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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

The sauna door was fitted with glass, and for a moment I stood outside, imagining I was Mr Sommer looking in at the two men in the room. Jenö would have been unconscious on the floor; Walter, who wasn’t always helpful in an emergency, would’ve been flapping around his friend. Sommer would then open the door to help Jenö, only to be knocked around as soon as the man came to, and Walter would have been screaming at Jenö to stop. In fact, maybe Walter had been on the bench, keeping away from their fists, since he had emerged without a scratch. But if he hadn’t been caught in the fight – as the question came to me I simultaneously cheered myself for the genius of having come here – how had he lost his spectacles?

The door gave with a shove. I sat down in case someone should find me here doing nothing, and pulled off my cap. I wondered how vulnerable I was. If someone was to come in here, would they hesitate in teaching me a lesson? It was quiet; only the benches creaked, and the air was dry and clear. It must have been a real scrap in a room this hot. On the floor there was a halo of ash or charcoal; perhaps still left over from Jenö.

How large his body would have been in this space; how much Walter would have loved to stake his claim. Surely it had been a tease for Jenö to come here with Walter alone. Walter couldn’t swim, so the sauna must have been their only destination. Jenö knew they’d be naked, and light-headed, and hungry. Four hours later he’d be ghosting outside the baker’s: a man half mad with hunger – or something else.

The door swung open; a man – not one of those from the changing rooms – waddled in and sat down. He looked at my shaved head but gave me a nod, and the swinging door flashed light under the other bench. I smiled, and though he didn’t return the gesture, he also didn’t appear too aggressive, and I thought I could just about get away with it.

I already knew what was under the bench. The fast had given me this vision, and it had been correct. Crossing the room, I bent over to collect what I knew was there: the flashing object was Walter’s tortoise-shell glasses, cracked on one lens. The man stared at me, obviously wondering what I was up to. And without really knowing what I was doing, I put on Walter’s glasses, as if they were my own.

12

Weimar