My Own Dear Brother

by Holly Müller

  ‘Class dismissed,’ he said in a quiet, croaky voice.

  He went for his own coat as quickly as the children ran for theirs and there was pandemonium along the row of coat pegs. Everyone bolted, pushing, yelling and squealing, Ursula amongst them. Herr Gruber shouted for them to hurry home and to stay together in groups, his warning almost drowned by the uproar, a small vessel whisked away on the flood.

  Outside, swastika flags on the fronts of houses billowed like flamboyant skirts as a military truck fired its engine and pulled away from the kerb. Beyond it, figures ran to and fro. Shouts rang near the Rathaus. Ursula stopped, seeing Sepp’s face at one of the classroom windows – he and the older children were still inside. He gestured to her, pointing then beckoning. She turned to see the army truck roaring towards her, exhaust fumes rising and expanding. She scrambled to the verge. People stood along the road in the wake of the truck and stared after it. Anton appeared beside her, breathless, as the vehicle neared, the chains on the tyres rattling and crunching on stones beneath the snow. The back of the truck drew level. Dead men lay on the truck-bed. Some were naked or semi-clothed, some clad in the stripes of the camp – a confusing tangle of dirty skin and hair. It was unclear what was what or how many there were. Bare feet dangled over the sides of the truck and bounced as the vehicle went over a pothole. One of the men was alive and half sat, struggling to raise himself amongst the dead, his face bruised and swollen. His wasted arms failed to hold his weight – he fell back. Anton stared, tense and eager, then clamped a hand over Ursula’s eyes and pulled her to his chest. She buried her face in his neck; her heart thudded and her whole body tingled with shock. She felt sick. It was awful; they were so pitiful and ugly. She remembered what Sepp had said. He’d said that the prisoners weren’t criminals, but officers. He’d said that they were being murdered. And what else had he said? He’d used a word – a bold word, a defiant word. Shamefully. He’d said that the officers were being murdered shamefully. He’d spoken without caution. Ursula struggled to free herself from Anton’s grip, to get another look, but he squashed her face with his hand so that she couldn’t move. A smell like the butcher’s shop wafted along the road, cloying and metallic, the same smell as Papa’s old hunting clothes, or a gutted rabbit, or blood spurting in a hot jet across the farmyard, the pig’s life flying out of a hole in its neck.

  4

  The car arrived at the house just after dark – obsidian black, faint light sliding along curvaceous panels and wheel arches. Ursula watched through the gap in the shutters – the small round headlights swept beams across the yard and flashed into her eyes; wide running boards flared along the length of the vehicle. The rest of the family were in the kitchen listening to the wireless – another broadcast about the war and the position of the Red Army. Ursula had tried to listen, but the Hungarian place names all blurred into one and she lost concentration. She only knew that the Russians approached and that everyone dreaded them. She had slipped away and taken one of Dorli’s magazines into the living room, curled up on the window seat and immersed herself in the cheerful and resolute world of the League of German Girls. At the sound of an engine she started. At first she’d thought it was a plane overhead. No one drove a vehicle down their track. These days almost everyone rode bicycles and many had reverted to horse-drawn traps and carts. People dreamed of the day when they could start their motors again – tractors stood uselessly beside farms, trucks were covered with canvas, gathering leaves and bird droppings. There was very little fuel. The Hildesheim car had been pushed inside the barn and the cats slept within the torn upholstery.

  Outside the window, the bumper of the extraordinary car gleamed as it halted beside the fence. The engine stopped, the lights extinguished and the yard was plunged into darkness. The driver-side door opened and a man climbed out. As Ursula’s eyes adjusted to the light she could see that his upper lip was covered with a dark moustache. He wore a smart hat that tilted low over his brow. The black car, the smart clothes: Gestapo. Ursula tried to think if anything had been said, if Mama had broken the rules. She’d stayed home from work duty after Papa was killed, but just for a day. Sweat broke out on her palms. The man walked towards the house. She clambered from the window seat, crossed the floor and stood just behind the door of the living room, where she could spy through the crack at the hinge. His knock echoed along the hallway and Ursula heard her sister’s voice, the bang of the kitchen door and the thud of hurrying feet. Dorli flashed by, housecoat flapping. She spoke through the panelling of the door.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Hello,’ the man replied quietly. ‘Can you please tell me, does Mali Hildesheim still live at this address?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Dorli. ‘And who can I say is calling?’

  ‘Fischinger – Fischinger Siegfried. I was a friend of Leo’s. I’ve come to offer my condolences.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Dorli. After a moment’s hesitation she opened the door.

  ‘Hello,’ said the man again. ‘It’s Dorli, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You probably don’t remember me – you were very young. I’ve helped Leo over the years. Papers, accounts, that sort of thing.’ Ursula caught a glimpse of gloved fingertips wafting nonchalantly up and down, the man himself still tantalisingly out of sight. ‘I used to visit quite often. Such a lovely house. I’ve fond memories of it.’

  ‘Oh, it’s not a lovely house,’ said Dorli, self-conscious. She took a step back into the hall. ‘Come in and sit down if you’d like. I’ll call Mama.’

  Siegfried Fischinger came into the hall. Ursula thought her sister wasn’t being very careful. If she’d opened the door herself she’d have made him wait outside.

  The light flicked on in the room where Ursula stood and the bulb threw a triangular shadow behind the door. She darted to the window and climbed on to the window seat. Dorli asked the man whether he would take tea or coffee. ‘Or schnapps maybe?’

  ‘Wonderful, thank you.’

  Ursula drew the curtains slowly, quietly. She was concealed. She leaned against the wall and drew her knees close to her body so that she felt small and safe.

  Dorli’s footsteps went off down the hallway and into the kitchen. There was a short blare from the wireless as the kitchen door opened and then closed again. There was no sound from the man at first. Then there was the slow click-clack of his shoes on the floorboards. His tread became muffled as he crossed the rug in front of the fireplace. Then the click-clack again as he strolled over to the bookshelves and the display cabinets. Ursula was tempted to peep out, thinking the man might have his back turned, studying the Czechoslovakian glasses and ashtray, the tiny bird made of silver and the shepherd and shepherdess. But she resisted. What if he’d pivoted on the smooth sole of his shoe and stood facing the window? Ursula let her breath in and out, shallow and slow.

  Mama arrived after a brief delay. It had taken her some time to make herself presentable. They hadn’t been expecting any visitors.

  ‘Goodness me,’ she said as she entered the room. ‘Siegfried.’

  The two kissed on both cheeks. Ursula offered up a thankful prayer that the man was clearly not here to arrest her.

  ‘It’s been such a long time,’ said Mama. ‘Seven years? Eight? I can hardly believe it. Come and sit down. Will you have a drink?’

  ‘I already have one,’ said Siegfried. ‘Your daughter was most efficient.’

  ‘Well, do sit down, please.’

  The settle creaked.

  ‘Take off your hat,’ said Mama. ‘Look as though you’re staying.’

  Ursula heard a rustle as Siegfried took off his coat, hat and gloves.

  ‘But you’ll have something to eat, of course?’ said Mama. ‘We have some bread or I could make a pancake. Sorry, I don’t have much. You know how it is.’

  ‘Gone are the days of your fabulous cakes. But no, I’m not hungry.’

  ‘Are you sure? It’s no trouble. It won’t take a moment. A little bread. I have go
at’s cheese.’

  She was making a fuss of him – Ursula supposed she was excited because hardly anyone came to see them any more.

  ‘No, thank you, Frau Hildesheim.’

  ‘But you always used to have a good appetite.’

  ‘Yes, but I’m absolutely fine.’

  Mama was quiet.

  ‘So,’ she said, after a moment. Her voice had worry in it. ‘What brings you here? Not bad news, I hope?’

  ‘No. Nothing bad. I just wanted to offer you my condolences about Leo. I thought I could perhaps make things easier, now that you’re on your own.’ Siegfried paused. ‘I was very sorry to hear about it.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Mama.

  ‘It must’ve been a terrible shock,’ said Siegfried.

  ‘It was, yes,’ said Mama.

  ‘It was a shock for me too.’ Siegfried sounded awkward.

  ‘Yes,’ said Mama. ‘I understand.’

  ‘I’d very much like to do something to help. In his memory, as such.’

  ‘Well, that’s a kind sentiment,’ said Mama politely.

  ‘I know he kept his own books. I could help with his accounts.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Mama with a laugh. ‘Almost certainly. He was useless with figures.’

  ‘There’re so many pitfalls, what with the contributions that’re expected,’ said Siegfried. ‘Even from a small place like this. I could simply check that all would be in order if you were to be inspected.’

  ‘Oh dear, yes.’

  ‘Herr Esterbauer still rents the top field?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, I could draw up some thorough documents, to ensure that there’re no problems. I’m sure Esterbauer’s an honest sort of chap but you never know. And as for Leo’s estate, there may be ends that need tying. The inheritance, it goes to you of course. So, then—’

  Siegfried stopped.

  Mama made a small hiccuping sound.

  ‘Frau Hildesheim,’ said Siegfried. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘No, no.’ Mama’s voice was choked with tears. ‘It must be done. It’s just that I’m so thankful. For the help.’

  ‘Of course. It’s no problem.’

  ‘It’s kind,’ said Mama. She made an effort to bring her voice under control. ‘There’s so much that Leo used to do. And though we’ve only a small place, I’ve needed all my time just to manage it these last few years. Herr Esterbauer’s good to me, but I find it hard.’ There was the sound of Mama getting up and then her footsteps. ‘Leo’s Will and other papers are kept in the bureau – you’re welcome to look.’ The roll-top lid rattled as she opened it. The bureau was where Papa had often stationed himself with an air of reluctant determination a few evenings a week, his dark head bowed before the reading lamp, gold light shining through his hair. He’d always shuffled and sighed in his seat. ‘Leo’s father left money, too,’ said Mama. ‘But it’s hardly worth drawing out. It killed him, I’m sure of it – all his efforts reduced to a heap of useless paper.’

  ‘Many people have faced the same, the country over.’

  They talked on about money for a while, about the economy and the Reichsmark and how they’d had higher hopes for Hitler and what he could deliver. This kind of conversation when it’d been between Mama and Papa had always ended in Papa snarling something about the Yid leeches and Mama remarking that in their case it had more to do with his weakness for cards. Ursula’s mind drifted to thoughts of the new boy, Sepp, with his strange opinions and careless mouth. She liked the name, neat but soft, short for Josef, a gentle name. He was a year older than she was, Anton’s age. He had a friendly, handsome appearance, she thought. The shape of his eyes and the gloss of his bowl-cut dark hair were particularly nice. Her stomach lurched oddly as she pictured his broad cheekbones and strong brow, and somewhere in the pit of her a glow began. She wriggled, uneasy because of the intensity of the pleasure. It wasn’t the same feeling as when Anton held her beneath the blankets and told her she was his best girl. It had a life of its own, starting in her lower abdomen and spreading downwards to become a softening heat between her legs.

  Mama sighed. ‘This war – I hate it. I used to have such faith.’

  ‘And the children?’

  ‘Dorli’s going to be married, God willing. It doesn’t matter too much that we’ve only a few bits and bobs for her dowry – the man in question isn’t short of money. So, she’s a relief.’ She paused as though thinking. ‘Anton’s grown up wild. You mightn’t be surprised. But I don’t understand him. Ursula follows his every example – you remember how she always doted on him, even as a toddler. I do worry about her. It seems nothing can correct her.’

  Ursula flinched at the hopeless tone in her mother’s voice. Was she really so bad?

  ‘I’m sure we were the same,’ said Siegfried. ‘I spent all my time playing in ditches and refusing to be told. My mother wrung her hands till they were creased.’

  Mama made a quiet sound, like ‘Hmm’, mixed with a small laugh. ‘And now look,’ she said. ‘Quite a success.’

  ‘Oh, hardly.’

  ‘You’re better off than any person around here. And that car. I’m sure the heads are really turning.’

  ‘Perhaps.’

  There was a long silence. Ursula breathed softly for fear of being heard; she was ravenous and her stomach threatened to emit a loud, demanding wail at any moment. The night air came coldly through the shutters and the thin pane of the window, and an icy draught trickled from the join in the sash. Her knees ached, locked in their bent position, and she longed to straighten them.

  ‘You should’ve visited,’ said Mama.

  ‘It wasn’t easy.’

  ‘Leo used to talk of you all the time. Then nothing, as though you’d never been known here.’ Mama had adopted an unnervingly personal tone. ‘And you were just as bad,’ she added. ‘Throwing it all away without so much as another word.’

  ‘I couldn’t stand it, Mali,’ Siegfried said. Ursula cringed even more at the use of her mother’s forename. ‘A man should respect his wife and that’s the end of it. I couldn’t pretend not to care.’

  What were they talking of? Who was this person who seemed to know Mama so well, spoke to her as if they had an understanding, a bond that’d been formed years before Ursula’s memory began? After a moment she heard the clink of Siegfried’s glass being placed on the coffee table.

  ‘I’d do the same – I’d say the same, even now. I saw too much of it from my father. And you – I’m upsetting you,’ said Siegfried. ‘Of course.’ His voice was brusque. ‘I’m sorry.’

  Mama seemed to have turned mute.

  The silence lengthened, and Ursula waited. She felt a cough tickling her chest, but she willed it away, screwed her eyes tightly shut. Her legs were beginning to hurt in earnest. There were a few sighs from the grown-ups and she used their cover to move just a little before the cramp became too acute. She slowly stretched her legs and placed her feet against the wall. Blood fizzed into her veins. She winced.

  ‘Mali,’ said Siegfried. The settle made little cracking sounds as somebody shifted their weight along it. ‘I thought of you.’

  There was silence again. Ursula was close to despair: the adults didn’t appear to be about to leave and she’d soon have to come out of her hiding place and face the consequences; her bladder was full, her knees throbbed, and she was perishing from cold. Mama would demand to know what she was playing at, spying in her own home, and she’d be mortified in front of the stranger. But just as she was truly starting to panic, her prayers were answered and Siegfried stood up.

  ‘I should go,’ he said. His shoes were audible again on the floorboards.

  Mama and he came very close to the curtains behind which Ursula was hiding. She heard them clearing their throats. Ursula stopped breathing; her heart pumped hard in her chest.

  ‘So, you’ll call again?’ said Mama. She sounded gloomy.

  ‘Of course,’ said Siegfried. ‘I’ll come in a few weeks.’ The hi
nge on the door creaked. ‘I can work on the papers right away.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘It’s nothing,’ said Siegfried. ‘For an old friend.’

  The two of them went out into the hallway and the living-room door closed behind them. There was an awkward muffled goodbye.

  After a moment Ursula heard the engine splutter outside and a soft toot of the horn. She peeped through the shutters to see the car pull out of the yard and retreat into the night, its rear lights bobbing on the bumpy track. A yellow electric glow fell on to the doorstep from inside the house. After a moment Mama closed the front door and the light disappeared. Ursula dropped softly from the windowsill and made her escape up the stairs.

  5

  The hunt continued over the following weeks – several prisoners remained uncaptured having taken small valueless items necessary for their escape, such as clothing to disguise their identity, and food. This hat or those boots were discovered to be missing, and reported to the police, presumed stolen. It was rumoured that someone locally may have hidden one of the dangerous men, aiding the getaway and risking all of their lives. House inspections were more regular and thorough. Searches were made further afield. Ursula’s house was visited twice more by SS and local farmers, and the loudspeaker still blared its warning through the village. However, most of the Russians had been killed or returned to the camp and killed there. Ursula began to tire of the topic; it had been interesting to hear of it for a while but it was all anybody talked about, a veritable babble coming from the queue at the grocer’s when she passed on her way to school, or when she ran errands to collect rations. It seemed that the Russians had done little real damage to property or people; only Anton had received a cut in Frau Hillier’s yard – no one else had been attacked. But the stories were told again and again; captures and killings and sightings in gardens, complete with grisly details, the drama increasing with each repetition. Herr Siedler, the richest of the Felddorf farmers, had shot a Russian who knelt pleading before him. His hand hadn’t trembled and the inmate had crumpled like an empty sack. The local butcher had beaten a prisoner senseless inside his shop with a leg of pork, before hailing the SS to finish the job. The butcher’s daughter had been heard to say, ‘Carve him up on our block, it would be a fitting end.’ Herr Adler had blown a hole the size of a dinner plate in a man’s stomach using a shotgun from not a foot away and Herr Esterbauer, with steady hand and eye, had taken down two men running in the near dark, a testament to his excellent abilities with a gun. Frau Hillier had made her outrage known to Herr Esterbauer by storming up to his farmhouse and hammering on the door, much to the consternation of Mama who’d been working near by. ‘What kind of man are you?’ she demanded. She was ushered inside. Frau Hillier was no less audible once the door was closed. ‘How could you finish them like dogs? They were helpless. Have you forgotten your God? Can this Party mean so much to you? Erich, I am horrified, just horrified!’ Herr Esterbauer’s reply was too deep and too quiet for Mama to hear but Frau Hillier tore from the house, cheeks blotched white with rage and grief, and didn’t stop when Herr Esterbauer bellowed after her from the door.