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

able to run across, followed by shouts and a few bullets, but only the trees were injured! I was so cold and so hungry, but so elated too.

Papa was pleased to see me and although we only have an eight square metre rented room in an attic, we are comfortable. He has found work for me at the Bergolin paint factory.

I just wanted you to know that I am safely here and how the journey went. I will write more soon.

With love,

Theodor

Mama began to cry, and Clara and Johann shouted “Hurrah!” I knew enough not to then ask Mama if we could follow, and in any case Theodor’s route was not going to be practical for us. We should probably take our chances with the VoPos in a less remote area. I should explain that these were the Volk’s Polizei, or “people’s police,” German recruits trusted by the Soviet authorities.

As it happened I did not have to ask Mama because she raised the subject with me after the younger ones had gone to bed. Electricity was still often off in the evenings, so we were sitting at the dining table by candlelight, the cheap candle guttering and casting weird shadows behind Mama’s head.

“I’m glad of course that Theodor made it across, and that Papa has welcomed him, but I need you to know that we cannot follow.” She said this quietly but firmly.

“But why? The fact that it is illegal has not stopped thousands. Probably tens of thousands now. If we learned anything through the Hitler years it was that obeying laws is not always the same as doing the right thing. And of course we will find a safer route. So many have gone with small children now too.” Mama did not say anything in reply and was looking off to the side towards the dark window, so I forged ahead with my arguments. “Also with both Papa and Theodor working, we can afford a large enough place. I can work too! I can finish school later.”

“There’s something else, Ludwig.” Mama was still looking away as she said this.

“What? What else?”

“Papa has a woman there.”

I did not know how to reply to this, so we sat in silence, the candle flickering and the faint sound of wind in the lane outside.

“How do you know that?” I finally asked, trying to hold my voice even.

“I know because she wrote me and told me not to come. She wrote that Wilhelm was hers and that I did not deserve him. That’s how I know that.” This was stated as a plain fact, but bitterness painted the edges of her words.

“Are you sure?” I regretted this the moment I said it. It was a stupid question.

“What do you mean, am I sure? Nobody would write a random woman in Colditz to lie about having an affair with her husband half a country away!” Mama snorted and then fixed me with a hard stare. “Do not tell anyone else. I could not bear the shame. Despite everything, despite absolutely everything, I have my pride. My father was a great man and my mother was a great woman. I come from great people. I can lead what is left of this family here. I do not need to follow Wilhelm to the West like a whipped dog only to stand by and smile politely while he makes a fool of me with another woman. And that is the end of this discussion.”

It really was the end of the discussion. I had no way to respond to this. And I wondered, Was it Frau Doctor Burkhard or a different woman? I never did see the letter. I wanted to write Theodor to ask him what he knew about this woman and what he thought about the situation, but my courage failed me for fear Papa would intercept it and for the pubescent embarrassment I felt in acknowledging or addressing this.

Chapter Forty-Nine

January 1949

The further we move away from the famine time, the clearer my memory is for dates, although unless there is a specific associated historical event, I can often just narrow things down to the month, rather than the specific day.

Sometime in mid to late January there was a sharp rap on the door. It must have been a weekend as I was not in school. I opened the door to see Squish Eye and two VoPos standing there. Squish Eye was the head of the local Volk’s Polizei. I do not remember his real name, but his nickname is unforgettable. Everyone called him Squish Eye because his right eye had been damaged in the war by a piece of shrapnel, leaving something that looked like a shrivelled date sitting in the socket. Anyone else would have worn a patch over that small horror, but the fact that he did not tells you something significant about the man. The first police the Russians put in place were mostly half-wit ex-cons, as again manpower was a significant problem, but Squish Eye was serious. I do not know what he did before the war, but whether he had been a police officer then or not, he was perfectly suited to the role, at least in a totalitarian system. His other qualification was that he was ideologically pure. While many mouthed the communist tropes to get along, I had the feeling that he was a true believer. And now he was at my front door.

“Good afternoon, young man. May I please speak to your mother?” He was certainly polite. I did not have to get Mama because she had heard and came forward to the door.

“Yes, good afternoon to you. How can I help you?” she said, wiping her hands on her apron.

“You are required to come with us to the town hall, madam.”

“Oh, why is that?”

“It is only for some routine questions. It will not take very long.”

“Can’t you ask me these questions here?”

“No, I’m afraid not, madam. It is protocol.” He