She-Wolf

Part Two

Theresa wakes with a headache. Pale light floods her room through her window. Kristina's bed is empty, the sheets left in complete chaos.

She moans as she rolls over, pressing her hand against her face. Her locks of brown hair are in her face, irritating her eyes and cheeks and slipping into her mouth. Suddenly she feels a pang in her belly in addition to the throbbing in her head. But she does not want to get up, even though she knows she must soon if she wants to catch breakfast.

It is only when the throbbing in her head subsides to a more bearable level that she finally drags herself out of bed. It is then that she realises that she never bothered to change into her nightgown last night, instead falling asleep in yesterday's clothes. Perhaps once she feels better she will tidy up and swap out her clothes, she decides.

The scent of oat porridge and rye bread lingers as she enters the drawing room. Mother is at table with Kristina, Mother reading an old newspaper and Kristina halfway through a bowl of oat porridge. A wireless sits on the counter, the alternating pleasant and triumphant melodies of Beethoven's Germania audible in the incessant fuzzing and crackling.

"Oh, Theresa!" Mother exclaims, rising from her chair. "About time. I was starting to worry you were sick."

"No, Mutti, just...trouble sleeping, is all. Götz, the war, Father. Usual stuff." Theresa rubs her face. "Where is Father, by the way?"

"He left early this morning," Mother says. "He's gone to see Herr Sch—a friend. Said it was an important matter." The look on Mother's face betrays something possibly dangerous. And the way Kristina suddenly looks up, her face contorted into a confused, suspicious scowl.

Theresa's curiosity is aroused. "Does he mean to...?" She leaves the question hanging, but Kristina seems to pick up on it at once. "He's trying to get us to desert, isn't he?" Kristina asks. Mother's silence is confirmation. "But he can't!" Kristina protests.

"He's trying to see how we can slip away before the British come," Mother admits.

Kristina's eyes meet Theresa's. "Is he nuts? Does he have any idea—"

"Kristina, your father is a good man," Mother interrupts. "He looks after us. He looks after you, both of you. He's only doing what he thinks is best for us." Her words sound rehearsed, but there is a solemn weight to her voice.

Kristina leans forward in her chair. "But—"

"Now, enough." Mother holds her hand up to silence her. "I don't want to hear any more about this from either of you, you hear?"

Kristina huffs querulously. She and Theresa make eye contact before she murmurs, "I'm done with breakfast." She pushes her half-finished bowl of oat porridge away, which Theresa volunteers to finish for her before Mother can insist that Kristina finish what she started.

Despite her hunger, Theresa eats slowly, thinking, wondering, worrying. Where did Father go? He can't really mean for us to leave if we are already committed? If he gets in trouble, what then? What will happen to us?

Those questions still haunt her later that morning as she walks up the street on an errand to secure their rations for the coming week. Normally, she would take her bicycle to carry out errands like these, as places such as the greengrocer's and the butcher shop are on the other side of town. But her bicycle had been stolen during the Christmas holiday, and Kristina's and Mother's bicycles are both in dire need of repairs, which given the shortages of spare parts and adequate tools for the job is impossible. Not to mention that getting a brand-new bicycle is out of the question as the price for a new bicycle has been atrociously high for the past couple of years, and they always seem to manage to get even higher. So she walks. She walks, deep in thought, gazing blankly at her surroundings.