To Find a Mountain

Chapter Twenty-one

I topped out on the first rise, the one Dominic and I had fallen down together, and looked back toward where we had left Papa. I felt a small surge of fear; I hadn’t paid good enough attention to where we were going when I walked with Dominic, I was too busy thinking about him, about his hands, and lips. Stop! I told myself. It was time to concentrate, to find Papa, get the goods from the parachute, and then get back to the cabin.

Working my way back, I hurried, hoping to find him and get back as soon as possible. I had never seen anything like the cargo inside the parachute! All that food! There was enough flour in that barrel to feed a family for a year. Not to mention the goodies: the coffee, the cigarettes, and the chocolate! Oh! I felt like telling Dominic and Papa to keep everything, but give me the chocolate.

Soon, it was necessary to slow down. I realized that, in addition to not paying enough attention walking to the parachute, I was now walking the same path but this time going in the opposite direction, and that it changed everything. All the landmarks were different. The rock piles looked different, the trees stood out at opposite angles. And when I looked back, even that didn’t help.

With each hill, I stood and scanned the land before me. But with many rises and depressions in the deceptively flat looking field, Papa could easily remain hidden. He had said he would rest and wait, but that if he had the strength, he would follow our line and meet us coming back. Now I was starting to have my doubts. The fear that had been seeping into my stomach now started bubbling, like a pot of water heating to a boil.

Finally, I began waving my arms at each of these higher outcroppings and at last, I received an answering wave, slightly off to the right of where I was headed. Were they off course or was I?

Carefully marking my spot with a small pile of sticks, I raced toward the waving arms. I knew Papa would be so happy and so proud. There would be a celebration at the cabin tonight, that was certain. And it was something Dominic and I had found together. There was something I liked about the sound of “together” being used in the same breath as Dominic’s name and mine.

My feet flew over the rocky ground, hurtling me closer to my father. As I ran, I could hear the sound of voices.

I stopped in my tracks.

The voice I heard was speaking German.

As the chill ran down my spine and my knees became weak, I heard another voice hush the first one. They were waiting for me and they knew I was close.

I stood riveted to the ground. I had no weapon. No radio. I was a young girl; surely they would not think I was a spy. The questions would certainly come, though. Who was I? Where was my family? What was I doing here?

And what were the Germans themselves doing here, I wondered. The front was too far away for them to be involved. Were they deserters? Had they run away? Had they been sent to find the parachutes? Or were they the soldiers I’d heard about, that were hunting the ribellí?

I had to do something. If I ran and they caught me, they might kill me. Better to just turn myself in, show that they were not my enemies, and that I wasn’t theirs. They would understand, certainly.

I started forward, but then the image of Schlemmer’s face slammed into my mind’s eye. His yellow teeth, his mad dog eyes.

Instantly, I dropped to the ground and began to half-crawl, half crab walk backward, keeping as out of sight as possible. Because of the uneven terrain, I was able to negotiate my way around the hills, taking care not to silhouette myself against the sky.

Soon, breathless, I was back to my pile of sticks. With a strength driven by fear, I raced back to the parachute, not sure of what I would find there, and not sure if the Germans would be following me.

I stumbled several times, scraping both knees and twisting an ankle. Blood from my knees streamed down my shins, but I felt no pain. My hair was sweaty and tangled, it stuck to my face and strands were in my mouth. My chest heaved, my legs burned.

I must have looked like a crazy woman when I stumbled over the last hill, slid down the bank, and landed almost right on top of my father.

“Benny!” he said, catching me in my arms. “I just got here! I was panicking!”

I was completely out of breath, and turned to face the direction in which I had come.

I pointed, but no sound came up.

Hurriedly, Dominic and Papa hoisted the bags they had made from torn sections of the parachute onto their shoulders. The makeshift bags were bulging with supplies.

“What, Benny?” my father asked.

“Germans,” I finally got out.

“Brutta bestia,” my father said, scooping me into his arms. “Come,” he said to Dominic.

We ran from the parachute, my father taking the lead, me in the middle and Dominic bringing up the rear. I concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other, trying to block the pain coming from my legs. I gulped air when Papa stopped to get his bearings or conferred with Dominic on the best way to go.

We raced in the opposite direction of the Germans, then gradually circled back and headed for the safety of the woods. When I heard my father’s breathing start to labor, I ran alongside him. I lifted the pack from his shoulder and ran ahead. He seemed to want to protest, but couldn’t manage to produce the oxygen required.

When we reached the woods’ edge, we stood together and looked back. We felt safe, at least for the time being.