Out of the Hitler Time trilogy: When Hitler Stole Pink Rabbit, Bombs on Aunt Dainty, A Small Person Far Away

“What does it mean?” Anna asked suspiciously.

Max translated with a flourish.

“Once a boy had his birthday. Many people came. They had a big feast. They ate fish, meat, butter, bread, eggs, sugar, strawberries, lobsters, ice cream, tomatoes, flour …”

“They wouldn’t eat flour,” said Anna.

“You don’t know what they ate,” said Max. “Anyway, I’m not sure that word is flour. I looked it up at the time but I’ve forgotten.”

“Is all this a list of what they ate?” asked Anna, pointing to the page crawling with commas.

“Yes,” said Max.

“What is this last bit?” There was just one sentence at the end which had no commas in it.

“That’s the best part,” said Max proudly. “I think it means ‘then they all burst’.”

Mademoiselle Martel read Max’s composition without batting an eyelid. She said she could see it had increased his vocabulary. But she was less pleased when, for the following day’s homework, he produced an almost identical piece. This one began “Once there was a wedding,” and the food the wedding guests ate was different, but it ended with everyone bursting as before. Mademoiselle Martel frowned and drummed her fingers on the dictionary. Then she told Max very firmly that he must write something different next time.

Next morning the children were sitting at the dining-room table with their books spread out on the red oilcloth as usual. Anna was wrestling with a piece about a man who had a horse and a cat. The man liked the cat and the cat liked the horse and the horse liked the man but it did not like the cat …It was sickening stuff to be turning out when there were so many interesting things she could have written about if only she had been able to write in German.

Max was not writing anything at all, but staring into space. When Grete came in and told them to clear their things away because she wanted to lay the table for lunch his sheet of paper was still blank.

“But it’s only twelve o’clock!” cried Anna.

“I shan’t have time to do it later,” said Grete crossly as usual.

“Well, there’s nowhere else we can work – this is the only table,” said Max – and they prevailed on her, with difficulty to let them keep it a little longer.

“What are you going to do?” asked Anna. “We want to go out this afternoon.”

Max seemed to come to a decision. “Pass me the dictionary,” he said.

As he leafed through it briskly (they were both becoming very practised at this) Anna heard him murmuring “funeral” under his breath.

When Mademoiselle Martel came to give them their next lesson she read Max’s composition in silence. Max had done his best to introduce variety into his basic theme. The funeral guests in his story – no doubt carried away by grief – ate paper, pepper, penguins, pemmican and peaches in addition to less exotic foodstuffs, and after his usual punch line about how they all burst at the end Max had added the words, “So there were many more funerals.”

Mademoiselle Martel did not speak at all for a few moments. Then she gave Max a long, hard look and said, “Young man, you need a change.”

When Mama came in at the end of the lesson as she often did to ask how the children were getting on, Mademoiselle Martel made a little speech. She said she had taught them now for three weeks and that they had made good progress. But the time had come when they would learn more by being with other children and hearing French spoken all round them.

Mama nodded. Clearly she had been thinking the same thing.

“It’s nearly Christmas,” she said. “Perhaps you would give them one or two more lessons before the holidays, and then they can start school.”

Even Max worked hard during the remaining time. The prospect of going to a school where no one spoke anything but French was rather daunting.

And then Christmas was upon them. Grete went home to Austria for a holiday a few days before, and as Mama was busy cooking the flat soon became rather dusty. But it was so much pleasanter without Grete’s grumpy presence that no one minded. Anna looked forward to Christmas and dreaded it all at the same time. She looked forward to it because you couldn’t not look forward to Christmas, but she was also terribly afraid that it would make her think of Berlin and of what Christmas used to be like – what it had been like even the year before.

“Do you think we’ll have a tree?” she asked Max. In Berlin there had always been a big tree in the hall, and one of the delights of Christmas had been to recognize the many coloured glass balls, the birds with the feathery tails and the trumpets which you could actually blow, as they reappeared each year to decorate it.

“I don’t think the French go in for Christmas trees very much,” said Max.

However, Mama managed to get one just the same. When Papa called the children at tea-time on Christmas Eve for the celebrations to begin and they rushed into the dining room, it was the first thing Anna saw. It was only a little tree – about two feet high – and instead of glass ornaments Mama had hung it with tinsel and covered it with little candles. But it looked so pretty, shining green and silver above the red oil-cloth of the table, that Anna suddenly knew that Christmas would be all right.

Presents were modest compared with previous years, but perhaps because everyone needed them more they enjoyed them just as much. Anna had a new paint box and Max a fountain pen. Omama had sent some money and Mama had bought Anna new shoes with her share. Anna had had to try them on in the shop, so they were not a surprise – but Mama had hidden them away immediately afterwards so that they would still be new for Christmas. They were thick brown leather with gold buckles and she felt very grand in them. She also had a pencil sharpener in a little case and a pair of hand-knitted red socks from Frau Zwirn, and when she thought she had seen all her presents she found one more – a very small parcel from Onkel Julius.

Anna opened it carefully and gave an exclamation of delight. “It’s lovely!” she cried. “What is it?”

Nestling in the tissue paper was a short silver chain hung with tiny animals. There were a lion, a horse, a cat, a bird, an elephant and of course a monkey.

“It’s a charm bracelet,” said Mama, fastening it round her wrist. “How nice of Julius!”

“There’s a letter with it,” said Max, handing it over. Anna read it out.

“Dear Anna,” it said, “I hope this little present will remind you of our many visits to the Berlin Zoo. It is not nearly so nice going there without you. Please give my love to your dear Aunt Alice. I hope she is well. Tell her I think of her often, and of her good advice which I should perhaps have taken. My love to you all. Yours, Onkel Julius.”

“What does it mean?” asked Anna. “We haven’t got an Aunt Alice.”

Papa took the letter from her. “I think he means me,” he said. “He calls me Aunt Alice because the Nazis often open letters and he could get into bad trouble if they knew that he was writing to me.”

“What advice did you give him?” asked Max.

“I told him to leave Germany,” said Papa and added under his breath, “Poor Julius.”

“I’ll write and thank him,” cried Anna, “and I’ll paint him a picture with my new paint box.”

“Yes,” said Papa, “and tell him Aunt Alice sends her love.”

Then suddenly Mama made a sound with which by now they were all familiar.

“My chicken!” she cried and rushed off to the kitchen. But it had not burned and soon they were sitting down to a real Christmas dinner, all cooked by Mama. As well as the chicken there were roast potatoes and carrots, and apple flan with cream to follow. Mama was becoming quite a good cook. She had even made gingerbread hearts because they belonged to a proper German Christmas. There was something wrong with them and they had gone soggy instead of being hard and crisp, but they tasted quite nice just the same.

At the end of the meal Papa poured them all some wine and they drank a toast.

“To our new life in France!” he said and they all repeated. “To our new life in France.”

Mama did not actually drink any of the wine because she said it all tasted like ink to her, but Anna liked it and drank a whole glassful. Her head felt muzzy when she finally got to bed and she had to close her eyes to stop the yellow lampshade and the wardrobe from whirling round and round.

It had been a nice Christmas, she thought. And soon she would go to school and find out what living in France was really like.

Chapter Fourteen (#ulink_0abffc75-374e-527e-8644-1df0d3cbaf26)

Anna did not go to school quite as soon as she had expected. Mama had arranged for Max to start at a lycée for boys early in January – a lycée was a French high school – but there were only very few lycées for girls in Paris and these were all full, with long waiting lists.

“We can’t afford a private school,” said Mama, “and I don’t think it would be a good idea for you to go to an école communale.”

“Why not?” asked Anna.