The Pathfinder (16 page)

‘
Nein, danke
.' He searched for some appropriate German words and failed. ‘Please, tell him to sit down in it. I'm fine standing.'

The boy spoke to his grandfather and the old man sat down reluctantly, still talking.

‘He says it's not polite to sit when a guest is standing. Perhaps you could sit in one of these chairs at the table, sir?'

To please the old man he did so, laying his cap on the table. He took the pictures he had cut out from magazines and newspapers from his pocket. He had taken quite a lot of trouble to track them down. ‘I thought you might like these, Rudi.'

‘Thank you, sir.' The boy looked delighted and came to sit beside him. He went through the pictures, examining them carefully. ‘This one I know well, sir. It is a C-54. American Skymaster. And this is a Stirling perhaps?'

‘No. It's an Avro York. A transporter. It was actually developed from the Lancaster bomber.'

Rudi studied it carefully and solemnly. ‘It is not as nice-looking as the Lancaster, I think.'

‘But very useful for transporting supplies. It can carry a hell of a lot. And it's very easy to unload and load because of the high wings and the low cargo doors.'

‘This plane is coming to Gatow now?'

‘Oh, yes. Rather.'

‘I wish I could go to see but it is too far for me to walk. Dirk says he will take me on his bicycle one day. I should like also very much to see the Sunderlands – the flying boats – coming down onto the Havel See. Dirk is working with the American planes at Tempelhof, you know. He is very lucky.'

He wondered if it would somehow be possible to arrange for the boy to get a ride out to Gatow. There was always a crowd of civilians by the perimeter fence, including plenty of children, watching the planes coming and going from the airfield, and also beside the lake where the Sunderlands were a big attraction. It must help to shore up the Berliners' resolve. They could see with their own eyes and hear with their own ears the huge efforts that were being made by the western Allies to help them. The Russians, watching from the other side of the airfield, presumably had thoughts of their own.

‘I don't suppose you know what this one is?'

‘No, sir.' The boy shook his head regretfully.

‘No reason why you should. It's a civilian aircraft – not military. A Handley Page Halton. We have one that flies into Gatow now.'

‘I think I like better the military planes.'

‘So do I, but we need civilian ones to help us with the airlift too.' They had come to the last of the pictures – one that Harrison had found in a stack of old
Picture Post
magazines in the Officers' Mess. ‘Here's one you'll like.'

The boy smiled. ‘It is a Spitfire.'

‘No, it's not a Spitfire. It's a Hurricane. They are rather alike at first glance but, if you look closely, you'll see there's quite a difference. The cockpit canopy is a different shape – a Spitfire's is like a bubble – and the Hurricane has this humped backbone, see. And, of course, the shape of the wing is completely different. It's not as beautiful as the Spitfire but it's a wonderful fighter.'

‘Does it go fast?'

‘Not quite as fast as a Spitfire or the Messerschmitt 109, but it's very steady. And the fuselage is fabric so it's easy and quick to mend. It has eight Browning machine guns, just the same as the Spitfire.'

Their heads were bent over the picture and Harrison didn't hear the door open. Then the grandfather started talking again and he looked up to see that the girl, Lili, had come in and was standing there. He got to his feet, very unsure of his welcome. ‘I hope you don't mind, Fräulein Leicht. I brought Rudi some more pictures.'

‘That's very kind of you.' She took off her scarf. Her voice was cool.

He groped in his pocket. ‘Also, Nico Kocharian asked me to give these to you. Vitamin C tablets for Rudi.'

She took the glass bottle. ‘Thank you for bringing them. Where did you see him?'

‘I called at his office.'

‘I have never been there.'

‘Well, it's not much to see.'

‘I thought perhaps it would be quite smart.'

‘Not at all.'

‘I suppose that would be difficult in Berlin, even for Nico.' She looked at the label on the bottle. ‘These are American. I wonder how he got them.'

‘Ways and means. I believe that's how he usually describes it.'

She gave a ghost of a smile. ‘Whenever I ask him he says much the same in German. He has ways and means for everything.'

He realized that she didn't like Kocharian either and he was relieved. And glad. He risked a smile. ‘Rudi wants to come out to Gatow to watch the planes. I think he'd enjoy it. Do you think he's up to it?'

The boy said eagerly, ‘Of course I am. Dirk will take me on the bicycle.'

‘It's a pretty long way on a bike,' Harrison said.

‘Too far,' Lili agreed. ‘Tempelhof is much nearer. Perhaps he will go there one day with Dirk. We'll see.' Her brother protested in German and she answered him soothingly. ‘He says he would much sooner see the Royal Air Force planes. And he specially wants to see the flying boats landing on the Havel See. I will try to take him when he is stronger. It should be possible for us to go part of the way by S-Bahn out to Spandau and perhaps the rest by bus – if there are any buses running still in the British sector.'

He'd seen the German labourers trudging out to Gatow on foot. ‘Not many, I'm afraid. There's a terrific shortage of petrol, of course. It all has to be flown in, like everything else.'

‘It must be very difficult for you to do this. To carry enough supplies by plane for so many people.'

‘Yes,' he said. ‘It's very difficult. But we're doing our best.'

‘Dirk is working at Tempelhof for the Americans now. Loading and unloading their planes.'

‘So Nico Kocharian told me.'

‘He is given a free hot meal at the airfield. And coffee and doughnuts. He brings the doughnuts back to share.'

She didn't mention the pilfering, he noticed. ‘That's good. How are you coping otherwise?'

‘The rations were very bad for a while but now they are a little bit better. We manage, don't we Rudi?'

The boy nodded. ‘Yes, we manage. We are OK.'

‘You all speak jolly good English,' he said heartily. ‘It's amazing.'

‘Thank you. Our father was at Cambridge University and spoke it almost perfectly. He insisted that we talk often in English. Also, my grandmother was half French and so we learned that too. Grandfather speaks good French, but only a few words of English.'

The grandfather stirred in his chair. ‘But I listen always to the BBC. Some I understand.'

‘And we have many English books,' Rudi said. ‘All of Charles Dickens, Anthony Trollope, H.G. Wells, Aldous Huxley, Thomas Hardy, P.G. Wodehouse, Rudyard Kipling and the plays of William Shakespeare.' He recited the names proudly. ‘Some of them are difficult for me to understand, especially Shakespeare. I like P.G. Wodehouse the best.'

Harrison smiled. ‘I like his books too. Have you ever been to England?'

‘No,' his sister answered. ‘None of us. Only our father. Have you been to Germany before? I mean,' she added hurriedly, ‘as a tourist.'

He shook his head. ‘No. I know France reasonably well. We used to go on family summer holidays there. Before the war.'

‘Then you speak French?'

‘Not frightfully well, I'm afraid.'

‘You manage?'

He smiled ruefully. ‘Yes, I manage.'

‘But you do not speak any German?'

‘Only a few words. I'm pretty hopeless at languages.'

‘Perhaps it does not come naturally to the English. Except for some, like Nico.'

‘He's not actually English. His father is Armenian.'

‘Yes, he told us. And I could see he was not really English, but he was born there, he says. Is that where you first met him?'

‘We were at the same school, as a matter of fact. But he's a year younger, so I can't say that I saw a great deal of him. In fact, I scarcely remember him.'

The old man stirred again and muttered.

‘He wants to know when supper will be ready,' she said. ‘I must start to cook it.'

He picked up his cap from the table. ‘I ought to go, in any case.'

‘I would invite you to stay,' she said politely. ‘But it's only cabbage soup. I think you would hate it.'

‘Yes, you would,' Rudi pulled a face. ‘I do.'

She saw him to the door. In the hallway he said quietly, ‘Nico Kocharian said that Rudi has been a bit under the weather lately.'

‘You mean not so well?'

‘Sorry, yes, that's what I meant. He looks rather peaky.'

‘He has not been good at all but I think he is a little better now. We have been able to get some decent food for him and it helps. And your visit has cheered him up very much, Squadron Leader. He is very pleased with the aeroplane pictures. Thank you for bringing them. And the vitamin C pills.'

He hesitated. ‘Actually, I also came here to apologize to you. About our last conversation . . . I'm afraid I lost my temper.'

‘So did I. So we are equal.'

‘Perhaps we could agree to disagree?'

She nodded. ‘That would be fair.'

He looked down at her. She was so small and slight and fragile; it seemed incredible that she had somehow survived. Or that any of them had. He thought again of the great mass of leaping flames that he had looked down on from the Lancaster, of the Russian tanks storming into the city, the barrage of shellfire, the bitter street-to-street, house-to-house struggle, the almost total, savage, ruthless destruction of Berlin. ‘Would you mind if I dropped by again? I could bring the odd thing. We can't get much – not like the Americans – but there's usually chocolate and cigarettes. And I could keep a lookout for some more pictures – if that's all right?' He paused. ‘I quite understand, if it's not.'

‘Yes, of course, if you like. Rudi would be very pleased to see you.'

He cleared his throat. ‘And I was wondering . . . the British here are putting on some kind of entertainment. It's supposed to be an Elizabethan Festival.'

‘Elizabethan?'

‘Sixteenth century. When our Queen Elizabeth was on the throne. Plays and madrigals and concerts, poetry readings, talks . . . all that sort of thing.' He was uncomfortably aware of the ludicrousness of it, but he plunged on. ‘The idea is that it will be good for morale. The Americans are getting comedians and film stars over to entertain people, so I suppose our people thought they ought to do something as well. I'm afraid it won't be as exciting as the Americans' show but the thing is, there's going to be a performance of
Measure for Measure
by the Marlowe Society. You know, the Shakespeare play?'

‘Yes, I know of this. It is in our father's book, though I have never read it.'

‘Well, I was just wondering if you'd like to come to a performance. It's for Berliners, too, you see.'

She looked bewildered. ‘In this situation . . . with the blockade and people half starving and the Russians about to enslave the whole city, you are doing old English plays and old English music, and reading poetry, as though nothing bad is happening? A
festival
?'

‘It's meant to cheer people up.'

She started to laugh. He'd never seen her laugh before; she had scarcely even smiled. ‘But this is so funny.'

He said sheepishly, ‘I suppose it is a bit ridiculous.'

She put a hand over her mouth. ‘I'm sorry. It's wrong to laugh. Very rude of me. It is a very good idea, of course.'

‘Would you like to come? To the Shakespeare play?'

‘I'm not sure that I would be able to.'

‘The performances are at six in the evening at the Renaissance Theatre, every day next week.'

He saw the indecision in her eyes and was certain she'd refuse, but after a moment she said, ‘Yes, I think I could be there. It is a very long time since I went to a play. It would be very nice.'

‘I'll meet you at the theatre then, shall I? What evening would suit you?'

‘Tuesday would be best, I think. Dirk is on a day shift then and he could be home to look after Grandfather and Rudi, if I ask him.'

‘Tuesday it is, then,' he said briskly. ‘Jolly good.'

At the Officers' Club he had dried pea soup, reconstituted mashed potatoes, reconstituted meat stew and tinned pears. He thought of the cabbage soup and was rather pleased it was nothing better.

Tubby was no longer quite so tubby. ‘Lost half a stone, dear boy. If this blockade goes on much longer I'll fade away.'

‘That's old soldiers,' Harrison reminded him. ‘Not airmen.'

The sullen waitress in the Mess actually smiled as she brought the beers. ‘They've changed their tune,' Tubby said. ‘Haven't you noticed? We're the saviours now, not the conquerors. We're on their side. Their protectors. We're jolly good chaps, after all. Have you seen the stuff they keep bringing here? Bunches of flowers, grateful letters, home-made presents – it's all rather touching. I pray to God we don't let them down.'

‘We won't.'

‘I've never had your blind faith, Michael.'

‘It's not blind, Tubby. The airlift's starting to work. We're getting the supplies in. And we'll be doing a lot better, as time goes by.'