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

and household goods. Sometimes a small child was perched on top. One of these children waved to me. He had the happiest face I had seen in a while. They were mostly heading away from Colditz. I supposed that this was because the road eventually led west. Some of these people might even be coming all the way from Silesia, which I had heard had fallen. Rumours were circulating that the Russians killed every German they found there — every German who had not had the good sense to flee. Man, woman or child. These people would rather be under American occupation than Russian, so they were going west, as far west as they could. I kept walking east, unnerved. To settle my anxiety, I thought of my spot in the forest under the oaks. Winter is difficult even there, but in spring we can survive.

Papa was already at home when I got there. He was in uniform rather than his usual Sunday suit. His comb-over was oiled carefully in place, but his face was gaunt, and he had large purple-grey bags under his eyes. He smiled at me and greeted me warmly. He then declared that he would like to speak to each of us children alone for a moment. He indicated that I should go in first. Mama ignored these proceedings, busying herself with preparing lunch, such as it was.

Papa sat down on the edge of the bed. He motioned me to sit beside him.

“How is the KLV-Lager?”

“It is all right, Papa, similar to before, except that the older boys have gone to fight, and we now have many new younger boys from Dresden and elsewhere.”

“Are you learning useful things in the Hitler Youth?”

“I suppose.” I did not want to encourage this line of questioning as I was worried how he would react if I let slip how much I hated the Hitler Youth and the military training. I suspect he knew, but it had remained unspoken between us.

He smiled and paused for a moment. “Remember what I told you when those boys were bullying you in Leipzig a few years ago. You are a Schott. You might not be one of the best fighters, but you will be one of the best thinkers.”

I nodded, looking at the floor.

“I don’t know what will happen. I have faith in the Führer and faith in the nation, but I’m not stupid enough to think that a German victory is guaranteed anymore. Virgil said fata viam invenient, meaning ‘fate will find a way,’ but in my experience, fate is a very mysterious force.” He paused again, appearing to wait for a response. I could hear the others outside the door, moving around and talking quietly and I could hear a truck rattle by on the cobblestones outside. When I did not say anything but kept staring at my shoes, he went on. “Ludwig, you are only eleven, but you are growing up quickly, much more quickly than I did at your age. And you are clever. When the time comes you will know what to do. Your mother will need help. I am counting on you.”

“Yes, Papa,” I said quietly, still not meeting his eyes. This was a strange and awkward conversation, not at all typical of Papa, and it had numerous implications that I knew were going to plague my thoughts like clouds of flies.

He briefly put his hand on my right shoulder. “Thank you, Ludwig. Please send Clara in.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

April 1, 1945

Easter Sunday was Papa’s last visit to Colditz. I saw him but did not speak to him beyond the standard greetings. He was in uniform again and he looked terrible, no longer impressive or wizard-like in any way. All of us children kept our distance, not that we normally clamoured for his attention, but we instinctively understood that he had come specifically to speak to Mama. I expected that we would be sent outside, but they ignored us and withdrew to the bedroom. I could hear them talking, but I could not make out anything that was said. The tone sounded emotional, but there was no shouting. Papa emerged after ten or fifteen minutes, bid us goodbye and left. I could not read anything from his expression. Mama stayed in the bedroom a few minutes longer and then came out, having evidently composed herself. Her eyes were red rimmed, but any tears had been dried away by the handkerchief crumpled in her hand. This created an ambience of emotional discomfort in the small front room that I was keen to escape.

Spring was underway in the forest. Clara and I briefly glanced at each other. I am sure we both wanted to find a way to comfort our mother, but neither of us had any notion of how to go about it. We also had questions about what was going on with Papa, but asking these questions was unthinkable. Mama just stood in the middle of the room for a long minute or two and then, without saying a word, sat down in the corner to attend to some sewing. The four smaller children played or read quietly. I stood around for a few minutes, unsure of what to do, and then went outside.

Chapter Twenty-Four

April 13, 1945

These dates are all easy to remember as they anchor to recorded history. They will come rapidly and thickly now.

On April 13, Hauptmann Kohl strode out of his office with an enormous smile on his face. We had not seen him so happy in months, perhaps ever. A group of us were engaged in some sort of pointless enhancement of the camp’s defences, I do not recall specifically what. Kohl motioned to us. “Boys, boys, gather around!” We stopped what we were doing and went over. Others nearby did as well, although there was no formal general call to assemble.

“The tide of the war will turn!” Kohl declared, pumping his fist in the air. “The head