My Name is Eva(59)
‘Guten Morgen,’ she called and to her surprise he answered in excellent English.
‘You work at the Wild Place,’ he said.
‘Oh, you know what we call it?’
He was keen to practise his English and she enjoyed making a friend away from the constant demands of the camp inmates. Getting close to the local population was discouraged and food supplies could not be shared with the Germans, but what harm can it do, Eva asked herself. They’ve suffered too because of that interminable war. Ordinary civilians didn’t ask to be dragged into that dreadful conflict. They’re not the enemy now, they’re trying to rebuild their lives too. Surely we can at least all try to be friends and talk to each other.
After she’d met him a couple of times on her walks, Peter invited her to visit the farm and meet his ageing widowed mother, who had been struggling to keep the family farm going while he was serving in the army.
‘We never wanted the war,’ Frau D?gen said, inviting Eva to sit at the table and join them in their simple meal of black bread and potatoes. Eva made a mental note to bring a gift of food with her if she was invited back again. ‘All we ever wanted was to feed ourselves and our families. And all the terrible things people are saying have happened, they were not our fault. It was nothing to do with people like us. We knew nothing about the Lager and nothing about what happened there. And my sister and her husband in the city were forced to join the Party. Everyone lived in fear of being singled out. They could trust no one, not even their oldest neighbours. We were more fortunate out here in the country, but in the cities, no one could escape.’
‘It’s all over now, Mutti,’ said Peter. ‘We just have to work hard and try to forget the hardships of these last few years.’
‘That’s easier said than done when we’ve lost so many of our strong, young men. How will our country ever prosper again? So many gone, never to come back. And now we are worse off than we were before. Such hardship we have now. At least we have eggs from our hens, but our cow is dry and we cannot buy butter. Did you know that people in the village have to fry their pancakes in castor oil and our coffee is made from acorns?’
Peter’s mother continued to complain to her patient blond son as they ate, but Peter kept reassuring her that all would be well in good time. Eva felt at ease in their simple but welcoming home and her sympathy for the ordinary German people, who had been forced into a system and a war they had not wanted, began to grow. The Allied forces had all agreed not to give German civilians any kind of aid, but what harm could there be in talking and listening and maybe attempting to understand why it had all happened?
Peter showed Eva around the small farm, pointing out the dilapidated barn he planned to mend, the rotten fences in need of replacement and the fields yet to be tilled. ‘We will all have to work harder now we are at peace,’ he said, rolling his shirtsleeves back over his strong bronzed arms, ‘but it cannot be worse than the war. I hope I will not have to stay a farmer, but for now I must help my mother. If we can grow our own food, we will survive.’
So it did not seem strange that in this second winter, after visiting the farm several times and hearing Peter talk of how he hoped to leave one day, Eva should accept his offer to be shown the best ski trail in the nearby mountains. She was not a very experienced skier and had been reluctant to go any great distance alone. So far she had only explored what would be classified as nursery slopes near Wildflecken, using a pair of skis from the large horde of Nazi supplies at the camp and wearing an odd assortment of sweaters, a dark brown tweed jacket and a large but practical pair of men’s cord trousers, held up with a leather belt in which she’d had to make several extra notches.
She hitched a lift on one of the regular supply trucks going past the village and met Peter at the once-popular resort, now deserted. ‘These aren’t the best ski slopes Germany has to offer, but they’re the nearest,’ he explained, leading the way to the swaying chairlift. ‘If you want really good skiing, you’ll have to go further to the Alps.’
Eva sat down beside him. ‘I realise that, but I can’t get away from the camp for long. I’m not due extended leave till the spring so I’m very happy to make the most of what we’ve got here.’
The chair rose higher through the sparkling air and she was looking forward to having a good run on the fresh snow. All around was new, clean and white, as if the snow had wiped away all the horror of the last five years. At the top, Peter pointed towards Aschaffenburg to the west. ‘There are even better slopes over there, but this is the most convenient one for us. Are you ready?’ Eva hitched up her loose trousers again, hoping they wouldn’t fall as she skied, then nodded.
They began snaking their way down, Peter at speed, Eva more slowly and cautiously, but gradually growing more confident, invigorated by the sting of cold air on her cheeks. As soon as they reached the bottom they both wanted to go back again and they made two more descents before Peter said, ‘One more and then we call it a day, yes?’
The sky was just beginning to assume the pinker tones of sunset and the light would be going soon, so Eva hesitated, but then said, ‘There’s just about time, so let’s do it.’
They began the descent side by side, then Peter swerved into a thicket of fir trees, yelling, ‘Over here, this is more fun,’ so Eva followed. It was much more challenging, weaving in between the conifers, and her progress grew slower and slower. The light was not so good here either; the snow was still brilliant white among the dark trunks, but very little of the last of the daylight penetrated so she didn’t see him hiding behind a tree, waiting to trip her up. He must have caught the front of her ski; she tumbled head first into the soft snow.