The Auslander by Paul Dowswell Read Free Book Online Page A

a commotion at the door. In walked a tall, burly man of middle age with a goatee beard – the kind that scientists often had – and wearing an expensive suit. He was followed by a rather frightening-looking woman of medium height and slim build, hair held back in a tight, elaborate plaited arrangement. She wore a matching skirt and jacket and a white blouse, and carried herself with glacial self-assurance.
    â€˜Heil Hitler! My name is Professor Kaltenbach,’ said the man, saluting and then shaking Piotr’s hand vigorously.
    Piotr stood and stared. Was he meant to ‘Heil’ him back?
    â€˜And this is Frau Kaltenbach.’
    Frau Kaltenbach did not touch him. She kept her distance, gave him the ghost of a smile and stood, hands folded in front of her, to appraise him.
    â€˜Guten Tag,’ said Piotr. What was he to say to these people? Much to his embarrassment, he was blushing.
    â€˜In Germany these days . . .’ said Professor Kaltenbach – he was speaking slowly, as if to a foreigner who knew barely a word of his language, or to a dimwit – ‘. . . we greet each other with “Heil Hitler” and a salute. Like this.’ He gave a Nazi salute, with his right arm fully extended. ‘That is the German greeting. You try it!’
    Piotr gave a half-hearted salute. ‘Er, heil.’
    â€˜No, no,’ bustled Kaltenbach. He was laughing in a good-natured manner. ‘You stand erect. Arm thrust out. Heil Hitler!’
    Piotr stood up, feeling very foolish. ‘Heil Hitler.’ He could barely bring himself to say the words. Surely they didn’t expect a boy from Poland to go around heiling everyone?
    â€˜Now sit down, my young friend. We must get to know each other.’
    Piotr was surprised to find he quite liked Kaltenbach. He seemed pompous but jovial. That was a good combination. Pompous and cold. Pompous and quick-tempered. That would be unbearable. Pompous and jovial might be OK.
    â€˜Now tell us your name,’ said Kaltenbach.
    â€˜My name is Piotr Bruck.’
    â€˜A good German name. You will need to say and spell it differently of course. From now on you will be Pay-terh . PAY - AY - TAY - AY - ERR. There will be no need to trill the r.
    â€˜Tell us what happened to you,’ continued the Professor. ‘How did you end up in the orphanage in Warsaw?’
    Piotr told them how his parents had been killed on the first day of the Soviet invasion, how the Germans had taken over the farm and shot his dog, and how he had been abandoned in the orphanage. It all poured out of him, and even he could barely believe all the awful things that had happened to him in the last couple of months. As he told the story, he got more and more upset. Herr Kaltenbach put a fatherly arm around him. ‘You can have a good cry. You are among friends.’
    Even Frau Kaltenbach seemed touched. She tapped him primly on the knee. ‘You poor boy,’ she said, before turning to her husband. ‘He speaks good German for a Polack. Almost without a trace of accent.’
    Upset though he was, Piotr felt her scorn. He noticed the two of them give each other a little nod.
    â€˜So how would you like to come back to Berlin with us?’ said Professor Kaltenbach.
    Piotr had too many questions buzzing round his head. Too many questions that he knew he would not be able to ask. Like, what will happen to me if I don’t want to go? What will happen if Frau Kaltenbach here decides she doesn’t want me? What are your daughters like? Are they spiteful and horrible?
    Knowing he had no real choice, Piotr sniffed and said yes.
    .
    Piotr’s bag of possessions was so pitifully small, Frau Kaltenbach could not believe it was all he had. ‘I took nothing from home. The soldiers wouldn’t let me back in,’ explained Piotr when she asked. ‘I was given a few clothes at the holding centre. None of them fit very well.’
    On the train back to