woman wearing a headscarf and dragging a suitcase behind her ran towards it, calling to the driver to wait. Three soldiers, huddled together on the platform, started laughing at her; Pierrot watched as she put her bag down and began to argue with them, but was shocked when one reached out, grabbed her arm and twisted it behind her back. He only had time to watch the expression on the woman’s face change from fury to agony before a hand tapped him on the shoulder and he spun round.
‘What are you doing out here?’ said the conductor. ‘Do you have a ticket?’
Pierrot reached into his pocket and took out all the documents that the Durand sisters had given him before leaving the orphanage. The man flicked through them roughly, and Pierrot watched as his ink-stained fingers ran across the lines, his lips mouthing each word to himself under his breath. He stank of cigar smoke, and Pierrot felt his stomach lunge a little with the combination of the bad smell and the movement of the train.
‘All right then,’ the conductor said, thrusting the tickets back into Pierrot’s jacket pocket and peering at the place names on his lapel. ‘You’re travelling alone, are you?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘No parents?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Well, you can’t stand out here while the train is in motion. It’s dangerous. You could fall out and be turned into mincemeat under the wheels. Don’t think it hasn’t happened before. A boy your size wouldn’t stand a chance.’
Pierrot felt these words like a knife going through his heart – for this, after all, was how Papa had died.
‘Come along then,’ said the man, grabbing him roughly by the shoulders and dragging him past a row of compartments as Pierrot carried his suitcase and sandwiches with him. ‘Full,’ muttered the conductor, looking into one, before moving on quickly. ‘Full,’ he said again when he saw the next one. ‘Full. Full. Full.’ He glanced down at Pierrot. ‘There might not be a seat,’ he said. ‘The train is packed today so you might not be able to sit. But you can’t stand all the way to Munich either. It’s a safety concern.’
Pierrot said nothing. He didn’t know what this meant. If he couldn’t sit and he couldn’t stand, then that didn’t leave him a lot of alternatives. It wasn’t as if he could float.
‘Ah,’ said the man finally, opening a door and looking inside; a buzz of laughter and conversation spilled out into the corridor. ‘There’s room for a small one in here. You don’t mind, boys, do you? We have a child travelling on his own to Munich. I’ll leave him in here for you to look after.’
The conductor stepped out of the way and Pierrot felt his anxiety grow even more. Five boys, all aged around fourteen or fifteen, well-built, blond-haired and clear-skinned, turned to look at him silently, as if they were a pack of hungry wolves unexpectedly alerted to fresh prey.
‘Come in, little man,’ said one, the tallest of the group, indicating the empty seat between the two boys opposite him. ‘We won’t bite.’ He held his hand out and beckoned him forward slowly; there was something about the movement that made Pierrot feel very uncomfortable. But, having no choice, he sat down, and within a few minutes the boys had started talking to each other again and ignoring him. Pierrot felt very small seated among them.
For a long time he stared at his shoes, but after a while, when his confidence grew, he raised his eyes from the floor and pretended to look out of the window, when in reality he was staring at just one boy, who was snoozing with his head pressed against the glass. All the boys were dressed alike in uniforms of brown shirts, black short trousers, black ties, white knee socks and diamond-shaped armbands, coloured red at the upper and lower sections and white at the left and right. In the centre was the same hooked cross that the man who had stood on his fingers at Mannheim station had worn on his sleeve patch.
‘What are you doing out here?’ said the conductor. ‘Do you have a ticket?’
Pierrot reached into his pocket and took out all the documents that the Durand sisters had given him before leaving the orphanage. The man flicked through them roughly, and Pierrot watched as his ink-stained fingers ran across the lines, his lips mouthing each word to himself under his breath. He stank of cigar smoke, and Pierrot felt his stomach lunge a little with the combination of the bad smell and the movement of the train.
‘All right then,’ the conductor said, thrusting the tickets back into Pierrot’s jacket pocket and peering at the place names on his lapel. ‘You’re travelling alone, are you?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘No parents?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Well, you can’t stand out here while the train is in motion. It’s dangerous. You could fall out and be turned into mincemeat under the wheels. Don’t think it hasn’t happened before. A boy your size wouldn’t stand a chance.’
Pierrot felt these words like a knife going through his heart – for this, after all, was how Papa had died.
‘Come along then,’ said the man, grabbing him roughly by the shoulders and dragging him past a row of compartments as Pierrot carried his suitcase and sandwiches with him. ‘Full,’ muttered the conductor, looking into one, before moving on quickly. ‘Full,’ he said again when he saw the next one. ‘Full. Full. Full.’ He glanced down at Pierrot. ‘There might not be a seat,’ he said. ‘The train is packed today so you might not be able to sit. But you can’t stand all the way to Munich either. It’s a safety concern.’
Pierrot said nothing. He didn’t know what this meant. If he couldn’t sit and he couldn’t stand, then that didn’t leave him a lot of alternatives. It wasn’t as if he could float.
‘Ah,’ said the man finally, opening a door and looking inside; a buzz of laughter and conversation spilled out into the corridor. ‘There’s room for a small one in here. You don’t mind, boys, do you? We have a child travelling on his own to Munich. I’ll leave him in here for you to look after.’
The conductor stepped out of the way and Pierrot felt his anxiety grow even more. Five boys, all aged around fourteen or fifteen, well-built, blond-haired and clear-skinned, turned to look at him silently, as if they were a pack of hungry wolves unexpectedly alerted to fresh prey.
‘Come in, little man,’ said one, the tallest of the group, indicating the empty seat between the two boys opposite him. ‘We won’t bite.’ He held his hand out and beckoned him forward slowly; there was something about the movement that made Pierrot feel very uncomfortable. But, having no choice, he sat down, and within a few minutes the boys had started talking to each other again and ignoring him. Pierrot felt very small seated among them.
For a long time he stared at his shoes, but after a while, when his confidence grew, he raised his eyes from the floor and pretended to look out of the window, when in reality he was staring at just one boy, who was snoozing with his head pressed against the glass. All the boys were dressed alike in uniforms of brown shirts, black short trousers, black ties, white knee socks and diamond-shaped armbands, coloured red at the upper and lower sections and white at the left and right. In the centre was the same hooked cross that the man who had stood on his fingers at Mannheim station had worn on his sleeve patch.
Similar Books
