Jackie French - Hitler's Daughter

It was raining the day that Mark first heard about Hitlers daughter. The cows in Harrisons paddock were wet and brown and mournful. Raindrops dripped down their noses as they huddled their backs to the wind.

There was nothing in the world quite as sad-looking as wet cows, thought Mark, as he hauled his damp schoolbag further into the bus shelter. Do cows ever get colds? he wondered. What would happen if they sneezed?

The Wallaby Creek Progress Association had built the bus shelter last year. It was made of curved yellow tineasily big enough for the four kids who caught the bus at this corner by Harrisons bottom paddock.

The idea had been to keep the kids out of the wind and rain while they waited for the bus. In Marks opinion the whole idea was a flop.

Before the bus shelter was built he sat in the car with Mum when it rained, dry and warm with the heater going till the bus trundled round the corner. And everyone else sat in their cars too.

Ever since the shelter had been finished Mum just dropped him off with a kiss and a wave and hurried back to the warm kitchen at home till it was time for her to leave for her job at the stock and station agents in town, leaving him in the damp, cold bus shelter with the fingers of rainwater tickling down his neck.

Mark usually got to the bus stop first. Mum was early for everything, thought Mark dismally, pulling his jacket closer around his shoulders. She always left enough time to have a flat tyre AND go back if Mark forgot his homework AND fill in any note hed forgotten to give her last night and just remembered at the bus stop, as well as

Hey, move your bag! Ben shoved it out of his way as he dashed under the shelter. Did you see the creek? Its gone all yellow. The bridgell go if this keeps up, he added hopefully.

Ben lived on the other side of the paddock. It took about two minutes for him to race between the cow droppings to the bus shelter.

Hey, have you ever noticed that cows look all shiny when theyre wet? asked Mark.

No, said Ben. He shoved the hood back on his parka.

Like someones polished them. Do you think cows can sneeze?

Ben considered the question. Nope, he said.

How come they cant then?

Dunno, said Ben.

Maybe they only sneeze when were not around, decided Mark.

Who cares? Ben scraped his boot heels across the concrete floor to get rid of the mud. Hey, theres Anna.

Her mum must have picked up Little Tracey too, said Mark.

Anna dashed from the car, her bag clutched close to try and protect it from the rain. Little Tracey puddled along behind her.

Little Tracey had been Little since her first day on the bus. (Big Tracey got on two stops later.) Little Tracey was little, thought Mark. He wondered if shed always be littlelike Mums foxie, which would grow into an ankle-biter no matter how old it was.

Hi, said Anna, dumping her bag in the shelter.

Hi, said Mark. Hey, Anna, have you ever heard a cow sneeze?

Anna considered. No, she admitted.

Little Tracey shoved her bag under the seat and plunked herself down beside the others. She wore yellow gumboots, splattered with orange clay. Anna says we can play The Game! she announced.

Ben shrugged, and went back to scraping the mud off his boots. I dont mind, he said.

Alright, said Mark obligingly. The Game was okay, and, anyway, there wasnt anything else to do till the bus came.

The Game had started last year on Little Traceys second day at school. She had cried, remembered Mark, with great deep sniffs and her eyes resolutely wide as though that could keep the tears away.

Anna had grabbed Little Traceys hand and hauled her into the bus shelter and announced, Lets play a game.

Little Tracey sniffed back more tears.

What sort of game? asked Mark. He hoped it wasnt going to be I Spy or something dumb like that.

The Story Game, said Anna. I used to play it with my grandma.

Little Tracey looked up enquiringly at Anna, blinking her wet eyelashes.

You make up a character, Anna said to Little Tracey, and Ill make up a story about them.

Mark thought it sounded boring, but Little Tracey sat still, quietly sniffling, so, to be helpful, Mark said, Okay. How about a story about aaan alien who comes to earth.

Anna shook her head. Its Traceys story, she said. What do you want a story about Tracey?

Little Tracey sniffled.

How about a fish? suggested Mark helpfully. Or a whale or a mermaid or a He hesitated. What were little kids interested in?

A horse, Little Tracey whispered suddenly. I want a story about a horse.

Anna grinned. Okay, she said. Whats the horses name?

Socks, said Little Tracey. And hes got a baby brother called called Buttons and he lives in a paddock with his mum and dad and

That was the beginning of The Game.

Theyd played The Game every day for a week until Little Tracey got used to the bus and school, and then they played it just for a treat on her birthday, or when it rained and you couldnt leave the shelter to play catch and the wind was biting at your ankles.

The rain gurgled down the gutter, hiccuped at a bit of rock, then sped down and round the corner to the creek. A cow mooed sadly across the wet grass. Maybe if a cow got hay fever itd sneeze, thought Mark. Okay, what do you want the story to be about? he asked.

I want a story aboutabout a fairy, said Little Tracey, drumming her muddy heels on her schoolbag.

Ben groaned. How about something goodlike a gangster? Hey, how about a gangster who steals a million dollars and

How about a dinosaur? suggested Mark.

A baby one, agreed Tracey eagerly. A baby dinosaur called Billie and she gets separated from her mother and

Blerck! snorted Ben rudely.

Ill choose this time, said Anna suddenly.

Mark stared. But you never choose.

Anna shrugged. Then its my turn isnt it?

Just choose something decent, said Ben. No fairies or goldfish like the last time.

Im getting another goldfish next time we go to town, said Tracey. Its going to be black and red and

How can you have a black and red goldfish? demanded Ben. Thats dumb.

The busll be here if you dont shut up, said Mark. Go on Anna. Whats the story going to be about?

Anna hesitated. Its its about Hitlers daughter, she announced.

Hey cool, said Ben.

Whos Hitler? demanded Little Tracey.

He was this bloke in World War Two, explained Ben. He was the leader of Germanythey were the enemy in the war. Well, Japan was too. But Hitler had all these Brownshirts and the Gestapo and they tortured people and had concentration camps and things like that and everyone had to go Sieg heil! or Heil Hitler!. You know, like in those movies on TV.

But Hitler didnt have a daughter, protested Mark.

Who cares? said Ben. Hitlers better than fairies and goldfish. Maybe she was a fighter pilot like the Red Baron! No, that was World War One, wasnt it? Hey, did you know it was an Australian that shot him down? Pow, pow, pow, pow, pow.

But objected Mark. He tried to explain. But we cant have a story about something thats not real.

Why not? demanded Ben. Fairies and dumb stuff arent real, are they?

No, of course not. But

They are too real, interrupted Little Tracey.

But Mark stopped. It did seem different somehow to make up stuff about a real person. But there was no way he could put his feeling into words. Okay then, he said finally. What was her name?

Valdimara, said Ben with glee.

You got that from TV last night, objected Mark. You know, that Vampire Princess thing.

So what?

You cant have someone from TV in The Game. Anyway, Valdiwhatsit isnt German.

Austrian, said Anna softly. Hitler was Austrian.