Jackie French - Hitler's Daughter

And suddenly Mark wanted more than anything to know more.

The buses lined the road next to the school. When he’d been small Mark had thought they looked like lions waiting to swallow you and then burp you out at your bus stop.

Mark sat with Bonzo, as he always did, in the seat behind Anna and Big Tracey. Little Tracey sat with a kid almost as small as her. Ben sat in the back seat with his mates.

One by one all the other kids got off. Little Tracey’s friend first, and Ben’s mates and Bonzo at the stop by the store, then finally Big Tracey at Dirty Butter Creek.

Mark leant forward and tapped Anna on the shoulder. ‘Hey, guess what?’ he said.

‘What?’

‘I just worked out why it’s called Dirty Butter Creek. I used to think there must have been a dairy or something here.’

‘Wasn’t there?’

‘No. I asked Dad once and he said there weren’t any dairies around here. Just look at it now.’ Mark gazed down into the swirling yellow water.

‘Hey, I see…’ cried Anna. ‘It looks just like dirty butter, doesn’t it? Yuk…all yellow and brown.’

‘Yeah. Anna, will you go on with the story tomorrow?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Anna slowly.

‘Please.’

‘If you really want me to,’ said Anna, even more slowly.

‘Yeah, I do,’ said Mark. ‘Look, how about getting down to the bus stop a bit earlier tomorrow, so you’ve got more time. I’ll ask Mum, and your mum can pick up Little Tracey, say, fifteen minutes earlier.’

‘Mum won’t have time for a cup of tea. Oh, alright. I’ll say we need to talk about a project for school.’

‘Thanks,’ said Mark. He leant back in his seat again, then changed his mind and tapped her arm again.

‘Anna.’

‘Yes.’

‘ You tell the story tomorrow. I mean without us interrupting.’

‘What about Ben? Are you going to ask him to come early too.’

‘You can get the story going before he gets there.’ Somehow he knew the story wouldn’t go right if Ben were there.

The rain gurgled along the gutter and into the tank outside the kitchen window, almost drowning out the yelling of the frogs in the creek. Down on the flat the creek groaned and rumbled, so the air seemed to vibrate with the noise.

‘The tank will overflow if this goes on,’ said Mum, shoving the plates into the dishwasher. ‘Mark, turn the radio off, would you? I don’t want to listen to the news this morning. It’s too depressing. Have you got your homework?’

‘Yep.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yep. Come on, Mum. I’ll be late for the bus.’

His mother looked up from the dishwasher, surprised. ‘We’ve got ages yet.’

‘But it’ll be slower because it’s muddy. That’s what you said yesterday.’

‘Maybe you’re right. Oh look, the umbrella’s still wet. I hate it when it drips like that. You run down the path first and I’ll follow you, alright?’

Mark nodded. Whenever it rained the roses along the path hung wet and heavy, so that if you brushed against them water tipped from their leaves and petals down your shoulders and arms. Mum never cut them back enough, Dad said. She was too softhearted even with the roses.

The car was cold and smelt of wet dog.

‘I shouldn’t have let Bubbles ride in the car yesterday,’ said Mum, turning the demister to maximum. ‘Oh yuk, the smell’s even worse with the heater on.’

The car squelched through the puddles on the driveway, then squished onto the mud of the road.

‘Mum?’

‘Mmm?’ Mum was concentrating on steering around the puddles. ‘Heaven knows when the council will get round to grading this road again.’

‘What’s the longest time it’s ever rained?’

‘Good grief, I don’t know. Forty days and forty nights. That’s what it was supposed to be for Noah’s flood. Oh, and for six weeks back in forty-seven, so your nanna told me. Fog and rain for six weeks.’

‘Six sevens are forty-two, that’s forty-two days and beats Noah,’ said Mark with satisfaction. ‘Did it flood?’

‘Right up to the garden fence where the vegie garden is now,’ said Mum. ‘Your nanna said no one could get out for weeks, and Mrs Hilson down the valley had her baby and they had to call a helicopter in. Oops, sorry about that,’ as the car plunged into a puddle. ‘I didn’t realise it was so deep. Oh, look at that cow…get off the road you stupid creature.’

‘Hey, Mum.’ Mark watched the cow slowly amble to the side of the road. ‘Do cows ever sneeze?’

‘Mmm. What was that?’ Mum carefully circled the cow in case it decided to step back into the path of the car. ‘I don’t think so.’

‘Why not?’

‘I’ve no idea. I’d better give Ned a ring when I get back and tell him there’s a cow on the road…’

‘Mum? What do you know about Hitler?’

Mum blinked, and the car shot into a puddle. ‘Blast. Hitler? What brought that up?’

‘Nothing,’ said Mark.

Mum shrugged. ‘You choose the worst times to ask questions. What do you want to know about him?’

‘What was he like?’

‘Oh, Mark, not now, it’s bad enough trying to keep the car on the road with all this mud.’

‘Please, Mum, I want to know.’

‘Well, he was a monster, of course,’ said Mum reluctantly, still battling with the steering wheel. ‘All the concentration camps…and he killed all those Jews…six million, I think, that’s why it’s called the Holocaust.’

‘Six million people!’

‘There were lots of others he killed, too. Gypsies and people in Trade unions…there was a TV program on it last year, but we turned over to a movie halfway through. It’s hard to watch that sort of thing. I don’t know why they put them on TV…oh, he killed people who were disabled in some way, too…I think there was something like eleven million people altogether.’

‘Eleven million!’ Mark tried to work it out. ‘That’s more than half the population of Australia.’

‘They weren’t just in Germany,’ said Mum. ‘Turn the heater down, will you, Mark, it’s getting stuffy. There were also camps in all the other countries he conquered. It was a long time ago, Mark. I don’t know why you’re so interested.’

The car bounced through another puddle. ‘Blast,’ said Mum again. ‘That nearly hit the sump…’

‘But why?’ demanded Mark.

‘What do you mean why?’

‘Why did he do it?’

Mum shrugged. ‘That was the sort of person he was.’

‘But he must have had a reason!’

‘I think he wanted to breed a Super Race,’ said Mum reluctantly, trying to concentrate as she negotiated the puddles. ‘You know—Aryans. Yes, that’s what they were called. A pure Aryan race. So he had to get rid of anyone who didn’t fit his idea, anyone who was different. Oh, look out you silly roo.’

The kangaroo watched them uneasily from the middle of the road, then jumped once, twice, and over the fence.

‘I always wanted to be able to jump like that,’ said Mum, sighing in relief as the car hit the bitumen. ‘Oh, that reminds me—Jesse Owens. Yes, that was his name. He was a runner… I think he was a runner in the 1936 Olympics. Was he American? I can’t remember. Your dad would know. Anyway, at that time the Olympics were in Germany and Hitler wanted to show the world what his Super Race could do, but then Jesse Owens won a whole lot of medals instead.’

‘What was so bad about that?’ asked Mark.

‘He was black!’ explained Mum. ‘And he beat all the Aryans hands down.’ The car drew to a stop slowly by the bus stop. ‘Hitler wouldn’t even shake Jesse Owens’ hand.’