The Star of Kazan

Stefan’s letter was very short. He missed her and so did his mother. The baby was teething and cried a lot. They kept asking about her at school . . . everyone thought she should come back . . .

Then Ellie’s letter. Everything was fine, and they were sure she was having a lovely time. Professor Emil had tried to give up chocolate for Lent, but the doctor had said this was a mistake because he needed the iron for his blood. Professor Gertrude had ordered a new concert-grand harp from Ernst and Kohlhart and was very excited. Loremarie’s governess had said she would rather beg her bread in the streets than look after Loremarie one minute longer and had gone back to England. The flower lady said to tell Annika that the first gentians had come from the mountains . . .

She read Pauline and Stefan’s letter twice and Ellie’s over and over again. She had just finished when her mother came in.

‘I saw you had letters from Vienna. Is everything all right there?’

‘Yes, thank you.’

‘They don’t mention anything that has come for you? Anything that needs to be sent on?’

Annika shook her head. ‘I don’t think there’ll be anything. Ellie got my other coat back from the cleaners just before I left.’

‘No . . . I just thought . . . Well, never mind. If there is anything, be sure to let me know.’

Annika had got used to the sound of Uncle Oswald shooting at dawn, but the noise that woke her the next morning was a different one. It had rained again in the night and what she heard was the sound of drops of water plopping from the ceiling.

They were not plopping fast but they were plopping steadily, and a small puddle had formed on the floorboards by the window.

She looked about for something to catch the water and remembered a large Chinese vase which had been on a shelf inside the lacquered tallboy, but the vase had gone. It had definitely been there the day she came, but it was not there now, so she washed quickly, and carried her bowl over to the place where the crack in the ceiling had formed.

Her shoes were still wet from the day before, but she forced her feet into them and went down to the dining room, where she asked her mother if she could fetch a bucket from the scullery to take to her room.

‘Oh no!’ said Frau Edeltraut dramatically, passing her hand across her forehead. ‘Will it never stop?’

‘You know it will stop, Edeltraut,’ said Uncle Oswald under his breath. ‘And you know when. If you don’t weaken.’

It was still raining when Annika got down to the farm. She found Zed in the little house, whittling a new bolt for the barn door, and as she came in he looked at her sharply. Her clothes were soaked – one pigtail had escaped from under her hood and turned from gold to a sodden brown. He could hear the water squelching in her shoes, and she looked tired.

‘Are you all right?’

‘Yes, I’m fine,’ she said. ‘It’s just . . . I had letters from home. I mean from Vienna – and they went round a bit in my head in the night, you know how they do.’

Zed, who never got any letters, said he did know. Then he put down his knife and said, ‘Come on, we’ll see what sort of a mood Hector is in.’

‘Hector? The Trojan warrior?’

‘That’s right. Hermann likes heroes. Wait here.’

He went out of the door at the back, and returned with the dog he had stolen from Hermann.

They came slowly because Hector, in spite of Zed’s hand on his collar, was not certain whether he felt sociable or not. The hero of the Trojans walked with an irregular gait, a kind of lurching movement, and the reason for this was simple. He only had three legs; the back leg on his left-hand side was missing. His tail was missing too and the jagged stump which was all that remained did not, at this moment, feel inclined to wave. As he turned his head, growling softly in his throat, Annika saw that one of his eyes was useless, filmed over and completely blind.

She looked at him in silence.

Then, ‘You’re wrong,’ she said angrily to Zed. ‘You’re completely wrong.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘You said I wouldn’t want him. You said I wouldn’t want a dog like that.’

Zed was stroking Hector’s back. ‘I didn’t know you then,’ he said.

The dog had stopped growling and positioned himself so that he could see Annika clearly. She put her hand up very slowly, and he allowed her to scratch his head before flopping down on the floor.

‘Please tell me what happened to him,’ said Annika. ‘I won’t say anything . . . I won’t even think anything. But I’d like to know.’

Zed had squatted down beside the dog. When he spoke he did not look at Annika.