I go and fetch my pack to the bedside and turn out the things I have brought—a whole Edam cheese, that Kat provided me with, two loaves of army bread, three-quarters of a pound of butter, two tins of liver-sausage, a pound of dripping and a little bag of rice.
“I suppose you can make some use of that———”
They nod.
“Is it pretty bad for food here?” I enquire.
“Yes, there’s not much. Do you get enough out there?”
I smile and point to the things I have brought.
“Not always quite so much as that, of course, but we fare reasonably well.”
Erna goes out to bring in the food. Suddenly my mother seizes hold of my hand and asks falteringly: “Was it very bad out there, Paul?”
Mother, what should I answer to that! You would not understand, and never realize it. And you never should realize it. Was it bad, you ask.—You, Mother,—I shake my head and say: “No, Mother, not so very. There are always a lot of us together so it isn’t so bad.”
“Yes, but Heinrich Bredemeyer was here just lately and he said it was terrible out there now, with the gas and all the rest of it.”
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