Czechoslovakia went under his heel, followed by Serbia – now part of Yugoslavia, of all improbable alliances. Hungary was still with Austria, but it was sure to go, so he spat on his hands and dug it to oblivion too. He looked at the pathetic patch that represented all that remained of Austria, and then he remembered that they had also lost the Sudetenland – the German-speaking Alps – now part of Italy.
All of the things that he’d looked to as a source of pride were dead or gone. The Emperor was dead. Sergeant Major Veit Hoffman was gone … retired. Even his uniform was gone. Viet gazed down at his lederhosen with distaste. The government had once been a source of pride, but now the country was being run by the Jews. His son should have been a source of pride too, but his mind winced away from that topic. A daughter-in-law, who looked like a Rhine maiden from the myths, but who had as much spine as an earthworm. And finally there was her brat. He drove his spade into the last of ‘Austria’. As he did so he heard a shout.
‘Granp–’ Veit looked up, saw the startled face of Erich in the attic window, and then saw it disappear. What was the brat doing now? He had re-emerged but he seemed to be struggling . Perhaps Sabine was holding him from below? But that was Sabine’s voice singing in the kitchen. Veit’s interest quickened . The boy’s face was scarlet with the effort that he was making. He’ll shout for help in a moment, Veit speculated, but the boy didn’t. He watched as Erich got his heel, then his calf, then his knee over the window sill and prepared for the final heave. Veit didn’t move, even when he realised that the boy might overdo it and tip himself down the roof and into thegarden at his feet. He was interested, but quite detached, like a general watching his men streaming into battle; what would be would be.
Erich straddled the windowsill, having corrected his roll by bracing his foot against the warm tiles of the roof. He knew Grandpa Veit was looking up at him. At least Grandpa wouldn’t fuss, though if Mother saw him now there would be panic. He needed time to work out what to do. Going back had no attractions; the dark space behind him seemed threatening and dangerous. In front of him the roof sloped down to a gutter that stood out a few centimetres from the tiles, and while it was only a small protection from the drop into the garden below, it was reassuring. Below and to his right a high wall met the house at right angles and then ran down the side of the garden to where it supported a lean-to shed. If he could move diagonally across the roof from where he sat, then down onto the top of the wall, he could make his way along this and slide down the roof of the shed. It wouldn’t be that big a drop from there into the garden.
He rolled onto his tummy and started lowering himself down; suddenly this seemed all wrong His knees had no grip and he was sure that once he let go of the windowsill he would just slide inexorably over the edge. He hauled himself up to the window again. His heart was racing. Grandpa Veit was pretending to dig, but Erich guessed that he was watching. Sitting on his bottom he felt more stable, his bare feet gripped well on the tiles. He hitched himself forward gingerly, his fingers finding little overlapping places between the tiles. Now he was moving sideways towards the top of the wall. He looked up. Above him the sky arched in a cloud-flecked dome, beneath him the tiles seemed warm and friendly; he had a wonderful feeling of freedom and of being suspended in space with air both above him and below.
Perhaps he’d wave to Grandpa. He looked down, and quite suddenly it all changed; his legs, his arms, and his spine turned to jelly. The tiles were no longer friendly. While he had been moving, the overlaps had been forcing him ever closer to the edge of the roof. As he froze, his toes knotted and began to slip, his hands began scrabbling for a grip. Veit was
All of the things that he’d looked to as a source of pride were dead or gone. The Emperor was dead. Sergeant Major Veit Hoffman was gone … retired. Even his uniform was gone. Viet gazed down at his lederhosen with distaste. The government had once been a source of pride, but now the country was being run by the Jews. His son should have been a source of pride too, but his mind winced away from that topic. A daughter-in-law, who looked like a Rhine maiden from the myths, but who had as much spine as an earthworm. And finally there was her brat. He drove his spade into the last of ‘Austria’. As he did so he heard a shout.
‘Granp–’ Veit looked up, saw the startled face of Erich in the attic window, and then saw it disappear. What was the brat doing now? He had re-emerged but he seemed to be struggling . Perhaps Sabine was holding him from below? But that was Sabine’s voice singing in the kitchen. Veit’s interest quickened . The boy’s face was scarlet with the effort that he was making. He’ll shout for help in a moment, Veit speculated, but the boy didn’t. He watched as Erich got his heel, then his calf, then his knee over the window sill and prepared for the final heave. Veit didn’t move, even when he realised that the boy might overdo it and tip himself down the roof and into thegarden at his feet. He was interested, but quite detached, like a general watching his men streaming into battle; what would be would be.
Erich straddled the windowsill, having corrected his roll by bracing his foot against the warm tiles of the roof. He knew Grandpa Veit was looking up at him. At least Grandpa wouldn’t fuss, though if Mother saw him now there would be panic. He needed time to work out what to do. Going back had no attractions; the dark space behind him seemed threatening and dangerous. In front of him the roof sloped down to a gutter that stood out a few centimetres from the tiles, and while it was only a small protection from the drop into the garden below, it was reassuring. Below and to his right a high wall met the house at right angles and then ran down the side of the garden to where it supported a lean-to shed. If he could move diagonally across the roof from where he sat, then down onto the top of the wall, he could make his way along this and slide down the roof of the shed. It wouldn’t be that big a drop from there into the garden.
He rolled onto his tummy and started lowering himself down; suddenly this seemed all wrong His knees had no grip and he was sure that once he let go of the windowsill he would just slide inexorably over the edge. He hauled himself up to the window again. His heart was racing. Grandpa Veit was pretending to dig, but Erich guessed that he was watching. Sitting on his bottom he felt more stable, his bare feet gripped well on the tiles. He hitched himself forward gingerly, his fingers finding little overlapping places between the tiles. Now he was moving sideways towards the top of the wall. He looked up. Above him the sky arched in a cloud-flecked dome, beneath him the tiles seemed warm and friendly; he had a wonderful feeling of freedom and of being suspended in space with air both above him and below.
Perhaps he’d wave to Grandpa. He looked down, and quite suddenly it all changed; his legs, his arms, and his spine turned to jelly. The tiles were no longer friendly. While he had been moving, the overlaps had been forcing him ever closer to the edge of the roof. As he froze, his toes knotted and began to slip, his hands began scrabbling for a grip. Veit was
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