Judith Kerr - Out of the Hitler Time trilogy - When Hitler Stole Pink Rabbit, Bombs on Aunt Dainty, A Small Person Far Away

“We’ll talk about it,” said Papa. Then he told them about the people he had met – old acquaintances from Berlin who had been distinguished writers, actors or scientists and were now trying to eke out a living in France.

“One morning I ran into that actor – you remember Blumenthal?” said Papa, and Mama knew at once whom he meant. “He’s opened a cake shop. His wife bakes the cakes and he serves behind the counter. I met him delivering apple strudel to a special customer.” Papa smiled. “The last time I’d seen him he was the guest of honour at a banquet at the Berlin Opera.”

He had also met a French journalist and his wife who had invited him several times to their home.

“They’re delightful people,” said Papa, “and they have a daughter about Anna’s age. If we go and live in Paris I’m sure you will like them enormously.”

“Yes,” said Mama, but she did not sound convinced.

For the next week or two Mama and Papa talked about Paris. Papa thought that he would be able to work there and that it would be a lovely place to live. Mama, who hardly knew Paris, had all sorts of practical considerations like the children’s education and what sort of a home they would find, to which Papa had not given much thought. In the end they agreed that she must go back to Paris with Papa and see for herself. After all, it was a very important decision.

“What about us?” asked Max.

He and Anna were sitting on the bed in their parents’ room where they had been summoned for a discussion. Mama had the only chair and Papa was perching like a rather elegant goblin on an upturned suitcase. It was a bit cramped but more private than downstairs.

“I think you’re old enough to look after yourselves for a few weeks,” said Mama.

“You mean we’d stay here on our own?” asked Anna. It seemed an extraordinary idea.

“Why not?” said Mama. “Frau Zwirn will keep an eye on you – she’ll see that your clothes are clean and that you go to bed at the right time. I think you can manage the rest yourselves.”

So it was settled. Anna and Max were to send their parents a postcard every other day, to let them know that everything was all right, and Mama and Papa would do the same. Mama asked them to remember to wash their necks and put on clean socks. Papa had something more serious to say to them.

“Remember that when Mama and I are in Paris you will be the only representatives of our family in Switzerland,” he said. “It’s a big responsibility.”

“Why?” asked Anna. “What will we have to do?”

Once, at the Berlin Zoo with Onkel Julius, she had seen a small mouse-like creature with a notice on its cage claiming that it was the only representative of its species in Germany. She hoped no one was going to come and stare at her and Max.

But this was not what Papa had meant at all.

“There are Jews scattered all over the world,” he said, “and the Nazis are telling terrible lies about them. So it’s very important for people like us to prove them wrong.”

“How can we?” asked Max.

“By being better than other people,” said Papa. “For instance, the Nazis say that Jews are dishonest. So it’s not enough for us to be as honest as anyone else. We have to be more honest.”

(Anna at once thought guiltily of the last time she had bought a pencil in Berlin. The man in the paper shop had not charged her quite enough and Anna had not pointed out the mistake. Suppose the Nazis had got to hear of this?)

“We have to be more hard-working than other people,” said Papa, “to prove that we’re not lazy, more generous to prove that we’re not mean, more polite to prove that we’re not rude.”

Max nodded.

“It may seem like a lot to ask,” said Papa, “but I think it’s worth it because the Jews are wonderful people and it’s rather splendid to be one. And when Mama and I come back I’m sure we’ll be very proud of the way you have represented us in Switzerland.”

It was funny thought Anna. Normally she hated to be told that she must be extra good, but this time she did not really mind. She had not realized before that being a Jew was so important. Secretly she resolved really to wash her neck with soap each day while Mama was away so that at least the Nazis would not be able to say that Jews had dirty necks.

However, when Mama and Papa actually left for Paris she did not feel important at all – just rather small and forlorn. She managed not to cry while she watched their train pull out of the local station, but as she and Max walked back slowly to the inn she felt quite clearly that she was too young to be left in one country while her parents went off to a different one.

“Come on, little man,” said Max suddenly, “cheer up!” – and it was so funny to be addressed as “little man”, which was what people sometimes called Max, that she laughed.

After this things got better. Frau Zwirn had cooked her favourite lunch and it was rather grand for her and Max to eat it in the dining room at a table all by themselves. Then Vreneli came to collect her for afternoon school and after school she and Max played with the three Zwirn children just as usual. Bedtime, which she had thought would be the worst bit, was actually very nice because Herr Zwirn came in and told them funny stories about some of the people who came to the inn. Next day she and Max were able to write quite a cheerful postcard to Mama and Papa, and one arrived for them from Paris the following morning.

After this life went along quite briskly. The postcards were a great help. Each day they either wrote to Mama and Papa or heard from them, and this made it feel as though Mama and Papa were not so far away. On Sunday Anna and Max and the three Zwirn children went into the woods to collect sweet chestnuts. They brought back great baskets full and Frau Zwirn roasted them in the oven. Then they all ate them for supper in the Zwirns’ kitchen, spread thickly with butter. They were delicious.

At the end of the second week after Mama and Papa’s departure Herr Graupe took Anna’s class on an excursion into the mountains. They spent a night high up on a mountainside, sleeping on straw in a wooden hut, and in the morning Herr Graupe got them up before it was light. He walked them along a narrow path up the mountain and suddenly Anna found that the ground under her feet had become cold and wet. It was snow.

“Vreneli, look!” she cried, and as they looked at it the snow which had been dimly grey in the darkness suddenly became brighter and pinker. It happened quite quickly and soon a rosy brilliance swept across the entire mountainside.

Anna looked at Vreneli. Her blue sweater had turned purple, her face was scarlet and even her mouse-coloured plaits glowed orange. The other children were equally transformed. Even Herr Graupe’s beard had turned pink. And behind them was a huge empty expanse of deep pink snow and slightly paler pink sky. Gradually the pink faded a little and the light became brighter, the pink world behind Vreneli and the rest divided itself into blue sky and dazzling white snow, and it was fully daylight.

“You have now seen the sunrise in the Swiss mountains – the most beautiful sight in the world,” said Herr Graupe as though he personally had caused it to happen. Then he marched them all down again.

It was a long walk and Anna was tired long before they got to the bottom. In the train on the way back she dozed and wished that Mama and Papa were not in Paris so that she could tell them about her adventure. But perhaps there would soon be news of their return. Mama had promised that they would only stay away three weeks at the most and it was now a little more than two.

They did not get back to the inn until evening. Max had held back the regular postcard of the day and, tired as she was, Anna managed to cram a lot on it about her excursion. Then, although it was only seven o’clock, she went to bed.