Page 34 of Villa of Secrets

Sickened, I realised the soldier intended to hand me over. They would shoot me!

The truck slowed for a hairpin bend in the mountain road. I pushed down on the metal door handle with all my strength, and as soon as it gave way I threw all my weight against it. At the same moment, he made a grab for me while still navigating the sharp bend and simultaneously braking hard. The jolt of brakes swung the door open. I tumbled out, somersaulting down the steep slope.

It’s odd how a single second can stick in your head forever, like falling through the air. I don’t remember experiencing any pain when I hit the ground, nor when I came to a halt in the thorn bushes. A moment later, unbearable burning sensations travelled from my wrist to my shoulder. The pain was pure agony, worse than anything I’d ever experienced. I screamed. My scraped hands and knees stung, and bits of twig, dried grass, and hair lay over my face.

The truck stopped. The soldier, silhouetted against the cobalt sky, stood at the edge of the road above, peering down. I froze, wishing the dragon’s teeth would snap closed and devour him. He placed his hands on his hips and stared into the scrubland. Could he see me in the brush? Perhaps he thought I’d broken my neck. He stood for a minute, scratched his head, then returned to his cab and drove away.

I whimpered as the lorry disappeared over the hill leaving nothing but a cloud of dust on the ridge and a whiff of diesel in the air. Perhaps the German thought I wasn’t worth the bother. Blinded by the pain in my arm, I thought about my parents and wished I was with them.

My throat burned, and my body was weak from dehydration and lack of food. But fate was my tormentor that day and only minutes later the sounds of a convoy registered. The first jeep appeared over that same ridge. Surely, I’d be seen when they neared.

I tried to crawl through the scrub, but the pain in my wrist was too intense and I could not put it down. The tears returned and I cursed them, vowing never, ever, to cry again. The ‘tring, tring, tring’ of a bicycle bell caught my attention and I dared to lift my head high enough to see down the road.

Standing on his pedals, his bike tilting violently from side to side with the effort of coming uphill, was the ragged shepherd boy. He wore nothing but frayed trousers cut off at the knees, a dirty vest, and a pair of large boots laced with string. A crudely whittled catapult was caught in the leather belt of his pants.

I wanted to cry for help, but a glance in the opposite direction stopped me. The German convoy approached.

The boy leapt off his rusted bike, letting it clatter onto the road.

Horrified when he raced towards me, I yelled, ‘Go away!’ as loud as I dared.

He plucked a sage bush from the ground, metres from where I lay, and then thrust it over me.

‘Don’t move!’ he whispered.

The overpowering scent of the herb filled my nostrils, making my eyes water and my nose itch. The sound of army vehicles grew louder until it drowned out my thudding heartbeat. I closed my eyes, desperate to halt an oncoming sneeze. Sage always had that effect on me. With a squeal of brakes and the stench of diesel, the convoy stopped only metres from where I lay.

The shepherd boy ran in a zig-zag pattern through the scrub, away from me.

What was he doing?

In the jeep that led four covered wagons, one of the soldiers stood and shouted. ‘Boy! Is this your bicycle? Get it off the road, NOW!’

The shepherd boy came running, his heavy boots thumping. He pulled up, standing stiffly at the side of the road where he executed an exaggerated German salute.

I wanted to pinch my nose to kill the gathering sneeze, but I dared not move my hand.

The soldiers laughed at the boy. ‘What are you doing?!’ the leader yelled.

‘Sir, I’m saluting you, sir!’ the boy shouted, standing to attention with his chin up and his skinny chest thrust out. This brought more hilarity from the men.

‘Why’s your bike in the road, and why are you running about like a lunatic, boy?’

‘I saw a hare, sir. I was trying to catch it for my father, the shepherd, sir!’

‘Move the bike. Next time we’ll drive over it. Got that?’

‘Yes, sir! Thank you, sir!’

I realised the boy was putting on a performance for the soldiers in order to draw their attention away from the spot where I lay. He was doing such a good job of behaving like a half-wit, if it wasn’t for the pain in my arm and the danger of the situation, I’d have laughed out loud. Like me, he knew the advantage to be gained by behaving childishly, however, I had my small size to help me in my deception, the shepherd boy was almost adult in size, so this boyish behaviour made him appear slightly ridiculous.

He came running to his bike. I must have relaxed a little thinking I had avoided being discovered, because just as he lifted the bicycle I sneezed.

The Germans must have heard me!

The soldier tilted his head to look past the shepherd boy. ‘What was that?’

‘Me, sir! Sorry, sir! It’s the pollen. Permission to wipe my nose, sir!’ He swiped the back of his hand under his nose, and then down the side of his pants, before he saluted again.