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The Land God Made in Anger

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2018
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‘Maybe so.’ She clearly wanted to stop talking about it now. ‘Another scone, Mr McQuade? You must take these with you on your journey.’

‘That’s very kind of you.’ He added hastily, ‘I’m sorry to keep asking questions, but I am … very interested in your story now. Tell me, did you know most of his crew?’

Frau Kohler put her empty cup down with a certain finality. ‘Some of them. They were at our wedding. As a guard of honour.’ She smiled wearily, ‘Mr McQuade, there is something else I baked for you when I heard you were coming. Do Englishmen like apfelstrudel?’

McQuade got the message. ‘Oh yes …’

She smiled and got up and walked out. McQuade stood up, marshalling his last question. Frau Kohler came back with an open cardboard box. In it lay a golden apfel pie. ‘You shouldn’t have done this, Mrs Kohler.’

‘I hope you enjoy it.’ She put the box down and bent to tie string around it.

‘Frau Kohler, you have been very patient with me, but I have one last question please?’

‘Yes?’ she asked, still tying. ‘Of course.’

McQuade said: ‘Do the initials H.M. mean anything to you? Was there a member of your husband’s crew with the initials H.M.?’

Frau Kohler froze, bent over the box. There was a silence. McQuade watched her. She did not look up. Then her fingers continued tying the knot.


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