PETER AND ANJA, CHAPTER 21: THE PASSENGER
"Passing through, are you? Where are you bound?" said the man who swung open the door, addressing them in English. He was carrying a lantern; if he had a gun it was not in his hand. Hogan, who'd had his weapon at the ready, lowered it and signaled with a small wave of curled fingers at hip level that Anja, Peter and Herr Witman should put down their arms. He knew Arpège was in the shadows providing coverage.
Judging from the way the newcomer's voice wavered, he wasn't exactly elderly, but he wasn't young, either. Probably around 60, Hogan judged. He was too old for the Army, but he was trim and appeared strong. He wore rough corduroy trousers with work boots and a wool jacket that seemed warm enough but had clearly seen better days. His dog, a brown and black mongrel that looked to have a bit of shepherd in him, was by his side.
"We're going fishing to catch a whale," Hogan said cryptically, continuing in English. He slid a card out of his pocket and held it cautiously in his palm.
"…in the water that's in your mother's pail," the other man responded. He, too, slid out a card, and Hogan let out a breath. They held up matching Tarot cards—the Eight of Cups, showing a red-cloaked man embarking on a journey.
"Mercury will be along shortly," he said, switching to German. "I am Cronus. You must be Papa Bear."
Hogan stepped forward and shook the man's hand, and his fellow travelers relaxed enough for Peter and Anja to both let loose a volley of coughs that they were holding in. Worry crossed Hogan's mind for a moment, but he shifted his attention back to Cronus. He was an important figure in the Underground in Belgium, a sniper with a long list of stealthy attacks on German soldiers who dared to venture out at night.
"Papa Bear, there is something I must ask you," Cronus said.
Hogan nodded seriously as Cronus returned to the door and leaned out, beckoning to someone. "Come," he said. "It's all right. It's safe, Joshka." He held the door open as the person he was addressed slipped inside.
The waif was younger than Hannelore, perhaps nine or ten, thin and neatly dressed, but in clothes that barely fit him any longer. It took Hogan a moment to decide he was a boy, because his shorts were so high on his legs that his knees stuck out from his coat, and a cap hid his hair. "You have to take him with you," Cronus said. "He's expected."
The yellow star pinned to his blue, tattered coat said everything. "His mother and older brothers were taken by train to Poland last month," Cronus said. "I've protected him as long as I can, but the Germans are preparing for an invasion, and they're pouring into our region. We've run out of places to hide him."
Hogan looked at Anja, who gave a small nod and then stifled a sneeze. Then he turned to Herr Witman, who looked stricken. "Are you asking that we take charge of him? My family?" Witman asked.
"Not at all," Cronus snapped. "Just get him where you're going. You can leave him on the dock if you must. Our contacts on the other side expect his arrival and will see to his welfare." He gestured at the Witman family, and sneered as he addressed Hogan in English. "These are your travelers? Your nice, respectable, German family? Afraid of a Jewish child?"
"Yes, these are my travelers. I don't like that tone any more than you do, but they're all scared, so take it easy on them. If the boy's transit is cleared..."
At that, Cronus nodded his head impatiently. Of course he cleared it.
"... then the boy will be fine. I'll see to that myself," Hogan said. And he meant it. He had no tolerance for prejudice, but he also understood the origins of Witman's fear. Maybe Belgium was different, but distrust of Jews was already deeply ingrained in Germany before the Nazis came along to exploit it and turn it into fear and loathing. Anyway, Witman wasn't afraid of the child. He was afraid of the consequences of helping him now that his own family was close enough to freedom to to taste it. Hogan would have to speak to him privately.
Snuffy yipped again, and at that, Cronus laughed. "They're not taking that dog on the submarine, so there's room for one small boy," he said. Hannelore knew just enough English to grasp what he said, and she clutched Snuffy tighter. Peter inched toward her, laying an arm around her shoulder, clearing his throat with small coughing noises.
Frau Witman stood and called out to the boy. "Come here, child," she said. "Your name is Joshka?"
The boy took off his cap, revealing a mop of unruly black curls. He nodded shyly and did exactly as he was told, going to Frau Witman quietly but without fear. He stood before her, head down, as she sat in the choir stall.
"Will you be good if we take you with us?" Frau Witman asked him in German, hoping he would understand.
"Y-y-yes," he boy replied, blinking as he spoke. "P-p-please take me with you."
"He understands Flemish and German, but he babbles when he talks," Cronus said to Hogan.
"It's called a st-stammer," Peter commented sharply. "Not babbling."
"Yes, well. He's very quiet because of it. He won't give you any trouble. Will you listen to this lady and do as she says, Joshka?" Cronus asked.
"N-n-n-naturally I'll behave," the boy answered boldly, still standing. "What ch-choice do I have?"
Peter edged closer to the boy, took him by the shoulder, and led him sit next to Frau Witman. He knelt in front of him. "Sit," he said in German. "It will be alright. No one will hurt you. You're going on a trip."
"I'm already on a d-d-difficult journey," the boy said softly.
"Speak up, boy," Cronus said, almost as if it was a reflex. It wasn't meant to be unkind, but it struck a nerve with Peter.
"I heard him p-perfectly well," Peter snapped in English. "And I understood him." He turned to the boy and spoke to him in German again. "I can hear that you stammer," he said. "Don't worry; I do too. I understand."
The boy looked at him with large eyes and nodded slightly. "He always wants me to answer faster, but I c-can't."
"I know, it's annoying, He doesn't understand," Peter said. "You can call me Peter, just not very loudly." He sneezed hard several times, then sat in the choir staff beside Joshka, finally giving into the fatigue he'd been feeling for hours. "Sorry," he said apologetically for Colonel Hogan's benefit. He really was trying not to sneeze.
Hogan was huddling with Cronus and Herr Witman, who had a million worries: "But does he have any papers? How can be possibly be safe if we are caught smuggling out a Jewish child? I have my own family to think of."
"This is not a negotiation," Cronus said. "He goes with you, or you can all turn back."
Hogan laid a hand on Witman's shoulder. "Cronus is in charge. We do as he says," he told him.
"What's so important about him?" Witman persisted.
Hogan looked to Cronus; the old man looked from Witman to Hogan to the boy, and then answered with a shrug. "Nothing at all, except that he is my grandson."
"You're Jewish?" Hogan asked. "Are you safe here?"
"I am not Jewish, but my grandsons and their mother are, and I need you to save this little one."
There was no more time for debate or discussion; the sound of a motor vehicle approaching arrested everyone's attention.
"Mercury is here," Cronus said. "He is driving a laundry truck. The boy will need to be hidden. The rest of you are to stick to a simple story: Your vehicle broke down outside Namur." The travelers stood to file out of the church. "Joshka," he said, as the boy got to his feet.
"Bompa," the boy said as he ran toward Cronus. "I will be brave."
The underground agent held the boy in his arms. "I know you will. You are always brave. Now go. I will find you when this is over. "
Colonel Hogan, Peter and Anja watched as the Witmans filed out, and as Cronus helped Joshka into the vehicle. Arpège waved to Anja to go next, and she flitted out, piling into the vehicle. The Maquisard looked at Peter and the Colonel.
"I take my leave of you now, Papa Bear," he said solemnly. "Be very careful as you travel into more populated regions; there will be more German soldiers on the way." He nodded to Peter to go next, and watched him cross the stone courtyard. "And take care of the young man and the young lady. They don't sound well at all."