His chest was burning. His mouth felt rough with sand, he heard his own rare heartbeat in his ear as it lay on the stone, his head motionless; he rolled a small stone fragment out of his mouth with his tongue. From somewhere, desired by all, / A spark kindles the shadow. / The light rises, reaches out. Thirst tormented him. So much that the darkness sank away. He tried to move his toes, and didn’t stop until the tingling in his calves and legs showed him that he was alive; he took slow, shallow breaths. Hadn’t that man been right? All harmless little explosions, nothing would happen here. If he stayed lying where he was weeks could pass before anyone thought of looking for him. How long had he been lying there? Boundless thirst. Beneath him, on his stomach and near the burning pain, he felt something wet in his navel, on his ribs. He knew he hadn’t pissed his trousers, not that. When he could move his arm, he pushed it under his body, felt the moisture and the water bottle. For some reason unknown to him, its contents had poured out between him and the rock. Be brave, hadn’t his mother said that when she noticed his hesitation, fearing failure even before he could fail? The only way to defy the cold and darkness was to move. Now he wiggled his toes and stretched his legs, pushed them forward and back until the tingling died down. The working clothes rubbed his skin, the burning pains were coming from the side of his chest, under his arm, no way of moving forward without pain, pain even in silence. Thomas stopped and waited, motionless, he listened to sounds, distant noises. He heard no voices. The men must have knocked off work by now. Friday evening, many apprentices had gone home. And if home was too far away, they went to the Wasserburg and the secret meeting place among the dunes. Thomas did not want to go for walks, nothing attracted him to the Wasserburg, indeed he was frightened of its female inmates. And on no account did he want to come upon men and girls among the rainy, wet dunes. He spent the weekend in the hut, hoping that when the other lads came back they would have forgotten about the test of courage and the header that he hadn’t yet taken into the shallow lake.
Writing
Ella leaned back against the stove. She was wearing two pairs of trousers, one on top of the other, a pair of long johns, two pairs of woollen socks and a cardigan over her sweater. The time when she was afraid of drying up was over. The thermometer showed that the temperature in the room was fifteen degrees, and it would probably rise higher. Before Käthe went away she had turned off the heating in the cellar and locked the door. She must have taken the key with her; at least, Ella hadn’t found it anywhere. Käthe suspected Ella of wasting heating oil behind her back. Suitcase in hand, pilot’s cap on her head, Käthe had said that if Ella really felt too cold she had better heat one of the stoves. It was indeed too cold, and had been for some days. But obviously Käthe had also hidden the key to the coal cellar, which proved impossible to find. A week after Käthe left, Ella had written a letter to the Walter Ulbricht Leuna Works, asking Käthe to write to her or phone her and tell her where the key was. But there was no reply yet; the post could take a week. Maybe all mail was opened by the manager of the works before being passed on to its recipients? Maybe Käthe simply didn’t want to answer the letter. She hated requests and begging letters. She thought Ella was not just a parasite but a thief as well. Ella’s request for the key to the coal cellar might seem presumptuous to her. It wasn’t easy to make it sound respectful enough and yet as casual as possible.
It had been a few more days before Ella ventured to go over to Michael’s place. Ella was freezing, and hadn’t got out of bed all day. She had put on a cap and a scarf, she had drunk hot tea and broth, and after supplies of both were finished she had drunk nothing but hot water all day. In the end it was too much. She put on several pairs of trousers, looked at the thermometer, which showed minus nine degrees, and found a thick woollen coat in Käthe’s wardrobe. Snow was falling as if in slow motion, fine flakes sailing through the twilight. She stood outside the house. Under the apartment where Michael and his family lived there was a butcher’s shop. The shutters were rolled down. Steam came from a small air vent, carrying a salty smell of smoked meat. Ella looked up. The lace curtains at the top windows were illuminated from inside, warm light, there must be candles burning there, the family believed in God and Sunday was the first Sunday in Advent. Ella had never been here on her own before. Whenever they had needed something in the past, she had sent Thomas over to his friend’s family. Thomas could get anything there. But Thomas was in Gommern and wouldn’t come home until Christmas.
Ella, how nice! Michael’s mother was glad to see her and asked her in. How was Thomas, she asked, had Ella heard anything? Ella shook her head, no, nothing, there had only been a brief postcard since he left in September. Arrived safely, will write again. However, Thomas had written two long letters to his friend Michael, but Michael, while giving her a friendly smile, kept quiet about their contents. Ella didn’t like to ask.
Michael’s mother sent her son down to the cellar to fill a rucksack full of coal for Ella.
Would she like to sit down for a minute? Ella nodded undecidedly, it was warm in the living room here. Michael’s mother was sure she would like tea, or would she rather have some cocoa?
Ella drank, gulping greedily. Michael’s mother wrapped up some cake for her too, walnut stollen and dried apple rings. A jar of plum compote so that Ella wouldn’t go hungry while Käthe was away. Ella nodded, and took the rucksack from Michael. Michael would help her to carry the things, said his mother as Ella was wrapping her scarf around her hair and her cap, and going to the door. No, Ella assured her, no, it’s only two streets, I can manage that. The kind glances of mother and son touched her; the love was for her brother, thought Ella, and was glad to feel some of it rubbing off on her. Did she have enough money? Michael’s mother asked as Ella was standing in the doorway, legs apart, stooping forward slightly with the weight of the heavy rucksack. Ella had shaken her head. In fact Käthe had left five marks on the table for her, but she had spent that on a kilo of smoked sprats and a bottle of wine in the dance-hall cafe on the first day. Johnny had carried the tipsy Ella, half asleep, home on his back, put her down outside the door and thanked her for the lovely evening. Ella had slammed the door in his face: she had wanted to sleep and nothing else.
Michael’s mother now disappeared into her nice-smelling apartment and came back to the door with the purse containing her housekeeping money. She wanted to give Ella ten marks. Ella said she felt embarrassed to take it, and as she made that claim she imagined herself really feeling ashamed, and sensed that she was succeeding, she was blushing and awkward, indeed, she was looking meekly at Michael’s mother’s brightly coloured apron. But she took the ten-mark note, folded it and put it in her coat pocket.
Michael’s mother touched her cheek as she might have touched the cheek of a poor child. All alone, she whispered. Her soft hand was alarmingly warm. Ella felt herself deliberately making the shame she had conjured up into misery, a yawning abyss of what seemed to her untold depths, she felt tears come to her eyes as she took a faltering step backwards.
Look after yourself, my dear, said Michael’s mother. Ella felt dizzy. The cold reinforced the rushing in her ears. Even when she was at home, heating the stove and getting a spoon from the kitchen, she felt dizzy. She stabbed a hole in the screw-top lid of the jar of compote with a knife to let the air out, and opened it. She ate the plums spoonful by spoonful, swallowing two plum stones, drank the sweet liquid until the jar was empty, and leaned back against the stove.