Horizon (11 page)

“If they were Germans, and you called Peter down here so that they could see him...” Frau Schichtl began. “Paul, how could you!”

“He didn’t talk English, Frieda. In fact, he gave a good imitation of old Schroffenegger’s style of conversation.”

Lennox grinned self-consciously. He had often watched Josef Schroffenegger, one of the Committee men who came up to visit Frau Schichtl on Saturdays, with a good deal of amusement. Now that he considered it, he had given a sizable imitation of the old warrior.

“What else could I have done, Frieda?” Mahlknecht went
on. “I had to know if these men were real Americans. It was logical to believe that Peter would know more about judging them than we do. He has fought and lived beside them. And our risk did work. He did find out.”

“Then they will blame him.”

“No. I took care to do all the deciding. It is I whom they will blame. Anyway, all they can report is that we refused to help American flyers.”

Lennox said, “Won’t the Germans expect us to report these flyers?”

Mahlknecht smiled. “That is a good idea,” he said. “But perhaps it is too good. The Germans might begin to wonder why we were suddenly so helpful. The only informers they have found are people like Mussner, and the Germans know them all. From the rest of us, they may not expect actual trouble, but they have learned this winter not to expect help either. They think we are a slow, pig-headed, selfish lot of peasants. They think we are inefficient and lazy. Unbiddable thickheads. No, we don’t have to worry about reporting to the Germans. It would seem out of character.” He smiled again, encouragingly, as he watched the younger man’s face. “It was a good idea, well worth suggesting,” Mahlknecht added. “We would have used it, if the Germans weren’t so convinced that people fall into rigid classifications.”

Frau Schichtl wasn’t listening to this explanation. She was still worrying about two particular Germans. She asked impatiently, “So you sent Johann to warn the Committee? Do you think there will be more trouble?”

“We shall have to keep our eyes open. For if the Germans chose this house for their trick then they had some suspicion.”

“Suspicion.” The cold word set Frau Schichtl’s face into a mask.

“Yes. Kasal’s farm would have been a better place to find food or to hide. A farm has always more food than a cottage; it has outbuildings and barns. Yet they chose this house.”

Frau Schichtl was silent. And then, looking at Lennox, she said, “What about Peter?”

Mahlknecht walked over to the window. “Roads are bad,” he said, “but this part of the hillside always did trap most water. Can’t judge by it. Most roads will be drying up by another week, and there are some parts of the woods that are passable even now. Schönau, for instance. I think Schroffenegger’s lumber camp at Schönau will have to open early this spring. Schroffenegger has got his men all selected for it: we can trust each one of them. Peter will join them there. Ever cut down trees, Peter?” Lennox shook his head.

“Good for you. Gives you exercise. Makes you fit.”

They heard Johann’s cheery whistle. He came in with high good humour. “Everything’s all right,” he said. “They must have been Germans. Didn’t try any other houses. I saw all the local Committee, and they are keeping watch.”

“You didn’t see that Mussner girl, did you?” Frau Schichtl said.

Johann’s smile faded. “What’s she got to do with the two flyers?” he asked, defensively.

“Frieda, let me deal with this my way,” Mahlknecht said, almost sharply. “Come on, Johann, lend us a hand with the scrubbing of this floor. You came just in time to help us clean it up. Your mother can start cooking dinner. We’ll have it early, today. There’s a lot of talking to be done, tonight.”

Frau Schichtl’s hands went to her mouth. “I almost forgot,” she said. “The Committee is coming up here this evening.”

“And tomorrow at dawn there is the spring festival in Hinterwald.” Mahlknecht looked thoughtfully at his sister. “I wonder if the Germans timed their interest in our village just to coincide with our feast-day. They know the people from miles around will be coming to Hinterwald tomorrow.”

“Rubbish,” Frau Schichtl said. “It is just the Germans being Germans. They always were too officious. They like making regulations and rules.” She was tying on her large white apron over the small silk one which was part of her dress. She began to measure a meagre quantity of flour into the large mixing-bowl for the soup’s dumplings.

“Not so much rubbish,” Mahlknecht said quietly. “You don’t like the Germans, Frieda, but you don’t know how they work. They’ve done things you couldn’t believe just because you have lived among normal people most of your life. I am willing to wager that they chose our feast-day for some reason. They know that everyone will be there. They will have us all gathered together like a flock of sheep.”

“A feast-day is a holy day,” Frau Schichtl said. “Only heathens would cause trouble then.” Her voice was indignant. Her hands kneaded the dough vigorously.

Mahlknecht shrugged his shoulders. “I can feel the screw going on,” he said quietly. “That’s all.”

“I wonder just how much suspicion they have,” Lennox said. “They may have discovered that there is active opposition here, even if it is hidden.”

“Perhaps,” admitted Mahlknecht. “And perhaps it is only the news which is worrying them.”

“What news?” Lennox asked. For the last two nights it had been impossible to hear Allied broadcasts. There had been atmospherics and much interference. “What news?”

“The Brenner railway has been bombed. There has been a very thorough job. I left Bozen in flames two days ago. The German supply system has been wrecked. And the Allied push into Italy has begun.”

Frau Schichtl stopped her work. She stared unbelievingly at her brother.

It’s begun, Lennox kept thinking; at last it has begun. He said, “And no one has yet come here. The colonel didn’t get through.”

“On the contrary, he did. He sent some men to see me in Bozen. We have our plans all made, don’t worry about that.”

“And what about the men who were coming here?”

“They are coming. Any day now. Why the devil did you think I came to Hinterwald? Why the devil did I nearly break my neck this morning getting down those stairs?” Mahlknecht halted, looked at his sister and Lennox. “What’s wrong with both of you?” he demanded. “Jumpy as a couple of cats. Filled with worries. Don’t you trust me or our Allies? What do you think we are, anyway? A bunch of newly born lambs?”

Lennox smiled at that. “We’ve stopped worrying,” he said. “If things have really started moving then we’ve stopped worrying. We’ll have plenty to do instead.”

Frau Schichtl was smiling too. “It’s begun,” she said happily. And then the smile vanished. She brushed some flour off her forearm. “I am glad. I am glad and I’m sorry. Sorry for the men who will die.” She looked as if she were going to cry again. She began pummelling the small handfuls of dough as if they
were Germans. “Why couldn’t they leave everyone alone? Why couldn’t they stay in their Germany? What’s wrong with them?” Her voice was angry now. She slapped the dumplings into the pot of thin soup. “And I’ve probably ruined these. I’ve probably put in salt twice over.” She suddenly hurried out of the kitchen and climbed the stairs to her room.

Mahlknecht ignored all this, although his face was grave as he gave Lennox his answer.

“Plenty to do,” he said briefly, and turned to look out of the window at the green fields.

Lennox woke to hear the first “
Juch-hé!
” coming down the mountainside. Today, he remembered, was Hinterwald’s feast-day. He lay under the thin padded quilt, feeling the cold morning air strike round his ears. Again a “
Juch-hé!
” sounded, and again. The last one was long-drawn-out, with the accent on the “
Juch—
,” while the last syllable fell gradually away. The groups of men, women, and children, making their way towards Hinterwald, were silent once more. Now there was only the deep peace of the darkness before dawn.

“Damned fools,” he said, but he was smiling. He tried it. There was something merry and high-spirited about the yodelled call. It meant nothing except that the man who called it, with his hands cupped round his lips, was feeling in good form. “You’re a damned fool too,” he told himself. And then he laughed. It was difficult this morning to work up his usual awakening gloom.

But then, last night had been a good night. The Committee had met—the hatchet-faced old men, the serious grim-eyed boys, talking of freedom. Freedom made good talk. Last night it had been especially good. For the news from Italy had wakened hope, and the winter plans were alive at last. Lennox, sitting quietly back in his usual corner, had watched with increasing interest the quickening faces around him. He had seen them before, never all at once but in various groups of two or three. Now the eleven men (three from this district, the others from more distant parts of the Schlern) had come together. Openly, their reason was the feast of St. Johann, with its early mass in the morning, to which all the friends and relatives of the people of Hinterwald would come. Secretly, their purpose was a final meeting—with Paul Mahlknecht here from Bozen to give the latest report on anti-German organisations—before the men scattered into the forests and on to mountain alps for the summer.

And Mahlknecht had brought encouraging news. Contact with the Allies had been made; the Committee’s plans had been accepted. The band of prisoners from the camp above Bozen had fought their way through to the Allied lines, and Colonel Wayne, who had talked with Mahlknecht last September, was one of those who were still alive. His report had interested Allied Headquarters, and they had sent three men secretly to Bozen. There, in February, they had met Mahlknecht and some of his friends. They had listened and they had questioned. Then they had left Bozen, to make their way back to the Allies. In April one of them returned with fuller instructions. He was working in Bozen, now, along with the Committee of that district. Besides his instructions, he had brought the news that
as soon as the snows melted on the high meadows two men would arrive on the Schlern. They were coming to help to prepare the way for still more Allies to come.

The Tyrolese listened with scarcely a flicker of emotion over their wind-tanned, hard-boned faces. Lennox knew them well enough now not to be deceived by such calm. His respect for them grew as he watched.

For one thing, he had gradually become more convinced during this long waiting winter of the worth of Mahlknecht’s plans. At first he had been cynical; now he believed that they contained the germ of real help. For when the Allied armies drew near the difficult mountains of the South Tyrol—mountains which made South Italian peaks look like molehills—they would find people who were not only willing but ready to help. There was a list of men and women who could be completely trusted, a list of those who were neutral, a shorter but definite list of those who were enemies. They would find guides who could lead them over little known mountain paths in infiltration movements and surprise attacks on German set positions. They would find women who would shelter the wounded; people who had measured their food-supplies so that there would be enough; villages which could be responsible for order; men who would fight dependably and teach the tricks of the mountains. Practical help like that was something the Allied soldier could appreciate. When civilians didn’t malinger or cheat a soldier could get ahead with his job of fighting. That was all a soldier wanted.

For another thing, there was a broader possibility to Mahlknecht’s plans. Last night Lennox had suddenly seen it. In his excitement he forgot all about his old dislike of responsibility.
Perhaps the incident with the two pseudo-airmen had proved that there was a difference between taking responsibility and mere self-assertion. Anyway, he had risen to his feet and made a speech.

“These ideas are good,” he had begun. “Why don’t you spread them across the Brenner Pass into the North Tyrol? The people there are of your blood; they could be organised as you are organising yourselves. They would listen to you. If our troops are to make quick progress they must find a population that is willing to help. They must find order, no politics being played, no nuisance refugees, and no mean profiteering at their expense. An army doesn’t want volunteer recruits who haven’t been trained in its way. Its striking power depends on being a single trained unit. But it does need people who will really help, and make themselves as little of a worry as possible. It needs people who will be dependable guides, people who will give accurate information, people who will use the supplies we send them to sabotage the right place at the right moment. If the North Tyrol will agree to that then you will have won us a battle. Remember that the North Tyrol borders Bavaria. And Bavaria is the back door into Germany.”

That, Lennox decided as he lay under the quilt’s warmth and watched the sky lighten into a cold grey, had been quite a speech. It had sort of overpowered him at the end. He had begun with a plea for wider help and had ended with the key to Germany’s back door. It had sounded all right last night. And the Committee’s reaction had been flattering: already the men, who could travel into the North Tyrol in small groups of two of three, were being chosen to make contact with anti-Nazi groups there. As Mahlknecht had said, plans north and south
of the Brenner Pass could be co-ordinated: the Tyrol would be united once again. But, Lennox wondered as he watched the long streaks of yellow light split up the grey sky outside, did it sound so well this morning? For a man who had been in revolt against authority for so many years of his life, he had certainly gone off the deep end. The Committee’s plans were already broadening to suit his idea: and on whose authority had he spoken? On his own. “By God,” he said, suddenly subdued.

And then he wondered just for how many weeks the idea had been simmering in a secret place of his mind. Last night it had boiled over.

Again the call of “
Juch-hé!
” sounded. This time it was near. A group of people must be coming down past this house. He rose quickly and went to the window. Day had fully broken. The birds were wide awake and chattering. The pine forest was a mass of black-pointed shapes with golden high-lights. The five lean cows were walking, in leisurely single file, out from the Kasal barn. The thin notes of the bells round their dun-coloured necks jangled in broken rhythm. The Kasal family, dressed in their very best clothes, were standing stiffly at the doorway of their house. They were looking towards the pine forest, waiting for those who were walking into the village.