I said to my father 'You mean, I am being sent to the country because it is dangerous?'
My father said 'Your mother wants you to go to the country. Who knows what will be dangerous!'
I thought — But as the captain of our airship, are you not in charge?
— Or you mean, your business is to see just what we are doing. In the town in the provinces where my mother's relations lived
there were tall bearded men with long black coats and wide-brimmed hats; they spoke a strange language; they seemed to spend much of their time reading. The women were rounded and tightly strapped into their clothes as if they were things about to be cooked; they would dab at their faces with bits of lace or cloth, although it was very cold. These people seemed to be of quite a different kind from those I was used to at home: it was as though I had landed from my father's airship on a strange planet. This was another impression that I suppose formed in my mind at this time — of people naturally forming self-contained and easily distinguishable groups: perhaps because like this they need not see what was happening when there were things like dangerous uprisings -
— But my father and I, we were above all this in our lonely airship?
My father used to laugh when I said such things: he would say 'But you cannot talk like that!' I would say 'Why not?'
He would say 'Perhaps people have guns that can shoot down our airship!'
Soon after we had arrived to stay with my mother's relations in the provinces my governess, Miss Henne, seemed to have a fit. She had had a headache; she stayed in bed; then one morning she was shrieking and rolling her eyes and going rigid. My great aunts and cousins came in and stood by her bed; they too raised their eyes and waggled their heads; one of the men in a long black coat read a bit from one of their books above Miss Henne, but it seemed to be this sort of thing that was making Miss Henne have her fit. After a day or two it was decided that Miss Henne and I should return to Berlin. Telegrams were sent to my father and my mother. I wondered — But is there any connection between Miss Henne's fit, the uprising of the extremists, and a snake being drawn up out of a basket?
When Miss Henne and I arrived back at the railway station at Berlin neither my father nor my mother were there to meet us. I thought this strange. There were not so many lorries and cars in the streets; there were occasional groups of men on street corners. Miss Henne and I had to walk because the trams were not working; men watched us as we went past; I wondered how it might be possible to make myself invisible. There was an extraordinary amount of litter in the streets — paper and bits of metal and stone like things that have ended up at the bottom of the sea. Miss Henne rolled her head and muttered. I wondered if it would be proper to leave her and make a dash for the safety of our airship, if she began again to have a fit.
When we reached the door of our apartment at the top of the wide spiral staircase there were voices coming from inside; when Miss Henne knocked the voices stopped. After a time we could hear the door being unbolted; it was opened by my mother. Behind her in the hallway were a group of her friends: they were facing the door as if they were alarmed, or expecting to be photographed.
My mother held out her arms to me; she did not usually do this; it seemed that I had to be seen being embraced by my mother. My mother had a belt with a cold silver buckle on it. One of the people in the group behind my mother was Rosa Luxemburg. I thought — Oh I suppose it is because of her that I am having to be embraced by my mother.
The people in the hallway began talking again; they moved off down the passage, led by Rosa Luxemburg. They seemed to be looking for something: there is that children's game in which an
object is hidden and then you have to come in from another room and find it. In our apartment there was the hallway off which, on one side, was my father's study and the dining-room and the drawing-room; then the passage down which there was my mother and father's bedroom and then Helga and Magda's bedroom and the kitchen; my own bedroom and the bathroom and the airing cupboard were on the other side of the passage. Rosa Luxemburg led the way down the passage; she was like a goose or a duck with the rest of us following her. Miss Henne had disappeared as soon as she had delivered me at the door of the apartment. My father did not seem to be at home. I thought — But we are being invaded: these people are taking over our airship.
We went first into my mother and father's bedroom; someone looked under the bed; someone looked in a cupboard. I thought — What are we searching for: something that has been lost in the uprising of the extremists? My mother went to the end of the passage and knocked on the door of Helga and Magda's room; after a time Magda came out and stood with her back against the door; she put her arms out like a crucifix. Rosa Luxemburg spoke to Magda in her soft purring voice and after a time Magda lowered her arms and put her head on Rosa Luxemburg's shoulder; she seemed to weep. I thought — There are illustrations like this in stories about myths. Someone opened the door into my bedroom; my mother seemed to protest; the door into my room was closed. Then Rosa Luxemburg left Magda and held her arms out to me. I thought — I am to become part of this odd story? When I was in Rosa Luxemburg's arms she had a strange musty smell like something kept in a sack in an attic.
Amongst the group with my mother there were a young man and a girl whom I had not seen before; they were holding hands; they were not playing much part in the discussions. After a time I realised from the talk that the point of all this activity was not to find some hidden object, but to find some place where this young man and the girl might hide; they were being hunted, it seemed, perhaps by one of the groups of men in the streets; they had been brought by my mother's friends to our apartment for refuge.
My mother had opened the door into the airing cupboard; we all looked up at the shelves containing sheets and towels and blankets: I thought — Oh yes, this is another picture from one of the stories my father used to read to me: of an empty tomb? It seemed to be being agreed that the best place for the young man and the girl to
hide would be the top shelf of the airing cupboard. Rosa Luxemburg went to them and put her hands on their shoulders; there was always some sort of aura of light, of smell, around Rosa Luxemburg. The young man began climbing-to the top shelf of the airing cupboard. Then Helga came running out of her room and pushed her way through the crowd and stood with her back to the shelves of towels and blankets and sheets and held her arms out like a crucifix. The young man had reached the top shelf by this time and was sitting there with his arms around his knees and his head against the ceiling. Rosa Luxemburg went and put her hand, and then her head, against Helga's shoulder. Helga began to weep. I thought — What does it mean, that we are all behaving as if we were pictures in some religious fairy story?
Then there was the voice of my father in the passage. He was saying 'You gave me the wrong time of the train at the station.'
My mother said 'I'm sorry, but I have other preoccupations than the wrong times of the trains.'
My father said 'But she might have been in danger.' My mother said 'Well it's not she who is in danger now.' My father came to the door of the airing cupboard. When he saw me he said 'Are you all right?' I said 'Yes.' He did not come and put his arms around me. He looked up at the young man who was on the top shelf of the airing cupboard. I thought — Well, he will understand all this business of behaving as if in a story. My father said 'Why don't they just stay for supper? Then I can say they are two of my students.'