volunteered. He had been accepted.
“And what teaching has he ever done?” Mahlknecht demanded.
“Seemingly he has been learning to teach in these last five years.”
“Aye,” her brother said grimly. “We can make a guess at what he has been learning to teach.”
Frau Schichtl closed her eyes wearily. “Anyway, he’s in. And I’m out. The Germans left after the meeting. But they are setting up a police station, too. German policemen are arriving tomorrow. And there is to be a German postmaster. And next week more people are returning from the North Tyrol. People like Mussner who left in 1939. They are going to run this village. I can see that.”
“Mussner... Well, at least we know now where he stands,” Mahlknecht said. He picked up his pipe again, and studied the bowl thoughtfully. “We are supposed to be such fools that we really believe Mussner just happened to volunteer. We are supposed not to see that the whole meeting was an obvious German manoeuvre, so that Mussner wouldn’t seem the German choice.” He smiled grimly. “And so we would not distrust or hate him.”
Frau Schichtl rose and went to the table. She began arranging her books on a shelf along the wall. “Where’s Johann?” she asked.
“I sent him to the houses of the Committee with some information. He should be back soon.”
“Anything wrong?” Frau Schichtl asked sharply. “Come, Paul, you don’t have to pretend with me. Something is wrong.” She turned to look at Lennox, and then at the kitchen, as if her answer might be found there. She noticed, for the first time, the dried mud on the sitting-room floor. She walked slowly towards it.
“Oh, Paul!” she said in dismay. “I scrubbed it only yesterday afternoon.” Then all her postponed emotion broke. She began to cry.
“Now, Frieda,” Mahlknecht was saying uncomfortably, “we’ll scrub it for you today. I’ll tell you what happened as soon as you are a sensible woman again. Perhaps this rest from school will be good for you. You’ve been doing too much.”
“I have not.” Frau Schichtl’s tears were in control, but her temper was ragged. It was the first time that Lennox had seen her anything but calm and capable. Somehow she was all the more human. “I have not. None of us have. We’ve done too little. We let the Germans appoint this and that. We do nothing but plan for the future. What good is that to us now?”
“The Germans have the machine guns and we have not,” her brother said patiently. “We are a small collection of people. We are farmers. We have no factories, no machines to help us. We can’t make arms. We’ve stolen some from derailed trains, and from the Italians’ barracks. But we haven’t enough yet. If we use them now we’d be wiped out within a week. What good would we be then to the Allies or to ourselves? All we can do is to wait, to have our plans well made, to be ready. Then we can help in the fighting when the Allies are coming up towards the Brenner. There will be plenty of fighting and dying then, Frieda. But it will be useful fighting and useful dying. Ask Peter, here, if you don’t believe me.”
Frau Schichtl was silent. And then she said sadly, “I don’t need to ask him. I just get so tired of waiting, that’s all. And I get worried. Everything seems to be going wrong.” She looked at Lennox. “He’s unhappy: he wants to leave. And Johann is seeing too much of that girl. He went to see her yesterday beforehe came home, and that’s why he arrived only half an hour before you did, this dawn. He should have been here yesterday. And now this school business. The children will be questioned about their families, and their minds will be poisoned. They will be told the wrong things.”
“What girl are you talking about?” Mahlknecht asked.
“Eva Mussner. Mussner’s niece. She was in Bozen for the last five years, Johann saw her there. Now she’s come back to Hinterwald. She opened up her uncle’s house.
“And what teaching has he ever done?” Mahlknecht demanded.
“Seemingly he has been learning to teach in these last five years.”
“Aye,” her brother said grimly. “We can make a guess at what he has been learning to teach.”
Frau Schichtl closed her eyes wearily. “Anyway, he’s in. And I’m out. The Germans left after the meeting. But they are setting up a police station, too. German policemen are arriving tomorrow. And there is to be a German postmaster. And next week more people are returning from the North Tyrol. People like Mussner who left in 1939. They are going to run this village. I can see that.”
“Mussner... Well, at least we know now where he stands,” Mahlknecht said. He picked up his pipe again, and studied the bowl thoughtfully. “We are supposed to be such fools that we really believe Mussner just happened to volunteer. We are supposed not to see that the whole meeting was an obvious German manoeuvre, so that Mussner wouldn’t seem the German choice.” He smiled grimly. “And so we would not distrust or hate him.”
Frau Schichtl rose and went to the table. She began arranging her books on a shelf along the wall. “Where’s Johann?” she asked.
“I sent him to the houses of the Committee with some information. He should be back soon.”
“Anything wrong?” Frau Schichtl asked sharply. “Come, Paul, you don’t have to pretend with me. Something is wrong.” She turned to look at Lennox, and then at the kitchen, as if her answer might be found there. She noticed, for the first time, the dried mud on the sitting-room floor. She walked slowly towards it.
“Oh, Paul!” she said in dismay. “I scrubbed it only yesterday afternoon.” Then all her postponed emotion broke. She began to cry.
“Now, Frieda,” Mahlknecht was saying uncomfortably, “we’ll scrub it for you today. I’ll tell you what happened as soon as you are a sensible woman again. Perhaps this rest from school will be good for you. You’ve been doing too much.”
“I have not.” Frau Schichtl’s tears were in control, but her temper was ragged. It was the first time that Lennox had seen her anything but calm and capable. Somehow she was all the more human. “I have not. None of us have. We’ve done too little. We let the Germans appoint this and that. We do nothing but plan for the future. What good is that to us now?”
“The Germans have the machine guns and we have not,” her brother said patiently. “We are a small collection of people. We are farmers. We have no factories, no machines to help us. We can’t make arms. We’ve stolen some from derailed trains, and from the Italians’ barracks. But we haven’t enough yet. If we use them now we’d be wiped out within a week. What good would we be then to the Allies or to ourselves? All we can do is to wait, to have our plans well made, to be ready. Then we can help in the fighting when the Allies are coming up towards the Brenner. There will be plenty of fighting and dying then, Frieda. But it will be useful fighting and useful dying. Ask Peter, here, if you don’t believe me.”
Frau Schichtl was silent. And then she said sadly, “I don’t need to ask him. I just get so tired of waiting, that’s all. And I get worried. Everything seems to be going wrong.” She looked at Lennox. “He’s unhappy: he wants to leave. And Johann is seeing too much of that girl. He went to see her yesterday beforehe came home, and that’s why he arrived only half an hour before you did, this dawn. He should have been here yesterday. And now this school business. The children will be questioned about their families, and their minds will be poisoned. They will be told the wrong things.”
“What girl are you talking about?” Mahlknecht asked.
“Eva Mussner. Mussner’s niece. She was in Bozen for the last five years, Johann saw her there. Now she’s come back to Hinterwald. She opened up her uncle’s house.
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