Home > The German Girl : A heart-wrenching and unforgettable World War 2 historical novel(8)

The German Girl : A heart-wrenching and unforgettable World War 2 historical novel(8)
Author: Lily Graham

She swallowed.

He rubbed his hands over his eyes. ‘I haven’t spoken about it – in years. I—’

There was a thudding sound on the stairs and Narfi bounded up, looking for them. Morfar stood, wiping his eyes. He looked at the dog, whose limpid brown eyes demanded to know why he had been left behind. The old man patted his head. ‘Let’s go make some coffee, I need it for this.’

Ingrid frowned, regretting the interruption, but followed after him. She watched her grandfather’s long-legged form as it went down the stairs, so very carefully. She could remember him taking them two at a time when she was little. The way he’d throw a smile over his shoulder, his blue eyes twinkling at her, while he waited for her to catch up. He’d never looked old to her before, until now.

As the kettle began to boil, Morfar stood staring out the window, looking utterly forlorn. The sight made her heart clench – what right did she have to his memories – to his painful past; it was his, wasn’t it? She wanted to know about it more than anything, but not if it was going to hurt him this much – never that. Even her mother, who so desperately wanted him to unburden himself too, would baulk at putting him in pain to hear it – especially with her tender heart.

Ingrid sighed. ‘Look. Morfar, we don’t have to do this. I’m sorry I pushed, you know, Ben – my ex? – well, he used to call me his stubborn mountain goat. I’m sorry that I was prying.’

He shook his head. ‘No, Inge – you’re right. I must speak about it. I can’t bear to – but I must, somehow. Because when I go – when my memories do – so will she… so will they.’

Ingrid blinked. They?

‘I just don’t really know where to start.’

‘Why don’t you start at the beginning. Why were you speaking German as a child?’ She assumed that was the case, as when he’d been speaking it to her, he’d sounded very young…

He stared at her, almost as if in shock that she couldn’t know this, but of course, he’d spent a lifetime keeping these things buried. ‘Because, once a long time ago, it was my language.’

Ingrid blinked. ‘German was your language – what do you mean?’

He stared out at the forest, but what he was looking at existed only as some inner landscape.

He sighed, rubbed his hands through his hair, and looked at her. ‘I mean that a long time ago, I was German.’

 

 

4

 

 

Ingrid gasped. ‘You’re German?’

He flinched, as if he’d been slapped. ‘No.’

‘No?’ she asked.

‘I used to be – or at least a long time ago, I – well, we thought of ourselves as German – until they took our citizenship away from us.’

‘Who did?’ she asked, confused.

‘The Nazis.’

Ingrid blinked. ‘They took away your citizenship?’

He sat down. He’d forgotten he was making coffee, but Ingrid didn’t remind him.

He stared at her for some time, and Ingrid worried that he’d lost track of what he was saying, until he shook his head. ‘Inge, it wasn’t just our family who lost their citizenship, they did that to millions – those they deemed undesirable, like disabled people, gay people, those with the wrong political beliefs, gypsies – and people like our family, Jews, you see.’

Ingrid stood up in absolute shock. ‘W-we’re Jewish?’ she cried.

Morfar put his head in his hands again and nodded.

Suddenly everything became horribly clear and all those horrid stories she’d heard over the years changed, as it hadn’t all happened to some unknown outsider… it had happened to them.

Morfar stood up, looking anxious, stressed. ‘I know, it’s huge. I should have told you and your mother. It just… there were times when it was easier to forget.’

He started to pace around the table, banging his head with his hands, becoming wild, agitated.

‘Just tell me what happened. Tell me, Morfar,’ she said, coming to gently remove his hands from his head, her heart jack-hammering inside her chest. He resisted at first, and she had to pull as hard as she could, till suddenly they went slack and he blinked up at her as if surprised to find her there. There were red impression marks still on his cheeks.

‘Tell you what?’ he asked, looking suddenly confused, his eyes glassy, unfocused.

‘Morfar?’ she said softly.

He frowned, and his anxiety from before seemed to misdirect in his sudden confusion. ‘What are you doing here, Marta? För fan i helvete, we aren’t even blood – you’re my son-in-law’s cousin, that’s nothing to me, really! You don’t need to come into my house like this and take over, I am not some frail old man, I don’t need you!’ he shouted. Then he seized her by the arm and marched her towards the door. ‘Go, and don’t come back here, until I invite you in – though I’d have to be an absolute idiot to do that.’

‘Morfar!’ cried Ingrid, tears pricking her eyes. ‘It’s me – Ingrid – it’s not Marta!’

‘Pah, you children – you all think the same, you all think that “old” means decrepit. I have shoes older you, some wiser too – out, out, out – I’ll see you some other time.’

Ingrid stood. ‘No, Morfar, you haven’t even had something to eat.’

He scowled, then made his way to the counter, hastily carving up some bread that she had brought the day before, and shoving a chunk into his mouth. Crumbs flew everywhere. ‘Happy now? Will you just leave?’

She nodded. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’

He frowned. ‘Are you deaf? I just said come only when I invite you – and that’s not likely to be any time before I die – then, well, you’re welcome to come dance over my body for all I care – but for now, get the hell out!’

Ingrid’s lips trembled. I will not cry, she told herself. I will not cry, she silently repeated.

‘I’ll go, I’ll see you later, okay?’

He closed his eyes, sighing deeply.

When he opened them, she was gone.

 

Ingrid didn’t go home. She walked to the frozen lake, and listened to the song of the ice. It was loud, like a beating heart. For some the noise was eerie, but for Ingrid it had always been a comfort, reminding her of her childhood out here in these wild northern woods. She’d always figured that was because her roots were here – dating back thousands of years. But now she had to configure a new aspect to her identity: she was part German? Jewish? How had he kept this secret from them all these years?

She sat on a rock, Narfi close to her side. She was dressed in thermal gear, but it was still cold. Snow was beginning to fall. Up above, the sky was bathed in purple light. It was beautiful, and otherworldly, but her thoughts were centred on the small red cabin in the distance. He’d been so close to telling her everything, before the light in his eyes had seemed to change once more. It was frustrating, and desperately sad. Narfi put his head in her lap, as if he understood the ache in her heart, and she ran her mittens along his furry back.

‘Let’s go, boy, it’s too cold for this,’ she said, shivering. Then she stood up and started walking.

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