Hunger Journeys (16 page)

“I’m sorry, Lena. I—” Sofie muttered.

“Shhh,” Lena hissed back. “I think they’re watching.”

Lena heard, rather than saw, the door open and booted feet descend the steps. Did a pair of those feet belong to the officer? She waited until she could see the two sets of black boots lined up in front of them. Then she raised her head.

A man she had never seen before in her life looked back at her.

She started visibly, and the man’s lip twitched in what looked like disgust. He was seeing the fear in her, not the relief.

He turned his attention to Albert.

Albert’s face was white, and he could not keep the tremor out of his voice. “I … I saw them in Utrecht, sir. They’re just Dutch girls. They … they’re going to an aunt in Almelo. They’re not traitors or … or Jews, sir.”

On the last word he stopped, and his chin snapped up and he met the man’s eyes for the first time.

He’s afraid for his life, Lena thought, her own fear creeping back into her belly and down her arms and her legs. If we were Jews, they might well take him down into the fields and shoot him on the spot. Us too. Will they believe that we are not?

The door to the car the sergeant-major had come from stood open, and he seemed to have trouble keeping his eyes on the three young people in front of him. His face was drawn and his fingers would not stay still. At last he turned his gaze on the stern man, who stood at attention off to one side.

“I have more pressing concerns than how my men entertain themselves,” he said. Now he looked at Albert and glanced at Lena and Sofie in turn. “I simply don’t care about young men’s urges.” He looked more intently at Albert and the stern man. “I care about getting my train, cargo and all, back to my country, whether or not that country is in ruins. Now, all of you, get the hell out of here.”

“Yes, sir,” the stern man said smartly. Lena tried to hear anger and resentment in his voice, but all she heard was obedience. Perhaps he’s saving his resentment for people who will give him more satisfaction, she thought. Like me, she added to herself and shivered.

He marched off, leaving Albert to escort his charges back to their makeshift home. As they were walking away, the sergeant-major said, loudly enough for all to hear, “We’re going to hell anyway, girls or no girls.” Lena looked back over her shoulder in time to see him shrug and step back up into the car.

Albert hustled them along, his usual warmth gone for the moment. “How did they find you?” he said. “Did they come into the car? Did they hurt you?”

“It was me,” Sofie said quickly. “I heard them outside, and I slid the door open a crack and peeked.” She paused. “I guess they saw me.”

A young man lingered outside their car. Albert stopped two cars short. “You guess they saw you?”

“How could you do that?” Lena said. “You could have got us killed.”

“Or worse,” Albert said, as if to himself.

The young man was striding toward them, his arms swinging. He grinned at Albert. “Don’t you think you’re being a bit selfish, man?” he said.

“Selfish, Ulrich?”

“There’s only one of you. Why do you need two of them, when the rest of us have none?”

A chill settled in Lena’s gut. Did all men talk about women in this way?

Hours had passed since their journey to the end of the train. Albert had brought food to eat and warm water to drink. Then he had left them.

Now it was early afternoon, and Lena was in the car alone. She had arranged the straw so it made a cozy nest but let in stripes of light through two wide gaps in the wood. She was huddled, coat buttoned to her neck, hat pulled down over her forehead, sunshine on her face, trying to warm herself, and trying not to think about what Sofie had done. Sofie had gone off with that young man, Ulrich. And good riddance, Lena thought.

She heard a scrabbling outside and turned to see Albert hoist himself into view with one hand, his other hand behind his back. She stared at him. He came into the car and stood looking down at her for a moment. Then he gave a small smile and sank onto one knee. Lena shifted backwards, more deeply into the straw, and found herself contemplating a trio of tiny white flowers that hung gleaming from their stalks. He held them out to her as if they were jewels.

It seemed impossible. Flowers here. Now.

“Flowers? In February?” she breathed. “There’s snow on the ground!”

“Snowdrops,” he said.

She took them from him, holding them gently between her thumb and forefinger.

“They are so delicate,” she breathed.

“Come,” Albert said. “The woods are beautiful today. Let us go for a walk.”

Lena knew she should not go for a walk in the woods. She should not spend time with Albert alone.

But when he asked her, in the midst of her joy over the
flowers, their shared experience of something so beautiful, she said, simply, “Yes.”

The stubbly field stretched into the distance on the north side of the train, but the two of them slipped between two cars to the southern side, where the sun hit full on, using the leafless trees to cast delicate patterns on the snow, their branches perfectly still on the windless day. It was exquisite. Lena shivered despite the sun, and Albert went to wrap an arm around her. She flinched.

“No, Albert! Don’t you understand? You mustn’t touch me. It isn’t right.”

He slipped his heavy coat from his own shoulders and draped it over Lena’s. It was as if he had passed his body’s warmth to her. Her hands pulled the front of the coat together, tighter around her. If anyone saw, what would they think? No need to ask that question. The coat was a part of the man. His heat was on her. Was this a small taste of what it was like to be held by a man, to lie with his arms around her? Lena walked forward, her eyes half closed. To feel the whole length of his body … Her foot cracked through the icy surface of the snow, and she stumbled. What was she doing imagining such things in this man’s coat and him right behind her, watching her?

Lena shrugged the coat off and held it out in her arms. “Thank you, Albert. I’m quite warm now,” she said.

His teeth were chattering violently, and he took the coat without argument. “Come,” he said. “The snow is less under the trees. I think there’s a path. Walk with me.”

They walked in silence for a while, picking their way. More than once, Albert put out a hand and grasped Lena’s elbow to help her over a rough patch. Each time, she felt a small surge of flame lick through her body. Each time, she hoped that he
did not notice the lengthening interval between when his fingers touched her and when she pulled away. In the back of her mind, she was reminding herself that it didn’t matter what he saw. God saw all.

But the little flame was new, new and special. What could be wrong in a kind man’s fingers on a girl’s arm? And Lena let Albert’s fingers lie on her for one beat of her heart, then two, then three, but no more.

The last time, he used his fingers to stop her in the snow. “Let us stand here a moment,” he said. “It’s such a pretty spot.”

And it was. Lena looked up to see that they had come right through the wood. Snow-covered fields dotted with farmhouses stretched away from them. Lena gazed in wonder, looking from left to right and back again. A pair of birds, she didn’t know what kind, flew high overhead. “There is no sign of war,” she said. “No sign at all. The only sign of war here is”—and she paused—“you.” She wished she had left that last thought unspoken. Somehow, the words sounded even more accusing in her stilted German.

The muscles in his cheeks tightened and damp rose up in his eyes, but he righted himself. “I am a sign of war, I suppose,” he said, “but not in my real life. Not at home, where I belong. Do you know what I do when I am at home? I stick flowery patterns and stripes and curlicues on people’s bedroom and living-room walls. I am a wallpaperer. Not a soldier. Just a man. I am twenty-nine years old, and I am alone. I have been away from home since I was twenty-four. I have no woman. No wife. No fiancée. I am not playing with you.” He stopped and smiled. “I look at you, and I …”

And he stopped. His eyes were still damp and his face still taut. Lena could see that he meant each of his words, and she understood every one, German or no. She imagined him decorating
a lady’s bedroom with creamy wallpaper covered in sprays of yellow roses.

Albert’s hand slipped into the pocket of the jacket under his coat and came out holding a small object. “Please accept this gift from me,” he said, “even if I am the enemy.”

He placed the object in Lena’s palm. She had to give it back to him so she could pull off her embarrassing green mittens. Then he held them for her while she worked the little bag open and reached two fingers inside. She pulled out a tiny crystal bottle with a cork stopper. It held a few drops of golden liquid.

“It is a small thing,” he said.

“Where did you get it?” Lena said as she slid the cork from the bottle and held it to her nose. Her nostrils flared. The scent was acidic close up, but she pulled back a bit and got a whiff of roses. She put the mouth of the bottle tight against the inside of her wrist and turned it on its side for a moment. Then she waved her arm in the air, to release the scent. “It is so beautiful. And the scent is lovely.”

He hesitated, watching her. “Oh, I traded something for it,” he said. “I wanted to have a gift for you.”

Lena smiled up at him. He looks at me, and he—He what? What did he see when he looked at her? She found that she wanted to know. Desperately.

I will always remember this scent, she thought, holding her wrist to her nose again. She shivered, and her teeth chattered briefly. Well, the setting was perfect, aside from the cold.

“We must go back,” Albert said. “You are shivering.”

“Yes,” Lena said. Then she looked right into his eyes. “Lena,” she added. “My name is Lena.”

Lena’s beautiful wool coat with the velvet collar seemed thin and worn as she trudged through the snow at Albert’s side. Her mittens were back on her hands, but her fingers would not grow warm, and she held her body tense in an effort to keep whatever warmth there was inside. It wouldn’t work, she knew. And Albert might want to be a gentleman, but under his heavy coat was only a thin army shirt and jacket—no protection at all in a winter like this. Lena thought about the cattle car with its straw. Straw could hold heat in, but it could not create heat, not unless you lit it on fire.

Fire. Could they build a fire? Could they heat water? She imagined plunging her hands into hot water. She imagined gulping it, feeling a column of heat bury itself in her body. Surely in the daytime, they could build a little fire.

She turned to ask Albert, only to see him stopped, staring up at the sky.

And his hand was on her arm. “We must run,” he shouted. “Planes.” Not yet understanding what he meant—there were always planes—Lena broke into a run, looking up as she did so. And she saw planes. Planes heading straight for the train, straight for them.

She tore through the snow, stumbling as she tried to keep up. The last time she ran this fast, she had sprinted at her brother’s side, clutching a few sticks of wood while a German voice shouted “Halt!” and German boots sounded on the pavement in pursuit. Now a German soldier held her arm and the planes they feared came from the west, not the east.