Authors: Alan Bricklin
A foot or so above the windows a narrow ledge ran around the
house, protruding only a few inches. It was probably a part of the construction
intended to hold the wooden crosspieces that formed the support for the second
floor. Above the ledge three small windows faced the yard and at least one of
them was not shut completely. If it could be opened, Larry might just be able
to squeeze in, although getting up the wall would be difficult or impossible,
the stones being joined tightly and their faces worn smooth. He was intent on
the possibilities and didn't hear the boy until he said loudly, "Hey,
mister. Lorenz. I said 'What are you looking at'?"
"At that window up there. You know, I'm going to Munich
to look for work, and dressed in these dirty things no one would want to hire
me. I thought I might borrow a shirt and a pair of trousers from the man who
lives here. I could pay him after I get a job."
Friedrich looked dubious but didn't say anything. He folded
his hands across his chest, leaned back on the rock on which he sat and gazed
seriously at the small window, and then at Larry, like some banker deciding if
the patron sitting opposite would qualify for a loan. Larry was found wanting.
"You'll never fit." He paused for emphasis. "But I could; except
I can't get up there."
"I couldn't let you do that. That would be
stealing."
"Everybody around here steals; all the time. Besides,
if you do it, is the stealing any better than if I do it? Doesn't matter
anyway, I can't climb up there." He lapsed into silence, and Larry
furrowed his brow as conscience briefly intruded into a plan that must succeed.
"You can stand on my shoulders and I can boost you up
to where you can get hold of that ledge if you think you're strong enough to
pull yourself up." Larry winced inwardly for he knew that the last
statement was a challenge that no ten year old could refuse, and he felt guilty
about manipulating the situation.
"I'm strong enough. But you have to give me something
to do it. What have you got?"
War takes innocence as its first casualty, and Larry was not
really surprised at this mercenary demand. "Not too much. I can give you
this pack."
"Anything else?"
"I have a small knife. I know you have one but maybe
you can sell one. Other than that, just the clothes on my back." The boy
bargained for those, too. "And I did give you half of my sausage,"
Larry threw in.
"OK, let's go. Give me the pack now, I'll fill it with
food when I get in."
Larry handed him the pack and he slung it over his shoulder
as they walked to the edge of the house. Once there, Larry braced himself
against the wall and bent his knee. Friedrich scampered up and mounted his
shoulders with Larry grasping his ankles and helping to steady him. Larry took
a half step back to get the right angle, and the ten year old reached up and
just curled the tips of his fingers over the small outcropping. "You'll
have to get me higher so I can get a better grip. Should I stand on your
head?"
"No. I'm going to lift you up by the legs. I'll have to
bend, then quickly straighten and push up from your ankles. Don't hold on to
the ledge now but get ready to grab on with your hands or your whole forearm if
you can."
"OK."
"Here we go." Larry tightened his grip on
Friedrich's ankles, squatted then snapped his legs upright, at the same time
pushing up his arms with all the strength he could muster. The boy was able to
place his left hand and most of his right forearm on the top of the ledge. He
dangled there for a few seconds, Larry hovering beneath him, before pulling
himself up, getting a purchase first with one knee, then the opposite foot and
cautiously standing, holding on to the window frame for balance. "That's
great," Larry exclaimed in a loud whisper. When you lift the window keep
hold of the bottom so you don't lose your balance."
"Got it." He dropped into a squat and slipped his
fingers under the window. From below Larry heard a grunt as he tried to lift.
Then another. And another. Finally, "It's no use. It won't move."
"Shit," he murmured. To the boy, "Do you see
any kind of lock or something jammed above the window to block it?"
"Nothing. It's just stuck."
"OK. Hold on a minute. You may just need a little
leverage." Larry went to the corner of the house where there was a small
pile of broken items, including the wooden handle of some implement, probably a
shovel or pick, shattered at one end, the working portion missing. He carried
it back and lifted it up toward the youngster balanced on the small stone
protrusion.
"Slide this under the window and push down on the end.
But hold on."
He inserted it and pressed. Again the grunting. "I
can't push hard enough with just one hand." Before Larry could say
anything, Friedrich let go of the window, gripped the handle with both hands
and exerted his full weight and strength. The end of the handle moved up
several inches then slid out from under the window. With nothing now to
counterbalance the force of his downward thrust, he was launched downward and
out, his arms and legs flailing in the air as he fell. As soon as he had seen
him place both hands on the lever, Larry knew this was going to happen.
Nevertheless, it occurred so quickly that he was not prepared, although he did
manage to get his arms out in front of him so there was a chance he might catch
him. He grabbed the boy like a falling sack of potatoes, but because he didn't
have time to brace his legs and body for the impact, he was knocked to the
ground, nonetheless cushioning the lad's fall. The jagged end of the handle
missed his head by inches and he lay there panting, the wind knocked out of
him. "Friedrich, are you hurt?"
"That was scary but sort of fun. I'm fine. How about
you?"
"Maybe not fine, but not hurt. And it certainly wasn't
fun for me. Well, anyway, I thought it was good idea. I guess I was
wrong."
"But the window moved. I saw it go up. Lift me up there
again and I'll get in this time."
Larry was on his feet, bent over and out of breath.
I
don't think I should be so short winded. No medicine for days now. Wonder if
things are going to get worse sooner than I expected?
"You really want
to try it again?"
"I can do it this time."
"Give me a minute." When his respirations returned
to normal, he motioned for the boy to join him and once more the youth was
propelled upward to his perch alongside the window. This time Friedrich lowered
both his legs, got a firm grip on the wood at the bottom of the window and
straightened up with a controlled lift. The window was elevated even more
easily than he had hoped and he slid both legs into the room, his torso
following. A second later his head popped out the window, then his left hand
signaling "thumbs up" before withdrawing again into the house.
Larry was starting to worry about the old man coming home
unexpectedly and all the possible consequences that might ensue if he called in
the authorities. His pacing was interrupted by the appearance of the head at
the window again and an overloud "pssst." Friedrich's hands were
extended outward, several items of clothing dangling from them, and when Larry
was below him, he dropped the articles. "How are these?"
Larry held them up. Two shirts and one pair of trousers. The
size was close enough and they were at least clean and presentable. While he
was examining the clothes a tie floated down and draped itself over his head
and right shoulder.
"If you're looking for a job you should look your best.
That's what my mother always said when we went into the city." At the
mention of his mother his face, which had seemed brightened by this new
adventure, turned somber. Before Larry could say anything he retreated into the
house again and a minute later Larry noticed him through the window at ground
level, no doubt looking for the kitchen and any food. Larry began to police the
area, removing all traces of their brief habitation, and returning any items he
or the boy had used to where they had been. After five minutes Larry tapped on
the window to get Friedrich's attention; it was time for them to leave. He had
an uneasy feeling and the hairs on the back of his neck were standing on end,
maybe just due to the cold, but to Larry it was all the more encouragement to
"pack their tent" and get the hell out. He banged on the window but
there was no sign of Friedrich. Just as he was considering taking the clothes
and making a quick exit, the familiar little head appeared at the window, a
bulging rucksack clenched in his fist and a big smile across his face.
"Should I let myself out the front door, I can unlock it from the inside,
or should I come out the window?"
There was little point, Larry now realized, in trying to
hide their exploit. If the owner came home sober he would discover the break-in
very quickly even if the front door remained locked. If he returned drunk, a
good possibility from what Friedrich had been telling him, he might simply
think he forgot to lock the door and stagger into bed or the nearest chair
without noticing anything amiss. "Just close the window to about where it
was and come out the front door, but look carefully to make sure no one is on
the road who could see you, then come right around to here. We've got to
leave."
He came scurrying around the corner of the house in less
than a minute, holding the pack against his body to keep it from bouncing
around. It was bulging and overflowing like the proverbial cornucopia, and the
boy's grin matched the abundance. "I've got enough food to last us a
week." He looked expectantly at Larry, whose expression did not change
from the look of concern he had worn for the last half hour.
"I'm afraid we've got to split up; I have to go to
places where a kid wouldn't be welcome, might get us both in a lot of
trouble."
"I didn't think you'd want to, but I thought I'd
ask."
"You were really great, though. I couldn't have asked
for a better companion. You're quick, smart and determined, and I think you're
going to make it through these times in good shape."
"Strong, too."
"What?"
I'm strong, too. You didn't mention that." Larry nodded
his agreement. "Can we walk together at least till we get through
Germering?"
"Sure, but let's get moving. Here's my knife." He
reached in his pocket and handed it to Friedrich who turned it over in his
hand, looking at it, before pulling a sausage from the pack and offering it to
Larry. "You keep it. I'll be able to get food once I'm in Munich."
"Then take the knife back. I already have one and you
may need yours." Larry hesitated but the boy took a step closer and put
the knife in his hand. "If it wasn't for you I'd be rooting through
garbage cans in Germering." Larry pocketed the knife, took a last glance
around, then put his arm on Friedrich's shoulder and guided him out of the yard
and back on the road.
After forty-five minutes of brisk walking they were in the
outskirts on the opposite end of the town. It had been uneventful. They passed
two pubs, both rather well lit with kerosene lamps burning on the tables, and
both crowded with people. From the first, singing could be heard as well as
loud talking and occasional laughter; the second, just a hundred meters or so
down the road, was couched in silence, only the distant noise of a chair
scuffing the floor or someone coughing being heard from the road as they
passed. Just as they came alongside the entrance he thought he saw a stooped
figure emerge in a group of patrons who had had enough of the silence in the
alehouse and were now off to rejoin their own more private world of silence.
The contrast between the two impressed itself on Larry, indicating something of
significance he thought, but the meaning eluded him, or so he believed. The
only notion that came to mind was triggered by the sound of coughing and it led
to the depressing thought of his own impending demise and eternal silence.
An idea teased at the edge of his awareness but his attempt
to clarify it was interrupted by someone tugging on his sleeve and talking.
"Sometimes you don't hear very well. I said 'this is where we split up.'
There's a place down the side street where I sometimes sleep. I'm going to head
there." He held out his hand in a rather formal looking gesture and Larry
smiled to himself but maintained a dignified expression as he grasped the boy's
hand and shook it.
"Good luck, Friedrich."
"You, too, Lorenz." He walked off down the street,
purpose in his stride. After ten meters he turned back to wave. Larry was
nowhere to be seen.
In Bern, Mary Bancroft stepped off the train from Zurich and walked
across the street to the hotel Schweizerhof, carrying her small overnight bag
in one hand and a small purse slung over her shoulder. She made it a point not
to carry a briefcase or work product of any significance on her excursions to
visit Dulles. It was a bright day and although there was a bite to the morning
air, the warmth of the sun could be felt on the face and to her that was a sure
sign that spring would not be long delayed. Always alert she looked left and
right as she strolled briskly toward the hotel, a smile on her face. Halfway
across the square she noticed a black car pull to the curb about thirty meters
from the hotel entrance to discharge a lone passenger, who exited the vehicle
with a bearing that indicated power, wealth or a military affiliation. The
rather dapper looking man stood on the pavement adjusting his coat and talking
to the driver who remained in the car, but it was apparent even to Mary who had
no field training that he was surveying the area, glancing to either side and
across the square. His gaze swept past her like a searchlight without pause and
she kept her eyes ahead of her, using her peripheral vision to keep him in
sight, her curiosity piqued. She stopped under the pretense of switching her
suitcase to her other hand, then continued at a slower pace, determined to see
what she could make of this situation. After a moment the man turned and strode
towards the hotel entrance, apparently satisfied with his surveillance. He
reached the entrance about twenty paces ahead of Mary and she had a clear view
of his face.
I know that man. But from where?