The Rose Gardener Read online

  It’s like a game for them, thought Beatrice. She shuddered.

  Erich and three other German officers had gathered in the dining room. They stood around the table smoking and conversing in their language. The table was set with Deborah’s finest china, along with her crystal wine glasses and old, silver flatware. The family had only used these on special occasions, on birthdays and at Christmas and Easter. But the Germans seemed to want to repurpose these precious objects into items for everyday use. Or did they consider today a special occasion? Perhaps they were celebrating their conquest of the islands. In any case, candles were burning in all the holders. The large glass bowl on the sideboard was filled with water that had roses swimming in it, roses of all colors, radiant and wild. The door to the garden was open. The sun shone on the bright green of the lawn.

  For the first time in many days there were no planes to be heard overhead, only birdsong and the chirping of crickets. Beatrice found it confusing somehow that the island’s outward appearance hadn’t changed at all, despite the dramatic events.

  Erich turned to her when she came into the room. He smiled.

  “Here is the young lady,” he said. Again he spoke in his heavily accented English. “Gentlemen, may I introduce you to Miss Beatrice Stewart?”

  He did not add — but maybe he had explained everything beforehand — that in her parents’ absence, this was her house. He treated her like a guest who had come a bit late and was now being introduced after everyone else had already become acquainted.

  The men’s names rushed past her ears; she didn’t understand them, nor did they interest her. She understood only that all present seemed to be officers. Erich himself was addressed as “Herr Major” and was treated with great respect. He conducted himself like the master of the house; had Will — who Beatrice assumed was a kind of aide-de-camp — bring wine from the cellar and distribute it generously. Beatrice knew how proud her father had always been of his wine cellar, and it made her furious to sit and watch as Erich Feldmann read off the labels, full of pride, as if he had provided for all this gormandizing.

  A cook brought the food in. He looked gaunt and pale and didn’t say a word, but he seemed to know something about his craft. He had brought off an exceptional five-course meal. Erich had had massive quantities of supplies delivered over the course of the afternoon. Beatrice asked herself if the Germans had brought all these goods along with them or simply requisitioned them after taking over the island. She barely touched a thing. She just drank the orange juice Will had set in front of her in hurried gulps. The men conversed in German, they laughed and seemed in the best of moods. Only when they had arrived at dessert did Erich turn again to Beatrice.

  “Starting tomorrow, Will will be giving you German lessons for two hours each day. I think you’ll learn our language quickly. At your age, one is still very receptive.”

  “And I must say she looks like quite the intelligent little lady,” said one of the officers, waving at her in an avuncular way.

  “Why should I learn German?” She asked. “I’m not ever going to live in Germany.”

  Stunned silence followed her words. Will, who had been about to serve more wine, froze in mid-pour. Then Erich laughed. His laughter was loud and — as it seemed to Beatrice — more aggressive than joyful.

  “My dear girl, that is truly delightful! But at your age you lack any sense of reality. You already live in Germany, did you not realize?”

  “I …,” Beatrice began, but Erich interrupted her right away. “This is something that must become clear to you. The sooner the better. These islands here: they are now Germany!”

  One of the other officers seemed to sense that Beatrice might have suffered enough of a shock from the many events over the past few days. Now wasn’t the time to ply her with Nazi ideology.

  “The girl must be tired,” he said uncomfortably. “And besides, she has …”

  “She is tired, but she must learn!” Erich screamed. He spoke too loudly, and his tongue seemed to catch on something. His eyes had a metallic glint. Beatrice hadn’t gotten the impression that he’d drunk all that much, but it seemed that he couldn’t tolerate even small amounts of alcohol very well. She imagined he would stumble if he tried to stand up.

  “The whole world,” he said, “will be Germany. Do you understand? North, South, East, West — wherever you look, wherever you go, it will all be Germany. Have you not noticed how unstoppable we are, taking over these other countries? Where is there a people that is capable of resisting us? Tell me! Tell me who is stronger than we are!” His eyes flashed at Beatrice as he made his challenge.

  “She is just a child,” the other officer spoke up again.

  Erich turned to him with a movement like that of a bird of prey diving after its quarry. “That’s just it! Precisely for that reason, she has to understand how profoundly the world she lives in will change. Not a stone will be left standing. Nothing — and she must know this — nothing will be as it was!”

  No one spoke. The echo of these words hung in the room. Will continued to pour wine. For a while, you could hear only the soft clatter of the dishes, the tinkling of the glasses. Beatrice looked at Erich. His cheeks had taken on an unnatural red hue, and he drank his wine far too quickly. Beatrice felt the menace that emanated from this man. It was almost a physical sensation. In his manner there was something uncontrolled, something violent. She had not noticed it during their first encounter at mid-day, but now it was clear to see. Apparently, it took only a small amount of alcohol to bring out this side of him.

  After the meal Beatrice immediately stood up and went upstairs. Apparently, the men in the dining room were freely helping themselves to more wine. Their voices and laughter grew louder and louder. Erich could easily be heard above all the others.

  Beatrice tried to filter out the voices. She stood at the wide-open window and took a deep breath of the warm air of the clear and bright June night. She thought of her mother and father, imagined the two of them as fervently as only she could. Where might they be? Had they arrived safely in England? Doubtless they were sick with worry for their child. Was Deborah thinking of her right now too? Maybe their thoughts would meet somewhere in the middle of the distance that lay between them. Beatrice felt, she knew, that Mommy was looking out in the night and longing for her, just as she, Beatrice, was for her.

  “Don’t worry, Mommy,” she whispered. “I’m already pretty grown-up, and I’ll make it through all of this. You don’t have to be frightened for me. And we’ll see each other again. For certain. It won’t be long at all.”

  She had half expected that Will might appear and wish her good night, but he wasn’t to be seen, and so finally she undressed and got in bed. She had not gone to the bathroom. Water, soap, and toothpaste would have done her good after all this time, but she had been afraid she might encounter Erich on the way there, and she found the possibility of this too unsettling. But after lying awake in bed for an hour, it was clear to her that she would likely be able to put off washing up, but that she wouldn’t be able to withstand the urge to go to the toilet for any more than ten minutes. She got up and tiptoed to the bathroom. Not a sound could be heard from downstairs. She locked the door behind her and leaned against it, letting out a sigh of relief. She could see herself in the mirror opposite, and she almost jumped at the sight of the pale ghost staring back at her. She had lost a lot of weight, she looked haggard, her cheeks were sunken, and her eyes were huge and full of fear. Her long, dark brown hair hung over her shoulders in tangled strands. It looked dull, there was no shine to it. Had this long, white nightgown always hung so loosely on her?

  Since she was already there, she washed up, brushed her teeth, combed her hair. She looked better afterwards and felt better too, and while she was still examining herself in the mirror, a sudden realization came upon her: I shouldn’t stay here. It’s my house, but now th
ey’ve got it, and this man is dangerous. I have to see to it that I get away.

  The thought was so terrifying that it caused her heart to start racing, and for a moment she had to hold herself up on the edge of the sink. Up to now, in spite of everything, she had still seen the house as a safe place in the midst of chaos, and to imagine giving up this place of safety made her afraid. But that wasn’t the case; the house wasn’t her home any longer. It had fallen into the hands of the enemy and could become a trap. People, it was people who were important to her now — people who loved her and who would protect her.

  There were enough friends on the island; the only problem was that she didn’t know which of them were still here. She had seen the masses of people at the harbor, and it seemed doubtful to her that there’d even be a single English cat left on the island. Perhaps she was the last one who …

  “The only way you’ll find that out is if you start looking,” she said to herself softly.

  Deborah had said that Mae and her family would also be evacuating, but she couldn’t have known for certain, and maybe Mae and her parents were still on Guernsey. The longing she felt for her trusted and dear friend was almost overwhelming. She wouldn’t lose any more time.

  She stole back to her room and got dressed at lightning speed. She chose her school uniform, since she would need it when she went back to school. Into a small suitcase covered with linen that had originally belonged to her dolls, she packed some underwear, a pair of pants, and a sweater. That would have to do — and besides, she could also borrow things from Mae. Oh, please let Mae be there! She sent one quick prayer after the other up to heaven while she silently opened her door, crept down the hallway and carefully made her way down the stairs, cleverly skipping the steps that creaked — she knew exactly where to find them.

  In the small entrance hall she took a deep breath. She still wanted to grab her small round sailor’s hat from the coat closet. But then she heard a noise behind her, and as she turned around she saw Erich, who had appeared in the doorway to the living room. There he stood, silent.

  The bright moonlight shone down into the room behind him, turning him into a faceless black shadow. Beatrice could hear him breathing, and she smelled the reek of alcohol pouring off of him. She also didn’t say a word, and so they stood silently across from one another for a few moments. Then the shadow made a movement, and, with a flash, a light came on.

  Beatrice blinked. Erich’s face was pale as a ghost’s and covered in a fine layer of sweat. He looked much different than he had at dinner three hours earlier, when he’d had blotches of red on his cheeks and seemed so leering and unpleasant. Now, with the color gone even from his lips, he seemed almost ethereal, sick and enfeebled.

  “Well look what we have here,” he said. He spoke with an effort, dragging out every word, but Beatrice had noticed already how he spoke English more slowly than German. “Going on a trip?”

  With the small suitcase at her side, there would have been little point in claiming she’d just wanted to go stand out in the yard and gaze at the moon.

  “I’d like to go to my friend Mae’s house,” said Beatrice.

  “To your friend Mae’s house? And where, might I ask, does she live?”

  “Down below, in the village.”

  “Hmm. Was she not evacuated?”

  This was the very thing that Beatrice wasn’t sure of, but she said, with a certain boldness, “No. She wasn’t.” His face grew paler; his voice, however, sounded calm.

  “I see. And why were you going to sneak over there in the middle of the night? Why didn’t you wait until tomorrow so you could speak with me about it?”

  She didn’t know if she could risk speaking the truth. But really, she thought, she didn’t have much to lose. “I was sure you wouldn’t let me go.”

  He smiled. The smile wasn’t an evil one, but neither was there anything friendly to it.

  “You were sure? And so you thought, better to pull a fast one on the old man and get myself out of here in the middle of the night.”

  “Mae and her parents are like my family. I …”

  He was still smiling. “Did you think for one moment about how worried I would have been?”

  Would he have been worried? Maybe, she thought. Starting with that first moment, he’d shown a certain consideration towards her. She couldn’t really say anything against him, other than that she hadn’t liked his aggressive talk at dinner. She was silent.

  The sweat on Erich’s forehead thickened into small, glistening drops. He seemed rather unwell.

  “You should know, Beatrice, that I feel responsible for you,” he said. “Strictly speaking, I don’t simply feel responsible, I am responsible. I found you in the living room, all in fear and trembling, abandoned by the world, and from that moment on I was responsible for you. You might well feel grown up, and without a doubt you’re mature for your age — but you’re a child, and you need someone to care for you. Your parents aren’t here any longer, and as I’ve said already, it will be a very long time until you see them again. During that time — and this is something I would like for you to fully understand — I am the person you belong with. A kind of guardian. That means …” He paused for a moment and then spoke again, very slowly, with emphasis. “That means, you do what I tell you. And you live in my house. In my charge. Is that clear?”

  “I heard you,” Beatrice said coolly.

  The hope of seeing Mae again collapsed. It seemed inadvisable to try and leave the house a second time.

  “Maybe you’ll want to try and run away a second time,” said Erich, as if he could sense what she was thinking, “but you should know that it’s absolutely pointless. This is an island, as you know. And it is full of German soldiers. There’s not a single corner that isn’t under our control. That means I would find you in the blink of an eye. You have no chance, Beatrice, and you should really make that clear to yourself.”

  “Why do you want me to stay here so badly?” Beatrice asked. “When I could just live with my friend?”

  He furrowed his brow and she understood that as far as he was concerned, he’d done enough explaining. He wasn’t going to discuss things any further.

  “I have decided that you will be staying here,” he said. “This will not change, and the sooner you get used to that thought, the simpler it will be for both of us. And now you will go upstairs, take off your pretty school uniform, and get in bed. You look tired.”

  And you look sick, Beatrice thought aggressively, but she said nothing in reply, just turned around and climbed the stairs without a word. Her pitiful doll’s suitcase in her hand, she vanished into her room. She made a point of slamming the door behind her. A few moments later she could hear Erich’s heavy footfalls. He went to the bathroom, and then into Beatrice’s parents’ bedroom — and this single instant, out of all the menacing, foreign, frightening moments from that day, was the one that hurt Beatrice most severely: to listen as the German officer did not hesitate to take Deborah and Andrew’s bedroom for his own.

  Three weeks later, Helene Feldmann arrived on Guernsey.

  In these three weeks Beatrice had gradually recovered from the state of shock in which she had been trapped, but every day still seemed like a nightmare to her. The main source of terror was knowing that the nightmare would last into the following day, and into the following month as well. There was nothing to indicate that the Germans planned to leave the islands, or that anything might happen that could force them to do so. For fourteen days Beatrice had hoped that the British army would appear, that the RAF or the Royal Marines would come. She hoped for droves of brave men who would arrive and drive the Nazis off. But nothing happened, and she began to suspect that the powers that be in London had adjusted to the current state of things, at least for the time being.

  The Germans’ reputation for working quickly, thoroughly
, and systematically had preceded them. They took hold of things and followed through with energy and drive. The occupation forces more than lived up to this reputation, and the British population that remained on the Channel Islands could only look on in amazement.

  The way things looked at street level had changed quickly. In addition to the swarm of men in German uniforms, there were also the Swastika flags flying from all the public buildings, and already individual streets or larger buildings and facilities had been rechristened with German names.

  Castle Cornet, the imposing fort that dominated the harbor of St. Peter Port, was now called “Hafenschloß.” The picturesque village of Torteval became “Spitzkirchen,” on account of the distinctive church steeple that could be seen from afar. An order went out stating that only the new names were to be used, but no one among the populace paid it any mind, and when it came down to it the Germans couldn’t really enforce it anyway.

  What was more difficult for the English were the new rules for street traffic that were put into effect. Vehicles no longer drove on the left side of the road, but rather on the right, as was typical on the European mainland. This led to some confusion — and for the Germans as well, since none of the street signs made sense any longer, and these couldn’t be changed so quickly. Of course, only a few of the island’s residents still had cars anyway. Many had been requisitioned; in order to keep your car you needed a special permit, and in practice these were given out only for vehicles used for agriculture or for transporting supplies. Gas was rationed and could be bought only with ration stamps; the same was true for foodstuffs.