He began to tease the paper of the block of food he had yet to eat. ‘I was a prisoner on my way to Poland. We were at a station.’ She opened her mouth to speak. ‘Don’t ask me which one, I have no idea. Somewhere. Nowhere. The journey was full of stops. We were standing on the platform when orders came that we should be moved out of the way. An armoured black train pulled intothe station. Suddenly he was there... so close that I could have shot him in the head.’
‘How? Did you have a gun?’
‘I didn’t but the guard next to me did.’
‘Then why didn’t you?’
‘At first I couldn’t believe what my own eyes were telling me. I expected... I don’t know... that Hitler would be bigger, scarier.’ He shook his head as a smile curved his lips. ‘I don’t know what I expected, but I couldn’t help feeling disappointed that he wasn’t anything special. Such thoughts sound so pathetic now.’
‘So you didn’t shoot him because he looked small?’
Sam laughed. It felt good to laugh again. ‘No! He just surprised me, that’s all. If I had shot him without thinking, the deed would have been done, but seeing him so close, with so much ceremony for such an ordinary man, stopped me long enough for my brain to process all the possible repercussions of such an act on my part.’
‘Repercussions? I don’t understand that word.’
‘I had time to realize that if I had killed him, I would be shot too. And, perhaps, all the prisoners at that station as an act of revenge.’ He mimed reaching for the guard’s gun. ‘Would I even be able to grab the gun in the first place?’ He held his imaginary gun and took aim at a metal rivet on the plane’s broken wing. ‘Would I have hit the target?’ He breathed steadily, imagining the train and the man inside. He was back there again, the smell of steam, the sound of polished boots on the platform and the stench of the prisoner next to him. He dropped his arm and closed his eyes in an attempt to block it out. The touch of her hand on his did the trick and brought him back to her side. He rocked his head in her direction and smiled at her. ‘I thought too much, Elsa. Suddenly my opportunity had passed. I failed to do what I thought in my heart was right.’
‘Do you think of that moment often?’
‘I try not to.’
‘But sometimes it’s hard, isn’t it?’
He nodded. ‘Sometimes it’s impossible.’ He looked at her with new eyes. ‘Is there something you find hard to forget?’
She shrugged and moved her hand away. ‘Many things. One can regret the things one does just as much as the things one doesn’t do.’
‘What do you regret, Elsa?’
She tidied away the first-aid pack and placed that and some remaining rations into her bag. ‘Persuading my grandfather to come with me to Bremen. I should have let him die peacefully in his bed; instead, I made him climb into a damp wagon in freezing temperatures. He was shot soon after.’
‘You did what you thought was right at the time.’
She gnawed at her lip as she considered his words. ‘I couldn’t even bury him properly, Sam. The ground was too hard.’ Her eyes were brimming with tears. ‘I buried him in the snow. At night, when I am trying to sleep, I wonder how his body looks now that the snow has melted. I left him to rot by the side of the road.’
He slid his arm around her shoulders. ‘You did your best. It sounds like you loved him very much.’
‘He lived with us for many years. He liked to make us things when we were children. Swings, slides, seesaws, dolls houses. The best thing he ever made me was a rocking horse for my eighth birthday. I rode it all day. My mother became exasperated that I wasn’t eating anything and my grandfather said, “Let Elsa eat on the horse. It is her birthday. If you can’t eat on a horse on your birthday, when can you?”’ She laughed at the thought. When her smile faded, Sam was compelled to reach for her hand. He held it gently in his, as if it was a fragile bird, and was surprised how cold it felt.
‘Your hand is cold.’ He frowned. ‘Where are your gloves?’
‘They got wet.’
She shivered, so he held her closer. ‘You should have told me. I would have given you mine.’
‘I know. That is why I didn’t tell you.’
He pulled up the collar of her coat and held her again. ‘Is that better?’
She nodded. ‘Thank you.’
The silence fell again, but this time it felt like a warm blanket holding them together.
Her voice was barely above a whisper when she spoke again. ‘It aches, doesn’t it?’
‘What does?’
‘Not making their last moments as good as they could be. Not making it better somehow.’ She looked up at him when he did not reply immediately.
