CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The Dragonfly Pool
They had worked all morning but now, the last day before the festival began, everyone was relaxing. Tally and Julia had finished untangling the wreaths and straightening the flowers for their costumes and were playing cards on the grass with Anneliese, the curly-haired German girl who had befriended them. Borro was demonstrating slingshots to his French friend, whirling his scarf around his head and sending missiles unerringly into the river. Kit and two Dutch boys were trying to catch a carp, lying on their stomachs by the pool and using willpower to make the fish come to the surface.
Matteo was organizing a game of football on a patch of level ground farther along the bank, and Magda was playing chess with the teacher in charge of the German group. He was a serious young man with horn-rimmed spectacles and reminded her of Heribert, the professor she had hoped to marry.
It was a glorious day, sunny and still.
A woman carrying a posy of sweet peas came out of the Blue Ox, and crossed the river and made her way toward the marble statue of the queen. She removed the withered flowers and put the fresh ones in the statue’s hand. As she came back she smiled at the children. It was the middle-aged waitress who had stared at Matteo.
From the Spanish tent came the sound of a guitar, and the dancers in their bright red skirts and yellow boleros made their way to the wooden platform for a last rehearsal. Their music drew a few of the other children to the platform. Those who had been dozing lifted their heads.
“We did it,” said Tally happily. “It worked — here we all are from everywhere.”
And their new friend nodded and taught them a German word: Bruderschaft. “It means a band of brothers — and sisters, too,” she said.
It was at that moment that they looked up and saw three men in uniform come across the bridge — and with them was the minister of culture. His silver hair was disheveled and his face pale. Two of the men were in the light blue uniform of the Berganian police and one — who walked in front with a swagger — wore khaki with a swastika on the sleeve. It was this man who marched up to Magda and the teacher with whom she was playing chess and said sharply, “Where are the German children? Which tent?”
The teacher stood up and looked about him. “They are everywhere,” he said, startled by the sudden command.
And indeed they were. Some were playing football with Matteo. A little girl with a crown of flaxen pigtails, her arm around her new friend from Portugal, was sitting on the steps of the platform listening to the music.
“Call them at once,” barked the Nazi officer. “Get them together. Why are they not in an orderly group?”
The teacher looked bewildered. “They have made friends,” he said. “It is—”
“Round them up,” repeated the officer. “They have one hour to get ready. A bus will take them to the station.”
“But—”
“They are leaving. The king of Bergania has again insulted the people of Germany and no child of the Fatherland will remain in this country. Hurry!”
The minister of culture had taken Magda aside.
“A directive has come from the Gestapo in Berlin,” he said hurriedly. “I’ve tried to make them listen but it’s impossible.”
On the platform the music ceased; the dancers came to rest. The sudden silence was ominous. The two policemen stood by, looking embarrassed. Gradually, as they understood what was happening, the German children, one by one, came toward their tent. At the same time the other children, in every language, expressed their indignation.
“We want them to stay.”
“They’re our friends.”
“They haven’t done anything.”
And repeated again and again: “It isn’t fair!”
Only the German children were silent. They had lived for too long in an oppressed country. They knew there was no hope. The small girl with flaxen pigtails was crying. Her friend from Portugal tried to comfort her and was turned away by one of the policemen.
Then Tally saw red. She ran up to the Nazi officer and began to pummel him with her fists. “You can’t do this,” she yelled. “You can’t, you can’t!”
Strong arms pulled her back. “Stop it, Tally,” said Matteo. “Stop it at once.”
Within an hour the tents had been stripped and the German children herded away.
Karil woke in high spirits. For once it was going to work; he was going to have a whole day alone with his father in their favorite place. The Scold had gone to visit a friend — there was nothing in the way. The king, when he came to fetch him, looked more relaxed than he had done for a long time. He carried his hunting bag filled with their picnic, and his collapsible fishing rod.
They made their way out of the palace by the secret door the guards had opened for them and set off along the turf path that led up toward the mountain.
“Look, a lammergeier,” said the king.
Karil, following his pointing arm, saw a tiny speck in the sky.
“How can you tell, so far away?”
“It’s the flight pattern and…” He shrugged. “I had a friend once who could identify birds that I could hardly see with the naked eye. He was uncanny — he could lead you up to a stone in a place he’d never been before and tell you what was underneath it. Almost exactly. It was as though he’d placed the creatures there himself.”
“Like giving you a present,” said Karil.
The king looked at him, startled. “Yes, exactly like that.”
“What happened to him?”
The king shrugged. “He went away, just when I needed him most. People do that with us.”
They walked for a while in silence. Then Karil said, “We’re sort of freaks, aren’t we? I mean because we’re… royal or whatever. It’s not real, being a king or a prince.”
The king turned to him. “Good heavens, Karil! Is that how you feel?”
Karil nodded. “When I wake up in the morning I think, why me? Why did it happened to me, being kept apart? Why didn’t I just get born as an ordinary person? Well, I am ordinary, but nobody realizes that. Why can’t I be like anyone else and belong?”
“There are good things, too,” said his father. “Sometimes we can help. Not often, but when we can…”
They came to a division of the path. The main track led up to the high meadows, to old Maria’s hut and the peaks. The smaller one veered off to the left, toward the hunting ground. This was a green and shady place of great trees and running water, of moss and unexpected pools. Nowadays it was more of a nature reserve. The king had little time for hunting; the dappled deer roamed without fear, and the hares when disturbed sat up and gazed at the intruders before lolloping away.
They passed a wooden lodge, now boarded up, and plunged into the cool greenery of the forest. There was a place here to which the king had come as a boy, a hidden pool known only to the foresters and groundsmen who worked there. He had taken his queen there when she came from England; Karil had taken his first steps on its mossy banks and caught his first trout in its waters. The dragonfly pool was outside time: safe, beautiful, and private.
They had not walked more than a few hundred meters into the forest when they heard the sound of hoofbeats. Turning, they saw a palace messenger riding a black mare and leading a second horse.
The messenger slid to the ground and bowed to the king.
“Your Majesty, there has been a crisis. The prime minister requests your presence most urgently.”
The king frowned. “Not today, Rudi. I’m going into the woods with my son.” And again, firmly, “Not today. Tell von Arkel I’ll deal with the matter tonight.”