efficient.
Erik was deeply troubled by the thought that he might have to fight in battle some day – his father and grandfather had – and he wanted to be ready for that, trained and hardened,
disciplined and aggressive.
The Nazis hated Communists, but so did Mother and Father. So what if the Nazis hated Jews as well? The von Ulrichs were not Jewish, why should they care? But Mother and Father stubbornly refused
to join in. Well, Erik was fed up with being left out, and he had decided to defy them.
He was scared stiff.
As usual, neither Mother nor Father was at the house when Erik and Carla came home from school. Ada pursed her lips disapprovingly as she served their tea, but she said: ‘You’ll have
to clear the table yourselves today – I’ve got a terrible backache, I’m going to lie down.’
Carla looked concerned. ‘Is that what you had to see the doctor about?’
Ada hesitated before replying: ‘Yes, that’s right.’
She was obviously hiding something. The thought of Ada being ill – and lying about it – made Erik uneasy. He would never go as far as Carla and say he loved Ada, but she had been a
kindly presence all his life, and he was more fond of her than he liked to say.
Carla was just as concerned. ‘I hope it gets better.’
Lately Carla had become more grown-up, somewhat to Erik’s bewilderment. Although he was two years older, he still felt like a kid, but she acted like an adult half the time.
Ada said reassuringly: ‘I’ll be fine after a rest.’
Erik ate some bread. When Ada left the room, he swallowed and said: ‘I’m only in the junior section, but as soon as I’m fourteen I can move up.’
Carla said: ‘Father’s going to hit the roof! Are you mad?’
‘Herr Lippmann said that Father will be in trouble if he tries to make me leave.’
‘Oh, brilliant,’ said Carla. She had developed a streak of withering sarcasm that sometimes stung Erik. ‘So you’ll get Father into a row with the Nazis,’ she said
scornfully. ‘What a great idea. So good for the whole family.’
Erik was taken aback. He had not thought of it that way. ‘But all the boys in my class are members,’ he said indignantly. ‘Except for Frenchy Fontaine and Jewboy
Rothmann.’
Carla spread fish paste on her bread. ‘Why do you have to be the same as the others?’ she said. ‘Most of them are stupid. You told me Rudi Rothmann was the cleverest boy in the
class.’
‘I don’t want to be with Frenchy and Rudi!’ Erik cried, and to his mortification he felt tears come to his eyes. ‘Why should I have to play with the boys no one
likes?’ This was what had given him the courage to defy his father: he could no longer bear to walk out of school with the Jews and the foreigners while all the German boys marched around the
playing field in their uniforms.
They both heard a cry.
Erik looked at Carla and said: ‘What was that?’
Carla frowned. ‘It was Ada, I think.’
Then, more distinctly, they heard: ‘Help!’
Erik got to his feet, but Carla was ahead of him. He went after her. Ada’s room was in the basement. They ran down the stairs and into the small bedroom.
There was a narrow single bed up against the wall. Ada was lying there, her face screwed up in pain. Her skirt was wet and there was a puddle on the floor. Erik could hardly believe what he was
seeing. Had she pissed herself? It was scary. There were no other grown-ups in the house. He did not know what to do.
Carla was scared, too – Erik could see it in her face – but she was not panicked. She said: ‘Ada, what’s wrong?’ Her voice sounded strangely calm.
‘My waters broke,’ Ada said.
Erik had no idea what that meant.
Nor did Carla. ‘I don’t understand,’ she said.
‘It means my baby is coming.’
‘You’re pregnant?’ Carla said in astonishment.
Erik said: ‘But you’re not married!’
Carla said furiously: ‘Shut up, Erik – don’t you know anything?’
He did know, of course,
Erik was deeply troubled by the thought that he might have to fight in battle some day – his father and grandfather had – and he wanted to be ready for that, trained and hardened,
disciplined and aggressive.
The Nazis hated Communists, but so did Mother and Father. So what if the Nazis hated Jews as well? The von Ulrichs were not Jewish, why should they care? But Mother and Father stubbornly refused
to join in. Well, Erik was fed up with being left out, and he had decided to defy them.
He was scared stiff.
As usual, neither Mother nor Father was at the house when Erik and Carla came home from school. Ada pursed her lips disapprovingly as she served their tea, but she said: ‘You’ll have
to clear the table yourselves today – I’ve got a terrible backache, I’m going to lie down.’
Carla looked concerned. ‘Is that what you had to see the doctor about?’
Ada hesitated before replying: ‘Yes, that’s right.’
She was obviously hiding something. The thought of Ada being ill – and lying about it – made Erik uneasy. He would never go as far as Carla and say he loved Ada, but she had been a
kindly presence all his life, and he was more fond of her than he liked to say.
Carla was just as concerned. ‘I hope it gets better.’
Lately Carla had become more grown-up, somewhat to Erik’s bewilderment. Although he was two years older, he still felt like a kid, but she acted like an adult half the time.
Ada said reassuringly: ‘I’ll be fine after a rest.’
Erik ate some bread. When Ada left the room, he swallowed and said: ‘I’m only in the junior section, but as soon as I’m fourteen I can move up.’
Carla said: ‘Father’s going to hit the roof! Are you mad?’
‘Herr Lippmann said that Father will be in trouble if he tries to make me leave.’
‘Oh, brilliant,’ said Carla. She had developed a streak of withering sarcasm that sometimes stung Erik. ‘So you’ll get Father into a row with the Nazis,’ she said
scornfully. ‘What a great idea. So good for the whole family.’
Erik was taken aback. He had not thought of it that way. ‘But all the boys in my class are members,’ he said indignantly. ‘Except for Frenchy Fontaine and Jewboy
Rothmann.’
Carla spread fish paste on her bread. ‘Why do you have to be the same as the others?’ she said. ‘Most of them are stupid. You told me Rudi Rothmann was the cleverest boy in the
class.’
‘I don’t want to be with Frenchy and Rudi!’ Erik cried, and to his mortification he felt tears come to his eyes. ‘Why should I have to play with the boys no one
likes?’ This was what had given him the courage to defy his father: he could no longer bear to walk out of school with the Jews and the foreigners while all the German boys marched around the
playing field in their uniforms.
They both heard a cry.
Erik looked at Carla and said: ‘What was that?’
Carla frowned. ‘It was Ada, I think.’
Then, more distinctly, they heard: ‘Help!’
Erik got to his feet, but Carla was ahead of him. He went after her. Ada’s room was in the basement. They ran down the stairs and into the small bedroom.
There was a narrow single bed up against the wall. Ada was lying there, her face screwed up in pain. Her skirt was wet and there was a puddle on the floor. Erik could hardly believe what he was
seeing. Had she pissed herself? It was scary. There were no other grown-ups in the house. He did not know what to do.
Carla was scared, too – Erik could see it in her face – but she was not panicked. She said: ‘Ada, what’s wrong?’ Her voice sounded strangely calm.
‘My waters broke,’ Ada said.
Erik had no idea what that meant.
Nor did Carla. ‘I don’t understand,’ she said.
‘It means my baby is coming.’
‘You’re pregnant?’ Carla said in astonishment.
Erik said: ‘But you’re not married!’
Carla said furiously: ‘Shut up, Erik – don’t you know anything?’
He did know, of course,
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