Gerry stands over me. All night, I have remained in the same place. He looks down with a concerned look on his face. I immediately sense that he wishes to say something, but he does not seem to know where to begin. I want to tell him that I like his silence. But before I have the chance to frame my statement, he moves slightly as though he is about to talk. The sun behind his head makes it difficult for me to look up and into his face. Perhaps he has deliberately positioned himself so as to make me feel uncomfortable. I look past his legs to where his friends have slumped to the ground for a cigarette break They appear to be relaxing, opening their shirts and rolling up their sleeves in order that they might attract some sun. I wonder what they think of their friend, Gerry? Is he regarded by them as some form of light entertainment? I wonder if they talk about him behind his back?
'Do you have any family? I mean brothers or sisters?'
Again, I squint up and in the direction of Gerry. What a strange question. I cannot understand why he would be asking such a question of me. Nevertheless, I start to answer.
'I have a sister, Margot. But I don't know where she is.'
I stop and wonder about my words. I measure their weight. I don't know where she is. And then I continue.
'Margot left us at the start of all this.' I pause. 'But I'm sure she's fine.'
Gerry shifts his weight from one foot to the other.
'Are you sure? I mean, you don't know where she is, right?'
I lower my eyes. I have compromised myself, for I had no intention of providing this man and his thin moustache with any insight into my life. Do not come any closer. My breath is foul with disease and tooth decay. I will say nothing further.
'I see.' He pauses. 'I'm sorry.'
I lie in the dark and listen to the noises of the night. There are less than a dozen of us in this hut, and most appear to be asleep. I hear a rapid volley of gunfire, then silence. Again, I hear a volley of gunfire. I slide from the cot and move to the window. A cloudless night. Behind the neighbouring hut I hear feet racing, and then I see a former guard break into view, his legs and arms pumping. And then again I hear bullets, and weapons are emptied. The guard tumbles gracelessly into the dirt, in much the same manner as I imagine an animal falls when it has broken a leg. A group of men — former prisoners — run into view with guns in their hands. And then they see the body and stop. Among them are two English soldiers. And now I understand the nature of this approved slaughter. The group of men begin to walk slowly but purposefully across to the body. They look down at it, making sure that is it is truly dead. Clearly we are not beyond revenge. According to the Holy Scriptures, there should be more dignity than this. That much I remember.
At this point, the stream slows, then stops, then doubles back on itself. A large tree has fallen and all floating debris, all fish, even the water itself, have to find another way around this bulky obstacle. The tree has bent the stream. I walk further along the path, past this tree, and then scramble up the grassy bank. Once I reach the top, I look across the field towards the low profile of the town. All is quiet. I do not know what day of the week it is. Tuesday? Friday? Sunday? I long ago gave up any pretence of attempting to maintain vigilance over the weekly calendar. It may be that today is their day of rest. I simply do not know. I look back towards the stream, and on the other side of the water I see a group of children playing beneath the arch of a huge willow. They are boys, with one solitary girl among them. One of the boys is looking towards me, and I am suddenly aware of how I must appear to these healthy children. I am in possession of a strange body that bulges in unlikely areas, and remains painfully skinny in others. A comical, perhaps frightening figure. And then a pebble is thrown. I assume it will be the first of many. I stand and stare at the children, who laugh and point at me. I know they do not mock me. Eva. They do not know me. They mock what I look like, not who I am. And then another pebble. And another. I turn now and walk back along the top of the grassy bank, careful not to break into a run, careful not to betray any panic. I walk slowly, but with purpose and dignity. And I feel the pebbles fly past, the occasional one striking me a bruise-inflicting blow. But I do not hurry. I will not run.
My sister leads the way up the steep slope that lies just below the summit. I am struggling, but I do not ask her to slow down or stop. She will not leave me behind. I will not allow this. I lower my head and redouble my efforts, concentrating on each footstep, one foot in front of the other, slowly, first one foot and then the next, the incline working against me, the air thin, my legs screaming with pain, and then suddenly the hillside gives way and the ground is level. Margot is beaming at me, but I simply throw myself forwards and on to the grass. I roll over on to my back. I close my eyes, but we are so close to the sun that I feel myself being grilled. It is hot. Margot, water. I roll on to my side and can see that she has the bottle to her mouth, her head tilted back, and she is gulping deeply. Margot, water. She swivels her eyes in my direction, but still the bottle is to her mouth. Margot! I sit on her bed and watch as she picks up her suitcase. The snow continues to fall. (Sister, will we two disappear like stones in a well?) For a moment our eyes lock. And then Margot pushes me back on to the bed and starts to laugh. I still dream, one memory swirling into the other. Every night I endure an uncomfortable journey to a place of distorted and unnecessary recollection. And, come morning, I am grateful to be uncoupled from the night.
I find Gerry standing by the trucks with a group of his friends. They are all smoking cigarettes and they appear anxious. I approach Gerry, but I discover that as I move closer to him my nerve begins to fail me. I do not know what to say. Then Gerry sees me and turns from his friends.
'Eva.'
He throws his cigarette to the ground. He takes a step towards me and puts his hand on my arm. I understand. He is steering me away from his friends, for he does not intend to introduce me. He is smiling, and I am sure that he is genuinely pleased to see me. But he is hurrying.
'We can sit here.'
We sit on a pile of wooden boxes that look as though they probably contain supplies of some kind. I begin.
'I have to find Margot.'
For a moment there is silence. Then Gerry turns himself around so he is facing me square-on.
'Are you all right? You look like you've had a shock of some kind.'
'I'm fine,' I say. 'I just need to find my sister.'
Gerry stands and stretches his legs. He lights another cigarette, tosses down the match, then inhales and quickly blows out the smoke. He sits now, his cigarette carefully poised between finger and thumb.
'I thought you said you don't know where she is.'
'I don't.'
'I can look when I get back to England. They're bound to have some sort of agency for tracing people. And I can look here. The D.P. camps. They have some kind of system too.'
'Thank you.'
I look at him. I'm not sure what he will do, but I know that he wants to help. That's all I want. I just need some help.
There is a light tapping at the window to the hut. I am still lying down, my mind swirling about in a haze of dreams. Again, I hear a tapping, and now a voice. It is Gerry. At the window. A few days ago, the other women who shared this hut abandoned me. They became hostile and refused to talk to me. They accused me of stealing their food. They accused me of behaving without regard or concern for them. They accused me of being crazy. I am a twenty-one-year-old young woman. What harm could I possibly inflict upon these women? Why treat me in this way? I was no threat to them. I walk to the window and look at Gerry. He points to the door. He wants to come in. I smile and shake my head. He looks puzzled. He does not seem to understand that a lady cannot simply admit a man to her bedchamber in this manner. It would be unthinkable. He raises his voice.