Iskander: Blog

Chapter 11 has been uploaded. Kal learns there is more to Aunt Anastasia than meets the eye.

Clutch bag in hand, I stood. “I’m going to the ladies’ room, Aunt Anastasia.”

An older couple were showing off their skill in a foxtrot as I walked round the dance floor. Using the mirror in the ladies’ room, I checked and freshened my lipstick and make-up and dabbed on some fragrance from the small bottle. The jewellery sent shards of light at me from the mirror. I spent a minute smiling at the sparkle of the diamonds as I turned my head, surprised at how much I was enjoying myself.

On the way back to our table, I could see Aunt Anastasia talking to a man who had his back to me. He turned to survey the dance floor and my heart leapt into my mouth: Mr Franks.

In surprise, I stopped and moved behind a group of people standing at a nearby table. I took a deep breath, seeking my calm centre.

What is Mr Franks doing here? What is his relationship with Aunt Anastasia? Had she told him about me? What did this mean for Mutti and me?

From my hiding place, I watched them talk. I couldn’t hear them, but I saw Aunt Anastasia’s cheeks flare into fiery points.

Mr Franks is annoying her. What is going on?

After about a minute, Aunt Anastasia waved her hand dismissively. Mr Franks stance straightened and he looked down at her, saying something. Aunt Anastasia remained closed lipped and he turned and walked away, luckily away from me.

My good mood had curdled and I received some odd looks from the people at the nearby table; I mustered what I hoped was an enigmatic smile to cover my anxiety and walked on to our table. The flares on Aunt Anastasia’s cheeks and her pursed lips told me she was still upset.

“Are you all right, Aunt Anastasia?”

Her eyes narrowed, staring at some distasteful horizon. “That man is uncouth, uncultured and untrustworthy.” The Russian rolled off her tongue softly but with the severity of a judge sentencing a murderer.

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Chapter 10 of Through different Eyes has been uploaded... and Mutti confronts an event from her past.

“Hmm … this man,” she tapped the individual in the photo, “is SS Haupt Sturmführer Vogel.” Her voice was ice cold as she lifted her eyes to stare across the garden towards the playing fields and the stands of eucalypts surrounding them. Her lips pursed and eyes narrowed. “Vogel was at Ravensbrück for months in late 1944 and part of his duties was …” She glanced at me and assessed what she was about to say. “… overseeing the special prisoners – which included the English girls sent to Europe as spies.”

There was another long pause as Mutti revisited these hard memories.

“I went into the block one day, as usual, to empty the slop buckets, with an SS guard to open each cell for me. As I worked my way down the cell block corridor, I could see a cell door was standing open with no guard and my stomach clenched: they had executed someone. As we moved closer, I could see it was …” her voice caught for a moment. “It was one of the English girls. As I arrived at the cell, the door at the far end of the block opened, the one that led to the yard they used for executions. Vogel strutted in, replacing his pistol in its holster.”

Mutti picked up my hand, her eyes avoiding mine. “I don’t think I should tell you any more …”

I gave her hand a sympathetic squeeze … and I guessed why this death was special, amongst the countless number she had witnessed at Ravensbrück. “He had executed Colette, hadn’t he? The girl I’m named for.”

Mutti’s eyes rose to mine, glittering with unshed tears. She took several uncertain breaths before continuing. “I didn’t move away fast enough. Vogel saw my face and grabbed my throat, pushing me up against the wall. I reached for the floor with my toes.” Her nose wrinkled. “I could smell the acrid explosives on his hand from firing the pistol. His eyes bored into mine, revelling in my sorrow. I’ll not forget his words or his icy, arrogant visage.” Mutti swallowed, fingers fidgeting at her throat. “He mocked me for mourning a spy … and told me he looked forward to scouring the Reich free of communist … rubbish … like me.” Mutti’s eyes stared into the distant past. “When he dropped me, I staggered and fell beside the stinking slop bucket. He strode away, boot-heels smacking his arrogance into the concrete floor.”

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Mutti’s gaze strayed through the window to the distant gum trees as she sought a way through the dilemma. “But I can’t let you go on like this, Liebling.”
I lifted a shaky hand and stroked her cheek. “I’ll get used to it …”
“Oh, Liebling. You’re still a child. You shouldn’t have to get used to it.”
I sighed. “But you did, in Ravensbrück. And you were younger than me.”
Mutti’s eyes closed and she gave me a gentle squeeze. “I know, Liebling. But that doesn’t mean you have to.”
“We have to keep going, Mutti.” I tried to keep my voice resolute. “We can’t risk betrayal.”
Another squeeze. “But …”
I shook the blanket off my shoulder and sat up. “No, Mutti. If we get this wrong, my father will come after us here, as the SS would have come after you in the camp.”

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I am a klutz.

I realised from feedback that I had been posting the wrong set of files for chapters 1 to 6, not the edited version of Through different Eyes.

I have now reposted chapters 1 to 6. The story is the same, but many small edits have (I hope) removed typos and other errors.

Tomorrow, I'll be posting Chapter 8. The story runs through to Chapter 20 and an epilogue.

Through different Eyes has now reached Chapter 6 - and Colette's activities as a teenage spy have commenced - something which perhaps seems a bit improbable. But I discovered my art was imitating life.

During my research into Brisbane in the 1960s, I came across a memoir telling the story of the family of an ASIO agent. ASIO is the Australian Security Intelligence Organisation - the Australian equivalent of MI6. Written by one of the daughters, this tells the story of how her father used his children in his ASIO activities in Brisbane.

Admittedly, this activity was principally targeting potential Chinese agents rather than those from the eastern Bloc, but I was flabbergasted that a parent would put his children into a potentially dangerous situation - unlike Col's situation where she is blackmailed and has no choice but to comply.

In case you're interested, the book is With my little Eye by Sandra Hogan and it's available on Amazon.