Hannah & Emil (35 page)

‘Anything?'

‘No.'

‘Nothing?' she said quietly. ‘You couldn't be mistaken about what you saw?'

‘No. They must keep the maps in their clothes.'

‘Well, we cannot search them. It's not even as though we are enemies. Do you think they might have posted them home already?'

‘There has been no time since I saw them. I have done my best. The English don't deserve to be warned, I think.'

‘Don't say that. If they knew what was happening . . .'

‘They choose not to know. It might put them off their pudding. Go down. I will think for a moment. Perhaps there is something.'

Hans giggled at the end of the row of boys lined up along the towpath. Emil swung his cane under his arm as he walked one way along the line, and then the other. ‘Attention!' The boys smirked and trembled. He saw Hannah watching at the bedroom window, below her a group of children on the bridge pointing down at the spectacle on the towpath. ‘Important English tradition!' he shouted as he paraded before the boys, hiking stick tucked under his arm. Every now and then he tapped a boy's leg or arm with it to make him stand straighter. Hans at the far end of the row, smaller than the others, blonder, laughed until he was bent over. ‘All men to leave English shores must begin the journey by water!'

He had reached Hans. He handed him his stick, looked into his eyes until the boy stopped giggling, and stepped backwards into the river, fully clothed. He felt his clothes cling in the cold water, opened his eyes and a curled-up body shot down past him in a stream of bubbles, then more of them, the water a blur of bubbles and boys' peaceful faces, eyes closed, drifting back to the top. He surfaced to their shrieks and saw Hans, alone on the bank, waiting with the cane. He called up to him. ‘Come, Hans. The water is lovely.' The boy laid the cane carefully on the grass and jumped into the air, knees gathered up in his arms, his face open to the sky, enraptured. As Hans came splashing down almost on top of him, Emil moved to one side, the boy missing his head by a centimetre or two.

He trod water, Hans paddling furiously in front of him, watched the others shout and dunk each other, dark, sleek heads like otters, racing to the other bank while he bobbed in a private orbit around the head of his son, paler, catching the light. Hans filled his cheeks with river water and floated on his back, spouted like a whale. The Germans' shirts ballooned behind them. There would be no time now to put their clothes through the mangle before they caught their train. He thought of the damp, mildewy parcels they would hand their mothers at the other end of their journey. The ruined papers in the pockets. How they would disintegrate along the folds, come apart in the women's hands.

The boy was quiet, in a mood Emil did not recognise. Perhaps he was overwhelmed by the crowd at Waterloo, on the tube. He was not used to large cities, though they had changed trains in London before, when he first arrived in England. Emil took hold of his hand as they hurried down the long escalator, the wind rushing up from the tunnel as a train approached. The boy withdrew it. ‘I'm not six anymore, Papa.' Emil looked at him, but his face was set on his destination below.

Walking through the quiet streets of Hampstead, Hans said at last: ‘Mama did not mention this.'

‘I asked her not to ruin the surprise.' He felt for the key in his pocket. He knew that Hannah's mother was away in Wales, but hoped that Benjamin or Geoffrey were home. He would rather surprise them on their doorstep than have them come home late and find a boy asleep in one of their beds.

He thought he would take him through the heath and go in the back door. It was like something from a story, that house, in its row of different-sized English terraced houses all looking over the pond.

‘Where are we going?' the boy asked as they set off into the long grass that led around the water. It was midsummer and there were children rowing, splashing their oars.

‘Shhh. Surprise.'

‘Can we go out in one of those boats tomorrow?'

‘We can go tonight, when everyone's asleep.'

‘Really?'

‘Why not?'

They pushed through the overgrown path. As Emil stepped over the low wall into the garden, Hans took his hand and pulled him back. ‘Papa!'

He turned and smiled. ‘What?'

‘You cannot go into the rich people's garden.'

‘Ah . . . but we know these people, and they're not really rich.'

At the French windows, Emil cupped a hand over his eyes and peered into the dining room. Geoffrey was there at the table, his long back hunched over some papers. Emil fished in his pocket for a coin and rapped on the glass.

Geoffrey peered at him, saw the boy, came towards them and opened the door. ‘Bloody hell, Emil. Last person I expected to see.'

Hans loitered at Emil's back. ‘Come on, Hans. Have a guess who this is.' Hans stared solemnly. ‘Can't you guess?'

Geoffrey thrust down a hand. ‘Pleased to meet you. Geoffrey Jacob, at your service.'

Hans looked up at his father. ‘Jacob?'

‘Yes, it is Hannah's little brother, believe it or not. Can we come in?'

Geoffrey took a lunge backwards. ‘Of course, of course. Is my sister not with you?' Emil gave a slight shake of his head, caught his eye. ‘Do you want to have a look around the house?' Geoffrey asked Hans. ‘There were fairies in the attic last time I looked.'

Emil translated for him.

‘Only little girls believe in fairies,' he told his father.

Geoffrey laughed, answered in German. ‘You are too quick for me. See if you can find my brother's flying trophies. We'll hide them. It makes him crazy.'

‘Your brother is a pilot?'

‘He'll be back soon. He'll tell you all about it, for hours and hours.'

‘Better find them before he gets here,' Emil said. ‘Go on, see where they are. He hides them in a new place every time.'

He went along the corridor to the stairs. They heard his shoes going up slowly. ‘What's going on?' Geoffrey said, in English now, because Emil had always insisted. ‘Where's Hannah?'

‘She doesn't know we're here.'

‘Jesus H. Why not?'

‘We left without telling anyone. His mother's taking him back to Germany next week. Nothing I say can change her mind. I just need time to think. Somewhere safe.'

‘Mother's back Monday. And Benjamin's around this weekend. He could go either way.'

‘If you could just keep it all quiet, until we've gone, help Hans not to worry.'

‘You're going to have to tell him what you're doing at some point.' Emil watched his face for a sign of what he would do. The landing creaked above them. Geoffrey put his fingers through his hair. ‘I do have friends though. People who might sympathise with your situation. Let me think about it. We can talk about it in the morning.'

‘Thank you, Geoffrey. I know this is a strange thing. I have to make a plan. Then I will tell Hannah, and Ava. I need to make a plan first.'

He stood at the window in Hannah's room, the layers of the park—the water, the rows of trees, the hills—shades of deep blue. In another ten minutes it would be dark and it would all disappear. Down on the pond in a rowing boat was Hans, laughing as though he would hurt himself. Facing away from him was Benjamin, in his uniform, his hat on the boy's head. He could not hear what Benjamin was saying but his head was moving around, as though he were pulling faces. He was glad Hans liked him. He was still a little wary of Geoffrey, with his big, gloomy eyes and worried mouth. The telephone rang in the downstairs hall. The ring went through him like the sounding of a raid. Don't pick it up, he thought. I need time to think.

The ringing stopped and he heard Geoffrey's voice, quiet, muffled by the door between them. ‘Yes they are, but you mustn't tell her yet.'

He heard her voice, tinny in the receiver, from the top of the stairs. She must be shouting.

‘I am only telling you so you don't call the police. If you must tell her something, tell her only that he has been in touch with friends, that they are safe. I don't want her beating my door down.' Another pause. He cut her off. ‘You say this as though I had something to do with it. Keep her calm until morning. I'll see if he'll ring you then.' He replaced the receiver, looked up the stairs, gave Emil a weary shake of the head, and went out.

In the night he woke, rose stiffly from the sofa and went upstairs to check on the boy, asleep in Hannah's room. It took a few seconds for his eyes to adjust to the dark as he stood at the door, and he felt that his heart had stopped as he saw that the bed was empty. He made himself move forward into the room to put his hand on the bed, to be sure, and tripped against something on the floor, a bony leg. ‘Hans?'

‘Yes, Papa.' He had not been asleep.

‘What are you doing on the floor? Why are you not in the bed?'

‘I thought—it might not be clean.'

Emil was kneeling next to him, finding his shoulder with his hand. ‘What do you mean?' He was still confused from sleep, from the dream. Is that what he had said? That the bed would not be clean?

‘I saw some things, in the old woman's room.'

‘In Hannah's mother's room? What do you mean? When were you in there?' He felt ill, short of breath.

‘When Geoffrey sent me to look for the trophies. There was a funny bible. And photographs of old people. There was one of those rabbis.'

‘What of it, Hans? Why are you sleeping on the floor instead of in a perfectly good bed?'

‘Father,' he whispered, shifting against him on the floor, ‘they are really Jews! We should not even be here.'

He reached forward, thrust his hands into Hans's armpits, lifted him clear of the blankets, set him heavily on the bed. He could just about see his face, big-eyed, staring at him. ‘There is nothing wrong with being Jewish,' he made himself say in a harsh whisper. He wanted to strike the boy across the face, hard enough for him to remember. ‘These are people, good people, that is all. Don't ever listen to anyone say those things. You are much too clever for this. Any one of these people would do anything to help you. Anything you needed they would give to you in a second. That is what you must always remember. Promise me. Always.'