The Pathfinder Page 12

  ‘They didn’t miss a trick.’

  ‘Not one. No flies on them at all.’

  ‘Will you be able to find someone to print these new textbooks that you’re planning? I thought the Russians had made off with most of the machinery when they arrived here – or smashed it.’

  ‘Luckily, not all of it. As I told you, I can usually find things in Berlin. I’ve unearthed a small printing firm who are still in business.’

  ‘How about paper? Isn’t it in rather short supply at the moment?’

  ‘It’s still tricky to find the stuff, of course, but there are always ways and means.’

  ‘Fortunately for you.’

  Kocharian smiled. ‘Fortunately for me.’

  The telephone rang and Harrison waited while Kocharian carried on a conversation, this time in Russian which he also seemed to speak like a native. With German, Harrison might have understood the general gist of the exchange; with Russian he hadn’t a clue. When the exchange finally ended he said, ‘How on earth did you manage to get a telephone line installed here?’

  A wave of the ebony holder. ‘I happen to know someone . . .’

  If he was prejudiced, Harrison couldn’t help himself. The chap was like some greasy trader in an Eastern souk, rubbing his hands and smiling false smiles. ‘Lucky again?’

  ‘Not so much luck, perhaps, as knowing the ropes. Berlin is a tricky place if you don’t. But then you don’t have to worry too much about that, do you? Being with the RAF. Tell me, Michael, how are things going out at Gatow? I gather you’ve got planes flying in night and day, loaded down with stuff.’

  ‘We’re coping.’

  ‘Even coal, so they say. That must present quite a challenge. But without it you may as well give up and go home.’

  ‘We’ve no intention of giving up.’

  ‘No, of course not. The Dunkirk spirit and all that. Quite ironic that it should be all about saving Germans this time. The Berliners see the joke, too, you know. They’re saying it’s bound to work. If the Allies could manage to drop all those bombs on them before, then they should be able to manage to drop enough food. They have quite a good sense of humour, as I think I told you.’

  ‘Actually, it’s all about saving liberty.’

  ‘Oh, absolutely, old chap. That’s usually what these things are about, when it comes down to it. The Yanks are doing a jolly good job too, by the sound of it.’

  ‘They’re certainly pulling their weight.’

  ‘More than their weight, I hear. But then they’ve got rather more planes and pilots to call on, haven’t they? And rather more money. How’s the watch going, by the way?’

  It was an abrupt change of tack. ‘It keeps good time.’

  ‘I thought it might. Have you seen the Leichts lately?’

  ‘No. I’ve had no reason to.’

  ‘Rudi has been ill again. Worse than usual. Lili has been distraught.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that.’

  ‘The kid needs proper treatment and lots of good fresh food – all that sort of thing. Virtually impossible here at the moment.’

  ‘The Soviets are always claiming that they have much better rations for the people in their sector.’

  ‘In fact it’s a big problem for the Russians too. Stocks are right down. It’s mostly bread and potatoes these days.’

  ‘Ever since the blockade started they’ve been trying to bribe the civilians in the western sectors to sign on with them for extra rations. Get them onto their side.’

  ‘So I’ve heard.’

  Harrison wondered how Nico managed to look so sleek and well fed on a diet of bread and potatoes. ‘Actually, you don’t seem to do too badly.’

  Another wave of the holder. ‘I get by. And I do what I can for the Leichts, of course. As soon as my business gets off the ground properly, I’ll be able to offer Lili a job. She’ll be a great asset, don’t you think?’

  He said shortly, ‘I imagine so.’

  ‘Dirk has found some work with the Americans at Tempelhof – loading and unloading aircraft. Not quite his style, but the pay and extra rations help and, of course, Dirk being Dirk, he takes whatever opportunities come his way.’

  ‘You mean he pilfers stuff?’

  ‘Oh, pathetic amounts really. A little sugar, some powdered milk, a tin here, a tin there – nothing that would make any difference in the whole scheme but it makes a difference to them. Especially to Rudi.’

  ‘It’s still stealing. And those food supplies are intended for civilians in the western sectors.’ As he spoke, Harrison realized how pompous he sounded, and he saw, by the faint smile that crossed Nico Kocharian’s face, that he thought so too.

  ‘Unfortunately, Michael, most Berliners can no longer afford the luxury of such fine, upstanding feelings.’

  ‘As a matter of fact, we get very little pilfering at Gatow.’

  ‘Perhaps English grub is less appealing.’

  He said drily, ‘Believe it or not, the Germans like our Pom potato best.’

  ‘Better Pom than Ivankomm – I believe that’s what German parents tell their kids in the British sector. The Russians are the big, bad wolves so the children eat up all their dried potatoes.’

  ‘I don’t blame them.’ He stood up. ‘Well, I’m glad things are going well.’

  ‘I wouldn’t go as far as to say that, Michael. But it was nice of you to call by. Will you be calling on the Leichts now, by any chance?’

  The question sounded casual enough but he suspected that, in some way, it was calculated. ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘Because I have something for Lili. I may not get the chance to deliver it myself for a day or two. Could you take it for me?’ He opened a drawer in the desk and took out a small bottle. ‘Vitamin C pills.’ He shook it, making them rattle. ‘For Rudi.’

  The carved wolves’ heads snarled at him from the Leichts’ front door. He wondered if they were a presage of the reception he was going to receive. To his surprise it was the old grandfather who opened the door. He seemed almost normal, smiling and nodding and beckoning him inside. Rudi was lying on the couch in the corner, reading a book, but immediately struggled to his feet, coughing. Harrison was dismayed at how much worse he looked. ‘Squadron Leader, sir, I am very pleased indeed to see you.’

  He felt guilty at the boy’s obviously genuine pleasure. Somehow he’d got lost on the way and wandered fruitlessly around for nearly an hour in the Soviet sector. The people he had stopped to ask for directions had simply shrugged and walked on. Either they couldn’t, or wouldn’t, help. Maybe it was his uniform, or maybe his bad German. If it hadn’t been for the pills, he might easily have given up. The grandfather was asking him something, but his German wasn’t up to whatever it was. Rudi translated. ‘He wants you to sit down – in his chair. The best chair.’

  ‘Nein, danke.’ He searched for some appropriate German words and failed. ‘Please, tell him to sit down in it. I’m fine standing.’

  The boy spoke to his grandfather and the old man sat down reluctantly, still talking.

  ‘He says it’s not polite to sit when a guest is standing. Perhaps you could sit in one of these chairs at the table, sir?’

  To please the old man he did so, laying his cap on the table. He took the pictures he had cut out from magazines and newspapers from his pocket. He had taken quite a lot of trouble to track them down. ‘I thought you might like these, Rudi.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’ The boy looked delighted and came to sit beside him. He went through the pictures, examining them carefully. ‘This one I know well, sir. It is a C-54. American Skymaster. And this is a Stirling perhaps?’

  ‘No. It’s an Avro York. A transporter. It was actually developed from the Lancaster bomber.’

  Rudi studied it carefully and solemnly. ‘It is not as nice-looking as the Lancaster, I think.’

  ‘But very useful for transporting supplies. It can carry a hell of a lot. And it’s very easy to unload and load because of the high wings and
the low cargo doors.’

  ‘This plane is coming to Gatow now?’

  ‘Oh, yes. Rather.’

  ‘I wish I could go to see but it is too far for me to walk. Dirk says he will take me on his bicycle one day. I should like also very much to see the Sunderlands – the flying boats – coming down onto the Havel See. Dirk is working with the American planes at Tempelhof, you know. He is very lucky.’

  He wondered if it would somehow be possible to arrange for the boy to get a ride out to Gatow. There was always a crowd of civilians by the perimeter fence, including plenty of children, watching the planes coming and going from the airfield, and also beside the lake where the Sunderlands were a big attraction. It must help to shore up the Berliners’ resolve. They could see with their own eyes and hear with their own ears the huge efforts that were being made by the western Allies to help them. The Russians, watching from the other side of the airfield, presumably had thoughts of their own.

  ‘I don’t suppose you know what this one is?’

  ‘No, sir.’ The boy shook his head regretfully.

  ‘No reason why you should. It’s a civilian aircraft – not military. A Handley Page Halton. We have one that flies into Gatow now.’

  ‘I think I like better the military planes.’

  ‘So do I, but we need civilian ones to help us with the airlift too.’ They had come to the last of the pictures – one that Harrison had found in a stack of old Picture Post magazines in the Officers’ Mess. ‘Here’s one you’ll like.’

  The boy smiled. ‘It is a Spitfire.’

  ‘No, it’s not a Spitfire. It’s a Hurricane. They are rather alike at first glance but, if you look closely, you’ll see there’s quite a difference. The cockpit canopy is a different shape – a Spitfire’s is like a bubble – and the Hurricane has this humped backbone, see. And, of course, the shape of the wing is completely different. It’s not as beautiful as the Spitfire but it’s a wonderful fighter.’

  ‘Does it go fast?’

  ‘Not quite as fast as a Spitfire or the Messerschmitt 109, but it’s very steady. And the fuselage is fabric so it’s easy and quick to mend. It has eight Browning machine guns, just the same as the Spitfire.’

  Their heads were bent over the picture and Harrison didn’t hear the door open. Then the grandfather started talking again and he looked up to see that the girl, Lili, had come in and was standing there. He got to his feet, very unsure of his welcome. ‘I hope you don’t mind, Fräulein Leicht. I brought Rudi some more pictures.’

  ‘That’s very kind of you.’ She took off her scarf. Her voice was cool.

  He groped in his pocket. ‘Also, Nico Kocharian asked me to give these to you. Vitamin C tablets for Rudi.’

  She took the glass bottle. ‘Thank you for bringing them. Where did you see him?’

  ‘I called at his office.’

  ‘I have never been there.’

  ‘Well, it’s not much to see.’

  ‘I thought perhaps it would be quite smart.’

  ‘Not at all.’

  ‘I suppose that would be difficult in Berlin, even for Nico.’ She looked at the label on the bottle. ‘These are American. I wonder how he got them.’

  ‘Ways and means. I believe that’s how he usually describes it.’

  She gave a ghost of a smile. ‘Whenever I ask him he says much the same in German. He has ways and means for everything.’

  He realized that she didn’t like Kocharian either and he was relieved. And glad. He risked a smile. ‘Rudi wants to come out to Gatow to watch the planes. I think he’d enjoy it. Do you think he’s up to it?’

  The boy said eagerly, ‘Of course I am. Dirk will take me on the bicycle.’

  ‘It’s a pretty long way on a bike,’ Harrison said.

  ‘Too far,’ Lili agreed. ‘Tempelhof is much nearer. Perhaps he will go there one day with Dirk. We’ll see.’ Her brother protested in German and she answered him soothingly. ‘He says he would much sooner see the Royal Air Force planes. And he specially wants to see the flying boats landing on the Havel See. I will try to take him when he is stronger. It should be possible for us to go part of the way by S-Bahn out to Spandau and perhaps the rest by bus – if there are any buses running still in the British sector.’

  He’d seen the German labourers trudging out to Gatow on foot. ‘Not many, I’m afraid. There’s a terrific shortage of petrol, of course. It all has to be flown in, like everything else.’

  ‘It must be very difficult for you to do this. To carry enough supplies by plane for so many people.’

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘It’s very difficult. But we’re doing our best.’

  ‘Dirk is working at Tempelhof for the Americans now. Loading and unloading their planes.’

  ‘So Nico Kocharian told me.’

  ‘He is given a free hot meal at the airfield. And coffee and doughnuts. He brings the doughnuts back to share.’

  She didn’t mention the pilfering, he noticed. ‘That’s good. How are you coping otherwise?’

  ‘The rations were very bad for a while but now they are a little bit better. We manage, don’t we Rudi?’

  The boy nodded. ‘Yes, we manage. We are OK.’

  ‘You all speak jolly good English,’ he said heartily. ‘It’s amazing.’

  ‘Thank you. Our father was at Cambridge University and spoke it almost perfectly. He insisted that we talk often in English. Also, my grandmother was half French and so we learned that too. Grandfather speaks good French, but only a few words of English.’

  The grandfather stirred in his chair. ‘But I listen always to the BBC. Some I understand.’

  ‘And we have many English books,’ Rudi said. ‘All of Charles Dickens, Anthony Trollope, H.G. Wells, Aldous Huxley, Thomas Hardy, P.G. Wodehouse, Rudyard Kipling and the plays of William Shakespeare.’ He recited the names proudly. ‘Some of them are difficult for me to understand, especially Shakespeare. I like P.G. Wodehouse the best.’

  Harrison smiled. ‘I like his books too. Have you ever been to England?’

  ‘No,’ his sister answered. ‘None of us. Only our father. Have you been to Germany before? I mean,’ she added hurriedly, ‘as a tourist.’

  He shook his head. ‘No. I know France reasonably well. We used to go on family summer holidays there. Before the war.’

  ‘Then you speak French?’

  ‘Not frightfully well, I’m afraid.’

  ‘You manage?’

  He smiled ruefully. ‘Yes, I manage.’

  ‘But you do not speak any German?’

  ‘Only a few words. I’m pretty hopeless at languages.’

  ‘Perhaps it does not come naturally to the English. Except for some, like Nico.’

  ‘He’s not actually English. His father is Armenian.’

  ‘Yes, he told us. And I could see he was not really English, but he was born there, he says. Is that where you first met him?’

  ‘We were at the same school, as a matter of fact. But he’s a year younger, so I can’t say that I saw a great deal of him. In fact, I scarcely remember him.’

  The old man stirred again and muttered.

  ‘He wants to know when supper will be ready,’ she said. ‘I must start to cook it.’

  He picked up his cap from the table. ‘I ought to go, in any case.’

  ‘I would invite you to stay,’ she said politely. ‘But it’s only cabbage soup. I think you would hate it.’

  ‘Yes, you would,’ Rudi pulled a face. ‘I do.’

  She saw him to the door. In the hallway he said quietly, ‘Nico Kocharian said that Rudi has been a bit under the weather lately.’

  ‘You mean not so well?’

  ‘Sorry, yes, that’s what I meant. He looks rather peaky.’

  ‘He has not been good at all but I think he is a little better now. We have been able to get some decent food for him and it helps. And your visit has cheered him up very much, Squadron Leader. He is very pleased with the aeroplane pictures. Thank you for br
inging them. And the vitamin C pills.’

  He hesitated. ‘Actually, I also came here to apologize to you. About our last conversation . . . I’m afraid I lost my temper.’

  ‘So did I. So we are equal.’

  ‘Perhaps we could agree to disagree?’

  She nodded. ‘That would be fair.’

  He looked down at her. She was so small and slight and fragile; it seemed incredible that she had somehow survived. Or that any of them had. He thought again of the great mass of leaping flames that he had looked down on from the Lancaster, of the Russian tanks storming into the city, the barrage of shellfire, the bitter street-to-street, house-to-house struggle, the almost total, savage, ruthless destruction of Berlin. ‘Would you mind if I dropped by again? I could bring the odd thing. We can’t get much – not like the Americans – but there’s usually chocolate and cigarettes. And I could keep a lookout for some more pictures – if that’s all right?’ He paused. ‘I quite understand, if it’s not.’

  ‘Yes, of course, if you like. Rudi would be very pleased to see you.’

  He cleared his throat. ‘And I was wondering . . . the British here are putting on some kind of entertainment. It’s supposed to be an Elizabethan Festival.’

  ‘Elizabethan?’

  ‘Sixteenth century. When our Queen Elizabeth was on the throne. Plays and madrigals and concerts, poetry readings, talks . . . all that sort of thing.’ He was uncomfortably aware of the ludicrousness of it, but he plunged on. ‘The idea is that it will be good for morale. The Americans are getting comedians and film stars over to entertain people, so I suppose our people thought they ought to do something as well. I’m afraid it won’t be as exciting as the Americans’ show but the thing is, there’s going to be a performance of Measure for Measure by the Marlowe Society. You know, the Shakespeare play?’

  ‘Yes, I know of this. It is in our father’s book, though I have never read it.’

  ‘Well, I was just wondering if you’d like to come to a performance. It’s for Berliners, too, you see.’