Entry XI – March 1st 1949
This afternoon, at around two o’clock, something completely unexpected occurred.
We left the deserted village yesterday, and trekked all night long. Along the way, glimmers of civilisation flashed before our eyes; lonesome, decrepit houses, isolated farms, where we knocked and received no answer, scrawny chickens and bony cows wondering about meaninglessly.
Earlier today, we were making our way down a stony laneway; winding, everlasting, rotten green casting a shadow over the path. On the horizon peaked from afar several cottages perched high, surrounded by shrubbery.
As we padded, our bones tired and our souls weary, the ground began to shiver. It was an eerie sensation, one that tickled the feet. In one fluid moment we stopped. In fact, everything around us seemed to stop and listen.
The ripples became more pronounced, almost with the beat of music.
The poundings were unmistakeably identifiable. It was the throbbing of horse-shoes. We were dumbstruck. Were our ears deceiving us?
We held our breath, waiting with a most wild anticipation.
Then it came around the distant corner. There it was, beautiful, grey, dappled; only slight and thin, but with a solid middle.
On its strong, pert back sat a woman. Pretty blonde curls crept from underneath her riding helmet. Her eyes were a steely blue, and her body was sturdy. The woman wore a quilted riding jacket and polished leather boots, clinging to her shapely legs.
Justus was the first to cry out.
‘Please, over here!’ he shouted, an undertone of desperation lingering in his voice. I joined in, and then Petrus, and then Hannah.
My sister was unusually quiet. I twisted my neck to look at her; she was pale, her eyes downcast. I fumbled for her hand and gave it a tight squeeze.
The silvery beauty started up into a canter, clouds of dust puffing around its slim legs. The pounding of the mare’s hooves as they hit the ground throbbed rhythmically through the earth.
The woman was breathless as she approached, drawing in sharps gasps of air. She drew herself up in a reserved manner. ‘May I help you?’ Her voice was rich and cultured; she was a learned woman. She spoke in fluent, flawless German; music to our ears.
I understood the woman’s initial reaction. Here we were: filthy, smelly, lice-ridden creatures - bandits, robbers, for all she knew – stood before her, begging for her help.
She kept a straight, poker face. Her eyes were cold, and her lips merely twitched.
My throat was dry. Justus spoke up; he was probably the most confident of his own voice.
‘We’ve walked miles, Ma’am. We’re hungry and freezing; we’ve lost one of our best friends already to this cold. Please, will you give us directions to the nearest town? We need to get home.’ It was more of an appeal than a question.
The woman narrowed her eyes, and an awkward silence ensued. She seemed to be thinking.
Nature stopped again. Everything was listening.
‘Oh!’
The weak outcry had emerged from Hannah’s mouth. The boys and I twisted simultaneously, thrusting out our hands to catch my sibling as she fell to her knees.
‘Hannah!’ I screamed.
All colour had drained from her pretty face. She looked ghastly. Her body was a dead weight in our arms; limp and frail and painfully thin.
I shot a desperate glace behind at the woman. She looked as though she had been caught off guard.
Tears were streaming down my face; I had lost so much – I could not, would not, lose my sister, my only living flesh and blood. I stroked her hair, my hands shaking; cooed, ‘Shhh,’ even though Hannah was making no sound.
Sobs racked my body. I went to cry out, to beg, to implore the woman for her help, but the words just couldn’t come out. My throat was heavy with saliva. I swallowed, trying to regain composure.
Petrus and Justus shuffled in to support Hannah’s back as they lowered her to the floor. I sniffed and cleared my throat. I knew my face would be awfully blotchy.
I craned my neck to watch as the woman slipped her feet from the stirrups, swept her clearly supple thigh over the saddle and jumped nimbly to the ground. She strode over. The woman was somewhat of an enigma; she was impossible to read. It put me back in my place a bit. I had considered myself somewhat of an expert in this regard, but this strange woman had realised a flaw in my skills.
We parted the way as she came towards Hannah, sprawled flaccidly on the floor. She squatted, and pressed two manicured fingers to Hannah’s pasty neck, then placed the back of her hand upon my sisters’ forehead. She eased herself back up to her feet.
‘She’s alive, just running a fever. Lift her,’ the woman commanded, gesturing to Justus and Petrus. They obliged.
‘I’m Helena,’ said she, arching her leg over the mare. ‘Here, lean her up against my front.’
The boys did as they were told, hoisting Hannah’s rear awkwardly onto the horse, her limbs flailing this way and that. I rushed to help them, clutching Hannah’s bony thigh and shifting her over the Horse’s middle. My hand brushed lightly over Petrus’s, and I felt a stab of longing hit the pit of my stomach. Even in such dire circumstances, the deepest, most secret cravings of my heart would not elude me. Shock and shame had flushed my cheeks; they felt numb with cold, but tingled with embarrassment.
The woman lifted her wound scarf over her head, and indicated that I should take it. ‘Tie your sister to me; bind us by the waist.’
I looped the scarf around the both of them, tying it securely in a double knot. It was a special twist, one that my father had shown me how to do when I was a little girl. As a youngster, my father had been in the boy scouts. I was going through a boyish faze: insisting that I was a tomboy, rolling around in the filth with the neighbourhood lads. He had demanded that if I wanted so much to prove my boyishness, I would step up to the challenge of performing simple scout tasks. How I laugh at my childishness.
‘Now, you must tell me your names.’ Helena’s tone was assured, perhaps a little arrogant. The supposed request sounded more like an order; still, how long had it been since somebody had asked me my name?
She was brisk, uninterested in tone, but for the first time in a long time, my real identity mattered.
‘Gretal.’ I offered a smile; it was not returned.
‘I’m Justus, and this is my twin brother, Petrus.’ Justus ran a hand through his greasy brown hair; lice-ridden, now skimming his shoulders. I could tell that his mind was racing. He was extremely clever, organized and a quick thinker.
I shot a glance towards Petrus. His eyes darted away from Helena and met mine, large, dark and shiny. His face was black with road-dust, but still his irises shone through, gleaming, bright. He gave me a brief smile, the way a child smiles when they are proposed candy or chocolate. It was hopeful; endearing.
‘Right,’ said Helena, her tone brazen. ‘Let’s get…Hannah…back to my home. It’s that one there, up on the hill.’ She pointed vaguely. This next was directed to the horse. ‘Walk on.’
My heart swelled with hope.
‘Thank you, Ma’am! How can we ever repay you for your kindness?’
‘For a start,’ she said, a wry smirk twitching at her lips, ‘you may begin telling me your story.’
, but, as usual, you need to put anything that is in ' ' into " ". Unless, in your dialect of English - or your language - it's supposed to be ' '. 
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