Night Sky (19 page)

Finally, after a long time, he said, ‘My little rabbit, it’s for the best, you know, your mother is right. You will be safer with a new name and a new place to live.’ She started crying again and he said, ‘I want you to be very brave. I want you to go away and to make a success of your life. And to forget about me.’

‘I couldn’t, Daddy, I couldn’t.’

‘But you must. I’m going to go abroad. I can’t be a proper father to you when I’m away.’

‘But you’ll always be my Daddy.’

‘Yes, yes, I’ll always be your Daddy.’ David hugged her tightly and wept quietly.

Then there were sounds from below and, without a word, Ellen came and took Cecile downstairs. David couldn’t bring himself to watch them go. Instead he sat on Cecile’s bed and put his head in his hands.

The silence pressed in on him and, when he couldn’t bear it any longer, he lay down and put his arms over his head. Finally he fell asleep and dreamed that Cecile was dead.

When David woke it was dawn and he was very cold. For a while he lay on the bed watching the thin, grey light illuminate the toys and gay pictures that decorated the neat, feminine room. The room looked cold and unused, as if Cecile had been gone a long time.

He sat up. His head ached viciously. Lack of sleep and food.

Mechanically, he got up and went into the bathroom to wash. In the main bedroom he found a clean shirt and his best suit, and put them on.

He went downstairs. The house was deathly quiet. Normally Cecile would be chattering away in the kitchen while Ellen made the breakfast. He decided to turn the wireless on as soon as he got into the kitchen.

But first he went into the dining room and, reaching up to the top of the dresser, felt for the black canister. As his fingers closed over it he felt a thrill of excitement. So much in such a small container!

But small though it was, it was still too large. It would be impossible to hide on his body. Any good search would soon discover it under his arm, or strapped to his leg. He opened the canister and took out the roll of film. It was only half an inch high and an eighth of an inch in diameter.

He went into the kitchen and found a piece of greaseproof paper. He cut an oblong strip and rolled it round the film, then tied the ends with cotton.

David was pleased. It was small enough now to be hidden in his mouth. Or even in other places where people wouldn’t look. Well, hopefully not.

Getting the film developed had been the most difficult part. The local photographic shop had been out of the question; they would have reported him straight away. There was a man at Gema whose hobby was developing and printing his own photographs, but it would have been far too dangerous to contact him. Then David remembered the processing laboratory which the Gema Company used for all its photographic work, and he went there. He went there straight away, before the laboratory knew he had been dismissed. He went there while he was still angry and had the nerve to ask them to process the film and transfer it onto the smallest possible negative. He said it was top secret, and they mustn’t talk about it. His own daring had amazed him.

It was the strangeness of the request which made the laboratory carry out the work without question. The technicians were called in from the processing lab and everyone was so engrossed in deciding how the reduction could be done they didn’t stop to query it. They didn’t even notice the sweat on David’s brow or the way his hands shook as he passed over the film.

Now David held the tiny packet in his hand and wondered where he should hide it for the moment. Best to be on the safe side. He took some surgical tape from the first aid box in the bathroom and stuck the roll on to the under side of his upper arm. It was not very satisfactory – if they were actually looking for a roll of film they would find it straight away – but it would have to do.

He found some bratwurst and black bread in the kitchen. There was a spoonful of coffee in a jar; he put it in a strainer and poured hot water over it. It tasted foul. He sat at the kitchen table and looked out at the small, neat garden. In the summer they always spent Sunday afternoons there, just the three of them. David turned on the wireless. The set was a new
Volksempfanger
People’s Receiver; he had bought it as a present for Ellen’s birthday.

David listened half-heartedly, thinking of Cecile. The announcements were always the same nowadays. People were exhorted to greater service and sacrifice for the Fatherland; they must unite against the enemies of Germany; the young men must be ready to serve in the cause of the Fatherland. Today the enemy seemed to be Poland who were even at this moment threatening the very security of the beloved Homeland. Poland? It had been Czechoslovakia for so long that David couldn’t get used to all this talk about Poland. But perhaps Poland had been the enemy for some time; he hadn’t been listening to the wireless very much recently.

The announcer turned to home news: today another great step had been taken in the eradication of the common enemy! The filthy Jews would no longer be permitted wireless sets. No longer would they be permitted to enjoy the fruits of their thieving and usury! Millions of honest, working Germans would now be free to listen in peace, in the knowledge that not a single conniving Jew was listening to their beloved programmes!

David froze with a piece of bread halfway to his mouth, and felt vaguely sick. He should have realised that this campaign was much, much worse than the ones before. And now it was almost too late. But not quite.

He washed up the breakfast things and went into the hall. It was eight-thirty. He looked at the telephone which stood on a small table beside the stairs. The embassy offices would be staffed by now; he should call as soon as possible. And yet – not from here. The operator might have instructions to report all calls made to embassies; she might listen in;
they
might listen in. No, he would go to the post office; that would be safer.

At the post office there was a queue for the telephones. David waited quietly. He did not mind waiting. The important thing was not to attract attention or get in anyone’s way. At one point a large woman came bustling in and, seeing the line of people, sighed loudly. Without a word David stood back and let her take his place. She started to say something but, seeing the star on his jacket, tightened her lips and turned away.

Eventually there was only one person ahead of him and no-one behind. David eyed the girl at the desk nervously. She looked all right but you could never tell. When his turn came she glanced up quickly and, without comment, directed him to a booth.

So far, so good.

He gave the operator the number of the British Embassy and waited, swallowing nervously. He hadn’t really thought of what he would say. It was so difficult to know when you didn’t even know who you’d be speaking to.

There were several loud clicks on the line and a woman’s voice said in German, ‘British Embassy.’

‘Hello. I wish to speak to …’ He thought:
Who?
‘… to the attaché who deals with scientific matters.’

There was another click. A man’s voice said, ‘Yes?’

‘I am a scientist,’ David began lamely. ‘I wish to emigrate. I—’

The voice interrupted, ‘The immigration section of this embassy has closed. We are not dealing with any new applications.’

‘But you don’t understand, I … I have special information.’ David hated to say such a thing over the telephone but he had the feeling the man would soon ring off.

‘Who are you?’

David paused unhappily. ‘I’d rather not say … it’s too risky. Can’t I meet someone? Or come to the embassy?’

‘One moment please.’

David waited uneasily. He hadn’t thought about the problems of making contact. It was horribly dangerous …

The voice said, ‘It is regretted, but we cannot be of assistance.’

David felt his heart lurch. ‘What do you mean? I have vital information, of great value!’

‘We regret but, in view of the gravity of the international situation, it is impossible for us to become involved.’

David stared at the wall of the booth, the receiver forgotten in his hand.

The voice spoke again. ‘Hello?’

‘Yes.’

There was a pause as if the owner of the voice was considering what to say. ‘We are not alone. Do you understand what I mean?’

‘Yes.’ David understood. The conversation was being listened to.

He replaced the receiver, and tried to think. He was confused; the certain knowledge that they were listening had been a shock. He hadn’t been ready for that. He must think again.

Perhaps the Swedes? Yes, the good neutral Swedes. He found the number in the directory and gave it to the operator.

After a few seconds there was a reply. David was about to speak when there were two loud clicks. David froze, then slowly replaced the receiver.

He paid for the calls and left the post office.

He had to think:
he had to think
.

He walked into the street, his head down, his mind working. One thing was clear, absolutely clear: to try to contact an embassy would be suicide. He would never get near them. If he arranged a meeting the Gestapo would be there first. If he tried to deliver a message they would intercept it.

It was awful to give up the idea – but there was no choice. What else could he do?

What did that leave? He thought desperately, but there wasn’t much. Only escape. Escape without papers, without help … He shook his head and strode on, head down, carefully avoiding other pedestrians.

The black jackboots were right in front of him before he saw them. He tried to step sideways but a second pair of boots blocked his way. David looked up and felt a stab of fear. Two young SS men were facing him; they were both smiling. David stepped quickly against the wall and tried to slide along it. The young men laughed and shouted. He felt a sharp blow on his head. He knew he had to run. They were coming for him again. He gathered his strength and made for a new gap between a uniformed body and the wall. He pushed through the gap, felt a blow on his shoulder, pushed again, and was through.

He ran. He ran as he used to do at school; fast, his chest out, his arms pumping. His lungs were bursting, they wouldn’t draw enough air. His legs felt heavy as lead. He rounded a corner and staggered against a wall, his chest heaving, his head pounding.

He looked behind. There was no-one.

Thank God. Thank God.

How stupid! How stupid! Must be more careful, must be more careful.

He walked slowly on towards home, his heart still hammering, his breath still rasping in his throat. So unfit! So pathetically unfit!

Finally he neared the house and paused. The windows were dark, the front door closed as he had left it.

The house was quiet. The front door yielded easily to the key. He went in quickly and closed the door. The living room looked untouched, as neat and ordered as usual. He peered out of the window into the street. Nothing.

But there wasn’t much time, he knew that now.

He sat for a moment so that his hands would stop shaking and thought: I’m too old for all this, too old and too tired.

Then he got up and looked through the bookcase until he found Cecile’s World Atlas. He knelt on the carpet and studied the map of Europe. He would go west, that was certain; the east was trouble. That meant Switzerland or France or Belgium or Holland. Switzerland was out; they were too uncharitable and, even if you got over the border, it was rumoured that they sent you back again. Belgium or Holland; he wasn’t sure about them. But France … France had taken lots of Jews, he knew that. And even if he couldn’t stay there they would send him on somewhere else, he was sure of that.

France … he turned to a map which showed the Franco-German border more clearly. He stared at the long winding line and wondered where it would be best to cross. It would all be heavily militarised, of course, but it shouldn’t be too difficult to get through, not if he was patient.

A long section of the border ran along the Rhine, so that was no good; the bridges would be heavily guarded and he couldn’t swim. Where the border turned west then, towards Luxembourg. He put his finger on the Saar region. What was wrong with the map there? Of course! He sighed; the atlas was pre-1935 and didn’t show the new border. In 1935 the Saar region had become German again. He didn’t dare cross there; it would be hopeless if he didn’t even know where the border was. That left the stretch to the east of Saarbrucken.

He looked at the railway lines. How far could he get without risking being picked up? Mannheim perhaps. Then what? It was sixty kilometres from Mannheim to the border. He made up his mind: although he was unfit, he would walk. He would
make
himself walk. He’d been quite a walker in his day. When he was a student he used to go hiking in the Bavarian Alps; he had covered twenty kilometres a day sometimes.

He would need food, money and equipment. He tore the page out of the atlas and put the book away. He stood up and tried to remember what there was in the house. Money: he had enough to buy his train ticket and a few meals, no more; but it should be sufficient. Anyway he would be taking as much food as possible. He went into the kitchen and looked in the cupboards. There were cans of sauerkraut, beef, and fruit. He decided to take them all. But he would need something to carry them in. Not a briefcase; people associated them with wealth and money, and he might be robbed. A shopping bag? Even that wasn’t very safe nowadays. He looked round the kitchen. There was nothing else: the shopping bag would have to do. It was made of woven straw and should be fairly strong. He would make straps for it, to carry it on his back. He thought of the lovely rucksack he had in his bedroom, but that was out of the question; it was far too obvious.

He took a sharp knife from the kitchen drawer and wedged it into the bottom of the bag. What else? A small torch, some string, a can opener … But he mustn’t take too much. He had a long way to walk.

Shoes, he would need good shoes, and some warm clothing. But again he mustn’t take too much. A raincoat, a warm sweater …