The Willow Wren Philipp Schott (best free e book reader TXT) 📖

— was finished and Mama asked me to take seven-year-old Johann outside to play. I wanted to get to the forest, but I agreed. Playing with young children was tiresome, but I understood my duty. No, at ten I did not consider myself one of the “young children” anymore in that sense. I was not old, but I was not young either. I was much closer to being a teenager than to being in diapers. We went out in the lane to toss a ball back and forth. Johann was already more interested in sports than I was, or ever would be, but ball tossing was really more of a game than a true sport, so I tolerated this. We had only passed it back and forth four or five times when there was the sudden sharp report of a gun behind and above us, from the castle. Johann dropped the ball. This was followed by a couple of seconds of silence, and then several more shots in rapid succession: bang bang bang bang bang. I fancied I could hear shouting from up there too, but that seems improbable. I certainly did sometimes hear dogs barking though. That sound carries further than people shouting.

We ran inside to tell Mama.

“Yes, I heard that too,” she said.

“What is happening?” I asked.

“Perhaps an escape attempt.”

“An escape attempt? But they never succeed, so the prisoner has been shot. That is what the shooting was?”

Mama sighed and put down the sewing she was working on. She looked at me for a moment, as if trying to decide something. “Did your father tell you that they never succeed?”

“Yes.”

“That’s not true. Several have escaped, but the Party doesn’t want people to know that.”

“Is this because they do not want the people to be afraid?”

Mama laughed out loud, which startled me. “Ha! No, Ludwig. It’s because of pride and because they don’t want people to lose confidence in them. They have too much pride to admit that their unescapable very best top security prison has flaws. The truth would undermine confidence in the government. People might think, ‘If they are wrong about this, what else could they be wrong about?’”

I digested this information for a minute. I had several questions. “Mama, should I be scared if prisoners are getting out?”

“No, you don’t need to be scared. When the war ends and the Allies march in here, I do not know what will happen or how those soldiers will behave.” I took note of the definitive “when.” “But I do know that these officers who might escape are just interested in getting to the border as fast as possible and aren’t interested in attracting attention by hurting anyone, least of all children.”

This confirmed Theodor’s view and it made sense. I was relieved. “How are they getting out?” I wanted to know. I knew this would occupy my puzzle-solving mind for a while, because the castle looked so redoubtable.

“Nothing is ever confirmed of course, only rumours. Herr Rittmann works as a bricklayer up there and he has to repair some of the holes the prisoners make in their attempts. When he has had a few drinks, he likes to tell stories. Maybe he exaggerates or is trying to impress people with his stories, but they seem true to me. You have to remember, Ludwig, that these prisoners are the best and smartest from the other side. Many of them are there because they have already escaped from other prisons. The second thing you have to remember is that they have lots and lots of time on their hands. Officers can’t be made to work like regular prisoners, so I imagine that they spend all day dreaming up ways of getting out. And the final thing to remember is that Colditz Castle was not built as a prison, it was built as a castle! Castles are designed to keep people out, not in. This still means big thick walls and sitting high up on the cliffs and only one main door, but it also means that there are parts of the design, such as the sewers and laundry system and kitchens and guards’ quarters that could represent weak spots from the inside.”

“Oh . . .” This was fascinating to me. Even Johann, who had ignored the first part of the conversation, perked up. Clara had also come over to listen. Papa incidentally was not there. His Sunday visits had become increasingly sporadic through the summer. Party duties kept him occupied eighteen hours a day, seven days a week, he wrote.

“So, you can maybe imagine what sorts of schemes they come up with. I have to do laundry now and start thinking about how to feed you guys for supper.”

“Oh Mama, tell us one escape story please!”

“No, I said I’m busy now. It’s a good puzzle for you to think about how you would do it. Escape skills are important sometimes. I’ll ask Herr Rittman if he knows what happened today and I will tell you next week.”

It was still a long time until supper and the clothes all looked clean, but I did not argue with Mama. Perhaps she would not ask Herr Rittman if I raised a fuss now. I excused myself and left to visit the forest, but on the way I stopped on the bridge and looked for a long while up at the castle. I reasoned that if I wanted to escape it I would wait until night and then I would climb to the roof of the tallest tower and take a parachute I had secretly made of bedsheets and jump in the direction of the river where the drop was the longest. Then I would swim downstream to confuse the dogs. I would do this if I were not afraid of heights and if I had better climbing ability and if I could swim. I reasoned that if I were old enough to be in prison, I would be old enough to have overcome those