The Cuckoo's Song

Chapter Twenty-Eight

The cello drifted throughout the house, filling it with melancholy. Elgar's concerto in E Minor had always been Hans' piece of choice when he was feeling low. At the moment, he played it almost constantly. Klara sighed heavily as she tidied away the lunch things.

Hans hadn't come to join them... again. He was so withdrawn. There was a month or so after Kai's release where he had almost seemed normal again. Being around his nephew clearly did wonders for him, as did their arrival in Scotland. The house was wonderful; cosy and full of character. In the highlands in the middle of nowhere, they often went walking to explore their new freedom. Yet, as he grew used to his nephew's presence again, he began to take more and more time away from his family. He went for walks on his own, read, played his cello... anything to be on his own.

His fiftieth birthday a few weeks ago had only made it worse. He was so quiet. He didn't necessarily seem sad, just always deep in thought. It was how he was around strangers; when he was trying to get the measure of them.

Klara hated it. She wanted her happy younger brother back. She knew today that she would barely see him. Not after she had seen this morning's newspaper.

Kai came into the kitchen, foraging for yet more food. He leant against the kitchen cupboard, eating a plum as Klara sat at the small table and drank her tea. They listened to the music, both of them feeling the pull of the strings. Then it stopped. Klara looked up hopefully, but he didn't appear. She sank back into her seat with frustration.

"Have you tried speaking to him today?" asked Kai.

She shook her head.

He sighed heavily, clearly exasperated. "He can't go on like this."

"The paper has him rattled, I think," she said quietly. Kai looked confused. "It announced that a ship leaving for America had the first lot of 'war brides' on it."

"Ah. Do you reckon she's on it, then?"

"This new one she is with is American. If he's a halfway decent man, then she should be."

"Do you think he's worried she's not?"

"I think he's worried either way. If she's on it, he's lost her. If she's not, then he won't know where she is or why. He clearly regrets not talking to her when he found her."

"I'll never understand why he didn't," said Kai.

"Because I did not want to complicate her life," said a voice from the door way. They both looked up to see Hans standing there.

"Hans..." began Klara.

"I would rather you did not speak of me in hushed whispers," he said irritably, going and getting himself one of the plums on the table.

"We weren't whispering," retorted Kai. Hans raised his eyebrow, but Kai was unfazed. "We're worried about you, old man."

"You have no need to be," he muttered, then going to get a bottle of whiskey out of the cupboard. "I am fine."

"Hardly," scoffed Kai. "All you do is drink and sit by yourself."

"I am perfectly fine," he reiterated, going to leave.

"Hans please!" begged Klara, her chair scraping loudly as she stood, stopping him in his tracks. "I can't stand this anymore. You can't go on living your life like this."

Hans said nothing, his breathing deep.

"It's as if you don't want to be here with us," Klara continued.