When Hitler Stole Pink Rabbit (15 page)

“If only I could go to school—just anywhere!” Anna said to Mama.

“You can’t go just anywhere,” said Mama crossly. She had looked at several schools but none of them had been any good. She had even asked Madame Fernand. It was a very depressing time.

Papa was tired too. He had been working hard and had caught Anna’s cold, and now he had started having nightmares again. Mama said that he had had them before, but at the Gasthof Zwirn the children had not been aware of them. He always dreamt the same thing—that he was trying to get out of Germany and was being stopped by the Nazis at the frontier. Then he woke up shouting.

Max was such a heavy sleeper that Papa’s nightmares did not disturb him, even though Papa’s room was next door, but Anna always heard him and it distressed her dreadfully. If Papa had woken up quickly with one big shout it would not have been so bad. But the nightmares always started slowly with Papa moaning and making frightening grunting sounds until at last they exploded into a great cry.

The first time it happened Anna thought Papa must be ill. She ran into his room and stood helplessly by his bed, calling for Mama. But even when Mama had explained to her about the nightmares and Papa had told her not to worry, she felt just as bad about them. It seemed terrible to lie in bed listening to Papa and knowing that in his dreams awful things were happening to him.

One night after she had gone to bed Anna wished very hard that Papa could stop having nightmares.

“Please, please,” she whispered—for though she did not exactly believe in God she always hoped that there might be someone who could arrange these things—“Oh please let me have the nightmares instead of Papa!” Then she lay quite still, waiting to fall asleep, but nothing happened.

Max cuddled his pillow close to his face, sighed twice and immediately dropped off. But what seemed like hours later Anna was still lying there, staring at the dark ceiling and wide awake. She began to feel very cross. How could she have a nightmare if she could not even go to sleep? She had tried doing sums in her head and to think of all sorts of boring things, but nothing had been any use. Perhaps it would help if she got up for a drink of water? But her bed was so comfortable that she decided against it.

However, she must have got up after all in the end, for she suddenly found herself in the hall. She was no longer thirsty, so she thought she would go down in the lift to see what the street looked like in the middle of the night. To her surprise she found the concierge asleep in a hammock slung across the front door and had to ease her aside in order to get out. Then the door slammed behind her—she hoped the concierge would not wake up—and she was in the street.

It was very quiet and there was a curious brown glow over everything that she had never seen before. Two men hurried past, carrying a Christmas tree.

“Better get inside,” said one of them. “It’s coming!”

“What’s coming?” asked Anna, but the men disappeared round the corner and at the same time she could hear a shuffling sound from the opposite direction. The brown glow became stronger and then a huge, long creature heaved into view at the top of the street. Although it was so vast there was something familiar about it and Anna suddenly realised that it was Pumpel, grown to gigantic proportions. The shuffling sound was made by his legs and he looked at Anna with his little spiteful eyes and licked his lips.

“Oh, no!” said Anna.

She tried to run away, but the air had became leaden and she could not move. Pumpel started towards her.

There was a flurry of wheels and a policeman shot past on his bicycle, his cape flying behind him.

“Count its legs!” he shouted as he passed her. “It’s your only chance!”

How could she count Pumpel’s legs? He was like a centipede —his legs were everywhere, moving in great ripples on either side of his long body.

“One, two, three ...” Anna began hurriedly, but it was hopeless—Pumpel was still coming towards her, and now she could see his nasty sharp teeth.

She would have to guess.

“Ninety-seven!” she cried, but still Pumpel kept coming and suddenly she realised that since they were in Paris, of course he would expect her to count in French. What was the French for ninety-seven? Her mind was blank, panicked.

“Quatre-vingts
...” she stammered as Pumpel was nearly upon her ...
“Quatre-vingts dix-sept!”
she shouted triumphantly and found herself sitting bolt-upright in bed.

Everything was quiet and she could hear Max breathing peacefully on the other side of the room. Her heart was thumping and her chest felt so tight that she could hardly move. But it was all right. She was safe. It had only been a dream.

Someone on the opposite side of the courtyard still had a light on and it made a pale golden rectangle on the curtains. She could see the dim outlines of her clothes piled on a chair ready for the morning. There was no sound from Papa’s room. She lay basking in the beautiful familiarity of it all until she felt calm and sleepy. And then, with a surge of triumph, she remembered. She had had a nightmare! She had had a nightmare and Papa hadn’t! Perhaps it had really worked! She snuggled down happily, and the next thing she knew it was morning and Max was getting dressed.

“Did you have any bad dreams last night?” she asked Papa at breakfast.

“Not a thing,” said Papa. “I think I’ve got over them.”

Anna never told anyone, but she always felt that it was she who had cured Papa’s nightmares—and curiously enough, after that day, neither she nor Papa had any more of them.

One evening a few days later Anna and Max had a worse row than usual. Max had come home to find Anna’s drawing things all over the dining-room table and there was no room for his home-work.

“Get this rubbish out of the way!” he shouted, and Anna shouted back, “It’s not rubbish! Just because you go to school, you’re not the only person who matters in this house!”

Mama was talking on the telephone and she called to them through the door to be quiet.

“Well, I certainly matter a lot more than you,” said Max in a fierce whisper. “You just sit about all day doing nothing!”

“I don’t!” whispered Anna. “I draw and I lay the table ...”

“I draw and I lay the table,” Max mimicked her in a particularly hateful way. “You’re nothing but a parasite!”

This was too much for Anna. She was not sure what a parasite was but she had a vague impression that it was something disgusting that grew on trees. As Mama put down the receiver, she burst into tears.

Mama sorted things out briskly as usual. Max must not call Anna names—anyway it was silly to call her a parasite—and Anna must clear away her things and make room for Max’s home-work.

Then she added, “In any case, if Max called you a parasite just because he goes to school and you don’t, there’ll soon be an end to that.”

Anna stopped in the middle of putting her crayons back in their box.

“Why?” she asked.

“That was Madame Fernand on the telephone,” said Mama. “She says she has heard of a very good little
école communale
not too far from here. So with luck you’ll be able to start next week.”

Chapter Fifteen

On the following Monday Anna set off with Mama to the
école communale.
Anna was carrying her satchel and a cardboard case containing sandwiches for her lunch. Under her winter coat she wore a black pleated overall which Mama had bought her at the headmistress’s suggestion. She was very proud of this overall and thought how lucky it was that her coat was too short to cover it, so that everyone could see it.

They went on the Metro, but although it was only a short distance they had to change twice. “Next time I think we’ll try walking,” said Mama. “It will be cheaper, too.” The school was just off the Champs Elysées, a beautiful wide avenue with glittering shops and cafés, and it was surprising to find the old-fashioned gate marked
Ecole de Filles
tucked away at the back of all this grandeur. The building was dark and had clearly been there a long time. They crossed the empty playground and the sound of singing drifted down from one of the classrooms. School had already begun. As Anna climbed up the stone stairs at Mama’s side to meet the headmistress she suddenly wondered what on earth it would all be like.

The headmistress was tall and brisk. She shook hands with Anna and explained something to Mama in French which Mama translated. She was sorry that there was no one who spoke German in the school but hoped that Anna would soon learn French. Then Mama said, “See you at four o’clock,” and Anna could hear her heels clattering down the stairs while she was left standing in the headmistress’s study.

The headmistress smiled at Anna. Anna smiled back. But it is difficult to smile at someone without talking and after a few moments her face began to feel stiff. The headmistress must have felt stiff too, for she suddenly switched her smile off. Her fingers were drumming on the desk and she seemed to be listening for something, but nothing happened, and Anna was just beginning to wonder whether they would be there all day when there was a knock at the door.

The headmistress called
“Entrez!”
and a small dark-haired girl of about Anna’s own age appeared. The headmistress exclaimed something that Anna thought probably meant “at last!” and launched into a long, cross tirade. Then she turned to Anna and told her that the other girl’s name was Colette and something else which might or might not have meant that Colette was going to look after her. Then she said something more and Colette started for the door. Anna, not knowing whether she was meant to follow or not, stayed where she was.

“Allez! Allez!”
cried the headmistress, waving her hands at her as though she were shooing away a fly, and Colette took Anna’s hand and led her out of the room.

As soon as the door closed behind them Colette made a face at it and said
“Ouf!”
Anna was pleased that she, too, found the headmistress a bit much. She hoped all the teachers were not going to be like her. Then she followed Colette along a passage and through various doors. She could hear the murmur of French voices from one of the classrooms. Others were silent—the children must be writing or doing sums. They came to a cloakroom and Colette showed her where to hang her coat, admired her German satchel and pointed out that Anna’s black overall was exactly like her own—all in rapid French supplemented by sign language. Anna could not understand any of the words, but she guessed what Colette meant.

Then Colette led her through another door and Anna found herself in a large room crammed with desks. There must be at least forty girls, Anna thought. They were all wearing black overalls and this, combined with the gentle gloom of the classroom, gave the whole scene a mournful look.

The girls had been reciting something in unison, but when Anna came in with Colette they all stopped and stared at her. Anna stared back, but she was beginning to feel rather small and suddenly wondered, violently, whether she was really going to like this school. She held on tight to her satchel and her sandwich box and tried to look as though she did not care.

Then there was a hand on her shoulder. A faint smell of scent with just a tinge of garlic enveloped her and she found herself looking into a very friendly, wrinkled face surrounded by frizzy black hair.

“Bonjour,
Anna,” said the face slowly and clearly so that Anna could understand. “I am your teacher. I am called Madame Socrate.”

“Bonjour, Madame,”
said Anna in a low voice.

“Very good!” cried Madame Socrate. She waved her hand towards the rows of desks and added slowly and clearly as before, “These girls are in your class,” and something about “friends”.

Anna removed her eyes from Madame Socrate and risked a quick glance sideways. The girls were no longer staring but smiling and she felt much better. Then Colette led her to a desk next to her own, Madame Socrate said something, and the girls—all except Anna—began to recite in unison again.

Anna sat and let the sound drone over her. She wondered what they were reciting. It was strange to be having a lesson at school without even knowing what it was about. As she listened she detected some numbers among the droning. Was it a multiplication table? No, there were not nearly enough numbers. She glanced at the book on Colette’s desk. There was a picture of a king with a crown on the cover. Then it came to her, just as Madame Socrate clapped her hands for the recitation to stop. It was history! The numbers were dates and it had been a history lesson! For some reason this discovery made her feel very pleased.

The girls were now taking exercise books out of their desks and Anna was given a brand-new one. The next lesson was dictation. Anna recognised the word because once or twice Mademoiselle Martel had dictated a few simple words to her and Max. But this was a very different matter. There were long sentences and Anna had no idea what any of them meant. She did not know where one sentence ended and another began—not even where one word ended and another began. It seemed hopeless to embark on it—but it would look even worse if she just sat without writing at all. So she did what she could to translate the incomprehensible sounds into letters arranged in what seemed like possible groups. After she had covered most of a page in this strange manner the dictation came to an end, the books were collected, a bell rang and it was time for break.