Free Stile Maus by Robert Wise Page B

to the lower rungs, touching down upon the hay stained floor and setting the lantern down amongst a cluster of tools that had been clumsily strewn across his workbench.  Pierre’s work no doubt .  He opened the tiny glass window of the lamp and thrust a swift blow of air into the capsule, extinguishing the flame immediately.  The barn fell into a deep darkness.   Everything that had boasted a shine could no longer brag about its glimmering sparkle.  His boots met the drizzle flecked entrance of the barn.  Cold, damp fingers fumbled at the door stop that seemed determined to stay rooted within its holed lock and after a few attempts Francis stood from his crouch and began kicking forcefully against the hooked steel in an effort to loosen its stubbornness.  A grumble of thunder sounded outside.  He glanced up.  A soft light fizzed through the falling mist.  Francis stopped, doing his best to squint into the purple darkness but the rainfall caused his eyes to falter and blink abundantly.  Whatever approached, it came with haste.  The faint trickle of an engine could now be heard, chugging and clicking as it passed through the whirlwind of torrential downpour and towards the cottage.  The gloom of the night gave very little and the vehicle that was now coming to a halt at the foot of the path was still unclear.  Francis began fiddling with the lantern, trying to hitch open the window so that he may cast a lit match into its fine glass case.  The sound of a cab door clinked.  The tiny lamp window creaked open.  Francis reached at the workbench, misguided by the darkness, searching for a match. 
    ‘Mr. Dubois?’
    With caution Francis peered around the doorway, realising that his mysterious guest had took upon the dirt path and now stood at the foot of the barn, shrouded in a tall coat and flattering umbrella. 
    ‘Yes?’ he replied, looking past the rain soaked figure and down towards the military vehicle that had parked on the edge of the road.  It’s engine still grunting, lights still beaming. 
    ‘ Forgive me for intruding on your evening Mr Dubois,’ a hand stretched out from beneath the umbrella,
    ‘ Lieutenant Klaus Jung of the Luftwaffe, may we step inside for a few moments?’ 
    Francis turned his head slightly, glancing into the darkness of the barn and then back towards the rain swept umbrella.
    ‘Of course,’
    He tried to cover the reluctance in his voice and edged to one side so that the hidden Lieutenant could step through the half open doors.  Francis followed, scrambling a hand at the work bench as he entered, hoping to find the elusive box of matches.  The dampened Lieutenant took away his umbrella, shaking away the droplets of stubborn rain from the shoulders of his tall coat and then removed his hat, setting it over the thick handhold of the barn door.        
    ‘Apologies Lieutenant I can’t seem to find…’
    ‘Here’ Lieutenant Jung said as he picked a miniature match box out from the velvety insides of his jacket.   A spark ignited and their faces bathed in the glow of warm crimson and orange.  The Lieutenant’s boots clunked loudly over to the lantern and with a gloved pinch he set the match over the melted wax pyramid inside.  The barn eased, content that its walls felt the friendliness of light once more.  Francis turned from the tools on the bench, eager to see the face that had been hidden under the large stoop of the black umbrella.  A pinch bothered his heart, his stomach twitched with a sharp, uncomfortable pain.  The voice underneath the umbrella had been deceiving.  He expected a man.  Stood before him was boy, not twenty-five years of age.  And his face, an entire side covered in a web of scars.  From the middle of his neck to the corner of his left eye, a string of deeply healed gashes.  It was like nothing Francis had seen before.  The young man tilted his head, clouding the shuddering grades of woven pain in gloom.  
    ‘That’s