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on now, hurry upstairs.’
    Later, during their walk, she asked Fräulein Gelber: ‘Fräulein Gelber, who are the Jews?’
    Fräulein Gelber scarcely hesitated in her stride. ‘The Jews are different. They are different from us. That is why the Führer wants to separate them. So they can’t endanger the lifeblood of the German people, so they can’t weaken it.’
    ‘What happens to them?’
    ‘They are sent to camps. Places to work.’ She looked at her sharply. ‘Who has been telling you about the Jews?’
    ‘No one. Well, Frau Mundt. But she said I was to ask you.’
    ‘Well, I’ve told you. They are different from us. That’s why they have to be sent away.’
    ‘Are there any Jews near here?’
    ‘No, of course not. But if one did escape and come near here, the guards would catch them and send them back. There is no need to worry.’
    ‘I’m not worried,’ said Heidi.
    Anna’s voice stopped.
    ‘But what happened then?’ demanded Mark. ‘Go on!’
    Little Tracey nudged him. ‘The bus,’ she said. ‘Come on. The bus’s here.’

chapter five
Mark Wonders
    It was only a story, Mark told himself that night after dinner. Just a story, nothing more. It wasn’t true—but there were true things in it.
    Maybe that’s what puzzled him, Mark decided. None of Anna’s other stories had had true things in them before.
    The creek bubbled and twisted, brown and muddy in the growing dark just like the thoughts inside him. Mark could see it from the lounge room window, and from his bedroom. You could even smell it from the house: year-old wombat droppings and cow shush, and rotten leaves and bark, all brewed up together like that herbal tea stuff Mum sometimes drank and Dad would never touch.
    When he was younger Mark used to watch the floods and wonder what it would be like to floatdown them on a raft. He’d float right out to sea perhaps and then along the coast, or maybe out to an island with palm trees and white sand.
    But of course any raft would be torn to bits in the flood. You’d be drowned in a whirlpool or snagged by a log. It was fun to pretend though. Sometimes pretending could feel real.
    And some of Anna’s story was real. The bits about Hitler, and the Jews.
    ‘Dad?’
    ‘Mmm?’ Dad didn’t quite look up from the pamphlet he was reading about a new cattle drench. ‘Mark, if it’s trigonometry, ask your mum. You know what I’m like at maths.’
    ‘No, it’s not homework. I was just wondering.’
    ‘Just let me finish this bit will you…wondering what?’
    ‘Why Hitler was so down on the Jews,’ said Mark in a rush.
    Dad blinked and put the pamphlet down. ‘What brought this on?’
    ‘Oh, just something at school,’ said Mark. Which was true in a way, he reflected.
    ‘No idea,’ said Dad, glancing down at his pamphlet again then looking dutifully back up at Mark. ‘How about asking Mrs Holster at school?’
    Mrs Holster was the school librarian.
    ‘Okay,’ said Mark, disappointed.
    Dad looked at him a bit helplessly. ‘It wasn’t just the Jews he killed,’ he said. ‘It was anyone who disagreed with him, too. That all you wanted to know?’
    Mark shook his head, thinking. ‘Dad?’
    ‘Yes?’ asked Dad, a bit warily.
    ‘If you were Hitler…’
    ‘If I was who ?’ Dad began to laugh.
    ‘No, Dad, I’m serious. If you did things like Hitler did—really bad things—what do you think I should do?’
    Dad looked at him more sharply. ‘You mean, should you go along with me because I’m your father, no matter what?’
    ‘Yeah, that’s about it,’ said Mark.
    ‘I don’t know,’ said Dad slowly. He put his paper down, as though for once he was seriously trying to answer Mark’s question. ‘I suppose I’d want you to do what you thought was right.
    ‘But…’ Dad hesitated, then went on. ‘If we do ever disagree about things, I hope we’ll still be able to talk about it. Still meet and be a family, no matter how much we argue.’
    ‘Okay,’ said