by Holly Müller
Even Frau Gerg, the head of the League of German Girls, was praised, despite her unpopularity, for her pluck with riding whip and pistol, preventing a cowardly prisoner from scaling the fence to re-enter the camp and evade his punishment.
Anton had his picture taken and was celebrated in his Hitler Youth brigade. His photo was displayed in the glass-fronted cabinet in the Hitler Youth meeting hall, and he received an early promotion to section leader. He was presented with a lavishly decorated ceremonial dagger that symbolised his new rank. He showed the dagger to Ursula when he got home, angling the blade to catch the light, eyes shining with pride.
‘It’s a good job that Hillier boy stays away these days,’ he said. ‘I can’t have my sister hanging around with someone like that – I have to set a good example.’
It was a quiet Saturday with an unusual air of contentment. Ursula and Anton had finished their chores and lounged on the rug in the living room throwing dice and thinking up forfeits, a rare moment when Anton wasn’t busy with his Hitler Youth duties or playing football with his friends. Mama was on the settle with her sewing spread out, Dorli was at a League social and wasn’t around to pester or nag them. Mama had even plaited Ursula’s hair, the firm tug and shivery scrape of her fingernails sending Ursula into a blissful stupor. Mama hadn’t yet tutted or told them to grow up or to do something worthwhile.
Just after midday the spell was broken. Siegfried arrived in his car and as soon as Mama heard the distinctive engine she put her sewing to one side and hurried to the door. A blast of cold air blew into the house and kept on blowing, lifting Ursula’s skirt into the shape of a bell, and wafting Mama’s half-mended petticoat to the floor. Ursula leaned to one side until she glimpsed the long black bonnet nosing into its parking place. A moment later Siegfried was in the hall.
‘Hello!’ he called. ‘Hello!’
Whenever he arrived, which was often, he always sounded like a hooting owl – too cheerful somehow, too keen. He kissed Mama on each cheek, making extravagant lip-smacking sounds.
‘What a surprise!’ said Mama.
‘I hope you don’t mind,’ said Siegfried.
‘Not at all.’
He popped his head around the doorframe, gave the children a salute. His teeth appeared. The adults went off towards the kitchen, Siegfried complaining about the roads and the potholes that were getting worse and worse.
‘Brilliant,’ said Anton. ‘Him again.’
Anton’s almost instant aversion to the man had grown stronger and Ursula wondered what he’d found that annoyed him so much. Siegfried had only brief encounters with the children; his appearance always heralded unceremonious expulsion for Ursula and Anton, no matter what the weather, giving them little chance to get an impression of him. Perhaps it was the fact of being chucked out that bothered Anton? She studied him for a moment; he stared ferociously at the carpet and then glanced out of the window. The trees were flecked with stubborn snow – a cold day to be outdoors, but nothing out of the ordinary. She decided she’d find her coat and scarf in readiness. She got up and went into the hall. Muffled voices came from behind the kitchen door and snatches of laughter. She lingered for a moment – it was good to hear her mother happy.
‘I shouldn’t bother if I were you,’ called Anton from the living room. ‘They don’t want you in there.’
She moved away, humiliated, and searched for her scarf on the row of coat hooks. She found it hidden beneath Siegfried’s black trench coat and hat and lifted them out of the way to an adjacent peg. They were very heavy; the hat was particularly fine. She loved the red lining of the coat, silken and cool, like dipping her hand into a pool in summertime. She pulled his wallet from the inner pocket, took a note and several coins and crushed them in her palm. Guilt and thrill heated her body and kicked her heartbeat into a fast canter. She retrieved her scarf. Mama laughed in the kitchen.
It wasn’t long until they were ejected.
‘All right, children,’ said Mama, clapping her hands briskly. ‘Out with you.’
‘But why?’ Anton groaned.
‘No arguing,’ said Mama. ‘Off you go! Be sure to be back by dark or you’ll miss dinner.’
Out in the yard the bolt slid secretively into place behind them. Anton cursed and strode at a frightful pace away from the house. Ursula trotted to keep up. They collected short skis from the shed, and ski poles, and set out across the field towards the pool.
‘Damn her!’ Anton shouted over his shoulder as they swished noisily along, fine snowflakes swirling across the hill to sting their faces. ‘I’m not going back.’
‘What do you mean?’ called Ursula above the rushing air. She was hungry already and dinner would be a good one. Last time Siegfried had brought all sorts of expensive things like butter and high quality smoked ham, and a bar of perfumed soap (though of course you couldn’t eat that). She’d never smelled anything so lovely.
At a gap in the trees they pitched themselves down the snow-covered bank, reached the bottom without encountering any devious loops of bramble, and stopped beside the river. Ursula propped her skis against a tree trunk and went to the edge of the bank where she squatted and leaned over, feeling for one of the icicles. At this time of year an army of them plunged from the frozen mud of the overhang. She chose a large one and snapped it off at the base, held it in her mittened hand like the long tooth of an enormous creature and crunched a mouthful. It tasted of rain and grit. She and Anton climbed down to the beach that edged the pool, a crescent of detritus and small stones overshadowed by flat, oval rocks. Ice bulged and furled where it collected over roots.
Tobias Messer had drowned in the river pool the previous year. He was the son of a neighbour, slightly older than Anton, and had got stuck under the ice and then trapped beneath a shelf of rock. A case of stupidity more than bad luck. He’d crossed the ice in early spring and everyone knew that was dangerous. When Tobias was pulled from the water his body was partially frozen and Mama made a point of recounting the details to her children, even though she’d not seen the boy herself. She said his lips were black and his cheeks were blue and that he’d had no chance at all once he was in the bone-numbing water.
‘Why must you always play at the river anyway,’ she asked them continually, ‘when you have so much space?’
But the river was their favourite haunt, nestled amongst the trees, accessible only by narrow deer tracks that wended downwards. Once at water level, the muddy banks formed protective walls and the firs bowed overhead like a scratchy ceiling. It used to be the perfect retreat when the house was awful with anger, with Mama and Papa’s frantic shouting that rebounded from the hard floors and the beams, the crash and thud and scuffle that inevitably followed, and then silence. The pine forest was always damp and chill, full of mushroomy smells, the trees unassailable, tall and straight as ship’s masts with shaggy black hair and cloaks of ivy or vine – even Anton couldn’t get to their tops despite his feats of daring, ending in tumbles, cuts, bruises, a sprained ankle. Dead trunks became bridges and a piece of twine from one side of the stream to the other served as a line for a small red bucket. They loved to sit on opposite banks and send things back and forth.
The river was best in summer when water muttered over the rocks, the shallow flow easily dammed or diverted into narrow runs along which you could race a leaf-boat; such a tranquil, welcoming place. The oval rocks that overhung the pool where Tobias had died were especially wonderful; level platforms covered in ferns like tousled green hair. When the sun was high and unremitting, and Ursula and Anton had baked themselves in the fields gathering hay with the adults, stamping on top of the hay carts to compress the load – sweaty, dusty work – they slipped away as soon as they could for a swim. The rocks were ideal as diving boards or for sunbathing. The river gabbled, never quiet, but peaceful beyond anything, beyond anywhere. Ursula liked to daydream, clothes stiffening in the heat after a swim, drowsily watching the flies that dithered above the water, their wings catching sun
light so that they shone like gold. She often woke to a yell and the crash of Anton’s body as it hit the water; naked, long-limbed, his young muscles prominent, the unmarked clarity of his skin stretched tight against his veins. She enjoyed watching him surface, hair sleek to his skull like an otter’s, eyes bleary and with water dribbling down his chin. He’d look up at her, surrounded by ripples, each carrying a glaze of creamy light towards the edge of the pool, his nakedness a green-white shape in the deep, and she’d think that no one was as perfect as her brother; no one was quite like him.
‘Help me with this,’ said Anton. He crouched above a rock, unable to lift it. Ursula took hold of the other side; the rock was large and frozen in quite hard. They wobbled and kicked it until it came free. They swung it between them then threw it as far as they could into the white circle of the frozen pool – it landed with a sharp crack. The river swallowed the stone and the hole in the ice was a black scar.
‘At least the fish can breathe now,’ said Anton. Ursula smacked him on the arm but he caught her wrist and twisted it until she submitted.
They stayed a while beside the pool breaking off more icicles and aiming pebbles into the hole. Ursula tried to persuade Anton to come back for dinner. He was obstinate; he shook his head.
‘You go on,’ he said. ‘If you want to.’
‘Oh, come on. Don’t be a bore.’
‘I’m not going. I don’t want to see Mr City Slicker.’
Ursula had never heard the term ‘city slicker’ before. She thought it suited Siegfried with his Brylcreemed hair and polished shoes. ‘He might be gone.’
‘He’ll stay for dinner. He’ll probably eat as much as he can.’
‘That’s hardly fair – he gives Mama things. He always brings things.’
‘And where does he get it?’ Anton said. ‘He’s crooked.’
‘I think he’s all right.’
‘Do you?’ Anton was scornful.
‘Yes. It’s nice Mama has a friend.’
‘Friend? You don’t know the half of it.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I’m just saying that you don’t know what’s going on.’
‘What do you mean?’ said Ursula again, frustrated.
‘I’ve noticed things.’
‘What things?’
Anton shrugged.
Ursula battled a sudden urge to cry. He never used to keep his thoughts from her but he did so increasingly. They sat in silence – he added no more to his cryptic accusations against Siegfried and she stubbornly refused to ask.
A doe appeared on the opposite bank, grazing cautiously through the snow. It stepped delicately, noiselessly. After a moment, it turned and showed its pale haunches; Anton aimed at it with an imaginary gun, screwing up one of his eyes. For a second Ursula wished she really did have a gun; she thought about venison and wanted to hear the shot, to pull the trigger herself.
‘Bang!’ she yelled.
The deer exploded into terrified flight and Anton clamped a hand to his chest. The animal sprang up the slope, shaking and rustling the undergrowth. It vanished over the top of the incline. Anton smiled one of his sly smiles. He pushed Ursula backwards into the dirt, still smiling, and then she knew that she’d pleased him.
It was beginning to get dark when they trudged homewards with their skis on their backs, the bare-twigged trees forming a net against the twilight. They walked across the field instead of skiing, because Anton didn’t want to hurry. He was a hunched silhouette, breath steaming ahead of him. The shiny black car was still at the house, an eerie occupant of the yard; the plush interior of the vehicle was blanked by deep shadows; the unlit headlamps glinted. They went round to the back door, kicked off their boots and went into the kitchen. It was deserted, a pot bubbled on the hot plate, the lid jumping and releasing little belches of steam. They hung their coats and heard voices in the living room and a record playing – Ursula’s spirits lifted as soon as she heard the music, it always meant that Mama was in a good mood and it made the place so much more pleasant. Anton went upstairs without a word and Ursula put her mittens and hat to dry in the scullery and smoothed her hair as best she could. She opened the door to the living room; the sound of violins swelled. Mama was seated on the floor alongside Siegfried and Dorli. They were playing cards. Mama had taken off her shoes, Dorli was flushed with excitement and Siegfried sat cross-legged with his tie undone, a cigar resting in the black Czechoslovakian glass ashtray on the floor, one of the only valuable things they owned. Tobacco smoke floated in a blue cloud near the ceiling. All three looked at Ursula and she felt suddenly shy, like an intruder, aware of her messy appearance and her socks that were falling down and trailing from her toes.
‘Are you joining us?’ said Siegfried in a friendly tone.
She came into the room and sat next to her sister. She tucked her dress over her knees. Siegfried had a glass of schnapps beside the ashtray. He took a swift mouthful then winked at her. On one of his fingers was a gold ring.
‘Well, I suppose it’s dinnertime now,’ said Mama, reaching for her shoes.
‘Let him have his turn,’ begged Dorli.
Siegfried surveyed his hand then set down a pair of queens, which seemed to win him something because he grinned in triumph.
‘We can carry on the game later?’ said Dorli.
‘I think not,’ said Mama, looking at Siegfried. ‘You’re leaving, aren’t you?’
Siegfried nodded. ‘I must get back,’ he said. ‘The weather looks threatening. I wouldn’t want to get stuck in the mud.’ He stood with a sudden springing motion then executed a little bow. He was unlike any man Ursula had met before, smooth and charming, funny and peculiar, and he made Mama smile so that her dimples showed. In the hall, Siegfried prepared to say goodbye to Mama. Dorli appeared behind Ursula, yanked her by the arm and dragged her to the kitchen.
‘Really, Uschi,’ she scolded. ‘There’s no need to stare like a complete Dummkopf.’
Ursula grew red-faced because she supposed she had been staring without realising it and now Siegfried would think she was a simpleton, or an ill-bred country girl. She heard the guttural rev of his engine and felt ridiculous. Dorli promptly began her bustling, an irritating affectation she’d recently adopted, which Ursula assumed was preparation for being a good Hausfrau to Herr Oberndorfer. She took small, precise steps instead of loafing about like she used to do, lifted the plates from the cupboard, bending low from the waist like Mama did, except that her breasts didn’t hang like Mama’s, and her bottom wasn’t so wide.
The next day was Sunday and when Ursula went outside Schosi appeared from behind the firs, nervous and wide-eyed, stuttering a hello. She went to greet him, a welcome diversion from cleaning the henhouse. He was very jittery and refused to shake her hand – it took him a while to be calm enough to speak and she wondered if he’d lost his cat for good this time. She tried to make him more comfortable. ‘Are you looking for Simmy?’ she asked.
Schosi didn’t answer but twisted his comfort blanket around his finger with great concentration. After a while he replied with a question of his own. ‘Are you going to church today?’
‘No, we don’t go very often.’
Schosi pulled his mouth tight across his teeth – his face vibrated. ‘My mama’s gone to church. She’ll pray and sing and eat the body of Christ.’
‘That’s nice. Why don’t you go with her?’
‘Not allowed,’ he said quickly. ‘And not allowed here.’
Anton came out of the shed. He stopped and cursed when he saw Schosi.
‘Oh, let him stay,’ cajoled Ursula. ‘Just for a little while.’
‘For God’s sake.’ Anton scowled at her. ‘What’s wrong with you?’
They finished mucking out the henhouse, Schosi observing silent as a shadow. Ursula gave him the basket and told him to collect the eggs from the laying box. He did so with great care. Ursula and Anton hastily swilled and scrubbed the perches, wiped the wet away with rags an
d tossed down new straw without waiting for the coop to properly dry. Anton went to the shed and fetched his bag, which he slung over his back then they set off to the river with Schosi in tow.
Schosi had a long-legged, precarious walk and breathed like a pair of bellows so after a while Ursula took his arm and walked beside him. She felt sorry for him because he wasn’t allowed to go to church and seemed very anxious. Perhaps he was lonely.
‘Playing the good Samaritan?’ said Anton.
‘Oh, leave off!’ said Ursula, retrieving her hand from the crook of Schosi’s elbow. ‘I was just making sure he didn’t fall over.’
When they reached the pool the hole in the ice was still open, but less than half the size. It wasn’t the great wound they’d made the day before. It looked now as though it was a natural occurrence, just a gap in the ice.
