While Still We Live Read Free Page A

sleeve.
    By the time she left Kawka’s house, Barbara was waiting alone for her under the linden tree. Neither of them appeared aware of the heavy tears on Barbara’s cheeks. Sheila found herself staring at the western horizon as Reska had done.

2
    THE LAST DINNER PARTY
    Andrew Aleksander and Mr. Stevens had arrived. The car had driven up in a swirl of warm dust, Teresa and Stefan had rushed outside, the stable dogs had barked, the ducks and geese had added their contribution of noise from the pond. In the kitchen, women’s high voices had subsided with their hurrying footsteps. Everything was ready.
    In her room, Sheila pretended to make a last search through the drawers of the dressing table. She was increasingly nervous about going downstairs. She persuaded herself that she must give Andrew and his friend time to meet the family. One drawer, forgotten in its smallness, roused a vague suspicion. She crossed over to the little rosewood writing desk. She was right. She had almost left her diary. Small wonder that she had forgotten it: she hadn’t entered a thing in it for weeks. In London, where she had always been so busy, she had yet managed to keep an account of what she had done each day. Here, there had neverseemed to be any time for writing a diary. She smiled at that. Diaries must be for lonely people.
    She opened the book, crossing over to the window to have better light to read. What had she been doing one year ago today? That was always amusing to find out August 30, 1938... The Sudeten question. Enrollment in a class for voluntary nursing. An appointment with a newspaper editor, in the hope of being accepted as a very minor member of his staff... Not a very good entry... The Sudeten question was now solving itself in Danzig. The voluntary nursing hadn’t been much of a success—why did other people not turn sick at the sight of blood? As for the newspaper job...too many would-be correspondents, too few openings.
    A movement from the clump of bushes near the American’s car caught her eye. There was a glimpse of white loose sleeve, as an arm grabbed a small, tow-headed boy, and pulled him back into the thick shrubbery. There was a giggle; children’s voices trying to be subdued and not succeeding; and once more the head of the boy struggling into view. This time, he evaded the arm, and dashed towards the running-board. By standing on tiptoe, he could just see over the edge of the open car.
    “Red,” he squeaked excitedly over his shoulder. He stared inside once more, his small hands clutching the car’s side tightly. “Leather!” he added. There was a flurry of excitement in the bushes. Yellow-topped Wanda darted forward, followed by an older girl in the wide-sleeved blouse. Then Felix appeared, charging round from the stable end of the house with a yell like a factory whistle. The children vanished. Felix, growling into his long moustache, searched in the bushes. But the birds had indeed flown. My friend Wanda’s high laugh soundedfrom the straggling pinewoods beyond.
    Sheila laughed too, and Felix looked up. He had dressed himself in his best clothes—tight, black trousers tucked into tight, high boots; a sleeveless jacket over a clean, white shirt—and he had combed his few remaining hairs into a toothy parting.
    “Felix, you do look handsome,” Sheila called down, and won a broad gap of a smile.
    “The young lady is ready to leave?”
    “Yes.” Sheila heard the sound of galloping horses. They were coming from the east, but the pine woods which hid the children also blocked any clear view.
    “That is sad. Everyone is going away. All the young people, once more.” He stood shaking his upturned head.
    The hoof beats struck the road, and two horses swept into the driveway. Sheila held her breath. The horses reared as they were tightly reined in, stood erect on their quivering haunches for a long moment, and then dropped their forefeet slowly to the ground. A white-haired man dismounted and