The Silver Sword by Ian Serraillier Page B

wherever he happened to be working. He worked hard and with enjoyment. Nevertheless, like the others, when the lorries of cheering home-going refugees swept up the road each evening, he was careful to keep out of sight. He, too, was afraid of the shadow of the Burgomaster.
    Once the Burgomaster paid a surprise visit, but the noise of his jeep rattling up the drive was warning enough, and they managed to reach the attic just in time. They lay there in the dust, all four of them, till he had gone. To their annoyance the attic window was blocked up, and they failed to get a peep at him.
    Later, when they were down in the parlour, Jan pointed to a man’s photo on the mantelpiece and said, “Does the Burgomaster look like that?”
    “Oh no,” said Frau Wolff, “he’s not as handsome or as young as that.”
    “Would he shoot us if he found us here?” said Bronia.
    “He’d be more likely to shoot me for hiding you here,” said the farmer. “But he’s such a poor shot he’d probably hit you by mistake. Of course our friend the ex-convict is the one he ought to shoot.”
    “Let’s talk about something more cheerful,” said Ruth. She was admiring the smiling face of the young man in the photograph. She asked who it was.
    “That’s my elder son,” said Frau Wolff, without looking up from her knitting. “Father took the photo on his last leave, before he went overseas.”
    “You never told us you had any children,” said Edek.
    “We haven’t,” said Frau Wolff. “Hans was killed in the desert at a place called Tobruk. Rudolf — he’s in the other photo — standing at the back, in uniform — Rudolf died later, fighting to keep the Russians out of Warsaw.”
    “You mean he was in General Model’s army?” said Edek.
    “Yes.”
    “We might have seen him,” said Jan, who was peering intently at the figure in the photo. “They all wore uniforms like that. They used to hide in the ruins and take pot-shots at us if we dared to come out of our rabbit holes. We hated them.”
    “I liked them,” said Bronia. “They used to give me sweets.”
    “That was the Russians. You’ve got the wrong army,” said Jan.
    “Some of the Germans were nice,” said Ruth, “especially in the early days of the war.”
    Jan looked at Frau Wolff, quietly intent on her knitting; then at the farmer, whose eyes had a gleam of sadness he had not seen before; then back at the photo. That there could be any connection between these homely folk and the soldier in the photo was beyond his understanding.
    After a moment he turned to the farmer and said, “You and I ought to be deadly enemies.”
    “The only deadly enemy you have,” said the farmer, “is the Burgomaster, and even he has not given you much cause for complaint as yet.”
    “You wouldn’t have hated Rudolf, Jan,” said Frau Wolff.
    “How do you know?”
    “Because he loved Ludwig in the same way that you do. He trained him to be the best watchdog we ever had. He pined away when Rudolf was called up, but now that you’ve come he’s almost as fit as he used to be. You’re like Rudolf in other ways, too.”
    “Oh,” said Jan.
    “He was sent to Warsaw to kill us,” said Ruth. “I don’t suppose he wanted to very much. If he were here now, he would treat us as friends, as you do, Frau Wolff. It all seems so stupid and senseless.”
    “You’d like to be our mother wouldn’t you, Frau Wolff?” said Bronia.
    “Yes, my dear, I would. I’d like to have you all. But you’ve got your own mother, and the most we can do for you is to try to help you find her.” She turned to Jan. “You have no mother, Jan. Would you like to stay here?”
    “Yes, I would. Because of Ludwig. But I’d rather go with Ruth. Anyway, the sword wouldn’t let me stay here, however much I wanted to.”
    “What sword?” said Frau Wolff.
    Having mentioned the sword, there was nothing for it but to go and fetch it from his treasure box.
    “It’s beautifully made,” said Frau