Mama refused to employ a nanny, and raising her two children became her job. And then, as life deteriorated, she began to insist that they should leave for America, reminding Papa that if they left now they would impose no financial burden on the host country. But Papa was stubborn and Mama, instead of being patient, accused Papa of being typical of his class in his fierce attachment to his possessions. She raised her voice and accused him of cowardice, of not daring to begin again elsewhere, and of being happy to risk the future of his two daughters. This merely infuriated Papa, who could clearly see how impoverished and desperate the situation was becoming, but who refused to be ruled by a spoilt wife. And so he buried his head in his medicine and ignored his wife, and tried to pretend that nothing untoward was happening. But Mama talked incessantly about America, and about how important it was that she put our names on the list at the embassy, and when Papa refused to listen she would shout, and then sometimes scream, but Papa would simply close the door to his study. And then, of course, it was too late.
I watch Gerry. I stand hidden at the far end of the hut and peer at him through an open window. He is loitering about the place where I usually sit. To begin with, he paced about a little while smoking a hand-rolled cigarette. Now he sits and watches the world go by, occasionally relighting his cigarette and then coughing noisily. Today, the sun is too hot. I am taking shelter, although the smell inside this hut is loathsome. I am not sure what this Gerry seeks. His attention, while flattering, also causes me to worry. I decide that, in future, I will avoid this man as much as possible.
Tonight, we eat the same soup. It tastes familiar. After this soup I will wash.
Night falls and I return to my cot. I am cleaner, and my stomach has been satisfied. My bedding has been taken and burnt, so I must sleep on bare boards. There are fewer of us now. It is quiet. The seriously ill have been relocated to a tented hospital, and those of us who remain will not die with any undue clamour. The light from the moon casts a mournful pool on the floor. If only I could bathe my face in the pool, then surely I would emerge healed. I look around at my fellow women. All lie with their eyes open and their bodies broken. But slowly and silently, they are gathering strength. In the darkness, beyond the hut, I hear the sound of a soldier's raised voice. And then a nervous burst of laughter. But these noises aside, this night of freedom is tranquil. I continue to be bewitched by the moonlight on the floor.
I am awoken by a loud noise. It is bright outside. I realize that I am the only one left in the hut, and that I have actually slept peacefully. The noise outside is becoming louder and more raucous. I leave my cot and walk the few paces to the window. I look out. I see a long line of local townspeople. They are being forced to march past a huge mound of bodies. The English soldiers shout at them. And some of my fellow inmates shout at them too. But that is all. These miserable people continue to trudge by. I wonder how long this parade has been going on for? Hours? I notice that it will be a beautiful day.
I walk close to the barbed-wire fence and peer at the world beyond the camp. I touch the fence. I know where I am. I am suddenly appalled to realize that I am comfortable being confined. To remove the wire seems unthinkable. I know that I am free to trespass on the other side, to saunter out through the gate and bolt in any direction I choose. But looking at life through this fence suits me better. And then I realize that I cannot go back. I am sure that Margot will have found her way to America. Why go back? I am twenty-one now. I must begin to plan a future. Beyond the fence, a bird sets forth from a tree and soars into the air. But even while lost in flight, the bird remains beyond the fence. The bird never flies close to the fence.
I turn a corner and stop. Lying before me, encouraging me to step over it, is the battered corpse of a guard. His face is lumpy and misshapen, his limbs splayed. Near his body are a pair of freshly stained wooden staves. He wasn't a bad man. In fact, compared to some of the others, he was quite a good man. I step around the body and continue to walk. Why should the death of this one man affect me?
Margot loved the movies. Her room was plastered with pinups of the stars, but Mama did not like this, for she was concerned that both of her daughters should succeed at school. However, Papa said to leave her alone, for she wasn't harming anybody, and there was plenty of time to study. Margot was always trying to persuade me to come with her to the latest picture, and I envied Margot's preoccupation with the movies. Eventually it replaced her piano-playing, which she never really enjoyed. Compared to my sister, I was dull. I enjoyed school and studying, and Mama used to say, 'Margot is a dreamer, but Eva is like her father.' However, I could never understand whether Mama meant this warmly, or whether, deep down, this was a criticism of me. Eventually I realized that Mama's comment was born of both pride and disappointment.
I see Gerry walking towards me with his hands jammed deeply into his trouser pockets. He is pretending that he hasn't been looking for me, but a week has passed and I have been watching him. As he reaches me, he attempts a small but quickly abandoned whistle.
'Hello there. Feeling better?'
'Thank you.'
He's not a bad-looking man. In fact, he's quite handsome, although his thin moustache is a trifle old for him.
'Anything you need, you know you only have to ask.' He pulls an apple from his pocket. 'I saved this for you.'
Gerry holds out his hand and I take the apple from him.
'Thank you.'
'You haven't even told me your name. I told you mine. I'm Gerry.'
'My name is Eva.'
'That's nice.'
He fidgets slightly. I watch as he sways first left, then right, and then on to the outside edge of his boots.
'It must have been awful here. Have you been here long?'
'About four months.'
I have no desire to pursue this conversation with Gerry, but I feel as though the apple in my hand is some form of payment.
'On your own?'
I lie. 'Yes. On my own.'
'I see.'
Beyond the fence, the sun is beginning to set. A fiery, dramatic light on the horizon.
'We'll probably be here cleaning up for a while. But it's pretty much over for us now. Then back to civvy street.'
Why is this man talking to me as though we are friends?
'You can smile, you know.'
He laughs as he says this. He doesn't know that, should I attempt to smile, my face would break clean in two.
I sit outside the hut and stare at the sky. Tonight, I will not sleep. My head is full of worries. I worry about Papa. I worry about Mama. I worry about Margot. I worry about what else I might have done. Between torn patches of cloud, the sky is choked with stars. This night air is warm and clammy. I worry because there is nobody to help guide me in the right direction. I have never been alone. There has always been somebody. And now there seems to be just me and the night and the sky.