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Of course, she had yet to see the photograph. It might not be good at all. She might have taken it with insufficient light, or too much, or maybe her hands had shaken at the terrible sight of it.
Getting those negatives developed and the images published was the only thing she could do to fight against the darkness coming, a darkness so palpable she could almost feel it settling on her skin, as if it could make her disappear, too. It was a time to choose sides. Later would be too late.
She asked a passing woman for directions to the nearest post office. There was no time to waste in wandering around looking for one.
The woman pointed and said it was two blocks up, to the left.
“Thank you,” Elena replied, and hurried on. She must not run, it would draw attention. Be invisible. The sort of person you pass and instantly forget you ever saw.
At the post office, she bought a large envelope, and then enough postage stamps to send it to England, holding twenty photographs, with negatives and prints.
She addressed it to Lucas, scribbled an illegible return address on the back. To leave it out might be suspicious. She put the stamps on, then folded it up and put it into her camera case.
Now it was time to go and get the film developed.
She had to ask for a shop that would develop film. There was no help for that. She could waste half a day and never find one. She felt a painful urgency. How long would it take the police to find her? She looked different, but was that enough?
She finally found someone who directed her to a photographer’s shop. Arriving there, she hesitated only a moment, looking in the window. It was small and shabby. But the camera equipment she saw for sale was good quality. What was she waiting for? Some sort of affirmation? There was none. She pushed the door and went in.
The interior was drab, worn linoleum on the floor, one long counter with a bald man behind it, a visor on his forehead to shield his eyes from the light. The light was excellent. The cameras were in locked glass cupboards. She knew it would be glass that did not shatter easily. Two of the cameras were Leicas, older models, very like her own.
“Can I help you?” the man asked.
“Yes, please.” Her mouth was dry. She swallowed. “I have some rolls of film I would like developed, please. Negatives only will do. I’m not sure if there is time to make prints. I have to travel soon, and if they are opened, to search or anything, they might be ruined. I’ll wait.”
“You want them immediately?” He looked slightly surprised.
Had she made a mistake? What else could she do? If he had time to look at them, he might show them to others, or even burn them. “Please? If I can get an earlier train, I would like to.”
“Very well. It’ll cost you extra.”
“I’ll pay twice your regular rate.” Was that too much? “I realize it takes you from your other work.” Don’t be too eager! And she still had to survive, find a room for tonight. And then pay her train fare after she’d somehow made it to the British Embassy for a passport she dared use! But first, more important than anything else, she had to get the pictures out of Germany. They would force people to see, before it was too late, the nature of the thing they were fighting.
“Twice?” he asked.
“Do I have to take them elsewhere?” She glanced at the glass case with its cameras. “I need them done well, and from the look of your cameras, you deal in the best.”
He held out his hand. “I’ll do it.”
She took the film canisters out of her bag and passed them over. Her hand was shaking. He had to pull a little to take them from her. Was she making a mistake? There was no other reasonable choice.
The man looked at her. Their eyes met for a moment. He half smiled. “I will make a good job of them, fräulein,” he said.
“Of course. I’m sorry…”
He took the canisters into the back room, leaving her alone in the shop, pacing the floor.
Eventually she stopped pacing and sat down to wait. There were a lot of photographs and it would all take a long while. The time seemed endless, but finally he emerged. She thought his face had altered. Or perhaps she had never really noticed what he looked like.
“Do you want the prints?” he asked.
“You made prints…already?”
“You said you wanted the negatives quickly. But making prints only added a few minutes. I hung them on the line with clips and put the heater on gently. I took the extra water off with cotton. Don’t know if they’ll be perfect, but that’s as fast as I can get.”
“Yes…” she agreed. “Thank you.” Perhaps it had been longer than she thought, almost two hours. “Thank you,” she said again and walked around the counter, following him into the back passage and then into the darkroom. It felt close, airless, and smelled of familiar chemicals—acrid—that always made her eyes sting.
She looked at the pictures.
