The Red Ribbon Page 14

  Expecting Marta to help had been crazy, but my next plan was plain suicidal. There was only one other person I could think of to ask.

  I dodged between barracks with my head down — just another Stripey scuttling about like a rat. I came to the right entrance. Pushed it open. Crept down the corridor to the right door. Knocked — no louder than a fly settling on wood. No reply. I knocked more loudly.

  Carla had been sitting on her bed, reading letters, by the look of it. Handwritten sheets were scattered on the patchwork quilt. She had a mug of hot chocolate steaming by the bed and a half-eaten packet of cookies open on the chest of drawers, next to the photo of her in a meadow with Rudi the farm dog. No sign of her roommate, Grazyna the Bone-Grinder, thank god.

  Carla smelled of shampoo and Blue Evening perfume. Her eyes were red-rimmed. At first I thought she’d slam the door in my face. That she’d shout to raise the alarm. That I’d be torn apart like a hunted fox if the other guards knew I was here.

  Instead she rubbed her eyes and looked at the floor. “You’d better come in.”

  Seeing her collection of family photos gave me a sharp pain in my chest and a big lump in my throat. It was taking more and more effort to imagine myself back in Grandma’s sewing room, watching her slippered foot go up and down on the treadle of Betty the sewing machine . . . her ringed fingers guiding fabric under the needle . . . her stool creaking as she leaned in to snip thread.

  I had to get home.

  Carla mumbled, “Things aren’t so good anymore. Did you hear? Some prisoners murdered some guards and blew up . . . necessary buildings. It’s scary. I don’t know how long we’ll go on.”

  I was standing in front of her, my dress stained with sudsy water, hands raw from scrubbing long johns, and bones showing from too little food . . . and all Carla could think about was how scared she was.

  She flicked a quick look at my face, then down to my hand. The one she’d smashed under her boot.

  “It’s . . . it’s a shame you’re not sewing anymore,” she said. “You really were the best seamstress at that place. You should open a shop after the War, like Madam said. I’ll be a customer. I’ll pay, of course!”

  Her optimism was hard and forced.

  “I need medicine and vitamins,” I said.

  “Are you OK? Are you sick?”

  “Not for me. For a friend.”

  Carla’s pig-eyes narrowed. “Her?” She knew who I meant. She said it like an accusation.

  I nodded.

  She turned abruptly and went to straighten her photos. I waited. For help, for another beating.

  “There’s no point,” she said eventually.

  “No point what?”

  “No point wasting medicine on sick people. You ought to look after yourself. It won’t be long now. Half a year, maybe sooner, and the War will be over. You’ll put in a good word for me, won’t you?” She looked up at me through her eyelashes. “You’ll let everybody know that I was never cruel like the others? I hate this place as much as you do, you know. After the War we’ll forget about it, as if it never existed. We’ll get to go home. First thing I’m going to do is take Pippa to the meadow at the farm. I’ll pick flowers in spring and go shopping. . . .”

  Carla moved to the bed. She wallowed there, flipping the pages of Fashion Forecast, which was open on her pillow.

  I could barely speak, the lump of fury in my throat was so hot and hard. Had this pig-brained girl genuinely forgotten what a brute she’d been? My hands made fists. My palms were burning as my nails dug in. I swallowed my pride.

  “You have to help me,” I begged. “After all the beautiful things I made for you . . .”

  Carla’s gentle mood exploded into fury. “I don’t have to do anything. I’m a guard here and you’re . . . you’re not even a person. You shouldn’t even be in the same room as me, or breathing the same air. Look at you — a crawling bug, spreading disease. You should be crushed. You’re disgusting! Get out! Get out!”

  As I ran back to the Washery, the air was stained with gray cinders. Outside office blocks, guards were emptying filing cabinets and burning papers. They were destroying evidence of all the Birchwood bureaucracy.

  It was hard to find time to get to the Hospital. The Washery was overloaded with dirty laundry. The drains were overloaded too. For once my wooden shoes didn’t seem so stupid — the thick soles kept me above the water that sloshed on the Washery floor. The only time I took my shoes off was at night, when I used them as a pillow. And the time I threatened to wallop Shrew with a shoe when I caught her trying to steal my bread portion.

  When I finally did get to see Rose, she was half propped up on the bed and awake.

  “Hey — you’ve got a bit of color,” I said. “Must’ve been the magic apple.”

  Rose reached up for a kiss. “It was delicious, absolutely delicious.”

  I sighed. “You didn’t eat the apple, did you?”

  “Not exactly . . . There was a girl in here with both legs crushed after an accident in the quarry. I gave it to her. She’d been a fashion model before the War — can you believe that? — in the City of Light! You should have heard her talk about all the glamorous gowns, and heels as high as skyscrapers! She said the models all lived off champagne and cigarettes, to keep thin.”

  “No need for that diet here,” I grouched. Rose was getting so slight I could see every bone under her skin. I leaned in close. “Guess what? I’ve got a present for you!”

  Rose brightened for a moment. “What is it? An elephant?”

  “An elephant? Why on earth would I bring you an elephant?”

  “So we could go for rides! Not an elephant, then.” She pretended to think. “I know — a pony.”

  “No.”

  “Shame. A bicycle?”

  “No!”

  “A balloon? A birdcage? A . . . book? Is it really a book? One I can actually touch and read?”

  “Better than that,” I said, sliding a package out from my hidden pocket. “Look!”

  Rose hoisted herself up onto one elbow. Gently she touched all the treats I’d brought, folded inside sheets of an old edition of Fashion Forecast. There were a few vitamin pills, a precious little hoard of aspirin tablets, and two sugar lumps. Also, half a packet of cookies.

  From the way her face fell, I could tell a book would’ve excited her more.

  “Where did you get all this?” she asked.

  “A fairy godmother,” I replied sarcastically.

  “Really?”

  “Of course not! I did some asking around. Got these as a favor.”

  “They’re like jewels in a treasure chest.” She folded the paper and pushed the packet back at me. “You should keep them. You’re working, while I’m just lying here. No point feeding me up.”

  Suddenly furious, I whispered as loudly as I dared, “Listen, when I give you things, it’s not for the fun of it, all right? This isn’t a game or a story. It’s about doing whatever we can to stay alive. Don’t you want that?”

  My anger shocked her. Before she could answer, she was overtaken by a series of bubbling coughs. Once the shudders had subsided, she seized my hand and croaked, “Of course I want to live! Ella, I can’t bear the idea that in one second all the thoughts in my head could go flying out with nowhere to roost. I haven’t forgotten our plan. We’ll still open our shop when the War is over.”

  “You’d better believe it,” I said, swallowing anger down into an empty stomach. “Dresses and books and cakes in the City of Light, the red ribbon on the apple tree, it’s all going to happen. No barbed wire, no roll calls, no Lists, no guards, no chimneys. Can you imagine?”

  “You’re asking me to imagine now?”

  “Don’t be snarky! Promise me you’ll get better.”

  I hugged her close. She trembled in my arms.

  “I promise,” she whispered faintly.

  I took the red ribbon from my pocket-bag and pressed it into Rose’s hand.

  “It’s so warm,
” she murmured. “And it’s yours. You need it. Take it back. . . .”

  “Rubbish. It’s yours now. You can tie it on the tree in the City of Light when we go there.”

  Nurse Duck came flapping between the beds, looking ready to peck at me for staying too long.

  I kissed Rose quickly and whispered, “Sorry, I have to get back to the Washery. . . .You know how it is.”

  She smiled, even though she was already drifting away.

  “Good night, Ella.”

  “Good night, Rose.”

  The miracle package was from Carla. It had been delivered to Girder by a Stripey, with the message that I was to get it whole, no pilfering. That annoyed Girder. To be fair, most things annoyed Girder. I couldn’t worry about that. I could help Rose, giving her all the medicine and sugar. Well, I did eat one of the lumps of sugar. I was ravenous, and it would maybe rot Rose’s teeth if she ate it all. What I didn’t give her, what I didn’t even mention, was the ring.

  Not a plain band of wedding gold like the one squeezing my grandma’s plump finger. Not a cheap tin ring won at a fair, with a “jewel” made of a sliver of mirror. This was a twinkling stone set in a circle of gold. When no one was looking, I slipped it on my finger and turned it from side to side.

  It was just very fancy glass that twinkled like a diamond. Never mind that. Instead of a red ribbon, I had a ring to scatter light in the darkness. If I ever got out of here, if the War ever ended and I got to the City of Light, I would sell this ring to pay for the start of my dress-shop dream.

  Out in the real world it had all seemed more obvious: who was a friend, who was an enemy. You could laugh, joke, talk, and do stuff with friends outside, but nobody had to show what they were really like. Not till they were dumped in Birchwood and stripped.

  Without everyday clothes there was nothing to hide behind. Everybody had to be who they truly were, in a big muddled-up mess of everythingness — me included. Without proper clothes we couldn’t dress up in a role. We couldn’t put on glamorous gowns and say, Darling, I’m rich and beautiful. We couldn’t button up high collars and announce ourselves as schoolteachers. No badges, hats, uniforms. No masks. We just had to be ourselves. We had to somehow hold on to what it meant to be a real person, not an animal.

  How could I do that, surrounded by sharks and bulls and snakes? The mouse and butterfly types had long gone up the chimneys. My own dear Squirrel was hanging on — barely. And me? A fox that fed my family, or a fox that killed the farmer’s chickens?

  If I was a good person I’d’ve given Rose all the sugar. If I was a proper villain I’d’ve kept the whole lot for myself.

  I was working a night shift at the scrubbing board when Henrik came bounding up like a dog who’s just spotted a wonderful stick to carry.

  “Ella! Thank god — I thought I wouldn’t find you!”

  “Henrik, you shouldn’t be here.”

  “Shh, there isn’t much time. Listen . . . it’s happening!”

  “What? Now? Tonight?”

  “Tomorrow morning, just after roll call. Everything’s been chaotic after the uprising failed, but our contacts, timings, civilian clothes . . . everything’s in place.”

  “Henrik, that’s amazing! I can’t believe it! Wait until I tell Rose —”

  He grabbed my arm, quite roughly. I wish people would stop doing that. “You can’t tell anyone, you goose. We can’t risk a leak.”

  “Rose’s hardly a spy. She’s coming with us.”

  He let go of my arm abruptly. “That’s just it, Ella. The plan is specific. There’s only room for the two of us. Just the two of us, you understand?”

  “Rose is only little, she wouldn’t take up extra room. She won’t be missed so much now she’s at the Hospital.”

  “The Hospital? What’s wrong with her?”

  “Nothing getting out of this place wouldn’t cure. She’s got a chest infection.”

  “So she coughs?”

  “Well, yes, a bit, but —”

  “Ella, it’s too dangerous. We’re going to have to hide for hours in complete silence. One cough could blow our cover. Even if Rose can keep quiet, she’s still got to pass as a normal civilian once we’re in public again. We can’t have anyone suspecting we’re thin and pale because we’ve just escaped from this death factory!”

  “With the right clothes, a hat, a bit of makeup . . .”

  Henrik shook his head. “I’m sorry, Ella. Truly I am. I wish I could help everyone escape. That’s what the uprising should’ve done. Those explosions, that was supposed to start everything off. The guards had too many machine guns. So, now we have to concentrate on getting ourselves out. As soon as we’re free we’ll go straight to one of the liberating armies. We’ll be back here at the head of a convoy of tanks, with bomber planes flying overhead! We’ll be the ones watching the guards cringe in fear, running for their lives!” There in the steam-filled washroom, Henrik mimed a silent machine-gun sweep.

  It was a sweet, sweet image. I’d happily gun the lot of them down and bomb the whole of Birchwood to smithereens — crash, bang, wallop!

  “This is your chance, Ella,” Henrik said.

  “But you swear we’ll be back for Rose? That she’ll only have to last until we liberate everyone?”

  Henrik looked me straight in the eye. “Cross my heart, hope to die.”

  I barely slept that night. I was imagining what it would be like to walk free in a field. To stand under the stars without cringing. To wear normal clothes again. To be a person, not a Stripey.

  We’d drink running water. Eat real bread. Maybe even sleep in beds. It was too exciting! We’d tell the world what was going on. They’d all rise up and rush to save the day, with Henrik on his tank and me waving a flag, or something heroic like that. Rose would come running to meet us, waving a flag too, or the red ribbon more likely.

  Rose is too sick to run, said a niggle in my head.

  But in my fantasy Rose jumped up on the tank and we trundled off across the fields to where the City of Light glowed like a diamond. Somehow we got dressed in amazing clothes along the way. We hopped off our tank and tied the red ribbon to the City of Light apple tree. . . .

  Rose won’t last that long without you, said the niggle.

  It won’t be long, I argued. A few weeks at most before the liberators can get here.

  Rose was so selfless she’d be the first person to tell me to seize the chance and go, I was sure of it. Absolutely sure.

  But the niggle kept on at me. Rose would need more than hope to survive until we came back for her. Fine, I told the niggle, I’d give Rose more than hope. She wasn’t the only selfless one. I’d buy her a fighting chance.

  When the whistles blew and the bosses began to shout at four thirty in the morning, I was ready. Alert, eager, and determined. In the general scramble for roll call, I sprinted between the blocks to the Hospital. There was time to say good-bye to Rose. To explain why I was going.

  Except the door was locked.

  I tapped on the window by the door. A face appeared. Nurse Duck. I pointed at the door. Her expression was blank. I mimed needing to get in. Still blank.

  I fished two battered cigarettes out of my headscarf. “These are yours if you let me see Rose,” I whispered.

  Duck’s face disappeared, then popped up again at a different window. With a bit of pushing, the window eased open a fraction. I pressed up close. My breath was an icy cloud.

  Duck shook her head. “The door’s locked.”

  “I know! So open it.”

  “I can’t.”

  I looked around again. There wasn’t time for this! “Then tell her to come here, will you?”

  Duck shook her head more vigorously this time. “Not going to happen.”

  “Will you at least take her a message? Tell her . . .” Tell her what? “Oh, stuff it. Here . . .”

  Glancing around, I reached inside my dress, where I’d stitched my secret cloth pocket-bag. Carefully I took out a square of pa
per — another sheet from Fashion Forecast. On one side it had an ad for Blue Evening perfume, on the other an illustration of a gray wool coat. Duck watched me unfold the paper. Gold and glass glinted. My ring. My dream of a dress shop. My hope.

  “Take this. It’s all I’ve got left. Organize Rose medicine, buy her vitamins, food, blankets, whatever you can. Only, look after her till I come back, will you? Promise me you’ll look . . .”

  A pale hand reached out, snatched the treasure and withdrew. Then the window slammed shut.

  Roll call always felt like forever. Now it was an infinity of waiting.

  As soon as the whistles blew and groups scattered to work, I was running too — off to the rendezvous point. Henrik ran up alongside me — my own eager dog.

  “Follow me, a few paces behind,” he said in a low voice. “Keep your eyes down.”

  He saw me hesitate and paused long enough to put two hands on my shoulders. “Look at me, Ella. Look at me! You’re doing the right thing, you know that? Together we can make it.”

  “Together,” I echoed.

  He turned and moved away.

  It was excruciating to go through Birchwood behind Henrik, as though nothing was out of the ordinary. All the time I thought of Rose and how much food and medicine that ring would buy. Enough to keep her well until I was back with an army as a glorious liberator! Then a horrible thought hit me. Of course Duck would keep it. She’d be mad not to. Marta would laugh her head off if she ever found out. She always said being soft was stupid, and she was right. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

  We made it to a lightless hut where Henrik had hidden bundles of civilian clothes.

  “Here, change quickly,” he said. “We have to be ready for the next stage.” He grinned. “Don’t worry, I won’t look.”

  I blushed in the dark. I’d barely been alone all the time I was in Birchwood. There were always people everywhere — women at work, women on roll call, guards and bosses . . . and Rose. Always Rose.