A Ladder to the Sky(27)

It took only a few moments before the family were dragged outside and lined up on the street. I could see their neighbours peeping anxiously through their curtains, no doubt fearing that the next door to be knocked down might be theirs. Two of the soldiers guarded Alysse’s parents with their rifles while the rest ransacked the house, looking for anything incriminating. The little boy remained brave and silent while Alysse appeared terrified, shaking visibly in the coldness of the night. From where I stood, half hidden in the shade of a sidestreet, it gave me great pleasure to see her undone.

The Untersturmführer came out after a few minutes, brandishing train tickets in his hand. He waved them in the face of Alysse’s father, who protested his innocence, but it was to no avail, as an SS lorry arrived and the back doors were pulled open, ready to transport the unfortunate group to a place from which there could be no return. I began to grow anxious now, desperate for the scene to end and for them to disappear into the night.

But before the last of the passengers – the little boy – could be loaded into the lorry, I heard the sound of someone running along the street behind me and turned to see Oskar, charging towards the German soldiers with a pistol in his hand as he threw his suitcase to the side of the street. He was quick with his gun, pulling the trigger as a first soldier fell, then pulling it again as another went down. Alysse’s mother screamed and the rest of the soldiers turned as one in his direction, opening fire, a hail of noise and bright lights in the darkness of the night, and it took only a moment for him to fall too. His body collapsed close to my feet, blood pouring from his mouth and spreading from a wound in his chest across his coat, and I stared down at him, paralysed with fear, before Alysse screamed his name and leaped from the lorry to run in his direction, her younger brother following her, calling her name, as their parents cried out for them both to come back. Oskar was still alive – just – but with little time left. His breathing was failing, and she reached him just before the soldiers shot again, falling across his body with a scream, and as I stepped closer to them, the child was lifted off his feet too and fell to the ground after his sister, the back of his head blown away, his brain spilling like mud across the cobbled street. Oskar and Alysse stared up at me without emotion, their bodies jolting in trauma, and within a minute their lives had drawn to a close.

They were dead. I had killed them all.

Throughout my story, I had kept my eyes focussed on the table before me, not at Maurice. Now, however, there was nothing left to say so I lifted my head, uncertain what expression I would find on his face, but it was neutral.

‘And after that?’ he asked me, seeing that I was not going to speak again until he did.

‘After that I went home,’ I told him with a shrug. ‘I never saw Alysse’s parents again. I assume they were taken to the camps and that they died there. The next day, when I returned to that street, the bodies had been taken away and the only evidence remaining was the blood between the cobbles and on my own boots. And soon there was a war and I took part in it, and then the war ended and I came to England to read and to write. The rest of my life was peaceful until I won The Prize. And until I met you,’ I added carefully.

‘I think we should go back to the hotel,’ he said, looking away.

‘But don’t you want to talk more? To ask me anything?’

‘No,’ he said, standing up and putting his coat on. ‘I just want to sleep, that’s all. We’ve talked enough. I’ve heard all that I need to hear.’

I nodded as I rose, feeling wounded that he was not willing to comfort or condemn me. This was my story, the story that defined my life, and yet he seemed impervious to it.

In the hotel, however, alone in my room, I became upset. I had hidden these secrets inside myself for half a century and to reveal them to anyone, let alone to one who had reawakened in me a desire that had lain dormant for decades, was so overwhelming that I knew I would not sleep. I paced in my room for a long time before crossing the corridor towards his suite, knocking cautiously on the door. When he opened it, his shirt unbuttoned, his feet bare, he seemed both surprised and irritated to find me there.

‘What?’ he asked. ‘It’s late. What do you want?’

‘I thought perhaps we might talk,’ I said.

‘I don’t think so, no.’

I pressed forward, trying to get through the door, but he held out a hand and placed it firmly against my chest.

‘Please,’ I said. ‘I had an idea, that’s all.’

‘So tell me your idea.’

I hesitated. I didn’t want to speak of it out here in the corridor but it was clear that he was not going to let me inside. ‘You know I return to Cambridge tomorrow?’ I said.

‘Yes, of course. What of it?’

‘It’s a very good place to write.’

‘So do some writing.’

‘I thought you might like to join me there, perhaps. I daresay I could find you rooms—’

‘I’m not interested in living in Cambridge,’ he said. ‘Don’t you ever think, Erich, that perhaps you’ve seen me as you wanted me to be and not as who I am?’

I frowned, unwilling even to consider this as a possibility. ‘You might like to read for a degree there,’ I continued. ‘Even if you don’t have the necessary school results, I’m sure—’