by Holly Müller
Suddenly it was before her, squat and dark. She stopped. Chinks of light were visible, edging the shutters. The front gate stood open; the snow on the path was disrupted. She heard movement in the lean-to at the side of the house and ducked below the level of the fence. It was only Herr Esterbauer who came out, his heavy tread groaning and squeaking the snow. He went to the front door, pushed it open while softly knocking, met by Frau Hillier who wore a thick coat over her nightgown.
‘Nobody else,’ he said.
Frau Hillier nodded and he passed her and went into the house. She remained for a moment, staring around her small front garden, hunching her shoulders as if she wished for a scarf. Her round face, usually soft and calm, was hollow with worry. Beyond her in the kitchen Schosi sat on a chair twirling his scrap of cloth. The door closed and Ursula was in darkness again.
From behind the house came a cry – Ursula was sure it was Anton’s voice – then shouts and finally a shot, loud and shocking. Ursula ran towards the sound, down a narrow path between a sheer weed-covered bank and the side of the building, which she guessed would lead to the back yard; it felt like a tunnel and she saw nothing ahead except dull flickering. At the end she stopped; light moved on the ground near her feet in a swaying rhythm; the shadow of an unseen object swung large then small. She pushed her stomach flat to the cold render and peered into the yard. Herr Esterbauer crouched with his rifle in hand – he must have come straight through the house. Mama and Dorli leaned from the back door, Dorli brandishing a poker. From the strut of the porch a hastily hung lantern threw light back and forth in waves. Herr Esterbauer stared at someone who lay on the ground in front of him. Ursula struggled to see, gripped with a horrible fear that it was Anton. But only a pair of legs and bare bloodied feet were visible. She emerged into the yard. Herr Esterbauer swept his rifle round to face her. She halted.
‘Get away!’ He gestured for her to go back the way she’d come, along the tunnel.
She didn’t move and blood rose in her cheeks. She’d never disobeyed someone like Herr Esterbauer before, not directly. His deep voice resounded in the small yard, his face was creased into furrows, his grey moustache, dusted with frost, looked peculiar against the shining red skin that flashed bright at every upswing of the lantern, his wrinkles deepening and swooping. She tried again to see the figure obscured by the farmer’s thick body and bulky snow boots.
‘Toni? Is it him?’
‘Go, Ursula!’ said Mama, glaring at her in a way that promised a beating. Herr Esterbauer stood so that Ursula saw the head and shoulders of the man on the floor; he was a stranger with a hard face full of bones. Relief arrived, quickly followed by revulsion – the bulging, overlarge eyes showed white between partly-closed lids, like peeled eggs sunk into the sockets, and the snow around his head was melted away by a dark stain. His hair was shaved apart from a stripe down the centre, which was the regulation cut for prisoners in the camp. An inmate. They’d found one.
‘Where is he?’ she managed, still staring, appalled, at the bleeding prisoner who must be dead, she thought. She’d never seen a dead person before.
Herr Esterbauer pointed into the woodshed. Anton sat on the shadowed ground with his back against the woodstack, his rifle on the floor beside him. ‘He’s fine,’ said the farmer.
Anton got to his feet, holding his own wrist. He came into the yard and stopped near to where the stranger lay. He gazed down at the man’s torso where a black-looking wound pasted the thin shirt to the skin beneath. He stared as if mesmerised.
‘Come!’ said Herr Esterbauer with a curt wave of his hand, trying to shoo Anton onwards. ‘Inside! I’ll fetch SS Corporal Loehr. He’ll deal with this.’
They filed through the back door into the cramped kitchen, Anton and Herr Esterbauer eventually following behind. Schosi and Frau Hillier sat together on an overstuffed armchair beside the Tirolia. Schosi looked up when Ursula entered, blinking owlishly, and she was struck by how strange it was to be in the normal, drab kitchen, with such distress thudding in her veins, with such horror outside. Frau Hillier told Schosi to get down and he dropped to the rug and folded his legs, pressed his watch to his ear. Frau Hillier examined Anton’s injured arm, washed the cut then tied a bandage. When it was done Anton sat where he could rest the soles of his boots against the stovefront. Ursula pulled a stool close – her own hand was only bruised from her fall in the snow.
‘Are you all right?’ she asked.
‘It was a piece of glass. He took a swipe at me.’
‘Horrible! What a horrible thing!’ The anger arrived quick and hot. ‘What an animal!’
He shrugged in agreement.
‘So, you had to shoot him?’ She lowered her voice, afraid almost to say it aloud. She could barely believe that her brother had killed a man not moments before, blown a hole in his chest. It was frightful, that wound, the thin body; she couldn’t stop thinking of it.
Anton nodded, his gaze cool and distant so that she knew not to ask anything more. She drew back and pretended not to watch him; it was difficult to tell what he was thinking, whether he was shaken and needed comfort, or whether he felt guilty. He looked quite normal, the petulant set to his lips, jaw protruding, skin tight and eyes glazed from the dry heat of the fire. He’d done what he’d always wanted to do – he’d fired his gun at an enemy. She supposed he’d been heroic. But worry wormed in her belly and made her restless. The poky Hillier kitchen was filled with an oppressive hush. Even Dorli was quiet and the adults cooperated in making drinks, speaking in undertones and glancing often at Anton, perhaps protectively, or nervously. Ursula felt another shudder of fear, picturing again the scene that was just beyond the closed and draughty door – Anton made no fuss, was stoical, was so much braver than she. She should try to be more like him. She caught the eye of Schosi who watched her. He clambered to his feet, clumsy amongst the extra chairs that had been carried in.
‘Don’t worry,’ he said in his stammering voice, unbuckling his watch and handing it to her.
She took it, not knowing why he gave it to her, though it did make her feel comforted somehow. She inspected the watch: inscribed on its back in tiny scrolling letters was the name Ludwig Hillier. An unpleasant smell rose from the cracked leather strap, pungent and sour. Schosi retrieved the watch then held it to her ear, his movements careful, a slight tremble tickling against her hair. The minuscule tick was faint, almost too faint to hear amidst the clatter of crockery made by the adults.
‘No.’ She pushed him away, embarrassed. ‘I don’t want it.’
He contented himself with standing near by, fiddling with the watch and muttering his papa’s name.
Hot drinks were served. Herr Esterbauer put a hand on Frau Hillier’s shoulder. She let it rest there for a few seconds then dislodged it. Mama tinkled her teaspoon against her mug because it was too silent.
‘I’ll be off.’ Herr Esterbauer touched Frau Hillier’s shoulder again but she was stiff and unresponsive. ‘Promise not to go outside tonight. It’s not safe.’ He went to get his hat. Dorli nudged Ursula and gave her a knowing, sidelong look. Ursula ignored her, more concerned about Anton who still sat immobile, facing away from them all, his drink untouched. ‘Stay inside and lock the doors,’ added Herr Esterbauer. ‘There’ll be more of them roaming about.’ He squashed his hat on to his head. As he passed Anton he said, ‘You stay out of it. You’ve done enough.’
Frau Hillier got up and followed the farmer to the door. She whispered something to him low and fierce. Herr Esterbauer shouldered his gun and was gone.
When she returned, Frau Hillier went to the sink and leaned over the basin. Her hair concealed her face and her arms trembled. Perhaps she’d vomit, thought Ursula. Dorli began biting her fingernails. After a while Mama said, ‘Can we stay here tonight? I’m afraid to walk home.’
Frau Hillier didn’t reply. Ursula hoped she’d refuse because she didn’t want to sleep in a house with a dead man freezing solid in the yard.
‘Are we
just going to leave him?’ said Frau Hillier. She turned round. ‘All night?’
‘It’s terrible, isn’t it?’ said Mama. ‘But you did well, Toni,’ she added, directing her comment at Anton with some force.
‘Yes, it is terrible!’ Frau Hillier’s tone was a fierce dart.
‘Someone has to deal with it,’ said Dorli. ‘They’re criminals – we must defend ourselves.’
‘It’s not Christian,’ said Frau Hillier. ‘It’s not right. God is for the whole world. God is for everyone. Not just for Austria. Not just for us.’
Mama shook her head minutely. ‘You ought to be careful,’ she said.
‘What about it?’ Frau Hillier snapped. ‘You’re going to report me?’
‘No. Not I.’ Mama glanced askance at Dorli and then at Anton who still stared blankly at his boots. Frau Hillier was quiet for a minute then she collected the dirty mugs and cups and put them in the basin. She filled hot-water bottles and put a brick to heat on the stovetop for Schosi, because, she said, he had to give up his hot-water bottle for Ursula seeing as she was a lady. As Frau Hillier came past the table Mama held out her hand as a peace token and after a tiny hesitation Frau Hillier took it and then Mama stood and they hugged and cried. Some time later they lit a lantern to carry up into the loft and Frau Hillier checked that all the doors were locked and that chairs were pushed firmly beneath the handles.
3
Ursula woke before daybreak. Mama was dressing, a dim outline at the edge of the mattress in the Hillier attic. She hauled the covers from Ursula’s legs as she buttoned herself into her winter underwear. Ursula sat up. Beyond Mama and across the floor was a bright square of yellow light, the edges of the closed trapdoor illuminated from below. She hadn’t slept well. Tough stalks had poked from the straw mattress and plagued her all night long, or else the stuffing had slid from under her body so that she lay uncushioned on the floorboards. The unfamiliar house had creaked and emitted abrupt startling cracks that jolted her from sleep, and in her wakefulness Ursula’s thoughts had travelled repeatedly to the dead man in the yard and her brother firing a gun into his living flesh, that black wound, the man’s skin grey in the moonlight, frost creeping on to his clothes and clouding his eyeballs, the snow darkening around him until the whole yard was inky with blood.
Sunlight glowed milky and bright through the smeared front window as Ursula clambered down the ladder into the hall. Frau Hillier was at the Tirolia, filling a washbowl from the water chamber, Schosi at her elbow; Anton and Dorli were at the table. Frau Hillier threw a rag into the water and Schosi went to it, obedient. He made a rough attempt at wiping his face – his mother finished the job with a brisk scrub behind his ears and beneath his fringe. When Schosi sat beside Anton at the table Anton moved his chair away.
‘What’s wrong with him?’ Anton asked coldly.
‘I beg your pardon?’ said Frau Hillier, hanging the damp rag above the stove.
‘Your son – what’s wrong with him?’
Frau Hillier turned, her round eyes, similar to Schosi’s in shape and colour, focusing sharply on Anton. ‘Nothing.’
‘Why’s he not in school then?’
‘I took him out. He’s not suited to it. He’s very shy.’ Frau Hillier handed Schosi a crust of bread, which he began to chew. ‘You’re better at work, aren’t you?’ Schosi nodded. ‘He’s a hard worker.’
‘Well,’ said Anton, ‘he’s been coming to our place and hanging about so he can’t be working that hard.’
Ursula caught the spiteful note in Anton’s voice. She wondered whether he was angry because of his arm being cut and bandaged as well as the wound on his palm from the letter opener. He did have to fumble about one-handed, and this morning he’d had to get help from Mama with his buttons and laces. That kind of thing always put him in a fearful temper.
The wariness in Frau Hillier’s eyes dilated to fear. ‘He’s been coming to your place? When?’
‘I didn’t know,’ said Dorli defensively.
‘You’re always out,’ said Ursula. ‘It’s only been twice,’ she told Frau Hillier.
‘You shouldn’t let him wander about bothering people,’ continued Anton. ‘He’s not right in the head.’
Frau Hillier opened her mouth but said nothing.
‘Anton!’ Mama materialised in the doorway. ‘That’s enough!’ She looked at Frau Hillier, apologetic. ‘I don’t know why he’s being so rude.’
Frau Hillier flushed red and turned away. She began to get food out from the cupboard. She offered breakfast, flustered, but there was very little to share. Mama refused to eat, saying they would have something when they got home, and frowned disapprovingly when Ursula accepted a piece of bread.
Just as they were putting on their boots, there was a commotion outside, the whinny of a horse and voices. A moment later the door shook beneath a heavy fist. Frau Hillier hurried to the door. It was SS Corporal Loehr and Herr Esterbauer.
‘Good morning,’ said the corporal.
‘Good morning,’ said Herr Esterbauer, with a tip of his hat.
‘We’ve come to remove the deceased.’
Frau Hillier nodded and the men set off for the back yard. Anton jumped from his chair and went eagerly to follow. Schosi copied him.
‘Stop!’ said Frau Hillier. The boys halted. The command in her voice was total. ‘Sit down. You will respect the dead.’
No one said anything as the men scraped and shuffled in the yard – Frau Hillier drew her rosary from her apron pocket and ran the beads through her fingers. The men soon appeared outside the front window, their shoulders and heads visible; the corporal walked backwards, Herr Esterbauer forwards, a space between them where they carried the prisoner. They bent low out of sight beside the horse. After a moment the corporal mounted and Herr Esterbauer spoke to him briefly, then the two men raised their hands in the Hitler salute and the corporal departed. The horse trotted towards the village and Herr Esterbauer glanced into the window of the house before going off in the direction of his farm. Ursula balanced on the crossbar of her stool and craned her neck to see out of the window. There was the jiggling rump of the horse and the sharp outline of SS Corporal Loehr. From the back of the saddle extended a taut length of rope, the body of the Russian at the end of it, tied around the middle. The horse accelerated and the body dragged behind. The dead Russian didn’t look like a real person, more like a wooden manikin, his entire frame rigid, arms and legs stiff as boards. He bounced and twisted – face up, then face down – ploughing unruly furrows in the snow.
‘He’ll break up in no time!’ exclaimed Anton. He too had clambered on to his chair. Mama and Frau Hillier turned as one and pulled the children from their vantage points, their faces sick-looking and pale.
Soon afterwards Mama decided they should go home. Schosi followed them to the gate. He grasped Ursula’s sleeve and tried to say something but his stutter got the better of him. She shrugged him off and then felt a little sorry. She smiled to make up for it, which seemed to delight him. He waved until his mother came and brought him inside.
—
‘Herr Esterbauer’s in love. Did you see the way he looked at her?’ said Dorli once they were on their way, going via the field to avoid following in the path of the corporal’s horse, not wishing to think what might be left along that route. They walked hurriedly, Mama a little way ahead, glancing nervously about. ‘And he takes care of her boy at the farm even though he doesn’t have to. Schosi’s such a nuisance, but I suppose Herr Esterbauer’s blind to it. That’s love.’
‘Do you think so?’ said Ursula, not quite understanding how two such old and ugly people could be in love. They weren’t anything like the courting couples she’d seen. Frau Hillier didn’t even smile.
‘Oh yes, I’m sure of it.’
‘But she’s fat,’ said Anton flatly, ‘and smells as bad as her idiot son. I don’t want to think about her in the nip.’
‘Anton, you’re too much!’ said Dorli, half offended
, half entertained. ‘I never thought about him in the nip either!’ She giggled, drawing Mama’s eye. ‘Do you think they do it, then?’ she whispered.
‘I bet they roll about in the hay,’ said Ursula, ‘at the farm!’
Dorli clamped a hand to her mouth, eyes shining. It was good to joke, to forget the fretful and broken night.
‘Don’t talk like that!’ hissed Anton. ‘It’s vulgar. I hate it when you speak like that.’
‘I didn’t mean it.’ Ursula was instantly dismayed. She’d displeased him. But she hadn’t been the only one – Dorli had spoken too and Anton himself. ‘I was only playing,’ she protested. But Anton refused to respond and strode vigorously along – he’d never been able to bear it if she was in any way crude. A crackle of gunfire came from somewhere ahead, difficult to place, echoing and indistinct amongst the rocky peaks of the hills, the salt and pepper of snow and pine forest. Mama stopped to wait for them, gathered them together with arms interlinked. They skied down the incline as they neared their house, boots filling with snow. Anton clutched Ursula’s arm, his bandaged arm held protectively to his stomach, the old rifle across his back. They reached the gate just as more scattered shots came from the direction of the Fingerlos house. Dorli began to cry.
‘Hurry!’ said Mama, ushering them across the yard. They bundled into the house and Mama bolted the doors and all the shutters, blocking out the sun so that they had to light lanterns to be able to see. Mama gave them each tasks to occupy them and Ursula was soon situated in the chilly scullery pressing Anton’s shirts. The thin squeak of the rollers, high-pitched and continual, did nothing to calm her but at least she was doing something with her hands. Her mind was free to wander again to that gloomy scene in the yard and to her brother’s placid face, puzzling and unnerving because it showed her nothing. His furious whisper when she’d spoken coarsely. She was glad now to help neaten his clothes. It made her feel nearer to him.
