after visiting the farm several times and hearing Peter talk of how he hoped to leave one day, Eva should accept his offer to be shown the best ski trail in the nearby mountains. She was not a very experienced skier and had been reluctant to go any great distance alone. So far she had only explored what would be classified as nursery slopes near Wildflecken, using a pair of skis from the large horde of Nazi supplies at the camp and wearing an odd assortment of sweaters, a dark brown tweed jacket and a large but practical pair of men’s cord trousers, held up with a leather belt in which she’d had to make several extra notches.
She hitched a lift on one of the regular supply trucks going past the village and met Peter at the once-popular resort, now deserted. ‘These aren’t the best ski slopes Germany has to offer, but they’re the nearest,’ he explained, leading the way to the swaying chairlift. ‘If you want really good skiing, you’ll have to go further to the Alps.’
Eva sat down beside him. ‘I realise that, but I can’t get away from the camp for long. I’m not due extended leave till the spring so I’m very happy to make the most of what we’ve got here.’
The chair rose higher through the sparkling air and she was looking forward to having a good run on the fresh snow. All around was new, clean and white, as if the snow had wiped away all the horror of the last five years. At the top, Peter pointed towards Aschaffenburg to the west. ‘There are even better slopes over there, but this is the most convenient one for us. Are you ready?’ Eva hitched up her loose trousers again, hoping they wouldn’t fall as she skied, then nodded.
They began snaking their way down, Peter at speed, Eva more slowly and cautiously, but gradually growing more confident, invigorated by the sting of cold air on her cheeks. As soon as they reached the bottom they both wanted to go back again and they made two more descents before Peter said, ‘One more and then we call it a day, yes?’
The sky was just beginning to assume the pinker tones of sunset and the light would be going soon, so Eva hesitated, but then said, ‘There’s just about time, so let’s do it.’
They began the descent side by side, then Peter swerved into a thicket of fir trees, yelling, ‘Over here, this is more fun,’ so Eva followed. It was much more challenging, weaving in between the conifers, and her progress grew slower and slower. The light was not so good here either; the snow was still brilliant white among the dark trunks, but very little of the last of the daylight penetrated so she didn’t see him hiding behind a tree, waiting to trip her up. He must have caught the front of her ski; she tumbled head first into the soft snow.
She lifted her head. ‘Damn,’ she said. ‘I thought I was doing so well.’ She unfastened her skis, but before she could get to her feet, he was suddenly upon her. She felt his weight on her shoulders and her ill-fitting, oversized trousers were pulled down behind her. ‘What are you doing?’ She struggled and screamed, ‘Stop it.’
He punched the side of her head so hard she gasped and inhaled a mouthful of snow. Then a harsh gruff voice, quite unlike the polite and gentle tones she had heard from him so far, spat words back at her: ‘You Englisch. So righteous, so proud! You think we can forget, huh? I will show you what I think of you people, telling us all the time how we are in the wrong and must be punished. It will end here.’ She heard spitting, then the warm wetness of his hand groped between her buttocks, his fingers probing her anus, before he forced himself into her, ripping the soft tissue to the tune of her agonised screams.
‘You don’t like it? Maybe this you like better.’ Then he plunged again, not quite so painfully but still cruelly, into the place where she had only ever known pleasure and tenderness with her husband.
After a few quick thrusts he grunted and withdrew. It was brutal and humiliating, but it was quick. When it was over, he stood up, adjusting his clothing, and she turned her head to see him leaning against a tree, lighting a cigarette. He was