much he doesn’t notice my knees. We go into his office and he pins the best one up on the wall. While he’s doing that I take a handful of sweets from his assistant’s desk. After lunch, he gives me a new drawing book and some more crayons. I have another bread roll in my pocket, as well as the sweets, but when I look out of the window, Daniel has gone.
Lottie says we should tell the story again. This time a beautiful lady puts her head in the witch’s oven to look at something and forgets to take it out again. I am suddenly very sad and frightened. My knees are hurting and I want Papa, but he doesn’t come, no matter how loudly I shout his name.
Today I ask Papa if I can take my bowl of creamed wheat to the infirmary so that I can eat it later, when I get hungry. He says I’m being sensible at last and encourages me to take more bread and butter, too. All morning I sit by the window waiting for Daniel, but he doesn’t come and my newly bandaged knees are so stiff and sore I can’t climb out of the window to find him. Daniel doesn’t come in the afternoon either. Lottie says he might still have tummy ache but I think it’s because he doesn’t want to be my friend, so I pull the sweets from under the mattress and stamp on each one before throwing them all on to the grass.
After that I do some colouring in with my new crayons, but Lottie wants me to finish yesterday’s story. I can’t do it from the middle, so we have to start again. This time I tell her how bad the witch’s kitchen smelled that day – as if a rude person’s done some really big, smelly blowing-off – so bad that Gretel’s eyeswatered and she couldn’t stop coughing. The beautiful lady didn’t seem to notice. She went on looking inside the oven.
I shout for Papa and kick the wall so hard that new blood comes through the bandages, but the door comes open when I pull on the handle. Something had gone wrong when we came back from the cafeteria and everyone was in such a hurry that he must have forgotten to lock it.
‘
Papa!
’ I yell, running down the corridor. ‘
Papa!
’
A nurse tries to catch me. I duck under her arm, still screaming. Doors open. Another nurse comes out and grabs my frock. The fabric rips and she’s left with the sleeve in her hand. And there’s Papa doing his hand-washing, only he’s doing it with red paint. And someone inside the room is screaming back at me, screaming and screaming, only it’s all muffled because of the blanket over their head. And the red paint is dripping on to Papa’s shoes. And behind him another nurse is holding something terrible –
Greet opens the door, letting cold night air into the kitchen. From my hiding place under the table I can see the big full moon swimming in a sea of stars. She flicks a dish rag at me and I quickly move out of reach.
‘Better do as you’re told for a change and go to bed, or you’ll regret it.’
‘Won’t.’
‘Oh, well,’ says Greet cheerfully, ‘if you won’t, you won’t, I suppose. Nothing more I can do. The
Böggelmann
will be here soon enough and the door’s wide open to let him in.’
‘Papa says there’s no such thing as bogeymen.’
‘Does he? Being an educated man, he’s probably right. You and I will just have to wait and see.’
A
thump
,
thump
,
thump
ing begins and I crawl forward, anxiously watching the back-kitchen steps, almost sure a huge black shadow is pouring down them. Then I realize that the noise is only Greet kneading dough ready for the morning. She clears her throat and sings:
‘
Es tanzt ein Bi-Ba-Butzemann
In unserm Haus herum, bidebum,
Es tanzt ein Bi-Ba-Butzemann
In unserm Haus herum.
Er wirft sein Säcklein her und hin,
Was ist wohl in dem Säcklein drin?
Es tanzt ein Bi-Ba-Butzemann
In unserm Haus herum.
’
I stick my head out. ‘What
is
in the bogeyman’s sack?’
‘Oh, this and that.’ She hums the tune for a bit, then starts again. ‘There’s a bogeyman prowling around our house
Lottie says we should tell the story again. This time a beautiful lady puts her head in the witch’s oven to look at something and forgets to take it out again. I am suddenly very sad and frightened. My knees are hurting and I want Papa, but he doesn’t come, no matter how loudly I shout his name.
Today I ask Papa if I can take my bowl of creamed wheat to the infirmary so that I can eat it later, when I get hungry. He says I’m being sensible at last and encourages me to take more bread and butter, too. All morning I sit by the window waiting for Daniel, but he doesn’t come and my newly bandaged knees are so stiff and sore I can’t climb out of the window to find him. Daniel doesn’t come in the afternoon either. Lottie says he might still have tummy ache but I think it’s because he doesn’t want to be my friend, so I pull the sweets from under the mattress and stamp on each one before throwing them all on to the grass.
After that I do some colouring in with my new crayons, but Lottie wants me to finish yesterday’s story. I can’t do it from the middle, so we have to start again. This time I tell her how bad the witch’s kitchen smelled that day – as if a rude person’s done some really big, smelly blowing-off – so bad that Gretel’s eyeswatered and she couldn’t stop coughing. The beautiful lady didn’t seem to notice. She went on looking inside the oven.
I shout for Papa and kick the wall so hard that new blood comes through the bandages, but the door comes open when I pull on the handle. Something had gone wrong when we came back from the cafeteria and everyone was in such a hurry that he must have forgotten to lock it.
‘
Papa!
’ I yell, running down the corridor. ‘
Papa!
’
A nurse tries to catch me. I duck under her arm, still screaming. Doors open. Another nurse comes out and grabs my frock. The fabric rips and she’s left with the sleeve in her hand. And there’s Papa doing his hand-washing, only he’s doing it with red paint. And someone inside the room is screaming back at me, screaming and screaming, only it’s all muffled because of the blanket over their head. And the red paint is dripping on to Papa’s shoes. And behind him another nurse is holding something terrible –
Greet opens the door, letting cold night air into the kitchen. From my hiding place under the table I can see the big full moon swimming in a sea of stars. She flicks a dish rag at me and I quickly move out of reach.
‘Better do as you’re told for a change and go to bed, or you’ll regret it.’
‘Won’t.’
‘Oh, well,’ says Greet cheerfully, ‘if you won’t, you won’t, I suppose. Nothing more I can do. The
Böggelmann
will be here soon enough and the door’s wide open to let him in.’
‘Papa says there’s no such thing as bogeymen.’
‘Does he? Being an educated man, he’s probably right. You and I will just have to wait and see.’
A
thump
,
thump
,
thump
ing begins and I crawl forward, anxiously watching the back-kitchen steps, almost sure a huge black shadow is pouring down them. Then I realize that the noise is only Greet kneading dough ready for the morning. She clears her throat and sings:
‘
Es tanzt ein Bi-Ba-Butzemann
In unserm Haus herum, bidebum,
Es tanzt ein Bi-Ba-Butzemann
In unserm Haus herum.
Er wirft sein Säcklein her und hin,
Was ist wohl in dem Säcklein drin?
Es tanzt ein Bi-Ba-Butzemann
In unserm Haus herum.
’
I stick my head out. ‘What
is
in the bogeyman’s sack?’
‘Oh, this and that.’ She hums the tune for a bit, then starts again. ‘There’s a bogeyman prowling around our house
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