Ursula Archer - Five

‘Save that for later,’ she told herself. Her voice echoed dully against the well shaft, sounding comforting and sensible. That was exactly what she needed right now, all of her wits and senses.

The water was too deep to be able to stand up in. If she stretched and immersed herself up to her nose, she could just about feel the ground beneath her feet, but it was slimy and soft. She would have to try to swim on the spot, with sparing movements, which would keep her warm at the same time. Or at least ensure that her temperature dropped less quickly.

Underwater, she pulled the shoes and socks from her feet. Good. Now feel around the wall, systematically, the way a blind person would.

There were little protrusions here and there, but none of them big enough to grip onto. The walls were slippery with moss. Even when Beatrice managed to find a stone that was sticking a little further out than the others, her fingers slipped when she tried to pull herself up on it.

But she didn’t give up. The well’s diameter wasn’t that big; if she stretched both arms out to the side, the palms of her hands easily reached the opposite sides of the shaft.

She would be able to lie down diagonally and support herself with her back and feet if she needed to rest. And she would need to. Soon. If she didn’t manage to climb up—

All of a sudden, she realised she no longer knew which part of the cylindrical well shaft the iron rungs were on. She had turned around several times and lost her orientation in the darkness.

But even if I did know , she thought, even if I did – they’re much too high up. I couldn’t jump up to them. The only way up is to climb, and the walls are too slippery for that .

She tried regardless. Tried to imitate the way free climbers negotiate chimneys, their hands and feet propped to the left and right, but she couldn’t get a grip. After four attempts she was exhausted, paddling in the water and wheezing. A fast pulse was throbbing in the wound on her left hand.

She had no choice but to wait, ration her energy and hope that Sigart was underestimating the police.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight .

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight .

Beatrice counted her breaths. If the time was passing down here, it would be up there too, up where the darkness was endless.

But it couldn’t possibly be as slow as down here. She counted on, counted and wished she had a watch so she could see how long she had already managed to hold out.

The worst thing was the cold. Her teeth were chattering uncontrollably and her fingers and toes had long since gone numb, which meant that any more attempts at climbing would be futile. She had already tried, again and again.

I’m so tired .

But going to sleep meant death. Not moving meant death. Despite that, Beatrice turned over onto her back in the water and propped herself against the shaft with her shoulders and knees, still paddling her hands to keep herself awake. She looked up and wondered if she would be able to tell when the sun rose. Whether a beam of light would push its way through the seams of the well cover.

That would give her some hope.

She paddled on half-heartedly. Once the world woke up again, someone would miss her. Florin would wonder why she hadn’t come into the office. He would probably call her at around nine or half-past. So late .

Unless there was news. Then he might get in touch sooner, maybe even around eight.

She flexed her fingers. Open, shut, open, shut. Were they even responding? She couldn’t feel a thing.

She tried to float. It didn’t work; it was much too narrow here. But her arms hurt so much.

Suddenly her mouth was full of water; she spluttered, gasped, spluttered again. Had she drifted off? The cold was paralysing her body and her thoughts; she had to keep herself awake somehow.

Beatrice began to sing. The first song that came into her mind was ‘Lemon Tree’ by Fool’s Garden. Her voice was loud, louder than she had expected, presumably because of the well shaft.

If someone was out there – maybe they would hear her?

She sang whatever songs she could think of, holding her breath now and then so as not to miss any sounds that might make their way down from above.

No. There was only silence, and the endless gurgling of her movements in the water. The world was a long way away and had no idea she was down here.

Beatrice only stopped singing when she realised it was using a dangerous amount of energy. But she could hum at least… the first English song that Jakob had learnt at school came into her mind.

He had sung it to her in the kitchen, hopping around with a beaming smile, and when he got to the words ‘diamond in the sky’ his eyes had got so big and round and…

Was she crying now after all? Her eyes were burning, and her nose felt swollen. The hum stuck in her throat like a cold, half-chewed lump of food.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight .

One. Two…

Mina doing a cartwheel on the living-room carpet. ‘Look at me, look at me!’

Jakob pulls three squashed dandelion flowers out from behind his back. ‘I picked them for you.’

‘Chin up, sweetheart,’ laughs Evelyn, and Achim says, ‘None of them look as beautiful as you in your uniform.’

Five. Six .

A croissant without jam. Crooked fingers. ‘Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,’ calls Evelyn cheerily. ‘Hold your head high, my girl. Even if your neck’s dirty.’

Head. High. Chin. Up. Cold, completely cold .

A cup with steaming coffee, the milk foam frothing. Florin places his hand on hers, a dark strand of hair falls forwards onto his forehead, uniting with the arc of his brow. ‘Beatrice.’

‘Yes.’ She says. She thinks. Has he heard her?

Jakob flings his arms around her neck. ‘Frau Sieber gave me a gold star.’

That’s true, Beatrice can see it shining. Twinkle, twinkle .

Now something falls. So loud.

Evelyn is singing Spandau Ballet’s ‘Gold’. She has such a beautiful voice.

‘Bea. Look at me.’

David is here too. What does he want? He’s pulling and tugging at her, it hurts. If she could speak, she would say she doesn’t want to see him any more. That she can’t.

He pulls at her, and she can fly.

‘We’ve got her!’

‘Bea!’

Don’t disturb me, not now .

‘We have to wake her up. Bea!’

Shaking. Pressure on her face. Light.

‘She’s opened her eyes. Thank God. Everything’s okay. Can you hear me, Bea?’

Yes. No. Slow .

Then things come back, the shapes, the names. Florin.

The cold.

Beatrice felt firm ground beneath her feet. Headlights cut through the dark grey of an early morning. People were walking close to her, many people. ‘Wha-w-w-’ Her mouth wouldn’t obey her.

Someone lifted her upper body and peeled off her shirt. ‘Where are the blankets? Why is it taking so long? Stefan, give me your jacket.’

The scent of chewing gum.

Florin was kneeling next to her, dripping wet. Bechner handed him a woollen blanket, and he put it around her shoulders, wrapping it so tightly that she couldn’t move her arms. Then he pulled off his own wet shirt.

‘The ambulance is on its way. It shouldn’t be too long now.’ Florin pulled her close to him, holding her tight against his chest. ‘We have to keep you awake, do you hear me? You’re hypothermic.’

‘H-h-how di—’