‘Ultimately, the soldiers and officers on the ground have little say in the matter.’
Elsa raised her eyebrows and smiled at him. ‘So, we do have something in common.’
The colonel returned her smile. ‘Yes, we do.’ He braced his shoulders. ‘However, we do have some say in our willingness to make this time more pleasant for all of us and I have to thank you, Elsa, for your help in this.’ He watched her pen as she corrected a word in her notepad. ‘You didn’t translate the bit after I drank the tea, did you?’
‘No. I saw that as a sign you had stopped dictating.’
Reassured he sat forward, his hands neatly clasped together on his desk. ‘You are good at your job.’
‘You also used the word “fool”, which I thought was best not to take down.’
The colonel chuckled. ‘I don’t know what I’d do without you, Elsa.’
‘You would simply employ another translator.’
‘But translation is an art. Both sides have to trust that the translator is doing their job accurately in words and tone. The tone alone can turn a conversation on different paths. You have helped people on both sides greatly, including my wife and children. Your tutoring has helped them settle easier. They have no say where I am posted. They are simply dragged along too.’
‘I’ve enjoyed teaching them.’
‘I’m aware our troops live in their own British bubble here on the base. British theatre, British shops, British schools. It is their own little country.’
‘Which I suspect is on purpose.’
The officer acknowledged it with a slight curve of his smile. ‘They are young soldiers who are representing their country, both on and off duty. Of course, a few do venture off base.’ He winced. ‘They learn the odd phrase or two.’
Elsa hid her smile at his discomfort. They both knew the most common German phrases picked up by the young soldiers were ‘one beer’, ‘another beer’ and ‘he’s paying’.
She looked up to find he had read her thoughts and was smiling too. She had grown to like the new officer and his family. She found that they were able to talk frankly to each other, which helped him as much as it helped the people Elsa felt she represented... the ordinary German civilians who were displaced or lived in the area. Reconstruction, feeding, rehousing and denazification were the occupiers’ aims. Elsa could not disagree, although she wished the Germans could be left to do it for themselves.
‘I see our presence as more of a policing role,’ the colonel went on, ‘to prevent the rise of fascism in the void left by the war.’
‘And in that role you have power and privilege, which reminds us daily of what we have lost.’
‘It is a difficult situation for both of our countries.’ He brightened. ‘You must come for a meal. My wife would like that.’
‘On the base?’
‘Yes. I will let them know at the checkpoint.’
‘Thank you. That would be nice.’
‘Is there anyone you would like to bring? A husband?’
‘I’m not married.’
‘I thought you were.’
‘No.’
‘Do you have any parents? Siblings?’
‘They died during the war.’
‘You also have Miriam.’
She thought of the child who was almost as tall as she was now. It had taken them several months to stop using the name Klara, but it was important to Elsa, for documentation and, more importantly, for Miriam, to understand who she was and reclaim her rightful name. However, reclaiming her birth name had not been easy. In the months that followed the war, she had found that antisemitism still lingered in some, leading to Elsa questioning her decision many times when alone. Slowly Jewish communities had started to rebuild. However, although Miriam began to accept her own Jewish identity, that could not heal the wound caused by years of not wanting to stand out in a crowd. Elsa hoped that her curiosity in her faith would blossom further and that one day she would feel safe enough to openly celebrate it.
The colonel gently placed his cup on his saucer. His earlier energy faded, along with his smile. ‘I’m sorry Miriam’s family didn’t survive,’ he said quietly. She looked up at his unusually soft tone. ‘The horror they must have endured. Have you told her?’
