Page 48 of Hansel and Gerhardt
In two strides, Gerhardt had reached for the door, slammed it, and locked Herr Candy out alongside Hansel.
Hansel pressed his back against the door and met the man’s eyes. They were black, right the way to the edge of the iris. Not even a hint of colour.
Herr Candy leaned towards him, sliding one open palm up Gerhardt’s door. An inch from Hansel’s cheek, the fine lips whispered, “I cannot wait to see you at my dining table.”
Then he turned and left Hansel alone in the hall, waiting protectively outside Gerhardt’s door, heart beating like a metal hammer on an anvil.
Hunger
Gerhardt’s head swam. A touch of nausea ate away at him—a cloying, ever-present nausea, in the background, but just solid enough to cloud his thoughts.
It was food he needed. Something to eat. Then he could start to get a handle on things.
Naked, hair washed, he dried himself, then searched about for his clothes. Breeches on the floor. No shirt. Broken boots. Green.
That’s right. Herr Candy had said to put on the green.
He stepped one leg, then the other into the new breeches. They puffed out, then curled in just below the knee. Shorter than his own. But socks…
There. Green and white, checkered. Bizarre socks that would stretch over his knees.
He gave a shrug and dropped onto the bed to put them on. What did he care, anyway? It was food he needed.
His gut shrank and curled at the thought of it. The veins beneath his wrists seemed to throb for it. Food. What would Herr Candy give them tonight?
Maybe he should have chopped more wood. Done something more for him, so he’d deserve a better meal.
He’d looked mad just before.
He’d looked so angry.
Gerhardt knew what he’d wanted him to say. Gerhardt knew he’d wanted permission to stay. To bathe him. To watch him. And his tongue almost said it, almost wrecked the lot for him. But Hansel…
Gerhardt leaned forward and dropped his face into his hands.
Lovely Hansel.
How was he to get him out of there?
His stomach groaned, and that damned hunger!
One and a half cakes and a biscuit. And he was starved. He was even hungrier somehow than he thought he’d have been had he had nothing.
He slid the shirt over his head, tucking it tight into the breeches. He pulled the vest on.
He looked stupid. But it hardly mattered. It was dinner time.
He strode to the door, wrenched it open, and there was Hansel. Hansel leaning against the wall opposite, waiting for him.
Gerhardt tried to reach a hand for him, but it didn’t move. It stayed at his side. He said, ‘Hansel, I need you,’ but the words that came out were, “You need to eat tonight.”
And he was walking towards the stairs. And Hansel had his hand, and he was telling him not to eat—he was begging him not to eat.
But what a stupid notion. To not eat in a candy house? Of course he would eat.
That hunger gnawing away.
He searched the walls, and would Herr Candy be very mad if he licked them? Just a little? If he bit that sweet, twistingbannister on the stairs, would he really mind? He could fix it, couldn’t he?
