Lennox drew back from the window. He had been leaning out, like a fool. He hadn’t thought anyone would turn round to look this way. They were all so intent on their festival. He wondered if she had really seen him. What on earth had made her do that?
He peeled off the nightshirt and began the morning’s usual stretch and bend. That was how he got exercise. Stretch and bend, and bend and stretch. Suddenly he remembered he was going to have real exercise today. Mahlknecht had given him the permission which Frau Schichtl had never been able to give. He could walk outside. He could taste free air. He wouldn’t wait until this afternoon, either. He kicked the nightshirt aside, and poured the water out of the jug into the basin on his small bedroom table. The water held the night’s cold air, but at least he hadn’t to break the ice on it now before he could wash or shave.
He dressed quickly, remembering to take the grey woollen jacket which Frau Schichtl had found for him in her late husband’s clothes chest. It would be cold outside until the sun was really high. He ran downstairs, and stopped to pick up a slab of bread for his pocket. He opened the back door and looked at the high peaks with the sun rising up behind them. He took a deep breath of the cold, crisp air. It tasted differently down here. It couldn’t be the same air which came into his room upstairs. It didn’t seem the same air at all, with his feet free on this grass.
In the pine wood behind the house there was a narrow path hidden behind three tall trees clumped together. He had looked at it bitterly on every one of those rare nights in which he had walked to the edge of the wood. Now he stood hesitating, wondering if the path was still there, wondering if he had imagined it. He began walking slowly towards the three trees. He saw the beginning of the path. Suddenly he started to run.
13
Lennox explored the wood thoroughly. He found that its boundaries were very simple. On its west was the road which led past the Schichtl and Kasal houses. On its east was a steep hillside and, above that, the series of precipices which formed the mountain’s peak. From the north edge of the wood he could see sloping meadowland, a twisting road, scattered houses, distant villages gathered round church spires, and a sea of mountains as background to all this. From the south edge, there was the road curving down to Hinterwald. But the village itself was hidden by trees. Only the church, with its onion-shaped spire, and a few chalets were to be seen. Beyond the trees of Hinterwald were falling and rising fields, and then more mountains. There were mountains everywhere.
On these four sides of the wood Lennox had rested and stared at the views. They were incredible. He had often admired rows of savage mountains, but in this country they were strangely combined with smiling meadows and wide stretches of wooded slopes. The scattered chalets, the small neat villages, gave a comforting feeling. Mountains alone dominated and threatened. But here pleasant houses and a picturesque church and a comfortable inn would welcome you at the end of a lonely walk. This would be a country worth exploring. A man could find peace here.
Now it was almost midday, and he ate his piece of bread, and slowly drank a mouthful of water from a clear icy stream. He settled himself on a rock sheltered by the last fringe of trees on the high east side of this wood. The wood covered a steep incline from the mountain’s stony base to the Schichtl house, so that he could sit here and watch the pines drop away in front of him and look at the far mountains to the west. Over there was the Brenner railway in its deep valley, and beyond it the western mountains, and beyond them the Swiss Alps. He thought, at this moment I don’t believe I have ever been happier in my life. He remembered suddenly that he should be amazed, and yet he wasn’t. He looked at his scarred right hand. “Get well, blast you,” he said. “You’ve got to paint. Now you’ve found something to paint.” He was grinning like an idiot. “You’re drunk,” he told himself. “Drunk with this feeling of being free. Drunk with all this peace and beauty. You’re drunk.”
Certainly he felt wonderful. Those two Germans neatly handled yesterday, the successful meeting last night, Mahlknecht’s plans no longer hopeless, but fitting nicely into the latest news from the Allied front in Italy—all these contributed to this sense of jubilation. And he could laugh at himself again. This view of mountains and unlimited space put everything into proper perspective.
He rose, somewhat stiffly, carrying his jacket jauntily over one shoulder, and began the descent to the house. He was hungry, and thought with pleasure of the remains of some cold meat in the larder. He would reheat some of Frau Schichtl’s excellent soup. There was rich milk from the Kasal farm, and white bread baked only yesterday. He remembered the sour, stale food of the prison camps, and the meal he was going to prepare seemed an epicure’s delight. Then, after a leisurely dinner with some of the German-published newspapers, which Mahlknecht had brought from Bozen, to provide amusement on the side, he would—He halted his thoughts with his stride. He stopped close to a tree. Standing quite still, he listened intently. He heard nothing. Yet he sensed movement. Someone was coming quietly towards him. He drew quickly behind the tree, and prayed that its cover was adequate.
Then he saw the wide-skirted black dress and its bright silk apron. Above the gay scarf, with its tapering ends crossed demurely over her breast, was the face of the Kasal girl. She was looking puzzled, as if she had heard him and was now wondering where he had gone. She hesitated, and then stopped. There was something so pathetic in her sudden dejection, in her hesitation as her eyes anxiously searched the path ahead of her, that Lennox stepped forward into the open. She flinched at that, and her hand went quickly to her heart. But she didn’t cry out. And then she was smiling, and all the worry was gone from her eyes. They were very blue. Her hair, so smoothly parted and brushed back from the high forehead and with its long, thick plaits circling her head, was very fair. The colour in her cheeks had been deepened by her haste. She came forward to where he stood, walking with that easy step of hers. She was broad-shouldered and tall, taller than he had imagined, and her body was well shaped and strong. Good bones, he observed with a professional eye, and a face moulded in excellent proportions. It was a calm face, and a strong face, and a face still so filled with hope and belief that Lennox felt sorry for her. She wouldn’t look so trusting as that in ten years’ time. She’d learn that the world wasn’t so big and beautiful by then.
She said in her quiet voice, “Uncle Paul sent me.” He stopped thinking about the girl. He was suddenly alert.
“Yes?” he asked.
“He will not be back here tonight. Two friends have arrived.”
Peter Lennox watched her face: it was evident that she knew the message was important, but he was equally sure she didn’t know the reason of its importance.
“Where is Johann?” he asked.
“He’s with Uncle Paul. They want you to bring them their everyday clothes. You’ll find them on the chairs in their room. Bundle them up tightly—everything you see there. I’ll go to our house and change my dress. I can’t travel quickly in this.” She looked down at the silk apron, at the silver buttons on the black silk bodice, at the wide skirt banded at the hem with embroidery. She was smiling at the very idea. She suddenly noticed the look, half puzzled, half anxious on Lennox’s face. “I shall lead you to Johann and Uncle Paul,” she said. “They are only about three miles away from here. But they are a difficult three miles.”
“What’s happened?” Just when all the plans seemed ripe something had gone wrong. His good temper had vanished: he was worrying and heart-sick once more.
“Nothing. Not yet. Some Germans have come to the village. They’ve opened a police station, and they’ve put up notices that all men must register there today. The Germans are watching the processions and the people. They are very quiet and friendly. But they have two lorries hidden half a mile from the village. Andreas Wenter saw them as he was taking a short-cut to the village this morning. Paul Mahlknecht thinks the lorries have come for men to work in labour gangs on the Brenner railway. That’s what some of us think, although ma
ny won’t believe it. But the younger men believe it. They’ve listened to Paul Mahlknecht. They are all slipping out of the village before the dance begins this evening, for that’s when the Germans would expect all the young people to be together.”
She had already started to descend the path. He caught up with her, his mind filled with questions.
“Why were you sent here?” he asked.
She answered, “I was sent home by my mother. I’m in disgrace.” She wasn’t smiling. She was very serious, and he restrained a laugh in time.
“What...?” he began. But she shook her head. “Later,” she said. “We must hurry now.”
He was thinking partly that she was neither so young nor so helpless as he had first thought; and partly that the people of Hinterwald must be having a difficult time at their feast-day celebrations. What with Germans...two important strangers wandering in to join the fun...mothers sending daughters home in disgrace... He wondered if the stolid faces were still as expressionless, if the processions and all the other formalities were still following the usual routine. The postponed laugh began to take shape, and couldn’t be controlled this time.
“It isn’t funny,” the girl said reproachfully.
“No,” he agreed, “it isn’t funny.” But he went on laughing to himself.
The sound of a motor-car checked him. The girl looked at him anxiously. They halted, listening, judging the distance by sound. The car stopped. It was near them; perhaps in front of the Schichtl house. Quickly, he grasped her arm and led her to the left. They must get off this path. The girl not only understood that, she was untying the too bright apron from her waist, folding it up tightly to carry in her hand. If Lennox hadn’t been so worried he would have been surprised. She understood, all right.
“Let’s get to the edge of the wood. Let’s see,” he whispered. She nodded, following him obediently. He must see, he thought desperately. He had to know what was happening down on that road.
When they reached the edge of the wood it was the girl who led him to a point where the trees were thick enough for safety. From there they could watch the Schichtl house and the Kasal farm and the road in between. Lennox nodded, well-pleased.
He could see the car, drawn up at the left corner of the Schichtl house. German, of course. None of the people of this district owned a car. Two men were seated in the car, waiting. Civilian dress. Two others in black uniforms were coming out of the Schichtl house. They halted at the car. Much talking. The two civilians got out of the car. The two uniforms got in. The car, slipping in the mud, was turned around and pointed back to the village. The two civilians walked towards the Kasal farm. They went into the house. They came out. Then they walked round to the barn at its side. One was offering the other a cigarette. They were settling down for a long watch. They were hidden now by the barn. They didn’t reappear.
Lennox drew a deep breath. The girl was saying, her voice desolate, worry drawing her brows together, “We must leave now. Without food or proper clothes. We must leave.”
Lennox was thinking. So they were Germans. We were right. They were Germans, and not American flyers. For the two civilians, who had so leisurely lighted cigarettes and had wandered so innocently towards the cover of the farm buildings, were of the same build and size and colouring as the two men who had come yesterday to the Schichtl house. Somehow he was suddenly glad of this moment which had proved yesterday’s decision.
“Please.” The girl was shaking his arm. “Please, we must go. We must get to Schönau and tell them. We must go.” She was frightened now.
Lennox touched her shoulder encouragingly. “Don’t worry,” he said awkwardly. “They’ve only chosen your barn so that they can have a comfortable front-view of the Schichtl house.”
She nodded, and bit her lip. “We must tell Uncle Paul,” she said. “Come.” He realised then that she wasn’t afraid for the Kasal house: her fear was for the Schichtls. They backed carefully away from the outside fringe of pines. And then, safely in the depth of the wood, they began to climb. Lennox didn’t speak at first. He was trying to get his thoughts into order. These two Germans had come back to the Schichtl house because they could identify the men in it. But why had they come back? Why the openly official visit? Had they learned his true identity? They were waiting, certainly. For what? For him, or for Paul Mahlknecht, or for... He suddenly thought of the two “friends” whom the girl had mentioned in her first sentence. Had they been seen landing, and followed? Had their parachutes been discovered? Was the Schichtl house naturally suspected? Was the search on? He suddenly felt that he knew only half of this danger: Mahlknecht and Johann would know the other half. Together, they’d form a clearer picture. He forgot he was tired, forgot he was hungry. He only remembered the need to get to this Schönau, wherever it was. He followed the girl, watching the way she moved so easily, so capably. Mahlknecht had been right: the people who lived in this country made excellent guides. They knew the terrain: walking and climbing was a natural way for them to spend their free time. It was as natural for them to scale these mountains above, as it was for people at home to put on their best hats on Sunday afternoons for a stroll in the parks. He kept the girl’s steady pace, content to let her choose the path.
14
They had come to the north-east corner of the wood. The lower mountain slope, with its mixture of grass and small shrubs, lay before them.
The girl spoke for the first time. “We cross this until we reach the valley, which leads up in between that group of mountains.” She pointed to three towering peaks of rock. “Schönau is the name we give the alp in the middle of the high forest up there.”
Lennox nodded. He could neither see any valley, nor any sign of a higher forest. All he could see were the bold precipices of the mountains and this lower slope falling to the wood where they now stood.
“Where’s the path?” he asked.
“Here.” She smiled. “You will get accustomed to seeing it. It is difficult for strangers’ eyes at first.”
Lennox said nothing. He still couldn’t see any path. She sensed his annoyance, for she turned the conversation politely. “You knew where I lived. Do you know my name, too?”
“Katharina Kasal.”
She laughed and said, “And I know who you are.”
He pretended to smile. He said very quietly, “And who am I?”
“Peter Schichtl, of course.”
His smile became easier. “How did you know I was Peter Schichtl?”
She hesitated, looking sideways at him, and then said with considerable embarrassment, “I saw you. I saw you sometimes taking a short walk to the wood at night. My bedroom window has a good view of this wood, you see. Then one day I asked your aunt who you were.”
“And what did your father and mother say?” He tried to keep his voice amused, but he wasn’t feeling quite so casual as his question. Alois Kasal was one of the men on Mahlknecht’s doubtful list: Alois Kasal was a most annoying neutral. Suddenly the whole winter of secrecy and imprisonment seemed a complete farce.
The girl’s quiet voice said, “I didn’t tell my father or my mother. I was supposed to be asleep, not standing at a window looking at night on the mountains. You see,” and she was smiling, “I am always doing wrong things.”
“What did you do that was wrong today?”
She looked at him, and she was suddenly grave. “You shouldn’t keep laughing at me,” she said with Frau Schichtl-like dignity. “It was nothing very much, anyway. I gathered the school children and told them not to go back to the school until Frau Schichtl was again their teacher.”
“You did what?” His voice was suddenly serious. “Who heard you?”
“The children. And then my mother and Eva Mussner arrived just as I was finishing my talk.”
He looked at her so intently that she lost her smile. “You are just as bad as my mother or Eva Mussner,” she said angrily. “Don’t you see something has got to be done about the school? Now, hurry; I have got
to take you to Schönau and then get back home before my mother or father returns. Don’t you understand?”
“I didn’t.” He was abrupt and angry. He wasn’t thinking about the need for hurry. He was still thinking about this girl’s words in the village. And Eva Mussner had heard them. “I am only asking you questions to try to understand. You don’t explain much, do you?”
She didn’t answer, but turned her back to him. She was taking off her stockings and shoes. She faced him once more, her cheeks still more highly coloured. “My mother would be angrier if I were to ruin these shoes,” she said. She laid the shoes and stockings and the pink apron neatly together behind a large rock, placing a stone carefully over them as an anchor.
“It won’t be comfortable walking that way,” he said.
She shrugged her shoulders. “I’ve no choice. Now we’ll hurry.”
“May we talk? I’d like to hear what has been happening at the village.” He had started worrying again. The name of Eva Mussner was a bad omen. He began to wonder how much she had actually learned from Johann. The boy had sworn last night that he had told her nothing, but some women didn’t need to be told very much. They guessed too easily. And now she had heard Katharina inciting a revolt among school children. He didn’t like this Eva Mussner. He didn’t like her at all.
Katharina said, “Of course we can talk—if we have any breath left. But I’ve already told you all about today in the village.” She started forward impatiently. She obviously thought that this Schichtl nephew wasn’t very bright. And Lennox didn’t argue. As a Tyrolese, he ought to have had a picture of today in the village quite clearly fixed in his mind’s eye. He followed her in silence, noting that there was indeed a path, barely perceptible and narrow as a sheep-track. It led them north, away from Hinterwald. Gradually it ascended the steep shoulder of the hillside. Above them, to their right, were the large teeth-like ridges of dolomite rock. The sun was warm now. There was silence everywhere. There was no other living thing in sight.