Free The Undertaking by Audrey Magee Page B

please, ladies.’
    He draped gold and emerald around his wife’s neck, silver and sapphire over his daughter’s wrist. They each kissed him and looked at themselves in the hall mirror, above their new bust of Wagner. Mrs Spinell was crying.
    ‘You’re a marvellous man, Günther Spinell,’ she said. ‘You have served this family well.’
    Katharina fingered her bracelet.
    ‘It’s just a pity we have nowhere to wear them,’ she said.
    ‘Oh, but you do,’ he said. ‘We’re going to Dr Weinart’s house tomorrow. To hear the Führer’s Christmas message.’
    Their backs straight, the two women walked either side of Günther Spinell up to the first floor of the doctor’s house. A coal fire blazed there too, but the other guests, the women in silk, were indifferent to it as they drained their champagne and picked canapés from the train of passing plates. Mrs Spinell whispered to her daughter.
    ‘Don’t guzzle, Katharina. Remember that we have plenty to eat at home.’
    Katharina moved about the room, introducing herself, admiring dresses and jewellery, accepting admiration of her bracelet, revelling in the conversation. Mrs Weinart was especially charming.
    ‘I have heard about your family, Mrs Faber. You should come for morning coffee with your lovely mother.’
    Dr Weinart demanded their silence and called the company to gather around the radio, Katharina towards the front. The voice entered the room, and people bowed their heads. She listened to the rise and rise of his pitch, but drifted off to replay her success at the party, to run her hand across her expanding womb, to relish the growth of her new life.

 
     
     
    15
    Kraft pushed into the house, panting.
    ‘Close the damn door,’ said Weiss.
    ‘Give me a chance to come in first.’
    He swept snow from his eyes.
    ‘The lieutenant wants us.’
    ‘Bloody hell,’ said Faber. ‘What for?’
    ‘To award you the Iron Cross, Faber,’ said Weiss. ‘For services to fatherhood.’
    They laughed.
    ‘It’ll be the only one I get,’ said Faber. ‘Stuck in this pit.’
    ‘Why does he want us?’ said Faustmann.
    ‘I don’t know,’ said Kraft, ‘but he’s wound up.’
    They swore as they pulled on their outdoor clothes. Kraft stoked the stove.
    ‘I’ll make coffee when we’re back,’ he said.
    They stood outside the lieutenant’s house, snow and wind cutting into their faces, darkness on its way. Faber stamped his feet. He should have put on a second pair of socks.
    Reinisch came out of his house, his shoulders straight, but his face pale.
    ‘We’re moving out tomorrow,’ he said. ‘At first light.’
    A shock of cold rushed up Faber’s legs.
    ‘It’s January, Sir.’
    ‘I’m aware of that, Private.’
    Reinisch stepped back from the men, towards his house.
    ‘Where are we going?’ said Weiss.
    ‘Kharkov. The Russians are on the move there. Our boys need support.’
    ‘But that’s a hundred miles away.’
    ‘A little less, I think, Private.’
    ‘What, ninety?’
    ‘About that.’
    Faber started shivering, his teeth chattering.
    ‘I could die, Sir, if I go out there again,’ said Fuchs.
    ‘Have the doctors told you that?’
    ‘No, Sir.’
    ‘Well then, you’ve nothing to worry about.’
    The lieutenant turned his back on the men and went back into his house, shutting the wooden door against them, shoving it tight into its buckled frame. The wood shuddered. Together the men moved towards it, two, three steps. And then they stopped, turned away towards Kraus. He threw his hands into the air.
    ‘Those are our orders. They want us to shore up Kharkov.’
    ‘It’s impossible,’ said Weiss.
    ‘We are expected to walk thirty miles a day and will be given enough food for ten. There are villages along the way where we can rest.’
    ‘It’s madness,’ said Fuchs. ‘We can’t walk thirty miles a day in snow. Russian snow.’
    ‘I have been told that most of the road has been cleared.’
    ‘It’s madness,