Power of the Sword - Smith Wilbur - Страница 151

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His right hand was still encased in plaster as he held the Nazi salute and Adolf Hitler smiled and nodded. I have heard that you are a friend of Germany, Herr De La Rey, he said.

I am of German blood, a true friend and your most ardent admirer.

I can find no words to describe the great but humble honour I feel in your presence. I congratulate you on your courageous victory over the American negro. Adolf Hitler held out his hand. And I congratulate you also on your marriage to one of the lovely daughters of the Reich. Manfred took the Fuhrrer's hand in his own undamaged left hand and he was trembling and filled with awe by the significance of the moment. 'I wish you great joy, Hitler continued, and may your marriage forge iron links between yourself and the German people. The Fahrer's hand was cool and dry, the strong yet elegant hand of an artist, and Manfred's emotions welled up to choke him. Always, my Fuhrer, the links between us will last for ever. Adolf Hitler nodded once more, shook hands with Heidi, smiled at her joyous tears, and then he was leaving as suddenly as he had arrived, with a word and a smile for a few of the most important guests.

I never dreamed -'whispered Heidi, clinging to Manfred's arm. 'My happiness is complete. That is greatness, Manfred said, watching him go. That is true greatness. It is hard to think he is mere mortal, and not a god!

Sarah Bester pedalled down the main street of the little village of Stellenbosch, weaving through the light traffic, smiling and waving at anybody she recognized on the sidewalks. Her school books were strapped on the carrier behind the saddle of her bicycle. The skirt of her gymshp billowed up almost as high as her knees, and she had to keep clutching at her school hat.

That morning her class had been given the results of the previous term's work and she was bursting with the need to tell Aunt Trudi that she had pulled up from fifth to second place. The headmistress had noted on her school report, Well done, Sarah, keep up the good work. It was her last year, in October she would be seventeen and she would write her matriculation the next month.

Manie would be so proud of her. It was his inspiration and encouragement which had done so much to make her one of the top girls in the school. She started to think about him now, daydreaming as she pedalled along under the oaks. He had been away so long, but soon he would be home; then she would tell him and it would all be all right. She wouldn't have to worry and cry alone at night. Manie would be back - strong, kind, loving Manie would make it all right again.

She thought of being married to him, cooking his breakfast, washing his shirts, darning his socks, walking to church at his side, calling him Meneer the way Aunt Trudi called Uncle Tromp, lying beside him every night, waking beside him every morning and seeing his beautiful blond head on the pillow beside her, and she knew there was nothing else in all the world she wanted.

Only Manie, she whispered. Always and only Manie. He is all I have ever had, all I have ever longed for. Ahead of her she saw the postman at the gate of the manse and she jumped down off the bicycle and called, Have you got anything for us, Mr Grobler? The postman grinned at her and took a buff-coloured envelope from his leather purse.

A telegram, he told her importantly. A telegram from overseas, but it's not for you, little one, it's for your aunt., I'll sign for it! Sarah scribbled in his receipt book, propped her bicycle on the gate of the manse and flew up the front steps.

Aunt Trudi! she screamed. A telegram! Where are you? She smelt cooking odours, and knew where to look.

It's a telegram! Sarah rushed into the kitchen. Aunt Trudi was standing over the long yellow-wood table with the rolling-pin in her hands, flour to her elbows and wisps of silverblond hair tickling her nose so that she blew at them as she straightened. She was glowing moistly from the heat of the kitchen range, and great pots of peach and fig jam bubbled over the flames.

Goodness me! What a to-do! You must learn to act like a lady, Sarie, you are not a child- A telegram! Look, a real telegram! It's the first we've ever had. Even Aunt Trudi was impressed. She reached for it and then paused.

My hands are covered with flour. Open it, Sarie. Sarah tore open the envelope. Shall I read it out? she demanded.

Yes. Yes, read it, who is it from? It's from Uncle Tromp, he signs it "Your dutiful husband Tromp Bierman". Silly old man! He has paid for four unnecessary words, Aunt Trudi grumbled. Read what he says. He says, "I have to inform you that Manfred was Sarah's voice tailed off into silence and her bright expectant expression crumbled as she stared at the sheet in her hands.

Go on, child, Aunt Trudi urged her. Read it out. Sarah began again, her voice small and whispery. "'I have to inform you that Manfred was today married to a German girl named Heidi Kramer. He plans to study at the University of Berlin and will not be returning home with me. I am sure you wish him happiness as I do. Your dutiful husband Tromp Bierman." Sarah lifted her eyes from the form and they stared at each other.

I cannot believe, Aunt Trudi breathed. Not our Manfred. He wouldn't, he couldn't desert us., Then she noticed Sarah's face. The child had gone grey as the ashes in the fireplace.

Oh, my little Sarie. Aunt Trudi's Plump features collapsed with compassion and shared agony and she reached for the girl, but Sarah let the telegram flutter from her fingers to the kitchen floor and whirled and raced from the kitchen.

She snatched up her bicycle from the gate and stepped up into the saddle. She stood up on the pedals so as to drive harder, and her legs pumped to the beat of her heart. Her hat flew off her head and dangled down her back, suspended on the elastic around her neck. Her eyes were wide and dry, her face still grey with shock, as she raced out of the village, turning up past the old Lanzerac estate, heading instinctively for the mountains.

When the track became too steep and rough she dropped the bicycle and went on upwards on foot, through the pine forest until she reached the first crest. There she stumbled off the track and threw herself full length on the damp bed of pine needles, on the exact spot where she had given her love and her body and her soul to Manfred.

Once she had recovered her breath after the hard run up the Mountainside, she lay quietly, neither sobbing nor weeping, merely pressing her face into the curve of her own arm.

As the afternoon wore on, so the wind veered into the north west and the clouds gathered on the high peaks above where Sarah lay. At dusk it began to rain, and the darkness came on prematurely. The air turned icy, and the wind whimpered in the pines, shaking down droplets onto her prostrate body until her gymslip was soaked through. She never lifted her head, but lay and shivered like a lost puppy and her heart cried out in the darkness.

Manfred, Manfred, where did you go to? Why did I have to lose you? A little before morning broke, one of the search parties from the village, which had scoured the mountainsides all night, stumbled upon her and they carried her down the Mountainside.

It's pneumonia, Mevrou Bierman, the doctor told Aunt Trudi when she called him to the manse for the second time that next night. You are going to have to fight for her life she doesn't seem to want to fight herself. Aunt Trudi would not allow them to take Sarah to the new town hospital. She nursed the girl herself, tending her day and night in the small back bedroom, sponging the sweat and heat from her body while the fever mounted, sitting beside the bed and holding her hot hand through the crisis, not leaving her even when it had broken and Sarah lay pale and wasted with the flesh melted off her face so that her features were bony and gaunt and her lacklustre eyes too large for the bruised cavities into which they had sunk.

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