'You must forget about the others, Herr Hitler. Give this one a chance.'
'But so small and weak!'
'My dear sir, he has only just been born.'
'Even so...'
'What are you trying to do?' cried the innkeeper's wife. 'Talk him into his grave?'
'That's enough!' the doctor said sharply.
The mother was weeping now. Great sobs were shaking her body.
The doctor walked over to the husband and put a hand on his shoulder. 'Be good to her,' he whispered. 'Please. It is very important.' Then he squeezed the husband's shoulder hard and began pushing him forward surreptitiously to the edge of the bed. The husband hesitated. The doctor squeezed harder, signalling him urgently through fingers and thumb. At last, reluctantly, the husband bent down and kissed his wife lightly on the cheek.
'All right, Klara,' he said. 'Now stop crying.'
'I have prayed so hard that he will live, Alois.'
'Yes.'
'Every day for months I have gone to the church and begged on my knees that this one will be allowed to live.'
'Yes, Klara, I know.'
'Three dead children is all that I can stand, don't you realize that?'
'Of course.'
'He must live, Alois. He must, he must... Oh God, be merciful unto him now...'
The Hitchhiker
I had a new car. It was an exciting toy, a big B.M.W. 3*3 Li, which means 3*3 litre, long wheelbase, fuel injection. It had a top speed of 129 m.p.h. and terrific acceleration. The body was pale blue. The seats inside were darker blue and they were made of leather, genuine soft leather of the finest quality. The windows were electrically operated and so was the sun-roof. The radio aerial popped up when I switched on the radio, and disappeared when I switched it off. The powerful engine growled and grunted impatiently at slow speeds, but at sixty miles an hour the growling stopped and the motor began to purr with pleasure.
I was driving up to London by myself. It was a lovely June day. They were haymaking in the fields and there were buttercups along both sides of the road. I was whispering along at seventy miles an hour, leaning back comfortably in my seat, with no more than a couple of fingers resting lightly on the wheel to keep her steady. Ahead of me I saw a man thumbing a lift. I touched the footbrake and brought the car to a stop beside him. I always stopped for hitch-hikers. I knew just how it used to feel to be standing on the side of a country road watching the cars go by. I hated the drivers for pretending they didn't see me, especially the ones in big cars with three empty seats. The large expensive cars seldom stopped. It was always the smaller ones that offered you a lift, or the old rusty ones, or the ones that were already crammed full of children and the driver would say, 'I think we can squeeze in one more.'
The hitchhiker poked his head through the open window and said, 'Going to London, guv'nor?'
'Yes,' I said. 'Jump in.'
He got in and I drove on.
He was a small ratty-faced man with grey teeth. His eyes were dark and quick and clever, like a rat's eyes, and his ears were slightly pointed at the top. He had a cloth cap on his head and he was wearing a greyish-coloured jacket with enormous pockets. The grey jacket, together with the quick eyes and the pointed ears, made him look more than anything like some sort of a huge human rat.
'What part of London are you headed for?' I asked him.
'I'm goin' right through London and out the other side,' he said. 'I'm goin' to Epsom, for the races. It's Derby Day today.'
'So it is,' I said. 'I wish I were going with you. I love betting on horses.'
'I never bet on horses,' he said. 'I don't even watch 'em run. That's a stupid silly business.'
'Then why do you go?' I asked.
He didn't seem to like that question. His little ratty face went absolutely blank and he sat there staring straight ahead at the road, saying nothing.
'I expect you help to work the betting machines or something like that,' I said.