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Back The Hiding Game
Chapters (64)
  1. Cover
  2. Naomi Wood
  3. Dedication page
  4. Epigraph page
  5. 1
  6. WEIMAR, 1922
  7. 2
  8. 3
  9. 4
  10. 5
  11. 6
  12. 7
  13. 8
  14. 9
  15. 10
  16. 11
  17. 12
  18. 13
  19. 14
  20. 15
  21. 16
  22. 17
  23. 18
  24. 19
  25. 20
  26. 21
  27. 22
  28. 23
  29. DESSAU, 1929
  30. 24
  31. 25
  32. 26
  33. 27
  34. 28
  35. 29
  36. 30
  37. 31
  38. 32
  39. 33
  40. 34
  41. 35
  42. 36
  43. 37
  44. BERLIN, 1932
  45. 38
  46. 39
  47. 40
  48. 41
  49. 42
  50. 43
  51. 44
  52. 45
  53. 46
  54. 47
  55. 48
  56. 49
  57. 50
  58. 51
  59. 52
  60. 53
  61. Thank you
  62. Praise
  63. The Hiding Game
  64. Also by Naomi Wood

‘That doesn’t mean he doesn’t have a little reserve left for you. Why do you think he’s so keen on getting me to England?’ Charlotte laughed; laying out her trousers, shirt, jumper, blazer. There was a sound outside, a truck backfiring. She looked outside: she resembled Irmi, in that moment, her face watchful. ‘Do you think we’re in danger?’

‘No.’

‘And Jenö?’

‘He’s a Master at the Bauhaus. He’s just more exposed than the rest of us, that’s all. Whereas us: we’re nobodies.’

‘I’m a Czechoslovak nobody,’ she said, her expression changing once more. ‘There’s a difference.’

She dressed and then, after breakfast or lunch or whatever it was, I watched her walk down the street in her man’s hat and coat. I should have told her not to wear those clothes. I wondered if she was asking herself why I hadn’t protested as I had done before Irmi’s party. But to do so would have been a sop to Walter’s presentiments about the dangerous city, and, as I have said, I am compromised, and selfish, and almost perverse. Grave errors happened because of me. I prized having her over her own safety. And then she slipped out of sight. This was only the first day I’d have to outwait. Every day at the Bauhaus Jenö would try and persuade her to go. Every evening in Kreuzberg I’d have to persuade her to stay. I simply loved her too much to do the right thing.

49

Berlin

It’s a strange feeling, waiting to see if someone will leave you. Stranger, too, to constantly question whether you should ask them to go. Every evening I waited for Charlotte to come home and tell me she had changed her mind. And every night, after she had not left, after she had not mentioned London or England, Walter’s words turned the nights upside down.

You must persuade her to go.

For though I had managed the first day well enough, I soon learnt that the dark brought a different story. Depending on the time (three in the morning was the worst; my hour of lead) I came to different conclusions about what I should do. Persuade her to go. Persuade her to stay. I thought often of my father’s words from Isaiah: ‘that he may know to refuse the evil and choose the good’.

I’d hear the couples come in from the road, and I’d wait for the noises of the elevator, imagining their reflections in the mirrored chamber dashing away from them like fish, and then the laughter in the corridor dispersed them, and the tail-lights of the motorcars rowed the ceiling, and Charlotte slept soundly by my side.