When Hitler Stole Pink Rabbit (6 page)

“Nothing else matters,” said Papa and crumpled up the letter.

After this Anna got better quite quickly. Fat pig, slim pig, Fraulein Lambeck and the rest gradually shrank and her neck stopped hurting. She began to eat again and to read. Max came and played cards with her when he wasn’t out somewhere with Papa, and soon she was allowed to get out of bed for a little while and sit in a chair. Mama had to help her walk the few steps across the room but she felt very happy sitting in the warm sunshine by the window.

Outside the sky was blue and she saw that the people in the street below were not wearing overcoats. There was a lady selling tulips at a stall on the opposite pavement and a chestnut tree at the corner was in full leaf. It was spring. She was amazed how much everything had changed during her illness. The people in the street seemed pleased with the spring weather too and several bought flowers from the stall. The lady selling tulips was round and dark-haired and looked a little bit like Heimpi.

Suddenly Anna remembered something. Heimpi had been going to join them two weeks after they left Germany. Now it must be more than a month. Why hadn’t she come? She was going to ask Mama, but Max came in first.

“Max,” said Anna, “why hasn’t Heimpi come?”

Max looked taken aback. “Do you want to go back to bed?” he said.

“No,” said Anna.

“Well,” said Max, “I don’t know if I’m meant to tell you, but quite a lot happened while you were ill.”

“What?” asked Anna.

“You know Hitler won the elections,” said Max. “Well he very quickly took over the whole government, and it’s just as Papa said it would be—nobody’s allowed to say a word against him. If they do they’re thrown into jail.”

“Did Heimpi say anything against Hitler?” asked Anna with a vision of Heimpi in a dungeon.

“No, of course not,” said Max. “But Papa did. He still does. And so of course no one in Germany is allowed to print anything he writes. So he can’t earn any money and we can’t afford to pay Heimpi any wages.”

“I see,” said Anna, and after a moment she added, “are we poor, then?”

“I think we are, a bit,” said Max. “Only Papa is going to try to write for some Swiss papers instead—then we’ll be all right again.” He got up as though to go and Anna said quickly, “I wouldn’t have thought Heimpi would mind about money. If we had a little house I think she’d want to come and look after us anyway, even if we couldn’t pay her much.”

“Yes, well, that’s another thing,” said Max. He hesitated before he added, “We can’t get a house because we haven’t any furniture.”

“But...” said Anna.

“The Nazis have pinched the lot,” said Max. “It’s called confiscation of property. Papa had a letter last week.” He grinned. “It’s been rather like one of those awful plays where people keep rushing in with bad news. And on top of it all there were you, just about to kick the bucket ...”

“I wasn’t going to kick the bucket!” said Anna indignantly.

“Well, I knew you weren’t of course,” said Max, “but that Swiss doctor has a very gloomy imagination. Do you want to go back to bed now?”

“I think I do,” said Anna. She was feeling rather weak and Max helped her across the room. When she was safely back in bed she said, “Max, this ... confiscation of property, whatever it’s called—did the Nazis take everything—even our things?”

Max nodded.

Anna tried to imagine it. The piano was gone ... the dining-room curtains with the flowers ... her bed ... all her toys which included her stuffed Pink Rabbit. For a moment she felt terribly sad about Pink Rabbit. It had had embroidered black eyes—the original glass ones had fallen out years before—and an endearing habit of collapsing on its paws. Its fur, though no longer very pink, had been soft and familiar. How could she ever have chosen to pack that characterless woolly dog in its stead? It had been a terrible mistake, and now she would never be able to put it right.

“I always knew we should have brought the games compendium,” said Max. “Hitler’s probably playing Snakes and Ladders with it this very minute.”

“And snuggling my Pink Rabbit!” said Anna and laughed. But some tears had come into her eyes and were running down her cheeks all at the same time.

“Oh well, we’re lucky to be here at all,” said Max.

“What do you mean?” asked Anna.

Max looked carefully past her out of the window.

“Papa heard from Heimpi,” he said with elaborate casual-ness. “The Nazis came for all our passports the morning after the elections.”

Chapter Six

As soon as Anna was strong enough they moved out of their expensive hotel. Papa and Max had found an inn in one of the villages on the lake. It was called Gasthof Zwirn, after Herr Zwirn who owned it, and stood very near the landing stage, with a cobbled courtyard and a garden running down to the lake. People mostly came there to eat and drink, but Herr Zwirn also had a few rooms to let, and these were very cheap. Mama and Papa shared one room and Anna and Max another, so that it would be cheaper still.

Downstairs there was a large comfortable dining-room decorated with deers’ antlers and bits of edelweiss. But when the weather became warmer tables and chairs appeared in the garden, and Frau Zwirn served everybody’s meals under the chestnut trees overlooking the water. Anna thought it was lovely.

At weekends musicians came from the village and often played till late at night. You could listen to the music and watch the sparkle of the water through the leaves and the steamers gliding past. At dusk Herr Zwirn pressed a switch and little lights came on in the trees so that you could still see what you were eating. The steamers lit coloured lanterns to make themselves visible to other craft. Some were amber, but the prettiest were a deep, brilliant purply blue. Whenever Anna saw one of these magical blue lights against the darker blue sky and more dimly reflected in the dark lake, she felt as though she had been given a small present.

The Zwirns had three children who ran about barefoot and as Anna’s legs began to feel less like cotton wool, she and Max went with them to explore the country round about. There were woods and streams and waterfalls, roads lined with apple trees and wild flowers everywhere. Sometimes Mama came with them rather than stay alone at the inn. Papa went to Zurich almost every day to talk to the editors of Swiss newspapers.

The Zwirn children, like everyone else living in the village, spoke a Swiss dialect which Anna and Max first found hard to understand. But they soon learned and the eldest, Franz, was able to teach Max to fish—only Max never caught anything—while his sister Vreneli showed Anna the local version of hopscotch.

In this pleasant atmosphere Anna soon recovered her strength and one day Mama announced that it was time for her and Max to start school again. Max would go to the Boys’ High School in Zurich. He would travel by train, which was not as nice as the steamer but much quicker. Anna would go to the village school with the Zwirn children, and as she and Vreneli were roughly the same age they would be in the same class.

“You will be my best friend,” said Vreneli. She had very long, very thin, mouse-coloured plaits and a worried expression. Anna was not absolutely sure that she wanted to be Vreneli’s best friend but thought it would be ungrateful to say so.

On Monday morning they set off together, Vreneli barefoot and carrying her shoes in her hand. As they approached the school they met other children, most of them also carrying their shoes. Vreneli introduced Anna to some of the girls, but the boys stayed on the other side of the road and stared across at them without speaking. Soon after they had reached the school playground a teacher rang a bell and there was a mad scramble by everyone to put their shoes on. It was a school rule that shoes must be worn but most children left them off till the last possible minute.

Anna’s teacher was called Herr Graupe. He was quite old with a greyish yellowish beard, and everyone was much in awe of him. He assigned Anna a place next to a cheerful fair-haired girl called Roesli, and as Anna walked down the centre aisle of the classroom to her desk there was a general gasp.

“What’s the matter?” Anna whispered as soon as Herr Graupe’s back was turned.

“You walked down the centre aisle,” Roesli whispered back. “Only the boys walk down the centre aisle.”

“Where do the girls go?”

“Round the sides.”

It seemed a strange arrangement, but Herr Graupe had begun to chalk up sums on the blackboard, so there was no time to go into it. The sums were very easy and Anna got them done quickly. Then she took a look round the classroom.

The boys were all sitting in two rows on one side, the girls on the other. It was quite different from the school she had gone to in Berlin where they had all been mixed up. When Herr Graupe called for the books to be handed in Vreneli got up to collect the girls’ while a big red-haired boy collected the boys’. The red-haired boy walked up the middle of the classroom while Vreneli walked round the side until they met, each with a pile of books, in front of Herr Graupe’s desk. Even there they were careful not to look at each other, but Anna noticed that Vreneli had turned a very faint shade of pink under her mouse-coloured hair.

At break-time the boys played football and horsed about on one side of the playground while the girls played hopscotch or sat sedately gossiping on the other. But though the girls pretended to take no notice of the boys they spent a lot of time watching them under their carefully lowered lids, and when Vreneli and Anna walked home for lunch Vreneli became so interested in the antics of the red-haired boy on the opposite side of the road that she nearly walked into a tree. They went back for an hour’s singing in the afternoon and then school was finished for the day.

“How do you like it?” Mama asked Anna when she got back at three o’clock.

“It’s very interesting,” said Anna. “But it’s funny—the boys and girls don’t even talk to each other and I don’t know if I’m going to learn very much.”

When Herr Graupe had corrected the sums he had made several mistakes and his spelling had not been too good either.

“Well, it doesn’t matter if you don’t,” said Mama. “It won’t hurt you to have a bit of a rest after your illness.”

“I like the singing,” said Anna. “They can all yodel and they’re going to teach me how to do it too.”

“God forbid!” said Mama and immediately dropped a stitch.

Mama was learning to knit. She had never done it before, but Anna needed a new sweater and Mama was trying to save money. She had bought some wool and some knitting needles and Frau Zwirn had shown her how to use them. But somehow Mama never looked quite right doing it. Where Frau Zwirn sat clicking the needles lightly with her fingers, Mama knitted straight from the shoulder. Each time she pushed the needle into the wool it was like an attack. Each time she brought it out she pulled the stitch so tight that it almost broke. As a result the sweater only grew slowly and looked more like heavy tweed than knitting.

“I’ve never seen work quite like it,” said Frau Zwirn, astonished, when she saw it, “but it’ll be lovely and warm when it’s done.”

One Sunday morning soon after Anna and Max had started school they saw a familiar figure get off the steamer and walk up the landing stage. It was Onkel Julius. He looked thinner than Anna remembered and it was wonderful and yet somehow confusing to see him—as though a bit of their house in Berlin had suddenly appeared by the edge of the lake.

“Julius!” cried Papa in delight when he saw him. “What on earth are you doing here?”

Onkel Julius gave a little wry smile and said, “Well, officially I’m not here at all. Do you know that nowadays it is considered very unwise even to visit you?” He had been to a naturalists’ congress in Italy and had left a day early in order to come and see them on his way back to Berlin.

“I’m honoured and grateful,” said Papa.

“The Nazis certainly are very stupid,” said Onkel Julius. “How could you possibly be an enemy of Germany? You know of course that they burned all your books.”

“I was in very good company,” said Papa.

“What books?” asked Anna. “I thought the Nazis had just taken all our things—I didn’t know they’d burned them.”

“These were not the books your father owned,” said Onkel Julius. “They were the books he has written. The Nazis lit big bonfires all over the country and threw on all the copies they could find and burned them.”

“Along with the works of various other distinguished authors,” said Papa, “such as Einstein, Freud, H. G. Wells...”

Onkel Julius shook his head at the madness of it all.

“Thank heavens you didn’t take my advice,” he said. “Thank heavens you left when you did. But of course,” he added, “this situation in Germany can’t go on much longer!”

Over lunch in the garden he told them the news. Heimpi had found a job with another family. It had been difficult because when people heard that she had worked for Papa they did not want to employ her. But it was not a bad job considering. Their house was still empty. Nobody had bought it yet.

It was strange, thought Anna, that Onkel Julius could go and look at it any time he liked. He could walk down the street from the paper shop at the corner and stand outside the white painted gate. The shutters would be closed but if he had a key Onkel Julius would be able to go through the front door into the dark hall, up the stairs to the nursery, or across into the drawing room, or along the passage to Heimpi’s pantry ... Anna remembered it all so dearly, and in her mind she walked right through the house from top to bottom while Onkel Julius went on talking to Mama and Papa.