eiderdown. He stroked this gently, feeling the hard collarbone under his hand. He wished she wasn’t ill, so that he could climb onto her lap and be held in her arms until he fell asleep.
When Frau Krams came back with the ambulance men, Emilie was lifted into a wheelchair and manoeuvred into the tiny elevator. Gustav helped Frau Krams to pack a suitcase with clean nightdresses and shampoo and a toothbrush and Emilie’s broken handbag and the photograph of Erich Perle. Frau Krams told Gustav that she would go to the hospital with Emilie and be back at Unter der Egg by supper time. She told him to come down to her flat and stay there with Ludwig until she returned.
Ludwig was drinking.
He said, ‘Vodka is cool. But don’t say a word, eh, Gustavus?’
Gustav sat on a hard sofa in Frau Krams’s parlour. He took off his shoes and swung his legs onto the sofa and lay down and in moments had fallen asleep, to the sound of a little gas fire popping and sighing as the dusk came on.
When he woke, it was morning.
A soft blanket was covering him, red and white, like the Swiss flag, and he pulled this blanket tightly round himself, remembering that he needed protection.
He could hear Ludwig’s humming, coming from the kitchen. The gas fire was out and there was sunshine at the small window. He knew now that his mother was in the hospital and that he was in the Krams’s apartment. He wondered if it was time to go to school.
Ludwig came in and bent over Gustav and began tickling him and laughing and with the gusts of laughter came the smell of stale vodka.
‘Get up, terrible boy!’ said Ludwig. He reminded Gustav of some punishing character out of
Struwwelpeter.
‘I’m not terrible,’ he said.
‘Yes, you are. I’m going to tickle you until you scream!’
‘I never scream.’
‘I can make you scream.’
‘No, you can’t.’
‘All right then. Take that blanket off. It’s my blanket anyway, my favourite one, but I let you have it. Wasn’t that kind of me? Now, we’re going to have hot chocolate and bread and pickles.’
Ludwig and Gustav sat in the parlour at a table covered with a yellow oilcloth. Ludwig had boiled milk for the hot chocolate and set out a plate of bread, with butter and pickled onions. Gustav began gulping all this down. He would have liked to eat a huge plate of bratwurst with boiled potatoes. At last, he said to Ludwig, ‘Why isn’t your mother back?’
Ludwig shivered. ‘Hospitals,’ he said. ‘They kidnap you. I was kidnapped. I was strapped down to a bed and they gave me electric shocks to my head.’
‘Why?’ asked Gustav.
‘Who knows? That’s the thing about the world, Gustavus: you just don’t know why the things that happen happen.’
Gustav drained the dregs of the hot chocolate. ‘Your mother said she’d be back by supper time, but now it’s breakfast.’
‘Yes. I hope she’s not having electric shocks to her head. Shall we go to my room? I can show you some of my toys.’
‘Toys?’
‘Yes. The things I play with.’
‘I think I’d better go to school.’
‘If you do that, I’ll be lonely, little man.’
The room was almost as small as Gustav’s and it was choked with some of the things the tenants of the building had thrown out, but which Ludwig had decided to save: faded deckchairs, pictures of Jesus, a broken rocking horse, rusted garden shears, plant pot holders, a Moses basket, a picnic hamper, a sweet jar, magazines, two watering cans, a kiddy car, a set of brocade cushions …
Gustav stared at all this. There was barely room for Ludwig to get in and out of his narrow bed, so closely did the tide of found objects nudge against its side.
‘What would you like to play with?’ asked Ludwig. ‘The rocking horse?’
‘Yes.’
Ludwig clambered over the deckchairs and the picnic hamper to get to the horse. As he lifted it up, something fell out from a wedge of cushions: it was Gustav’s broken tin train.
The sight of it filled him with
When Frau Krams came back with the ambulance men, Emilie was lifted into a wheelchair and manoeuvred into the tiny elevator. Gustav helped Frau Krams to pack a suitcase with clean nightdresses and shampoo and a toothbrush and Emilie’s broken handbag and the photograph of Erich Perle. Frau Krams told Gustav that she would go to the hospital with Emilie and be back at Unter der Egg by supper time. She told him to come down to her flat and stay there with Ludwig until she returned.
Ludwig was drinking.
He said, ‘Vodka is cool. But don’t say a word, eh, Gustavus?’
Gustav sat on a hard sofa in Frau Krams’s parlour. He took off his shoes and swung his legs onto the sofa and lay down and in moments had fallen asleep, to the sound of a little gas fire popping and sighing as the dusk came on.
When he woke, it was morning.
A soft blanket was covering him, red and white, like the Swiss flag, and he pulled this blanket tightly round himself, remembering that he needed protection.
He could hear Ludwig’s humming, coming from the kitchen. The gas fire was out and there was sunshine at the small window. He knew now that his mother was in the hospital and that he was in the Krams’s apartment. He wondered if it was time to go to school.
Ludwig came in and bent over Gustav and began tickling him and laughing and with the gusts of laughter came the smell of stale vodka.
‘Get up, terrible boy!’ said Ludwig. He reminded Gustav of some punishing character out of
Struwwelpeter.
‘I’m not terrible,’ he said.
‘Yes, you are. I’m going to tickle you until you scream!’
‘I never scream.’
‘I can make you scream.’
‘No, you can’t.’
‘All right then. Take that blanket off. It’s my blanket anyway, my favourite one, but I let you have it. Wasn’t that kind of me? Now, we’re going to have hot chocolate and bread and pickles.’
Ludwig and Gustav sat in the parlour at a table covered with a yellow oilcloth. Ludwig had boiled milk for the hot chocolate and set out a plate of bread, with butter and pickled onions. Gustav began gulping all this down. He would have liked to eat a huge plate of bratwurst with boiled potatoes. At last, he said to Ludwig, ‘Why isn’t your mother back?’
Ludwig shivered. ‘Hospitals,’ he said. ‘They kidnap you. I was kidnapped. I was strapped down to a bed and they gave me electric shocks to my head.’
‘Why?’ asked Gustav.
‘Who knows? That’s the thing about the world, Gustavus: you just don’t know why the things that happen happen.’
Gustav drained the dregs of the hot chocolate. ‘Your mother said she’d be back by supper time, but now it’s breakfast.’
‘Yes. I hope she’s not having electric shocks to her head. Shall we go to my room? I can show you some of my toys.’
‘Toys?’
‘Yes. The things I play with.’
‘I think I’d better go to school.’
‘If you do that, I’ll be lonely, little man.’
The room was almost as small as Gustav’s and it was choked with some of the things the tenants of the building had thrown out, but which Ludwig had decided to save: faded deckchairs, pictures of Jesus, a broken rocking horse, rusted garden shears, plant pot holders, a Moses basket, a picnic hamper, a sweet jar, magazines, two watering cans, a kiddy car, a set of brocade cushions …
Gustav stared at all this. There was barely room for Ludwig to get in and out of his narrow bed, so closely did the tide of found objects nudge against its side.
‘What would you like to play with?’ asked Ludwig. ‘The rocking horse?’
‘Yes.’
Ludwig clambered over the deckchairs and the picnic hamper to get to the horse. As he lifted it up, something fell out from a wedge of cushions: it was Gustav’s broken tin train.
The sight of it filled him with
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