When We Fall Page 21

  ‘Alenka. When you serve the veal you must ask each man if he wants wine or beer.’

  ‘Speak to them?’

  ‘Yes. Say Wein oder Bier? Can you say that?’

  ‘Wein… oder Bier.’

  ‘Yes, that’s right. And tell them we have Riesling.’

  Alenka frowns. ‘I don’t know German, miss.’

  ‘Try to say what I’ve told you. It’s not hard.’

  Alenka nods but her eyes are hostile. Ewa wonders why Haller could not have sent someone with even a smattering of the correct language.

  Ewa picks up a platter of Schnitzels and tells Alenka to follow behind her with the bowl of steaming potatoes. At the door of the dining room, Ewa puts on her brightest smile and gestures for Alenka to do the same. As Ewa serves the Schnitzels, she asks each officer if he would care for beer or Riesling with his main course. All the answers are the same: just water.

  Foreboding tightens Ewa’s chest as she glances at the wall clock. Twenty past nine. The clock’s hands are moving too quickly. She still has no clue what she should do, or even what she wants to happen next. So she goes on smiling, pouring water, listening. Conversations buzz through the room; compliments about the renovations on the Great Golden Hall of the castle and snide comments about Gauleiters from other parts of the Reich. There is a discussion about the wisdom of Reichsführer Himmler’s recommendation to kidnap Aryan-looking children from Poles. But nothing is said about transport planes or insurgents.

  Ewa sees her father squat beside the red-faced Sturmbannführer who says something into his ear. She hopes it is not a complaint about the food.

  And still, no one touches the beer. Ewa cannot understand it. Even at breakfast most of the officers will have more than one glass each. She glances at Beck who is not eating or drinking, just smoking. He catches her eye and, oddly, he winks. This is not something she has seen him do before. Coldness runs down her back.

  Then a short man in a checked suit stands up in front of Ewa, his blue eyes level with hers.

  ‘Tell that Pole to shut up.’

  Ewa’s mouth goes dry. The hunting horns hanging crosswise on the wall seem to waver.

  ‘I’m sorry?’

  ‘Her bad German is annoying us.’

  ‘Yes, of course. My apologies. Can I get you a drink?’

  ‘No.’

  Ewa feels suddenly sick. She hurries out to the kitchen and fills a beer tankard with water drinking the whole thing in one go as she stares at the empty sky. Then her father comes into the kitchen. Ewa turns to see him at the drop-down shelf of the dresser, slicing Strudel with a meat knife. A bloom of warm apple and pastry fills the air.

  He looks up. ‘Are you all right?’

  Ewa wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and nods. ‘You should use a serrated blade. That one will make the pastry crumble. Do they like it?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘The Schnitzel.’

  ‘No complaints.’ Oskar’s cheeks are very red under the grey moustache. ‘Take in the cognac. It’s our last bottle. But put it on the table and let them help themselves.’

  ‘They won’t drink it. They haven’t drunk anything.’

  He shrugs. ‘Let’s have a last try. We won’t make any profit on tonight if we can’t charge for drinks.’

  Another good reason to ply them with drink, as well as the stupid hope that they might not miss their most senior officer until he is airborne above their heads in a Dakota.

  As Ewa goes back into the dining room, Greiser glances up and catches her eye. She forces a smile and places the Cognac bottle with a miniature glass in front of him on the table. He does not, as she thinks he might, tell her to take them away, but goes on cutting into his Schnitzel, chewing on veal, swallowing. He does not look her way again. Some of the other men have finished eating and are leaning back on their chairs, smoking or sipping glasses of water. Beck has disappeared.

  As Greiser lays down his knife and fork, Ewa’s heart skips a beat. Is he about to throw his napkin on to the table and head for the latrines? Perhaps she should try to stop him. Stefan and Tomasz may be in position but Ewa is not ready. Not ready to make her choice; not ready to leave her home. But the Gauleiter stays in his chair and takes the fat cigar offered by his neighbour, lighting it from a candle flame on the table.

  Ewa clears dirty plates, piling one on top of another, squashing mashed potato, cabbage and gravy between the layers, feeling the weight of the mess. If she leaves on the Dakota, who will wash these dishes? Not her. Not tonight. Not ever again. She takes the plates to the kitchen and heaps them by the sink. Her father puts a hand on her shoulder.

  ‘Go to bed as soon as they have gone. I’ll wash up.’

  A pain, like a punch, passes through her chest. ‘Thank you, Papa. But I don’t mind doing them in the morning. You should rest too.’

  Her bed suddenly seems like the place in the world where she wants to be more than any other. If only time could stand still. If only Stefan had not come back.

  Steam rises from cinnamon-laced apple in the shallow bowls that Ewa carries into the dining room on a tray. Around the long table, all collars are buttoned and ties still knotted. The cognac is untouched. And Beck is still not there. She imagines him in the latrine pissing, only inches away from Stefan who will have squeezed himself by now into the gap between the toilet block and the yard wall. Perhaps Stefan is watching Beck through a crack in the wood. The thought brings a clutch of panic to her chest.

  At the sideboard, Alenka is struggling with a pile of plates. Ewa comes up behind her and whispers in Polish.

  ‘Can you manage alone for a minute?’

  ‘Not really. Where are you going?’

  ‘Just to check the state of the toilet block in the yard.’

  Alenka’s eyes dart. ‘Is everything all right? Anything I should know… about my work?’

  Ewa gives a fleeting shake of her head. ‘All is fine. Nothing of note to pass on. Don’t forget the cream.’

  In the light of the misshapen moon, the yard is colourless except for a spill of yellow light from the toilet block. Cold air bites Ewa’s bare throat as she stands and listens. A car engine accelerates on a nearby street, distant hooves click on cobbles, but the yard itself is silent. Is Stefan here? She cannot bring herself to look.

  She goes to the half-open door of the toilet chalet and makes a fist to knock.

  ‘Hallo? Hygiene service!’ Her voice is a squeak. She coughs and tries again. ‘Hygiene service!’

  There is no reply. She steps inside. The toilet block is cold and clean and still smells of scouring powder. The bare bulb flickers above the urinal. Both cubicle doors are open far enough to reveal the high cisterns and handle chains. The chalet is empty as a mausoleum. And if Stefan and Tomasz are on the other side of the thin wooden wall they give no sign.

  A shadow crosses the open door and hair rises on Ewa’s neck.

  ‘Eva.’

  She goes to the doorway. ‘Heinrich. You startled me.’

  ‘Did I? Are you nervous about something?’

  ‘Maybe a little stressed.’

  ‘Don’t worry. The evening has been a great success.’

  ‘Has it?’

  She steps out into the chill air and stands beside him. ‘But hardly any beer has been drunk. And no wine or cognac.’

  He shrugs and leans his shoulder against the chalet wall. ‘I think some of the diners are feeling the effects of too many formal dinners this week. It is surprising that there is any beer left in the city.’

  High above them, an unseen aeroplane thrums. Before she can stop herself, Ewa looks up.

  Beck puts his head to one side. ‘A big one is coming in, don’t you think?’

  Ewa’s insides freeze. Sweet Jesus. Can he mean the Dakota?

  He waves his hand into the pl
ume of cigarette smoke from his mouth. ‘You like aeroplanes, don’t you, Eva?’

  ‘I… yes.’ Her smile should be brighter, but she cannot quite get her face under control. ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘Your father told me that before the war you used to go to the Aero Club to watch the planes and meet the pilots.’

  Ewa nods but her mouth is too dry to speak.

  Beck sighs. ‘I wish I could take you there still. Even though I am not a pilot.’ He comes closer. His uniform is stiff with braid and metal badges. ‘Would you come with me, Eva, if the club were to re-open?’

  Ewa’s heart drops a beat. ‘Of course, Heinrich. But that is not likely, is it?’

  ‘Who knows? At this moment in the war, everything seems so finely balanced. No one can say what the future might hold. Do you not think that too?’

  He knows something. Ewa has no doubt, and she cannot bear to hear him say any more. She must stop him talking. She puts a ringless hand on his sleeve and squeezes it.

  ‘I’m glad we have so much in common, Heinrich.’

  He looks down at her hand and then into her eyes. An expression of pure joy crosses his face.

  ‘Eva…’

  Then his mouth comes towards hers, as she expected that it might, but it is too late to pull away. Beck folds himself over her, his lips warm and parted. His tongue touches hers and a thread of uncontrollable heat passes through her. Beck’s thigh presses into the fold of yellow cotton between Ewa’s legs. Without her quite knowing how it has happened, their bodies are entwined.

  Beck’s lips murmur against her ear. ‘My God, Eva… you want it too.’

  She starts to push him away. ‘Later, Heinrich.’

  ‘Yes, darling Eva.’ He smiles and strokes a fingertip along her lips. ‘Come to me later.’

  Ewa knows then that she no longer has a choice. Tonight, she must leave the only home she has ever known and she will probably never return.

  But in that instant Beck’s arm is wrenched away. A strap, looped around his throat, yanks back his head. He drops, and is dragged to the ground. Ewa stands stunned as dark figures with flat caps pulled down over their eyes tug at the writhing black uniform on the ground. Beck splutters but cannot speak. Arms flail as the men wrap rope around thrashing limbs.

  One of the figures raises his fist and turns his face to the toilet block’s yellow light. Stefan’s cool eyes meet Ewa’s. And, still looking into her eyes, his fist slams down in a single heavy punch to the middle of Beck’s face.

  Ewa sways. Her hand is clamped over her mouth. Now, Stefan and another figure are lugging Beck’s limp body towards the yard gate. Beck’s taste is still in Ewa’s mouth. Nausea rises. She puts a hand to the chalet wall and bends over to spit a fat gob of saliva onto the asphalt. Before she can straighten, a hand has gripped her upper arm and is pulling her towards the gate.

  Stefan’s mouth is in her hair. ‘The suitcase.’

  She cannot speak.

  ‘Where’s the suitcase?’

  She heaves her arm but his grip is firm.

  ‘My father…’

  ‘No. There’s no time.’

  By the back door, a man’s laugh booms from inside the guest house, but Stefan has pulled Ewa almost to the gate.

  ‘We can’t leave Papa.’ Her voice is louder. ‘Please let me get Papa.’

  ‘Then we’ll all be dead.’

  ‘Stefan, please.’

  ‘Quiet!’ He hisses at her. His grip is starting to hurt. ‘Get in the truck.’

  The milk-churn truck is not far from the back gate, engine running. The headlights are on but dimmed to slits with tape. Stefan pushes Ewa into the cab then climbs in behind her so that she squashes up against Tomasz who is at the wheel. Tomasz heaves the handbrake free and the truck jerks forward. Ewa’s bare knee scrapes against the metal dashboard. Wetness slips down her shin.

  Tomasz drives slowly but keeps the gear high so that the truck feels quiet and loose. Ewa falls against him as they turn the corner. The cab reeks of petrol and sweat. Moonlight stipples the shuttered street.

  ‘The suitcase.’ Stefan’s eyes flash in the half-light. ‘Where is it?’

  ‘We have to go back for my father.’

  Ewa surprises herself with the calmness of her voice. But she is drained of feeling. Even her shin is numb.

  ‘He’ll be all right. Let’s just get the case.’

  ‘No, Stefan. Not unless we get Papa first.’

  ‘Fuck, Ewa.’ Stefan bangs the door hard with the side of his fist. ‘Tell me where it is.’

  ‘Not without my father.’

  Brakes scream suddenly and Ewa braces her hand against the dashboard. The truck judders to a stop, engine pulsing. Tomasz drapes his arms over the steering wheel and stares at Stefan.

  ‘What in Christ’s name is going on?’

  Stefan growls through his teeth. ‘Keep driving, but slowly.’

  ‘No. Not until you tell me what your wife is doing here when she should be plying the enemy with cognac and coffee. And why all that you two seem bothered about is who forgot the suitcase for your little vacation. While you’re at it, you can tell me why we’ve got the wrong sodding Hitlerite.’

  Stefan’s eyes narrow. ‘Pull off the street.’

  Tomasz rolls his eyes but keeps the engine low as they turn into a narrow side street with high warehouse walls on each side. He glances in the side mirrors then lets the truck roll to a stop.

  ‘What do you propose we do with lover-boy out there on the flatbed?’

  Stefan’s voice is taut. ‘We’ll take him with us.’

  ‘To the landing field? The komendant will hit the roof.’

  ‘We’ll tell him what it was, a mistake. But one that does not really matter. SS-Obersturmführer is still a high rank.’

  ‘You mean you want to put that joker on the Dakota, instead of Greiser?’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘The AK would be a laughing stock. We can’t go to all this trouble to send a nobody on our first air bridge.’

  A shadow slithers across the moonlit cobbles and the cat’s shriek gives Ewa a jolt of sudden certainty.

  ‘You must kill him.’

  Stefan and Tomasz both turn to look at her. She did not realise what she was about to say until the words formed in her mouth, but now she has no doubt that she is right. How else to prove to Stefan that her embrace with Beck meant nothing? How else to protect herself and her father now that Beck knows she is working for the AK?

  Tomasz shakes his head but Ewa is fired with conviction.

  ‘Why not? Shoot him now. Get rid of him. He’s not worth taking to England. And if something goes wrong and the SS get him back alive, we’re all finished.’

  The firmness in her own voice startles her. She sees that this is also a test for Stefan to prove that he is not secretly conspiring with the SS-Obersturmführer.

  Tomasz gives a slow whistle. ‘She’s right.’

  But Stefan leans across Ewa, ignoring her, and points his finger into Tomasz’s face. ‘Listen, you fuck, I am the senior officer here. And I say no. Nothing will go wrong and I will take the Obersturmführer with me to England…’ he turns to Ewa, ‘instead of the suitcase.’

  Lüssow, Greater German Reich

  Saturday 9 October

  As the truck slows to pass the railway station, the sky above the illuminated porticos seems caged by a grid of black tram wires. Ewa puts a disguising hand across her face when she sees the station guard but Tomasz gives him a thumbs-up and then they are out on to the new highway and speeding away from the city.

  Stefan is rigid beside Ewa, his skin grey in the moonlight. Cold air seeps into the cab.

  ‘You don’t know what you’ve done, Ewa.’

  ‘Don’t I?’ She bunches the thin cotton of the Dirndl into her fists.
‘There’s nothing in your precious suitcase that would change anyone’s mind. Not if they have good reason to believe in a lie.’

  ‘That is bullshit.’

  His voice makes something icy take hold of Ewa’s heart and twist it.

  Tomasz bangs the steering wheel. ‘What the hell is this suitcase? And why is Fritz out there a substitute for it?’

  Stefan’s voice is monotone. ‘Just drive.’

  Ewa thinks of Beck, lying bound and stiff with pain an arm’s length away. Is he struggling to escape? And if he is not… why not? A sudden thought bleaches into her brain. Have Stefan and Beck planned this together from the start? Even the kiss in the yard that seemed to provoke Stefan’s assault could have just been a way to hide their collusion. Ewa turns to look at Stefan’s handsome profile in the grey light, but his face is blank.

  The city is behind them. Thin headlight beams illuminate a wedge of road ahead as the truck picks up speed. Tomasz drives fast, not seeming to care that he can see almost nothing. Ewa keeps her eyes on her skirt but she feels Stefan’s every breath. A sick emptiness creeps into her stomach as she imagines what might be happening at the guest house. Have they noticed Beck missing from the dining room? Is her father wondering whether Ewa has already gone to bed? She cannot bring herself to imagine more. Neither can she let herself consider what might be about to happen at the landing ground.

  The truck bumps off the highway and along a track between ever-darkening trees. Then it pulls to a shuddering stop. Headlights slice across a group of men with flat caps and hunting rifles. Then Haller is at the driver’s door.

  He shines his torch into Ewa’s face. ‘Mother of God. Get out. All of you!’

  Ewa follows torchlight to the rear of the truck. Haller yanks open the tailgate and Tomasz grapples Beck to the edge of the flatbed. The torch shines across Beck’s soiled black jacket with its red armband, and then on to his face. The skin is shiny and yellow; the eye folded into his cheek. A rope gags the mess of his mouth.