alone make a living for myself. It is very kind of you to show such charity. You will be blessed.’
Upon which, with a sudden withdrawal into herself, she freed her arm from his touch and returned to her stool, gazing once more into the fire.
So many things that might contradict his lies! Letters with Eriksson’s name and address on – the rotting food from the deep-freeze, clearly stamped for consumption at the latest by forty years ago – irreplaceable newspapers which must go because though ignorant of Swedish Annieliese might read the dates on them, too …
It hurt him, it agonized him, to see these precious relics destroyed. But he drove himself to the task, mindful of Dany’s corpse waiting for him at home.
And other things had to go as well, for fear she might think to ask him later why, if he had been born in Belgium, his ‘family home’ should be in Sweden. The little girl’s books, punctiliously signed – her name had been Greta – though not her clothes, or not all of them, for she had been tall and well-built for her age while Anneliese was slight for hers, so some of them might come in useful. Doubtless at Festeburg with its limited resources, long before the same thing happened in the larger world, one had had to be content with other people’s cast-offs …
He breathed a vast sigh of relief on discovering that the girl had abandoned her stool for a long sofa, and lying on it had dozed off. That made his job far easier.
The deceased master of the house had owned a large wardrobe. He had been taller than Hans and rather fatter, but providentially took the same size in shoes. Warm in musty thick winter garments, Hans was able to trudge outside with those few articles he did not want to leave lying around for Anneliese to inquire about, yet dared not send to the incinerators for fear they would survive the flames and be recognized as antique. Most of these were luxury items, chiefly molded cosmetic jars and perfume bottles.He could have smashed them, but the noise might have awakened Anneliese.
The ground was frozen far too hard for him to dig a hole; for the time being he’d have to be content with hiding them in the snow.
Returning, bitterly cold, he found bedding and made up the child’s bed for her; she was short enough to find it tolerable, he judged. Then he carried her from the living-zone and tucked her in, removing only her shoes. She barely stirred, being deeply asleep by now.
His mind was full to the brim with two competing emotions: a sort of frustrated tenderness, as though this were his own child he was putting to bed, and a cold and calculating plan for the future, a tangled skein of deceit climaxing in arson to explain why eventually they would be unable to come back here …
At the edge of hearing: trickle, splash … What in the world? Oh, of course. A pipe frost-fractured in the main bathroom. The toilet pan, he found, had been frozen, predictably enough; now a wedge of ice bobbed in it as water dribbled down from the flushing valve behind.
But the Erikssons had been careful people. It took only minutes to locate a tool-kit in a kitchen drawer, which included a roll of siliconized tape. After making the repair, crudely but effectively, he inspected all the other piping he could find and concluded that there was no risk of further leaks.
Now, before leaving: what else? Obviously, light for Anneliese if she woke while he was gone and the short sub-arctic day was over. Festeburg had never accepted electricity, so she would be used to candles, and here were several, wicks damp and fizzing, all colors of the rainbow, meant for
tête-à-tête
dinner parties, not real illumination – but never mind. He set one by the bed, and matches which (he tried one) still struck well after all these years.
That, and a quick note telling her not to worry, he’d be back soon, would have to be that. He dared not delay too long before reporting Dany’s death, even though the Maori attack on
Upon which, with a sudden withdrawal into herself, she freed her arm from his touch and returned to her stool, gazing once more into the fire.
So many things that might contradict his lies! Letters with Eriksson’s name and address on – the rotting food from the deep-freeze, clearly stamped for consumption at the latest by forty years ago – irreplaceable newspapers which must go because though ignorant of Swedish Annieliese might read the dates on them, too …
It hurt him, it agonized him, to see these precious relics destroyed. But he drove himself to the task, mindful of Dany’s corpse waiting for him at home.
And other things had to go as well, for fear she might think to ask him later why, if he had been born in Belgium, his ‘family home’ should be in Sweden. The little girl’s books, punctiliously signed – her name had been Greta – though not her clothes, or not all of them, for she had been tall and well-built for her age while Anneliese was slight for hers, so some of them might come in useful. Doubtless at Festeburg with its limited resources, long before the same thing happened in the larger world, one had had to be content with other people’s cast-offs …
He breathed a vast sigh of relief on discovering that the girl had abandoned her stool for a long sofa, and lying on it had dozed off. That made his job far easier.
The deceased master of the house had owned a large wardrobe. He had been taller than Hans and rather fatter, but providentially took the same size in shoes. Warm in musty thick winter garments, Hans was able to trudge outside with those few articles he did not want to leave lying around for Anneliese to inquire about, yet dared not send to the incinerators for fear they would survive the flames and be recognized as antique. Most of these were luxury items, chiefly molded cosmetic jars and perfume bottles.He could have smashed them, but the noise might have awakened Anneliese.
The ground was frozen far too hard for him to dig a hole; for the time being he’d have to be content with hiding them in the snow.
Returning, bitterly cold, he found bedding and made up the child’s bed for her; she was short enough to find it tolerable, he judged. Then he carried her from the living-zone and tucked her in, removing only her shoes. She barely stirred, being deeply asleep by now.
His mind was full to the brim with two competing emotions: a sort of frustrated tenderness, as though this were his own child he was putting to bed, and a cold and calculating plan for the future, a tangled skein of deceit climaxing in arson to explain why eventually they would be unable to come back here …
At the edge of hearing: trickle, splash … What in the world? Oh, of course. A pipe frost-fractured in the main bathroom. The toilet pan, he found, had been frozen, predictably enough; now a wedge of ice bobbed in it as water dribbled down from the flushing valve behind.
But the Erikssons had been careful people. It took only minutes to locate a tool-kit in a kitchen drawer, which included a roll of siliconized tape. After making the repair, crudely but effectively, he inspected all the other piping he could find and concluded that there was no risk of further leaks.
Now, before leaving: what else? Obviously, light for Anneliese if she woke while he was gone and the short sub-arctic day was over. Festeburg had never accepted electricity, so she would be used to candles, and here were several, wicks damp and fizzing, all colors of the rainbow, meant for
tête-à-tête
dinner parties, not real illumination – but never mind. He set one by the bed, and matches which (he tried one) still struck well after all these years.
That, and a quick note telling her not to worry, he’d be back soon, would have to be that. He dared not delay too long before reporting Dany’s death, even though the Maori attack on
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