Winfred

83

Official Report

British Intelligence

Code: 3986

Kathleen Winfred

Later in the day, Freidrich left. He told me he had to report to his superiors as a routine sort of thing.

I think he could tell how worried I was, because he gave me a reassuring smile and rested a hand on my shoulder momentarily. “It’s just routine,” he repeated. “A formality.”

After that, he left, and I was left to sit at my desk and stare at the wall. I was too worried to do anything else. He had seemed genuinely unconcerned, but Freidrich could act one way and be entirely another, as proved by how difficult it was for one to truly get to know him.

I sighed and went to his bookshelf, kneeling down to look over the titles on the bottom shelf. I read all the titles, but it felt as though they left my head almost as soon as I read them.

I had returned to my desk and was sitting there, forcing myself to attempt to go over some papers, when someone spoke, dragging me out of my reverie.

“Fraulein,” said the guard. “A boy here to see you.”

I stood, as the guard saluted and left, leaving the little boy from the town to enter the room and come to stand before my desk.

I was at a loss. He was here to see me? How could I communicate with him? I did not know his language.

“Speak…English?” he said, slowly and painstakingly.

I nodded. “Yes,” I said. “I do.”

“I know…some English.”

I smiled. “Would you like to sit?” I said, gesturing to the chairs.

He shook his head.

“What is your name?” I said, smiling. “I’m afraid I did not learn it before.”

“Andre,” he said, speaking his name clearly. “You are…Ilsa. The…officer…Freid-er-ich,” he said, saying Von Steubon’s name, slowly, as three syllables. “I heard him say ‘Ilsa’ that day you brought me to him.”

I smiled. “Yes,” I said. “I am Ilsa.”

He nodded. “I…have brought…a letter…yours.” He pointed at me, before pulling a slightly wrinkled letter from his pocket. “Freid-er-ich give…gave…it to me. In town. He asked me…take it to you.” Andre wrinkled his nose, as if puzzling over whether or not he had said the words correctly.

He eventually shrugged and handed me the envelope.

I looked at the handwriting on the front and recognized it as Virginia’s. I smiled, realizing with a thrill of pleasure that it was Virginia’s next letter.

Andre suddenly perked up. “Oh,” he muttered. “I forget…I mean…forgot.” He pulled out a very wrinkled piece of folded paper and handed it to me as well. “I…am apologizing,” he said, humbly. “It got…” He struggled, as if trying to remember the word. “Winkled. In my pocket.”

I tried very hard not to laugh at his way of saying the word “wrinkled”.

“Thank you very much, Andre,” I said. I put both the paper and the envelope in my desk drawer, resolving to pay attention to my little guest.

“Would you like something small from the kitchen?” I asked him, kindly.

He perked up, and grinned. “Cake!” he said, loudly.

At this, I did laugh, and we made our way to the kitchen where the cook, much to his irritation, served Andre a big fat slice of chocolate cake.

Andre was full of delight, and by the time he had finished, he had chocolate at the corners of his mouth and a grin on his face.

“Merci, miss,” he said, shyly, once we were back in the office to fetch his jacket.

I knelt down and ruffled his hair, smiling. “You’re welcome,” I said, recognizing at least this French word.

He blushed bright red and looked at me out of the corners of his eyes. “Freid-er-ich was right,” he said, bashfully.

“Oh?” I questioned him, curiously. “What did he say?”

“I was a…feared…” He tried to choose his words correctly. “that I would not know you, as I had seen you…just one lone time. He told me not to worry because I could ask the guard for his…secret-tary…and the guard would take me to the office and I would know you because…because…” He blushed, if it was possible, even redder. “You would be the prettiest, nicest one there.” He grinned, gathering enough courage to look directly at me. “But gosh, miss!” he exclaimed. “You’re beautiful!”

I blushed almost as red as him and laughed, hugging him tightly. “Thank you, Andre,” I said, still smiling.

He stepped back and I stood.

He gave me a little salute. When I did not respond, he looked aghast. “Return it!” he said. I laughed, but obliged him, returning his salute.

“When I get big, I am going to be a soldier. Like Freid-er-ich!” he said, importantly.

“I’m sure you’ll be the best soldier of all,” I said, smiling at his innocence as he turned, waved goodbye, shouted “Au revoir!” and ran from the room.