the lacy edge.
‘It’s not very practical. And it’s stolen. Didn’t think I’d turn into a thief. Feel bad for stealing but I thought—’ he knew he was rambling — ‘you deserved something nice.’
‘It’s pretty. Thank you.’
Her blue eyes brought heat to his cheeks and he looked away. For the first time he noticed she’d taken her boots off.
