lives are directed toward this one moment, but what next?
Oh Diary, what a lot I have to record.
It has long since passed midnight so technically it is January the first. A new year: 1919, like a pair of twins (though Eugen and I would be better represented by 1616). But I must first return to the evening of the thirtieth (when we were still 1515).
Eugen and I had been in bed for a long time but neither of us was sleeping. For all the time Eugen spends standing still, he is a restless sleeper, turning and turning, even once he has fallen fast asleep. But last night I could not hear anything, not even his shallow breathing. I was listening so intently it is no surprise I heard the scrape of the workshop door being opened. I ran outside in my nightgown and bare feet and saw Father’s face, lit by the candle he held. He looked quite ill.
‘Fetch your brother,’ he said and entered the workshop.
I returned to our room, its darkness more profound after my brief glimpse of candlelight. ‘Eugen,’ I said, ‘aren’t you coming?’
A sigh came from his bed. A moment later I heard it creak as my brother rose.
Outside once more I could hear the gentle growl of the generator and see the electric light shining through the gaps in the workshop walls. The wide glow from the open door stretched out upon the path like a golden tongue.
Inside the workshop, Father was sitting on my pedestal. Two green canvas bags with drawstrings lay empty at his feet.
‘Pack what you will need, each of you,’ he said.
‘How long will we be gone?’ I asked.
‘We are leaving in twenty minutes,’ he said. ‘You might like to say goodbye to Flossie.’
‘Father?’ I said. The dew was settling once more in my eyes.
He picked up one of the bags and tossed it to me. Eugen leant forward and picked up his own.
‘Go,’ Father said and raised his head. Only then did he look at me properly. ‘Don’t worry. We will go through everything for tomorrow when we get there.’
I ran inside and could see the glow of a candle from the drawing room. Mother was up, sitting in her armchair, looking at the volumes in her bookcase. I thought it a most beautiful pose: her face in profile, lit softly by the candle, her fine chin tilted upward, tightening the muscles of the neck, her kind hands crossed upon her lap. I wished to commit this pose to memory forever but she turned slowly and her red, swollen eyes extinguished any sense of beauty.
‘Come here, child,’ she said. I ran to her and threw myself at her feet, my head buried in her lap. I felt her hands upon the back of my head, stroking my hair.
‘I don’t want to go,’ I said.
‘You must,’ she said. ‘Think of all the work you have done.’
‘But what will happen? When will I return?’
She continued stroking my hair.
‘When will I see you again?’
‘I will come to you if you do not come to me,’ she said.
‘Oh Mother.’ I wrapped my arms around her waist. I could sense Eugen standing behind me, watching.
‘Keep an eye out for me in the crowd,’ she said. ‘Both of you.’
‘Come on,’ Eugen said. ‘You will want to pack your diary at least.’
‘Will I have time to write?’ I asked. I was in a panic. Things I had been told before, hundreds of times, had slipped from my mind. ‘Will I have time to read?’
‘Go and pack a few clothes,’ she said. ‘I have a book in mind for you to take.’ She stood and ran her fingers slowly, lovingly, over the spines.
Eugen guided me to our bedroom. He was so calm.
‘Don’t you care for her?’ I asked.
He shrugged. ‘This is how it was always going to be. There’s no point getting upset.’
I knew he was right. But it seemed to be happening so suddenly.
‘What about the piano?’ I asked. ‘Oh Eugen, how will you survive without your music?’
‘It’ll be all right,’ he said, touching my shoulder.
Back in the drawing room, Mother handed me a book with a faded red cover. ‘I’ve been saving this book for you, for this very moment. Look after it, Avis.’
We embraced for a long time. I could feel Eugen just behind me. Mother reached out her hand and rubbed his cheek.
Outside, Father had a covered wagon hitched to Emily and Charlotte, Father’s two horses (though the names were Mother’s doing). He asked Eugen to help him lift our wooden pedestals into the wagon. Mother stood beside me, clutching my hand.
‘All right,’ Father said, ‘in you get.’
‘Good luck,’ she said brightly, though I could see the strain on her face.
Eugen helped me into the wagon. There were several hay bales arranged around the sides. Father threw a blanket to Eugen. ‘Both of you lie down and put this over you. You mustn’t be seen.’
We did as instructed and waited.
‘Right,’ I heard Father say, eventually. ‘We’ll be off then.’
We were rocked side to side as Emily and Charlotte led us down the drive. This was to be the first time Eugen and I had ventured beyond our front gate. I expected us to pause for Father to open it, but we soon lurched to the right, meaning the gate must have been left open and we were now on the road.
‘So this is the wide world,’ Eugen whispered, mischievously, for we knew we mustn’t talk. His hand felt for mine and found it. He gave it a squeeze.
We were jostled left and right as the wagon made its way into town. I tried counting the turns but after a short time beneath the blanket I lost all sense of direction and my head filled with other thoughts. Eventually we came to a stop. Eugen and I lay perfectly still, the blanket over our heads, waiting for Father’s instructions. I felt the wagon dip as he stepped up and leant over us.
‘Quickly now,’ he said, pulling the blanket off in one quick tug. ‘Inside.’
By the light of his candle I could see that the wagon had been backed up against a large double doorway. Father hopped down and held out his hand. ‘Duck your head,’ he whispered.
Eugen followed without Father’s assistance.
Father led us
