Fireshadow (8 page)

Despite himself, Erich had stopped responding to baits about his age, and now ‘Youngster' was his accepted nickname.

‘Fine. Looks worse than it feels.'

‘He's a swine that one.'

‘Who?'

‘That guard, Thomas.' Franz lowered his voice. ‘They say he's a little mad.'

Erich shrugged. Franz was a notorious gossip and the less he said the better.

‘Whatever. I have these bandages to clean.'

‘Of course.' Franz emptied the dirty bandages into a trough and ladled cold water over them. ‘You know he is in love, don't you?'

‘The guard?'

‘
Ja
.' Franz touched the side of his nose in a gesture of conspiracy. ‘You should be careful not to get between him and his girlfriend.'

‘Me?'

‘Of course, Youngster.'

‘How could I get between him and his girlfriend?'

‘You might not mean to. From what I hear, the affection is very much from him to her and not the other way around, if you know what I mean.'

‘She doesn't like him?'

‘From what I'm told.'

‘But what has that to do with me?'

Franz winked as he fished the bandages from the water. ‘There, we will boil these up now, I think.' He wrung the water from them and dropped them in the copper. ‘Think about it, Youngster, there are not too many attractive young ladies here in the forest, are there?'

‘So?'

‘So who do you think our friend has his eye upon?'

Erich realised what the other soldier was saying. ‘Do you mean . . . ?'

‘
Ja
. And the handsome young orderly who spends his days working in the hospital with her might be seen as competition, don't you think?'

Eleven

Vinnie

‘So you're heading back to town tomorrow?'

The afternoon sun dropped below the tree line, throwing long shadows and sinking the clearing into premature twilight. Vinnie and Helen sat at a picnic table beside the creek.

‘I imagine so. I can't see him wanting to make that walk a third time.'

The journey back from the prison camp site had been arduous. Helen's grandfather, already tired, had lost his footing a couple of times, and on one occasion Vinnie had leapt forward and caught him before he toppled onto the rough gravel path. The old man had snapped at him, then not spoken again for the rest of the walk.

‘I'm sorry about Grandad this afternoon.'

‘Nah, it's okay. He's a proud old bloke.'

‘Too proud, I'm afraid.'

‘Eh?'

Helen looked at him. ‘He's dying, Vinnie. Cancer.'

‘Ah.' Vinnie struggled for something to say. ‘I'm sorry.'

He reached down, picked up a small handful of red gravel pebbles from the ground, and lobbed one into the creek.

‘Me too. Until this trip, I'd never seen much of him, living in Germany as he did. He'd phone at Christmas and on my birthday and send presents, but that's not the same. I've never had him around as a grandfather and now I'm going to lose him, and he won't let anyone help.'

‘He's letting you look after him out here, isn't he?'

‘Not willingly. Mum had to insist. He was planning to come alone.'

‘Seriously?'

‘Yeah. It's strange. He's spent most of his life healing other people, and now that it's his turn to be looked after he won't do a thing to help himself.'

‘He can't be treated, then?'

Helen shook her head.

‘No. Perhaps six months ago, when he first noticed the symptoms, but not any more.'

‘Didn't he do anything at the time?'

‘My grandmother, his wife, she died a couple of years ago, and he's been wanting to join her ever since.'

‘Ah.' It was hard to imagine that tough old body riddled from the inside. ‘So why the trip here, then?'

‘Not sure. He hasn't really told anyone, only that he wanted to come here one last time. I guess it's just some kind of farewell. I can't understand how he's so accepting.'

‘Accepting?'

‘Of the cancer. It's a death sentence, and yet he just seems to take each day as if it were any other. If it were me, I'd . . .' She stopped.

‘You'd what?'

‘I don't know. I wouldn't just accept it, that's for sure.'

Vinnie glanced back up the slope to the campervan. The old doctor sat under the awning, reading. Before him, spread out on the table, were all manner of documents: maps of the old camp, forestry surveys, an old notebook. Through a pair of thick half-frame glasses, Doctor Pieters studied the documents intently.

‘He looks okay.'

‘He does at the moment.' Helen picked up a couple of pebbles and threw them, watching the concentric circles of their splash waver slowly towards the banks. ‘He won't in a month or so.'

‘Is he going to stay here?'

‘No. Mum'll go back to Germany with him. That's where Grandma is buried, and he'll want to die there.'

‘Will you go too?'

‘Don't know. It'll depend on my study. This trip is sort of my goodbye, I guess.'

They lapsed into silence while evening settled over the clearing. Above, the sky faded red into purple, against which the first few stars winked into being. Somewhere nearby a frog chirped lazily in the mud.

‘You got grandparents, Vinnie?'

‘Not in Perth. Dad's folks still live in Italy, and Mum's people are interstate.'

‘You miss them?'

Vinnie thought for a minute.

‘I do nowadays.'

‘What do you mean?'

‘Before the accident, well, family wasn't so important to me, you know? But now . . .' He paused. ‘I dunno, things are just different at home, and sometimes it'd be nice to have them around.'

‘Them?'

‘Grandparents. Just for somewhere to escape to. For a bit of support.'

‘But what about your parents? They must be giving you heaps of help.'

Vinnie threw another stone.

‘Vinnie?'

‘They don't even know where I am.'

Helen's brow creased. ‘You mean right now?'

‘Yeah. I took off. Couldn't take it any more.'

‘Take what?'

He shrugged. ‘Home. Mum and Dad can't handle it without Katia around. Dad blames me.'

‘Blames you?'

‘For the accident. For not getting her out. It's fair enough. I mean I did get out, after the crash, and she couldn't, and if I'd been a bit quicker, listened to her earlier or somethin', I dunno . . .' Vinnie's voice trailed into silence.

‘Are you certain that's how he feels? I mean . . .'

‘Yeah, I'm certain. He told me as much on the night I ran off.'

‘He told you it was your fault?'

Vinnie nodded.

‘Shit, Vinnie.'

‘He apologised later, but at the time he said it, he meant it.'

‘How could he?'

‘You don't know my dad. He's a tough bloke. All his life he's worked his arse off so that Kat and I would have the opportunities that he didn't have.'

‘But I don't see how that makes everything your fault.'

‘Kat was the smart one, she was gonna be a doctor, but I was more interested in having a good time with my mates and stuff. Anyway, I didn't want to spend my whole life in a library, I wanted to be out, actually doin' stuff. That's why I dropped out and got a job in a nursery.'

‘You mean with babies?'

‘Babies?' Vinnie looked at Helen as though she'd gone mad.

‘The nursery.'

‘Ah, no.' He laughed. ‘Plants. Natives, mainly. A plant nursery.'

Now Helen laughed too.

‘So you work with plants. What's wrong with that?'

‘Nothin', far as I'm concerned. I love it – getting my hands dirty, workin' in the sun. You know where you are with plants. Dad didn't like it though. Thought I was chucking my life away. He reckoned that he'd slaved to make sure that Kat and I would never have to do something like work in a nursery. That was what he said. So when Kat died, and he was left with me, well . . .'

For a long time the two sat still and silent. Helen shot small glances at the boy hunched beside her, wondering how much of the damage from that accident was on the inside.

‘Vinnie?'

‘Yeah?'

‘We'll probably be heading back to town tomorrow. You want a lift?'

He looked at her. ‘Nah. I think I'll hang here for a little longer. Thanks.'

‘You can't hide forever, you know.'

‘I know. But I can't go back, either. Not yet.'

‘It is not mattering anyway, I am afraid.' Both turned, startled to see the old doctor standing in the shadows only a few metres away. ‘The only place we will be going tomorrow is back up the hill to the camp.'

‘Grandad . . .' Helen started to interrupt, but he silenced her with a wave.

‘We will be paying one more visit, and Vincent' – he focused his stare again on Vinnie – ‘we will be needing your assistance, if that is possible.'

PART TWO

1943–1946

Twelve

October 1943

‘Tell me about your family.'

Erich looked sharply at Alice. ‘Why?'

‘I'm interested, that's all. I want to know if you're really all that different.'

‘Different?'

‘From me. From the rest of us.'

‘Who is “us”?'

‘Australians.'

A few metres away on the other side of the fence the forest steamed gently in the warmth of the sunshine. For three days spring rains had soaked the tangled undergrowth, and earlier that afternoon the sun had finally broken through. At the doctor's suggestion Erich had grabbed the opportunity to escape the confines of the hospital and go for a quick walk to stretch his legs. To his discomfort, Alice had immediately volunteered to join him.

‘It is not necessary, I will only be a short time.'

‘Don't be silly. I want to get some fresh air as well.'

‘I'm sure it won't kill you to have a little company, Erich.' Doctor Alexander hadn't even looked up from his notes. ‘Be back in fifteen minutes, please, both of you.'

But Erich was uncomfortable. In the fortnight since his discussion with Franz, he'd been avoiding the girl as much as possible. He'd met men like that guard Thomas before, and for once he agreed with Stutt. The man was unstable – dangerous. And Thomas had a gun.

‘Well?'

‘Excuse me?'

‘Your family?'

Erich looked away, into the forest. ‘They are not a subject I like to discuss.'

‘Why not?'

‘Because' – he paused, considering his answer carefully – ‘it is easier not to think about them.'

Alice stopped walking, a thought-crease wrinkling her forehead.

‘How can not thinking about your family be easier? Easier than what?'

‘Look at some of the pathetic men in here. They have no pride left, no hope of returning home with any honour as Germans. That is because all they do is mope about things that are impossible for them at the moment. Wives, lovers . . .'

Alice interrupted. ‘Are you saying that Günter is any less a soldier because he thinks about his wife?'

‘No, I am saying that . . .'

‘Because if you are, then you're sillier than I thought. Thinking about his wife – after you reminded him, I might add – was the only thing that saved his life. You of all people should realise that.'

‘That is different.'

‘How?'

‘Because Günter, he . . .'

The sentence trailed to silence. For a time the two stood in the pale afternoon, the muted scrapings and whisperings of the wet forest the only sounds.

‘I'm right, aren't I?'

Erich shrugged. ‘Perhaps.'

‘I am, you know.'

‘How can you be so certain?'

Alice started to walk again. ‘Grandfather let me read the letters that my Uncle Paul sent back from the last war. Letters to my grandmother, and to him.'

‘So?'

‘So when I read them there was something there, something between the words and the descriptions. I could tell that, even though he was so far away, every time he wrote down his thoughts, every time he told my grandmother how much he missed her cooking, every time he sent one of those letters, it seemed like a little bit of him came home with it, and after he was killed those little bits of him were all that my grandparents had to hold on to.'

Erich said nothing, uncomfortable at the emotion.

‘That's why you need to think of your family. That's why you need to keep yourself human. Because otherwise, if you don't, then you really are a soldier, nothing more, and I think that would be terrible. You might as well be a slave.'

For a long time the two young people continued their way in silence, accompanied only by the steady dripping of water off leaves onto undergrowth.

‘I have a sister.'

Alice looked at him. ‘Do you miss her?'

‘Of course. She didn't want me to join the army.'

‘So why did you still join?'

Erich considered the question carefully. ‘Because of my father. I wanted to prove to him . . .'

Erich stopped himself suddenly, almost caught. The relief of remembering had almost erased the need for caution.

‘Prove what?'

‘I am sorry. I cannot talk about him.'

‘Why ever not?'

The girl reached out and rested her hand lightly on Erich's arm. With the tingle of his flesh, he briefly recalled her touch when she had led him inside from the storm after Günter's operation.

‘You can tell me. You know that.'

Indecision flickered. He wanted to tell her. Every part of his mind was screaming out to him that he needed to tell her. Needed to let her in. He realised with shocking, sudden clarity just how lonely he was.

‘Whatever it is, it can't be that bad.' Alice watched him carefully.

‘It is not bad at all. It's different to bad.'

‘Different?'

‘
Ja
. My father is an honorable man. One of the most brave and intelligent I know.'

‘That's good, isn't it?'

Erich didn't answer, refusing to be drawn any further.

‘I think perhaps we should be getting back to the hospital. The doctor will be wondering what has happened to us.'

Erich started to turn, but Alice stopped him, increasing her grip on his arm. ‘You really don't like to talk about him, do you?'

‘I do not mean to be impolite, it is just that . . .'

‘Don't worry,' she interrupted, ‘you don't have to tell me anything.'

Suddenly angry, she pulled her hand back and strode away, ahead of him.

‘Alice . . .' It was the first time he had spoken her name, and he paused, tasting it, liking the way it came off his tongue. The girl turned.

‘Yes?'

‘I . . .' His English deserted him. She waited briefly for him to find the words and then as the rain started and the first drops splattered into the mud around them she turned again.

‘Come on, Erich. Let's get back to Grandfather.'

‘Alice, Erich. You were gone a little longer than I'd expected. It's almost time for us to go, but before we do, Erich, would you mind changing the dressings on Günter's leg for me?'

‘Of course, Doctor.'

Erich crossed to the bed and applied himself to the task silently and efficiently, his mind wandering.

‘What have you said to the lady, Youngster?' Günter's heavy German broke into Erich's thoughts.

‘Excuse me?' he replied, also in German.

‘The young lady, if I am not mistaken, is rather upset about something.'

‘You are mistaken.'

‘I do not think so.' Günter smiled and touched the side of his nose. ‘I am very good at spotting such things, you will find.'

At the far end of the hospital, Alice was seemingly engrossed in a novel.

‘I do not know what you are talking about.'

‘She is not reading that book.'

‘How would you know?'

‘From the way she is glaring at it. And by the fact that every time you look away she glares at you. Have you been upsetting the locals?'

‘Not at all. Now hold still.' Erich tugged at the loose end of the bandage, tightening it perhaps a little more than was strictly necessary. Günter didn't even flinch.

‘You should not take your bad temper out on a poor crippled soldier, young one.'

‘And you should mind your own business, or I will organise to take the other leg off also.'

Günter grinned. ‘At least then I will be a little more balanced. There was a visitor while you were on your walk.'

‘Who?'

‘A friend of yours. That guard.' Günter avoided saying the name, and Erich realised he was hiding the conversation from the two Australians.

‘What did he want? Trying to make more trouble for me?'

‘My English is not so good, as you know.' Günter winked. Over the last couple of weeks it had become apparent to Erich that Günter understood a great deal more than he let on. ‘But it seemed to me that he was not interested in you at all until he found out that you were out walking with your little friend over there.'

‘She is not my friend.'

‘The guard seems to think she is.'

‘What did he want with her?'

‘Who can tell?' Günter gestured with open palms. ‘The good doctor told him that the two of you were out for a few minutes, and then sent him to take paperwork over to the camp commandant's office. He was not too happy about that.'

‘What did he do?'

‘Tried to get out of it. He suggested that the job was below him, but, as you know, the doctor can be very persuasive.'

‘Nearly finished, Erich?' Doctor Alexander had locked the heavy cupboard at the end of the room that contained all the medicine and surgical implements. He shrugged on his coat and crossed to the bed. The old man bent to examine the freshly swathed stump. ‘A fine job, as usual. Alice and I will be off now. Will you be all right to finish cleaning up?'

Erich answered with a nod.

‘Fine, then. We'll see you in the morning. Goodnight, Günter.'

‘
Auf
Wiedersehen, Herr Doctor
.'

Alice passed Erich without saying a word, or even so much as a sideways glance, and as the door swung closed behind her Günter gave a low whistle.

‘You really have upset that girl, Youngster. What did she do to you?'

‘Nothing. She was just prying.'

‘Prying?'

‘Into things that are none of her business.'

Günter shook his head. ‘Youngster, where women are concerned, everything is their business. How about a cigarette?'

Erich went to a small sideboard near the stove, reached under it and extracted a crumpled packet from a small ledge hidden beneath. Removing a single cigarette, he handed it to Günter, who wrinkled his nose in distaste.

‘These pre-rolled ones are terrible. Are you sure you can't get me my tobacco?'

‘No. Doctor's orders.'

Günter smiled.

‘The old man is right, you know. You would make a very good physician. You have the demeanour for it.' The lit cigarette glowed in the dimness, and Erich set about sweeping the floor.

‘I have other plans.'

‘So I understand. You intend to follow your father up through the
Wehrmacht
, no?'

Erich froze. The words hung in the air.

‘What did you say?'

‘You heard me clearly enough, didn't you? You military types are all the same. How high up is your father? A general?'

‘I don't know what you are talking about.'

‘Don't fool yourself, Youngster. You carry your family with you everywhere. It's in the way you speak and walk, and Stutt is no idiot. He and every German in this camp knows who you really are, and you can bet that most of the Australians probably do too.'

Erich crossed to where Günter was lying back, one hand behind his head, exhaling thick smoke into the gloom. His eyes narrowed.

‘I think you need to be careful what rumours you spread about people, Günter. Some around here might think they are true.'

‘And I think it is time you were a little more honest with yourself, Youngster. Everyone here knows that the Nazis are losing their power, and they'll drag the army with them, even the careerists, the old military families like yours. Germany is suffering, Erich, and people like your father don't have a lot of time left.'

‘What would you know, cripple? My father is a patriot, a true German.' Erich's voice was low, anger underlying his words.

‘Probably. A lot of good soldiers are. But when the British win do you think that will make any difference?'

‘The British will be defeated in the end. Germany is winning the war.'

‘That is the official Nazi party line, true, but have you had any letters from home recently?'

Erich stared. ‘You know I haven't.'

Günter nodded. ‘
Ja
. Well, some of the men have and the Australians like to talk also, and let me tell you, Youngster, the war is going far from well for our
F
ü
hrer
. It is only a matter of time until he and all who support him, and probably many who don't, fall by the wayside, and then we can all go home again.'

There was no anger in Günter's voice, only an indefinable sadness that set Erich on edge.

‘What are you saying?'

The old soldier took another long draw on the cigarette and shook his head, exhaling slowly.

‘Nothing, Youngster. I am just rambling.'

‘No.' Erich pressed him. ‘You are trying to tell me something. What is it?'

Günter looked him directly in the eyes and the contact – not physical but emotional – was frightening.

‘Many things will be very different for a lot of us when we return home, Erich, but also for you.' He hesitated. ‘Especially for you. You would be wise, I think, to prepare yourself.'

‘For what?'

‘Your father will be dead, for one thing. There is a good chance that he already is, I imagine.'

‘How can you know that from all the way out here in this ugly forest?'

‘Common sense. The tide of the war has turned and we here, you and I, we are the lucky ones. It is only a matter of time until this whole sorry episode is consigned to history for us. But for men like your father, Erich, there can be little hope. Think about it. Hitler is going mad, that's what all the letters say. Launching insane campaigns, regardless of the cost in lives, and that's only going to get worse as the war progresses. And even if your father does, somehow, manage to survive the collapse, how long do you think it will be before the allies start to look for scapegoats? Someone to blame for the war? Career men, like your father, officers, will be the first targets. Can't you see that?'