nothing at all, just staring in front of him with a kind of tight look on his thin face, but when he saw Anna he smiled. She showed him the poem and he read it through twice and said it was very good, and he also admired the illustration. Then Anna told him about Fräulein Lambeck and they both laughed. He was looking more like himself, so Anna said, “Papa, do you really like the poem?”
Papa said he did.
“You don’t think it should be more cheerful?”
“Well,” said Papa, “a shipwreck is not really a thing you can be very cheerful about.”
“My teacher Fräulein Schmidt thinks I should write about more cheerful subjects like the spring and the flowers.”
“And do you want to write about the spring and the flowers?”
“No,” said Anna sadly. “Right now all I seem to be able to do is disasters.”
Papa gave a little sideways smile and said perhaps she was in tune with the times.
“Do you think then,” asked Anna anxiously, “that disasters are all right to write about?” Papa became serious at once.
“Of course!” he said. “If you want to write about disasters, that’s what you must do. It’s no use trying to write what other people want. The only way to write anything good is to try to please yourself.”
Anna was so encouraged to hear this that she was just going to ask Papa whether by any chance Papa thought she might become famous one day, but the telephone by Papa’s bed rang loudly and surprised them both.
The tight look was back on Papa’s face as he lifted the receiver and it was odd, thought Anna, how even his voice sounded different. She listened to him saying, “Yes …yes …” and something about Prague before she lost interest. But the conversation was soon over.
“You’d better run along now,” said Papa. He lifted his arms as though to give her a big hug. Then he put them down again. “I’d better not give you my ‘flu,” he said.
Anna helped Heimpi ice the cakes and then she and Max and Gunther ate them – all except three which Heimpi put in a paper bag for Gunther to take home to his mum. She had also found some more of Max’s outgrown clothes to fit him, so he had quite a nice parcel to take with him when he left.
They spent the rest of the evening playing games. Max and Anna had been given a games compendium for Christmas and had not yet got over the wonder of it. It contained draughts, chess, Ludo, Snakes and Ladders, dominoes and six different card games, all in one beautifully-made box. If you got tired of one game you could always play another. Heimpi sat with them in the nursery mending socks and even joined them for a game of Ludo. Bedtime came far too soon.
Next morning before school Anna ran into Papa’s room to see him. The desk was tidy. The bed was neatly made.
Papa had gone.
Anna’s first thought was so terrible that she could not breathe. Papa had got worse in the night. He had been taken to hospital. Perhaps he …She ran blindly out of the room and found herself caught by Heimpi.
“It’s all right! Your father has gone on a journey.”
“A journey?” Anna could not believe it. “But he’s ill – he had a temperature …”
“He decided to go just the same,” said Heimpi firmly. “Your mother was going to explain it all to you when you came home from school. Now I suppose you’ll have to hear straight away and Fräulein Schmidt will be kept twiddling her thumbs for you.”
“What is it? Are we going to miss school?” Max appeared hopefully on the landing.
Then Mama came out of her room. She was still in her dressing-gown and looked tired.
“There’s no need to get terribly excited,” she said. “But there are some things I must tell you. Heimpi, shall we have some coffee? And I expect the children could eat some more breakfast.”
Once they were all settled in Heimpi’s pantry with coffee and rolls Anna felt much better, and was even able to calculate that she would miss the geography lesson at school which she particularly disliked.
“It’s quite simple,” said Mama. “Papa thinks Hitler and the Nazis might win the elections. If that happened he would not want to live in Germany while they were in power, and nor would any of us.”
“Because we’re Jews?” asked Anna.
“Not only because we’re Jews. Papa thinks no one would be allowed to say what they thought any more, and he wouldn’t be able to write. The Nazis don’t like people to disagree with them.” Mama drank some of her coffee and looked more cheerful. “Of course it may never happen and if it did it probably wouldn’t last for long – maybe six months or so. But at the moment we just don’t know.”
“But why did Papa leave so suddenly?” asked Max.
“Because yesterday someone rang him up and warned him that they might be going to take away his passport. So I packed him a small suitcase and he caught the night train to Prague – that’s the quickest way out of Germany.”
“Who could take away his passport?”
“The police. There are quite a few Nazis in the police.”
“And who rang him up to warn him?”
Mama smiled for the first time.
“Another policeman. One Papa had never met – but who had read his books and liked them.”
It took Anna and Max some time to digest all this.
Then Max asked, “But what’s going to happen now?”
“Well,” said Mama, “it’s only about ten days until the elections. Either the Nazis lose, in which case Papa comes back – or they win, in which case we join him.”
“In Prague?” asked Max.
“No, probably in Switzerland. They speak German there – Papa would be able to write. We’d probably rent a little house and stay there until all this has blown over.”
“Heimpi too?” asked Anna.
“Heimpi too.”
It sounded quite exciting. Anna was beginning to imagine it – a house in the mountains …goats …or was it cows? …when Mama said, “There is one thing more.” Her voice was very serious.
“This is the most important thing of all,” said Mama, “and we need you to help us with it. Papa does not want anyone to know that he has left Germany. So you must not tell anyone. If anyone asks you about him you must say that he’s still in bed with ‘flu.”
