Authors: K.C. Finn
Tags: #young adult, #historical, #wwii, #historical romance, #ww2, #ya, #europe, #telepathic, #clean teen publishing, #kc finn
The Mind's Eye (10 page)
“
Hello?” he said aloud, sucking on his now-sore
finger.
I’m so sorry
, I answered,
I didn’t mean to startle you
.
“
No harm done,” he answered with his finger still at his lips,
“I had begun to think you were something in my
imagination.”
I had to rest my mind before I could come
back
, I explained,
but they’re reporting on the occupation here, I wanted to
make sure you were all right.
“
You did?”
sort of warm suddenly. I was grateful that he wasn’t able to see
the blush that might have crept into my cheeks at his words.
I don’t know how long we have to speak
, I thought, avoiding his question.
“
Then tell me your name,” Henri prodded, setting down his
tailor’s tools.
Cavendish.
“
Kit,” he repeated in his rich voice.
How old are you?
I asked.
“
Seventeen,” he answered, “And you?”
An awkward moment settled on me.
Well, I’ll be sixteen in June.
“
So you’re fifteen,” he corrected with a laugh hitched in his
throat. I could feel his merriment rising slowly.
you? Are you a tailor?
“
Something like that,” Henri replied. He looked up around the
room again to make sure no-one had come in. “I was an apprentice,
but all the older men fled north to escape before the invasion, so
now I am the only boy left. This is Mr Hoffman’s building, the
clothing shop is downstairs.” He paused a moment, scratching his
chin. “Can you see everything I see?”
Yes
, I answered,
whatever you look at, I can see it too.
suddenly went black.
“
What can you see now?” Henri asked. I could feel a smile
growing on his face.
You’ve closed your eyes, haven’t you?
I answered.
opening them again. Then he held up his hand in front of his face,
still chuckling.
“
How many fingers?” he demanded.
Five, four, none, two.
I followed
his movements and answered as quickly as he made them.
“
This is amazing,” he remarked, shaking his head. He looked
down at himself, revealing a brown waistcoat over a black shirt.
“So what am I wearing?” he tested again.
to answer when a sharp banging sound alerted us both. Henri snapped
his gaze to the door where we both saw the horrific sight of big
black boots kicking it open and marching into the room. A tall man
with curly black hair stepped in wearing the German uniform. He had
a thick moustache that emphasized his sneering lip as he approached
Henri in the centre of the room. A half dozen more soldiers in
their circular helmets followed him inside, gathering around the
great dark man like a pack of wolves. Henri got to his feet as the
German approached; all his merriment from a moment since was
gone.
“
You speak English, boy?” demanded the German. He was carrying
some kind of officer’s hat under his arm.
“
Yes sir,” Henri answered, his usually deep voice quivering a
little, “I have a teacher. I am a student of Mr
Bavistock.”
The sneer turned into a horrid yellow grin under that huge
ugly moustache. “Ah yes. He is an Englishman, no?” the German
asked. Henri didn’t reply; I could feel his muscles tensing. “We
are…
talking
with
him, at the moment.”
pretty good idea of what he meant having seen the awful newsreel.
That poor teacher would be one of the people dragged out of their
lives by the grey-green uniformed mass of invaders. Henri stood
firm, his face reactionless. The German’s dark eyes scanned the
empty room.
“
Who were you talking to just now?” he demanded.
“
Nobody sir,” Henri stammered, his stoicism starting to fail,
“I was practising my English. I always practice out loud when I am
alone. It is good for pronunciation.” All the words came tumbling
out in a nervous mess; I could feel his heart starting to thump in
his ears, his blood rushing in anxious circuits to flush into his
face. He felt hot suddenly, his breath was sharp.
barked something in German at his men, who then descended on the
room, overturning huge piles of fabric, clothes, patterns, even
machinery. They hurricaned through the large, empty room in pairs,
uprooting everything in sight. Henri spun on the spot as he watched
them until his focus came back to their superior. It was then that
I noticed the officer’s great hairy hands folded in front of him
and the clipped cigar perched in his pocket ready to be lit. I
recognised them all too well, horrified to look into the ugly, dark
face and realise I had been inside the mind attached to it.
“
Just a little inspection,” the officer explained with a
horrible smile, “it is within the law.”
“
Whose law?” Henri asked. He seemed shocked with himself for
even asking it.
“
Your law, by next week,” the officer answered, “things are
about to change around here, Herr…?”
“
Haugen,” Henri answered, “Henri Haugen.”
approached with definite strides of his huge boots. He was at least
half a foot taller than Henri, his dark eyes boring down on him. He
took Henri’s chin in his hairy hand roughly; I felt the force as
though he’d grabbed me too. The German’s yellow teeth were bared in
another wicked grin.
“
We could use some boys like you who know their English well,”
he mused cruelly.
shaking, but the fire of his anger and injustice had returned. He
took the German’s hand away from his face by force, stepping out of
his reach and back behind his table.
“
I will not help the Nazi swine,” he spat.
“
You insolent little cur!” The German was instantly enraged,
his hairy hands balling into fists as though he might swing for
Henri any moment. I feared him, though Henri was now more angry
than frightened, but a thought occurred to me as I recalled my
previous encounter with the pig-headed officer. He was afraid of
someone too.
say what I say exactly.
“
Officer,” Henri began as I fed him the words, “I hope you
will not consider doing anything outside of your orders here today.
I’m sure you weren’t ordered to harm civilians. The
Generalfeldmarschall might hear of it if you do.”
German stopped in his tracks, a flicker of hesitation crossing his
furious dark eyes. I knew the man’s fear of his general, I had felt
his heart thump in his chest just like Henri’s and mine did right
now.
“
Watch your tongue in future, Herr Haugen.”
barked at his soldiers again and they stopped their rampage of the
store room, leaving everything in a mess as they followed their
commander swiftly from the scene. Henri waited several long moments
as we listened to them descending the stairs. He went to the
window, watching until the little troop of jackboots had marched
off into the street, then let out a huge relieved sigh.
“
You saved me there,” he told me in the empty, wrecked room,
“Sometimes I do not think before I speak.”
What you said was very brave
, I
replied. I felt the heat of pride building in Henri’s chest.
But he might have given you a beating for
it.
“
Yes,” he agreed, “I’ll have to learn how to manage with these
dogs in command.” Henri walked to the smallest of the piles of
upturned fabric and began to right them. “I expect Mr Hoffman will
be up in a moment to inspect the damage.”
I’ll go then
, I began, feeling the
store room start to blur even as I said it.
“
But you’ll come back?” Henri asked. His voice was level, but
there was something much more hopeful in the way he hitched his
breath, awaiting my answer.
Of course
, I replied. He let out the
air he was holding in.
“
Good,” he answered, smiling, “I might need you to save me
again.”
I expect you will.
The room started
to flicker in and out of view. I could feel myself smiling
too.
“
I’m alone at this time almost every day,” Henri
offered.
shiver in my back caught my attention and I focused hard for one
last moment to feel that smile on his face.
We’ll speak soon then
, I promised.
And suddenly Norway was gone.
“
What’s wrong with you?” Blod demanded in a whisper as my
hands dropped away from my face. She nudged me hard in my shoulder
until my eyes refocused and I remembered where I was and what I was
supposed to be doing.
“
Oh, I had a headache,” I answered all too loudly. Someone
behind shushed me.
“
Oh shut your face,” Blod snapped at the disgruntled person
before turning back to me, “You’ve missed half the film. Look don’t
let Mam see you feeling ill. I’m enjoying this film and I don’t
want to have to go home ‘cause of you.”
“
Right, sorry,” I answered quietly.
back to looking at the screen, placated. I too turned my attention
to it for the first time. It was a war film, something about heroes
and romance. A handsome blonde-haired chap in a pilot’s uniform was
wrapping some girl up in his arms, promising her that he’d return
someday. The girl had dark ringlets blowing in the wind. She looked
up at him with a loving smile and answered: “Til we meet
again”.
Somewhere, in
the back of my mind, I had a tiny thought that that would have been
a good thing to say to Henri.
“
Miss Cavendish, please,” Doctor Bickerstaff said from the
door of his office.
from the warm little waiting room, noticing immediately that he
wasn’t coming over to wheel me in. I looked down at my gloved hands
and grimaced. This was yet another of his little tests, I knew. I
pulled hard on the wheels of my chair until I made it to his door,
but there was a bump where the carpet met the lino that I couldn’t
get over. I struggled determinedly until my skinny biceps burned
and tears came unbidden to the corners of my eyes, at which point
Bickerstaff rolled his big blue eyes and pushed me over the
threshold and up to his desk in a snap.
“
Poor progress,” he sighed as he came to stand in front of me,
“Let’s see if your legs are any better than your arms.”
checking on me every couple of weeks for improvements and I knew
the drill well enough by now. I could set my feet down with a lot
more purpose than when I first met the cold, clinical physician,
but the part where I had to actually stand on them always ended the
same way. I resented the fact that he always had to help me back
into my chair when my knees collapsed under the strain. This time I
hauled myself up more slowly than before, trying to lock the joints
into a stronger position. It was a good idea in theory, except that
as soon as I was standing I felt as though my knee caps had been
replaced by two nervous jellyfish.
Bickerstaff
held out his hands, palms up. “Lean some weight on me,” he
instructed.
This was new.
I took his too-clean hands, happy that he’d have to hold onto the
dirty palms of my gloves, and pressed into them.
“
Too much,” he said immediately, “Take some weight back and
try to balance. Don’t depend on me.”
“
I wouldn’t,” I answered. It took me a moment to realise I’d
said it out loud, but Bickerstaff didn’t look offended, in fact he
was far too preoccupied in looking at my feet to even hear
me.
standing. It had been perhaps thirty seconds, which I thought was
longer than any of my other attempts, and my feet were planted
firm. The jellyfish sensation in my knees was definitely present,
but the more pressure I put into Bickerstaff’s grip the less I felt
the nervous twinge. It didn’t feel like they were going to give way
for quite some time. I smiled in spite of the vile company and it
was just my luck that the doctor chose that moment to look up at my
face. He gave me a smug look.
“
Shall we try taking a step?” he asked.