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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

My heart sank. I don’t know why I needed to lie to my friend just then: why I couldn’t simply accommodate his worry rather than give him false hope. ‘Well, there you are,’ I said, feeling Walter’s body relax against the church bench: ‘Take heart. He made the first move. Now you just have to wait.’

15

Weimar

We worked quietly the day before the trial. Our class was in Kandinsky’s atelier with its view of the city’s buildings, and the sea of trees over at the beech forest. Master Itten was talking to the Director in his workshop; we’d been left without a teacher, and given junk from the scrapheap to demonstrate varying textures. It was a task designed to keep us occupied.

All day people gathered around Walter and Jenö. I guess everybody had their cautious words of counsel: what to do in the tribunal, and what should be said to the Director. Charlotte acted as a gatekeeper: letting in certain people; rebuffing others. A rumour was going around that as well as Jenö and Walter, Master Itten too might be expelled. Itten, however, had no one to pay off. He had avoided us all week since news of the fight had broken. Understandable: he had no wish to jeopardise his job. Walter, unsurprisingly, looked completely relaxed. The trial was a dud; that’s what he’d said just hours ago.

I felt curiously deflated. I tried to read Jenö’s behaviour, to see in him the habit of returned love that Walter had hoped for. Jenö looked dazed, but that could be down to anything; the trial tomorrow, as well as all of this unwanted attention.

Though I kept on looking over at him – imagining their kiss in the sauna, the press of their bodies in the heat, an image so visceral it stirred in me a desire to be the third in that closed chamber – Jenö avoided returning my gaze. Maybe he was in love with Walter, and when I’d seen him outside the bakery his regret had been for the violence he’d inflicted on Mr Sommer, and not for the kiss.

Indeed, as Walter talked to his well-wishers, Jenö was looking at him with frank astonishment, and, yes, almost love. At one point, Walter clocked me watching, and he nodded, as if to say: here we are; this is what I told you; here’s all the evidence in droves.