When Hitler Stole Pink Rabbit (3 page)

At the top of the slope they stopped and looked down. Nobody had been on it before them. The shimmering path of snow stretched ahead, perfect and unmarked, right down to the edge of the lake.

“Who’s going down first?” asked Max.

Anna did not mean to, but she found herself hopping up and down and saying, “Oh please—please ...!”

Peter said, “All right—youngest first.”

That meant her because Marianne was ten.

She sat on her sledge, held on to the steering rope, took a deep breath and pushed off. The sledge began to move, rather gently, down the hill.

“Go on!” shouted the boys behind her. “Give it another push!”

But she didn’t. She kept her feet on the runners and let the sledge gather speed slowly. The powdery snow sprayed up all round her as the sledge struck it. The trees moved past, slowly at first, then faster and faster. The moonlight leapt all round her. At last she seemed to be flying through a mass of silver. Then the sledge hit the hump at the bottom of the slope, shot across it, and landed in a dapple of moonlight on the frozen lake. It was beautiful.

The others came down after her, squealing and shouting.

They went down the slope head first on their stomachs so that the snow sprayed straight into their faces. They went down feet first on their backs with the black tops of the fir trees rushing past above them. They all squeezed on to one sledge together and came down so fast that they shot on almost to the middle of the lake. After each ride they struggled back up the slope, panting and pulling the sledges behind them. In spite of the cold they were steaming inside their woollies.

Then it began to snow again. At first they hardly noticed it, but then the wind got up and blew the snow in their faces. All at once Max stopped in the middle of dragging his sledge up the slope and said, “What time is it? Oughtn’t we to be getting back?”

Nobody had a watch and they suddenly realised that they had no idea how long they had been there. Perhaps it was quite late and their parents had been waiting for them at home.

“Come on,” said Peter. “We’d better go quickly.” He took off his gloves and knocked them together to shake the caked snow off them. His hands were red with cold. So were Anna’s, and she noticed for the first time that her feet were frozen.

It was chilly going back. The wind blew through their damp clothes and with the moon hidden behind the clouds the path was black in front of them. Anna was glad when they were out of the trees and in a road. Soon there were street lamps, houses with lighted windows, shops. They were nearly home.

An illuminated clockface showed them the time. After all it was not yet quite seven. They heaved sighs of relief and walked more slowly. Max and Peter began to talk about football. Marianne tied two sledges together and scampered wildly ahead on the empty road, leaving a network of overlapping tracks in the snow. Anna lagged behind because her cold feet hurt.

She could see the boys stop outside her house, still talking and waiting for her, and was just going to catch them up, when she heard the creak of a gate. Something moved in the path beside her and suddenly a shapeless figure loomed up. For a moment she was very frightened—but then she saw that it was only Fraulein Lambeck in some sort of a furry cloak and with a letter in her hand.

“Little Anna!” cried Fraulein Lambeck. “Fancy meeting you in the dark of the night! I was just going to the post box but did not think to find a kindred spirit. And how is your dear Papa?”

“He’s got ’flu,” said Anna automatically.

Fraulein Lambeck stopped in her tracks.

“Still got ‘flu, little Anna? You told me he had ’flu a week ago.”

“Yes,” said Anna.

“And he’s still in bed? Still got a temperature?”

“Yes,” said Anna.

“Oh, the poor man!” Fraulein Lambeck put a hand on Anna’s shoulder. “Are they doing everything for him? Does the doctor come to see him?”

“Yes,” said Anna.

“And what does the doctor say?”

“He says ... I don’t know,” said Anna.

Fraulein Lambeck leaned down confidentially and peered into her face. “Tell me, little Anna,” she said, “how high is your dear Papa’s temperature?”

“I don’t know!” cried Anna, and her voice came out not at all as she had meant but in a sort of squeak. “I’m sorry but I must go home now!”—and she ran as fast as she could towards Max and the open front door.

“What’s the matter with you?” said Heimpi in the hall. “Someone shoot you out of a cannon?”

Anna could see Mama through the half-open door in the drawing room.

“Mama!” she cried, “I hate lying to everybody about Papa. It’s horrible. Why do we have to do it? I wish we didn’t have to!”

Then she saw that Mama was not alone. Onkel Julius (who was not really an uncle but an old friend of Papa’s) was sitting in an armchair on the other side of the room.

“Calm yourself,” said Mama quite sharply. “We all hate lying about Papa, but just now it’s necessary. I wouldn’t ask you to do it if it weren’t necessary!”

“She got caught by Fraulein Lambeck,” said Max who had followed Anna in. “You know Fraulein Lambeck? She’s ghastly. You can’t answer her questions even when you’re allowed to tell the truth!”

“Poor Anna,” said Onkel Julius in his high voice. He was a gentle wispy man and they were all very fond of him. “Your father asked me to tell you that he misses you both very much and sends you lots of love.”

“Have you seen him then?” asked Anna.

“Onkel Julius has just come back from Prague,” said Mama. “Papa is fine, and he wants us to meet him in Zurich, in Switzerland, on Sunday.”

“Sunday?” said Max. “But that’s only a week. That’s the day of the elections. I thought we were going to wait and see who won, first!”

“Your father has decided he’d rather not wait.” Onkel Julius smiled at Mama. “I do think he’s taking all this too seriously.”

“Why?” asked Max. “What’s he worried about?”

Mama sighed. “Ever since Papa heard of the move to take away his passport he’s been worried that they might try to take away ours—then we wouldn’t be able to leave Germany.”

“But why should they?” asked Max. “If the Nazis don’t like us, surely they’d be glad to get rid of us.”

“Exactly,” said Onkel Julius. He smiled at Mama again. “Your husband is a wonderful man with a wonderful imagination, but frankly in this matter I think he’s off his head. Never mind, you’ll all have a lovely holiday in Switzerland and when you come back to Berlin in a few weeks time we’ll all go to the Zoo together.” Onkel Julius was a naturalist and went to the Zoo all the time. “Let me know if I can help with any of the arrangements. I’ll see you again, of course.” He kissed Mama’s hand and went.

“Are we really leaving on Sunday?” asked Anna.

“Saturday,” said Mama. “It’s a long way to Switzerland. We have to spend a night in Stuttgart on the way.”

“Then this is our last week at school!” said Max.

It seemed incredible.

Chapter Three

After that everything seemed to go very quickly, like a film that has been speeded up. Heimpi was busy sorting and packing all day long. Mama was nearly always out or on the telephone, arranging for the lease of the house or for the storage of the furniture after they had gone. Every day when the children came home from school the house looked more bare.

One day Onkel Julius called while they were helping Mama to pack some books. He looked at the empty shelves and smiled. “You’ll be putting them all back again, you know !”

That night the children were woken up by the sound of fire engines. Not just one or two but about a dozen were clanging their bells and racing along the main road at the end of their street. When they looked out of the window the sky above the centre of Berlin was brilliant orange. Next morning everyone was talking about the fire which had destroyed the Reichstag where the German Parliament met. The Nazis said that the fire had been started by revolutionaries and that the Nazis were the only people who could put a stop to that sort of thing—so everyone must vote for them at the elections. But Mama heard that the Nazis had started the fire themselves.

When Onkel Julius called that afternoon, for the first time he did not say anything to Mama about her being back in Berlin in a few weeks’ time.

The last days Anna and Max spent at school were very strange. As they still were not allowed to tell anyone that they were leaving they kept forgetting about it themselves during school hours. Anna was delighted when she was given a part in the school play and only remembered afterwards that she would never actually appear in it. Max accepted an invitation to a birthday party which he would never be able to attend.

Then they would go home to the ever emptier rooms, the wooden crates and the suitcases, the endless sorting of possessions. Deciding which toys to take was the hardest part. They naturally wanted to take the games compendium but it was too big. In the end there was only room for some books and one of Anna’s stuffed toys. Should she choose Pink Rabbit which had been her companion ever since she could remember or a newly acquired woolly dog? It seemed a pity to leave the dog when she had hardly had time to play with it, and Heimpi packed it for her. Max took his football. They could always have more things sent on to them in Switzerland, said Mama, if it looked as though they were going to stay there a very long time.

When school was over on Friday Anna went up to her teacher and said quietly, “I shan’t be coming to school tomorrow. We’re going to Switzerland.”

Fraulein Schmidt did not look nearly as surprised as Anna expected but only nodded and said, “Yes ... yes ... I wish you luck.”

Elsbeth was not very interested either. She just said she wished she herself were going to Switzerland but that this was not likely to happen because her father worked in the Post Office.

Gunther was the hardest person to leave. Max brought him back to lunch after they had walked back from school together for the last time, though there were only sandwiches because Heimpi had not had time to cook. Afterwards they played hide-and-seek rather half-heartedly among the packing cases. It was not much fun because Max and Gunther were so gloomy, and Anna had a struggle to keep down her own excitement. She was fond of Gunther and sorry to leave him. But all she could think was, “This time tomorrow we’ll be on the train ... this time on Sunday we’ll be in Switzerland ... this time on Monday ... ?”

At last Gunther went home. Heimpi had sorted out a lot of clothes for his mum in the course of her packing and Max went with him to help him carry them. When he came back he seemed more cheerful. He had dreaded saying good-bye to Gunther more than anything. Now at least it was over.

Next morning Anna and Max were ready long before it was time to leave. Heimpi checked that their nails were clean, that they both had handkerchiefs—two for Anna because she had a bit of a cold—and that their socks were held up properly by elastic bands.

“Goodness knows what state you’ll get into by yourselves,” she grumbled.

“But you’ll be with us again in a fortnight,” said Anna.

“There’s a lot of dirt can settle on a neck in a fortnight,” said Heimpi darkly.

Then there was nothing more to do until the taxi came.

“Let’s go right through the house for the last time,” said Max.

They started at the top and worked down. Most of it no longer looked like itself. All the smaller things had been packed: Some of the rugs had been rolled up and there were newspapers and packing cases everywhere. They ticked off the rooms as they went through them, shouting “Good-bye Papa’s bedroom ... good-bye landing... good-bye stairs...!”

“Don’t get too excited,” said Mama as they passed her.

“Good-bye hall... good-bye drawing room...!”

They were getting through too quickly, so Max shouted, “Good-bye piano ... good-bye sofa...!” and Anna took it up with, “Good-bye curtains... good-bye dining table... good-bye hatch...!”

Just as she shouted, “Good-bye hatch”, its two small doors opened and Heimpi’s head appeared looking through from the pantry. Suddenly something contracted in Anna’s stomach. This was just what Heimpi had often done to amuse her when she was small. They had played a game called “peeping through the hatch” and Anna had loved it. How could she suddenly be going away? In spite of herself her eyes filled with tears and she cried, idiotically, “Oh Heimpi, I don’t want to leave you and the hatch!”

“Well I can’t pack it in my suitcase,” said Heimpi, coming into the dining-room.

“You’re sure you’ll come to Switzerland?”

“I don’t know what else I’d do,” said Heimpi. “Your mama has given me my ticket and I’ve got it in my purse.”

“Heimpi,” said Max, “if you suddenly found you had a lot of room in your suitcase—only if, mind you—do you think you could bring the games compendium?”

“If... if... if...” said Heimpi. “If my grandmother had wheels she’d be a bus and we could all go for a ride in her.” That was what she always said.

Then the door-bell rang to announce the arrival of the taxi and there was no more time. Anna hugged Heimpi. Mama said, “Don’t forget the men are coming for the piano on Monday”, and then she too hugged Heimpi. Max could not find his gloves but had them in his pocket all the time. Bertha wept, and the man who looked after the garden suddenly appeared and wished them all a pleasant journey.