The Morning Gift Read Online Free PDF Page B

being fair? My grandmother came from the country - the goat-herding one. My grandfather really found her tending goats — well, almost. She came from a farm. We used to laugh at her a bit and call her Heidi; she never opened a book in her life, but I'm grateful to her now because I look like her and no one ever molests me.'
    They had reached a glassed-in verandah overlooking the courtyard. In the corner beside an oleander in a tub, was a painted cradle adorned with roses and lilies. Over the headboard, painstakingly scrolled, were the words Ruthie's cradle.
    Quin set it rocking with the toe of his shoe. Beside him, Ruth had fallen silent. Down in the courtyard a single tree -a chestnut in full blossom - stretched out its arms. A swing was suspended from one branch; on a washing line strung between two posts hung a row of red-and-white checked tea towels, and a baby's shirt no bigger than a handkerchief.
    'I used to play down there,' she said. 'All through my childhood. It seemed so safe to me. The safest place in the world.'
    He had made no sound, yet something made her turn to look at him. She had thought of the Englishman as kind and civilized. Now the crumpled face looked devilish: the mouth twisted, the skin stretched tight over the bones. It lasted only a moment, his transformation into someone to fear. Then he laid a hand lightly on her arm.
    'You'll see. There will be something we can do.'
    Ruth had not exaggerated. There were no words to describe the chaos and despair the Anschluss had caused. He had arrived early at the British Consulate but already there were queues. People begged for pieces of paper - visas, passports, permits - as the starving begged for bread.
    'I'm sorry, sir, I can't do anything about this,' said the clerk, looking at Ruth's documents. 'It's not the British refusing to let her in, it's the Austrians refusing to let her out. She'd have to re-apply for emigration and that could take months or years. The quota's full, as you know.'
    'If I was willing to sponsor her - to guarantee she wouldn't be a burden on the state? Or get her a domestic work permit? My family would offer her employment.'
    'You'd have to do that from England, sir. Everything's at sixes and sevens here with Austria no longer being an independent state. The Embassy's going to close and they're sending staff home all the time.'
    'Look, the girl's twenty years old. Her entire family's in England - she's alone in the world.'
    'I'm sorry, sir,' the young man repeated wearily. 'Believe me, the things I've seen here… but there's nothing that can be done at this end. At least nothing you'd consider.'
    'And what wouldn't I consider?'
    The young man told him.
    Oh, bother the girl, thought Quin. He had a sleeper booked on the evening train; the exams began in less than a week. When he took his sabbatical, he'd promised to be back for the end of term. Letting his deputy mark his papers was no part of his plan.
    He turned into the Felsengasse and went up to the first floor. The door was wide open. In the hallway, the mirror was smashed, the umbrella stand lay on its side. The word Jude had been smeared in yellow paint across the photograph of the Professor shaking hands with the Kaiser. In the drawing room, pictures had been ripped off the walls; the palm tree, tipped out of its pot, lay sprawled on the carpet. The silver ornaments were missing, the Afghan rug… In the dining room, the doors were torn from the dresser, the Meissen porcelain was gone.
    On the verandah, Ruth's painted cradle had been kicked into splintered wood.
    He had forgotten the physical effects of rage. He had to draw several deep breaths before the giddiness passed and he could turn and go downstairs.
    This time the concierge was in her box.
    'What happened to Professor Berger's apartment?'
    She looked nervously at the open door, behind which he could see an old man with his legs stretched out, reading a paper.
    'They came… some Brown Shirts… just a gang of thugs.