Beneath Gray Skies by Hugh Ashton Page A

what it says?” David half-questioned the man.
     
    “Of course you don’t,” explained the German Major. “I did not expect you to be able to read these words of a great German poet. But I will read them to you. Then I will tell you their meaning in English. And when you understand their meaning in English, you can write them in German, yes?”
     
    David nodded, and the German began his recitation,
     
    “
Über allen Gipfeln
     
    Ist Ruh,
     
    In allen Wipfeln
     
    Spürest du
     
    Kaum einen
H
auch;
     
    Die
V
ögelein schweigen im
W
alde.
     
    Warte nur, balde
     
    Ruhest du auch.
     
    Now I tell you what it means: ‘There is peace over the hilltops, and you can hear scarcely any breath over the trees. The birds in the woods are silent. Just wait a little and you too will have peace.’” He sighed. “Beautiful, no? Written by Gurter, a great German poet.”
     
    “Sir,” asked David. “Would you please say the German again for me?”
     
    The Major smiled and did so. “Now write on this card, please,” handing it to David. “With this pen,” handing over an expensive fountain pen.
     
    “Beautiful!” he exclaimed, after seeing David’s finished handiwork and retrieving his pen. “That will form the centerpiece for the bouquet I will be giving to my wife at her birthday. My congratulations, young man, and my thanks to you, Herr Colonel, for your happy and fortunate suggestion.” He drew himself up to attention, bowed, clicking his heels together, and left them.
     
    “Reckon the Major likes you, Corporal,” remarked the Colonel. “Guess you’ve helped the Confederacy a lot just now. That Major’s going to be a very important man some day, I figure, and you’ve helped us get on his good side.”
     
    “Sir?” asked David. “May I take the German poem that he left behind back with me?”
     
    “Sure. You thinking of learning German?” chuckled the Colonel.
     
    David showed the paper to Brian when he went back to the company.
     
    Brian seemed to recognize it, “Goethe,” he said, and read it in German, even better than the German Major, David thought. He told Brian so.
     
    “What did you say the chap’s name was?”
     
    “Gurring, I think.”
     
    “Good-looking chap? Eyes that look straight at you? Big cross thing here?” pointing to his collar.
     
    “Yes, yes, and yes.”
     
    “I think your Colonel’s right about this Hermann Goering chappie, David. He’s quite famous and going to be more so. Took over the Red Baron’s squadron, even though he started as an observer, but the other blokes weren’t all that happy about that. He’s not a real Major, you know. He’s promoted himself from Oberleutnant. Oh, and who says crime doesn’t pay?” He chuckled.
     
    David was startled by this stream of information, most of which seemed to refer to things he had never heard of. What was a Red Baron, for instance, and why would he have a squadron? “Do you know him, then?” he asked Brian.
     
    “Let’s say I know quite a lot about him, old boy. I hope I know more about him than he knows about me, that’s all.” And with that, he would say no more.
     

Chapter 10: Bremen, Germany
    “ But where are the people? I make that about a couple of thousand people, all vanished.”
     
    H enry Dowling wouldn’t admit it, but he felt beaten. Although he spoke German fluently, it was the wrong kind of German, totally unsuited to the dockside areas where he was looking for the
Robert E. Lee
.
    Tramping what seemed like miles of waterfront, and entering the bars where the longshoremen and dockworkers congregated, a pattern which was becoming all too familiar repeated itself at the first words of his Oxford-accented German.
     
    Conversation in the bar stopped with an almost tangible silence, and just as suddenly resumed, but on subjects like football, rather than politics or the men’s working lives. The bartender would politely suggest to the overdressed middle-aged stranger that he