He frantically searched his mind for some German. ‘Elsa. Krank. Elsa ist krank. She needs a doctor. Medicine.’
Her eyes widened. ‘Medizin?’
‘Ja! Ja! Medizin! Ich—’ he mimed carrying something — ‘Elsa. I take Elsa. You stay here. Du bleibst... hier.’
‘Wirst du zurückkommen?’ She pointed to him and the space beside her.
He held her face in his hands. ‘Ja. I promise.’
He hugged Klara tight one last time and kissed her head. There were enough rations to last Klara for a few days. Hopefully Elsa would return when she was recovered, if he was captured. ‘Eat some more while I’m away.’ He placed some water and another egg in her lap and she nodded.
He turned to Elsa’s weakened body and lifted her up. She needed medicine. She needed a doctor. She needed someone better than him. He looked down at her in his arms. Her pale skin was almost translucent against his own. How had he not done something before? He had let her down. If she were to die...
Outside the barn he scanned the horizon. To the north, far into the distance in the twilight, he noted the aftereffects of a daylight bombing raid. Only an inconsequential smudge of amber marked the area of destruction, belying the large numbers that would have inevitably died. For once he cared nothing for those who had risked or lost their lives as a result. Only Elsa mattered.
He began his journey, carrying her across the open fields and roads to the village he had entered only hours before yet knew little about. He stumbled several times, once to his knees, but somehow he managed not to drop her. Elsa’s lack of complaint drove him on.
Only a few hours ago the village, with its rural unhurried existence, had given him comfort. Now, as he entered, its peaceful ambience was no longer an indication that all was well. The night had shrouded it in darkness and the air felt heavy with tension. He paused in the centre of the square and looked around at the shuttered windows and drawn curtains. He cursed. He should have made a note of those who lived in the houses rather than watching chickens and geese in a stream. His choice of door suddenly seemed impossible. Each one hada different imagined outcome. A retired doctor with a heart of gold. An embittered woman who had lost her son. A house crammed with hungry children. A soldier home on leave opening the door and staring at him. Every scenario had a different result, none of which were predictable. He looked down at Elsa. A soft sheen of sweat captured the little moonlight there was.
‘You will feel better soon, Elsa.’ He thought he felt her hand feebly grip his coat. ‘There is no need to worry.’ His throat tightened. It was a lie. Although he was at peace with whatever might happen to him, he had Klara to think about now.
He inhaled deeply and chose the house with the woman at the window. Their eyes had only met briefly, but she had watched him arrive and leave in peace and had said nothing. Perhaps she would again. He knew his reasoning was as fragile as a flower, but it was all he had.
He laid Elsa on the steps and knocked on the door. It took several attempts before he heard heavy footsteps descend the stairs inside. Silence fell again as the door handle remained untouched. He tilted his head to listen. Perhaps he had made a mistake in choosing this door. The footsteps sounded too heavy for the slim woman who had looked down at him. The cocking of the gun was stealthy and slow but he heard it all the same. He hurriedly retreated and was about to turn when the door flung open to reveal the level barrel of a rifle pointing at his face. The man behind it spoke, spewing word after word that made no sense to a man who had purposely refused to learn German in the camp. Bloody fool that he was. As if rebelling against his captors would have made any difference in a war.
The impatient man jerked the point of his rifle towards him and fired off further questions or commands. He seemed oblivious to Elsa’s body lying at his feet. He reminded Sam of the prison guards, whose temperament could change with the wind and had no sympathy for the dying. Sam raised his hands, thenquickly lowered them again. He was meant to be German, he scolded himself. What German would surrender to another? He pointed to Elsa with an open hand and felt some relief when the man finally looked down and appeared visibly shocked.
‘Wer ist sie? Was ist mit ihr los? Ist sie krank?’ He looked up, expecting an answer.
Sam had none to give him, but he managed to nod.
‘Was vollen Sie?Was vollen Sie?’ The man glanced down at Elsa again. The sight of a sickly woman had heightened his need for answers. Remaining silent was no longer an option.
He inhaled deeply and knelt by Elsa. ‘Elsa,’ he replied quietly as he touched her shoulder.
The man lowered the gun hesitantly. Unsure what to do, he called over his shoulder to someone upstairs. A woman answered. He called again, his voice cracking with a mixture of irritation and desperation. Slippers appeared at the top of the stairs. Another hurried conversation took place, German words too rapid for Sam to separate and follow. Finally, the woman began her descent. Sam tentatively smiled at her as her face appeared. She instantly recognized him and, presumably, told her husband.
Sam backed away to allow the woman to approach. She bent over Elsa and observed her pale, clammy skin. Any expectation of help instantly disappeared when she shook her head and began to herd her husband inside.
‘Please!’ The English word was out before he had a chance to filter it. The couple stiffened. ‘Help her,’ he pleaded. ‘She is German.’ They turned to look at him. He frantically searched her pockets for her identification papers. ‘Look!’ He held them up for them to see. The papers trembled in his hand between them, but they did not reach for them. He lowered them. ‘She is ill. Please help her.’ His voice cracked as he attempted theirlanguage, stumbling over foreign words he did not know how to form. ‘Bitte. Hilfe.’
They stared down at the pathetic, begging man on his knee. He was an oddity to them and for the first time in his life he felt like one. Perhaps they expected their enemy to be a bloodthirsty butcher who would laugh as he murdered them in their beds — to face a man begging for help for one of their own confused them. It confused him too. But this German was Elsa.
There was nothing more he could do. He waited for the gun to be raised to his head again. He expected it. Damn, he had accepted it if it meant Elsa received the care she needed. He might be killed or captured, but they would still care for her. Wouldn’t they? And once she was better she would find Klara and pass her off as her niece.
The man lifted his gun, but he refused to close his eyes. The man jerked the barrel indicating for him to leave. He stood up and slowly retreated. Suddenly he felt unsure. He was leaving Elsa, something he had promised he would never do. He looked down at her pale body in crumpled clothes. The man stepped closer, his barrel still raised, forcing him to reluctantly turn and run.
Even as the distance lengthened between them with each step, he expected a bullet to pierce his back. The shot did not come. But he did experience pain as his heart began to ache with despair of their parting.
All he could do now was hope that Elsa survived and lived a good, long, happy life... and it hurt more than he could have imagined to know he would not be around to see it.
Chapter Seventeen
Elsa opened her eyes. She had been vaguely aware of her comfortable surroundings but the fog of fever had robbed her of caring ... until now. A lamp with an amber shade came into focus. The fingers of her right hand felt entangled in something. She lifted them up and saw that it was the faded wool of a crocheted bedspread. The strong aroma of carbolic soap reminded her of the lukewarm water of bath nights when she was a child. How quickly scalding water would cool on a winter’s night! Clear memories of freezing temperatures vaporizing hurried breaths as Elsa quickly scrambled out of the tub so her younger sister could hop in. Not like now. For the first time in weeks, she felt warm. Weeks? Why weeks? It dawned on her that her surroundings were too clean, too homely, too warm to include Sam. Her gaze wandered around the room and eventually settled on a woman sitting in the far corner quietly darning a sock.
Elsa eased a hand from the blanket and touched her cracked lips. How had she arrived in these comfortable, peaceful surroundings? The answer lingered just out of reach. She noticed her laundered clothes neatly folded on a chair. The sight of her rucksack jogged a memory, nudging the pieces of the recent past to fall one by one into place. The woman looked up as if someone had just whispered in her ear that her guest had woken.
Elsa smiled but the woman, with her dark hair peppered with silver strands, remained indifferent. Elsa eased herself to sitting. ‘May I have some water?’
