My Own Dear Brother

by Holly Müller

  On the third floor, she unlocked the door to Herr Esterbauer’s room and they went inside. Schosi was set down and the nurse lowered the boy to the bedclothes. They lay together like a pair of new lambs, ill born and scrawny. Neither boy shivered, but their flesh was deeply chilled, like dead flesh, refrigerated flesh, and Ursula knew that they were beyond shivering, worse than that.

  ‘Fetch some dry things,’ said Herr Esterbauer, still catching his breath. He went to his wardrobe. Ursula ran to hers. She returned with clothes then watched anxiously as Herr Esterbauer removed the damp blanket from around Schosi and tossed it to the floor, rolled him over and peeled the wet vest from his torso. Ribs protruded and hip bones jutted like handles from his wasted frame. The nurse put her hand to her mouth and turned away.

  ‘Can’t you help?’ snapped Herr Esterbauer. ‘Change the other boy!’

  She obeyed, flustered, and soon both were clad in warmer garments and wrapped in new blankets. They didn’t stir even for a moment while they were jogged and twisted about on the eiderdown. Ursula tried in vain to drive dread from her heart.

  ‘Wait here until we get back,’ Herr Esterbauer instructed the nurse. ‘We have to visit a neighbour who can help house us for the night.’

  The nurse agreed, still shivering, her lips bluish pink.

  ‘I’ll see if I can borrow an outfit for you also,’ he added. ‘It might be advisable to lose that uniform.’ He left the room and Ursula followed. ‘No, stay here,’ he muttered. ‘I don’t trust her alone with them. She might have a change of heart and run off.’

  Ursula re-entered the room, glad for a chance to show obedience; she closed and locked the door and pocketed the key. She perched on the foot of the bed and glared fixedly at the nurse until Herr Esterbauer’s return.

  29

  Ursula knocked quietly on Frau Wilhelm’s door, the boys lolling in the arms of Herr Esterbauer and the nurse, shielded by blankets. Their laboured breath gargled in the silent landing, magnified by bare stone. It was two in the morning. The door to the opposite apartment stood sealed and dark. Above and below, the spiral staircase curved away into blackness. Ursula’s ears strained to catch any sound and she prayed that Frau Wilhelm wouldn’t turn them away, that there wouldn’t be an air raid, forcing everyone awake and out of their beds. She raised her hand to knock again but at that moment there was a soft rattle and the door opened. Frau Wilhelm’s face appeared, eyes stretched wide and scanning the lightless landing, hair pinned into curls along her forehead. She ushered them inside and locked the door at their backs, staring at the nurse, who looked comical dressed in Frau Wilhelm’s things, too long for her by far. They were taken into the living room where the full-length, heavy curtains were drawn and tasselled lamps lighted the corners. ‘You must stay quiet,’ whispered Frau Wilhelm. ‘The walls aren’t so thick.’ She indicated a low bed on the floor made from sofa cushions, blankets and pillows. ‘For the boys.’

  Herr Esterbauer and the nurse lowered the boys on to the bed; the instant this was done, Frau Wilhelm barred the nurse with a stiff hand. The nurse backed away and lingered near to Ursula, nibbling her fingernails, eyes darting; Ursula could hear her quick breath and, though she now wore dry clothes, her incessant shivering continued.

  Frau Wilhelm covered the boys with several blankets then helped Herr Esterbauer to tuck the layers tightly beneath them.

  ‘They’ll wake up soon,’ said the nurse. ‘The Luminal will wear off.’

  Frau Wilhelm shot her a hard look then came to stand beside Ursula and leaned close to her ear, her breath stale with smoke. ‘What on earth happened that you brought one of those gorgons with you?’ She spoke just loud enough for the nurse to hear.

  Shortly, the boys began to stir. They blinked glassy-eyed, writhed and grimaced. They kicked the blankets away. Ursula went to replace them but they kicked them off again.

  ‘Why are they doing that?’ she demanded.

  ‘They’re hypothermic,’ said the nurse. ‘They feel too hot but their temperature is still too low. Wrap them again.’

  So Ursula did. Schosi whimpered and woke, eyes crusted with sleep – he stared at the ceiling with a taut expression.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ she murmured, stroking his arm through the covers.

  He looked at her blankly for a while, recognition dawning vaguely, but not completely.

  ‘It’s Uschi. Remember me?’

  A faint frown appeared between his brows; his eyes shone too brightly, his skin glistened.

  The nurse stood. ‘Let me examine him, Fräulein.’

  Frau Wilhelm pulled her back into her seat. ‘Stay where you are. You’re the last person they want to see.’

  ‘Do you live near by?’ asked Herr Esterbauer, glancing at the nurse. He’d so far refused to sit, despite Frau Wilhelm’s impatient pleas, preferring to stand, slightly stooped, his hands resting in his pockets, his face ash-grey and cheeks hollow with tiredness.

  ‘In Heizing, district thirteen.’

  ‘Will anyone notice you’re gone?’

  ‘I don’t think so. I live by myself. I’ve paid my rent for the month.’ She watched nervously as Herr Esterbauer turned to address Frau Wilhelm.

  ‘They’ll look for her there first. She’ll have to stay here.’

  Frau Wilhelm nodded. ‘At least for a day or two.’ She faced the nurse who looked anxiously back at her, like a creature that expects a beating. ‘What is your name?’

  ‘Eva. Kuster Eva.’

  ‘Eva, there’ll be ground rules. You don’t leave the apartment. You stay away from the boys.’

  The nurse nodded quickly.

  ‘Do not touch the curtains – they stay closed at all times.’ Frau Wilhelm looked at Ursula also. ‘If any of my neighbours ask about it, I’ll think of something. They’re bound to notice. Not that it matters much.’ She gave a short laugh. ‘They think I’m queer already.’

  ‘We’ll go back to the rooms, do you think? Ursula and I?’ Herr Esterbauer said. ‘So we’re not missed?’ His hands fidgeted in his pockets. ‘No. You must go to work. Someone has to look after them – and watch her.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Frau Wilhelm. ‘I should go as normal. And you should pay Frau Petschka each day, just like you usually do. Come and go here very carefully.’

  A knot of fear began to accumulate in Ursula’s throat; she thought about all the residents here, the watchful eyes and bored, gossiping tongues. She remembered the policeman topping the rise on Gütteldorfer Strasse, the old men in the stairwell, the woman with the Jew’s nose who’d greeted them. Somebody might suspect, somebody might talk; it would only take one. She swallowed, feeling strangulated. Her palms began to dampen as she imagined a rap at the door, SS with batons and black boots, or Gestapo – rough hands, raised voices, a prison cell, a concentration camp, the tall barbed-wire fence curving inwards like claws. Her voice broke out, high and thin. ‘Where do we hide? If they come?’

  ‘Shh!’ Frau Wilhelm swiftly put a finger to her lips. Her eyes looked unnaturally large in her face. ‘Stay calm, will you!’

  But later Ursula heard them talking, huddled in the kitchen while Frau Wilhelm boiled the kettle.

  ‘There’s no back door,’ Frau Wilhelm said in a low voice. ‘That’s the problem with these city hutches. There’s no hiding – no escaping.’

  ‘Well, we’ve got no other choice,’ said Herr Esterbauer.

  ‘And your people? Back home? They know what to say?’

  ‘I think so.’ Herr Esterbauer sighed. ‘I hope so.’

  That night, Ursula, Frau Wilhelm and Herr Esterbauer tended the boys at the nurse’s direction. They tipped and rolled them each hour to dislodge mucus and massaged their backs. Whenever there was a sound in the landing, Ursula froze, held her breath; footsteps on the stairs, voices approaching, rising from below – she braced herself and stared towards the door. But the sounds passed by – so far. Frau Wilhelm prepared mustard presses and placed them on the boys’ chests, the skin growing red
dened and pungent beneath. Ursula held Schosi’s hand, which felt lifeless and cool, like uncooked meat. She prayed for him, repeating endless times, ‘Spare him, Lord. Spare him.’ She fretted continually about Mama and Dorli, about Frau Hillier. Of course the authorities in Felddorf would be contacted, would be searching and questioning their families. She and Herr Esterbauer were the obvious suspects; they’d visited the hospital every day, asking for Schosi’s release. Herr Esterbauer had given his home address. He’d had no reason not to, thinking all would be accomplished above board. Dr Klein wouldn’t hesitate – he’d want them punished, would want to ensure they kept their silence. Herr Adler would’ve been dispatched, a hound on the scent. Ursula hated to think of Mama and Dorli being taken in, marched to the station, the house ransacked. Would they be locked up or sent to the camp? They’d done nothing wrong, but still, that was no guarantee.

  Before Frau Wilhelm went to bed, she smoked from the window, the curtains enclosing her to keep the fumes away from the room, to let the boys breathe. When she’d finished, she bade them goodnight and went to her bedroom. Ursula curled up on the sofa beneath a musty eiderdown and lay looking at the shadowy shapes around her, the chairs and table and Frau Wilhelm’s bookshelves. She missed Anton though she couldn’t picture him; he seemed more remote than ever. She knew she should try to get a few hours’ sleep. She closed her eyes but her veins buzzed and her mind kept moving, running ahead of her like a tireless animal over a landscape that went on and on, full of danger. Eva lay on the other sofa, her face turned away, her knees drawn up. Herr Esterbauer kept watch, another dark outline in the nearby chair.

  By day, the glow of sun through the dark curtain fabric stained the walls tea-brown. Ursula played with Schosi’s hair and sang his favourite hymns under her breath to comfort him. She wanted to be there whenever he woke. She kept thinking he’d stopped breathing. She watched for the rise and fall of his chest; she bent close to his face, waiting for the tickle of exhaled air.

  Eva hunched in a chair in the corner of the room, feet tucked under her skirt. Her expression was downcast; her fingers played gently and incessantly with the ends of her hair. Her melancholy added to the gloom of the sunless flat, and to Ursula’s apprehension. Herr Esterbauer read the paper, often staring at one page for ten minutes at a time. Frau Wilhelm had left early that morning and wouldn’t be home from work till dinnertime; she’d bring food and an extra blanket for Ursula, who’d shivered till dawn. But now it was too stuffy. The oil heaters blazed to warm the boys, the oil giving off a rancid smell. Ursula longed for the window to be opened, for a fresh breeze. It was like hiding in a linen cupboard, she thought, stifling, breathing the hot, dry air. But noise travelled with remarkable clarity from open windows across the courtyard. She’d listened many times to the sounds of other lives over the weeks. She’d heard the old couple from their ground-floor apartment bickering and slamming doors; the boisterous family above, singing, crying, whistling, belching; wireless radios playing different tunes one on top of the other; the man who sneezed like a huge dog barking.

  ‘I hope Frau Hillier keeps her head,’ said Herr Esterbauer from behind his paper. ‘I hope she’s had the good sense to burn my telegrams.’ He couldn’t risk sending another to her – it might be tracked. ‘She’ll fear the worst. But she’s a sensible woman.’ He took his tobacco pouch out of his pocket with shaking hands then put it back. He couldn’t smoke, not until the early hours. ‘I thought I’d be able to talk them round.’ He looked across at Schosi, who’d opened his eyes, one thin arm hanging from under the covers and resting on the floor. ‘Didn’t I? My little man?’ Schosi gazed over at him, as if watching a cloud drifting far away. ‘But it’s all different now.’

  Eva broke her reverie and rose from her seat. She crossed the room and disappeared into the kitchen. Herr Esterbauer stared after her. A second later, there was the gush of running water. Ursula’s skin tingled all over in alarm. She jumped up and dashed into the kitchen. Eva was lowering a dirty plate into the dish water. Ursula yanked her out of the way and turned off the tap as fast as she could.

  ‘Stupid!’ she hissed.

  Eva’s mouth hung ajar. Suds streamed from her fingers on to the floor. ‘I’m sorry!’ she said, eyes filling with tears. ‘I’m sorry!’ She gulped as if she’d run out of air and put her wet hands to her face. ‘I’m sorry!’ she sobbed again. She repeated the harrowed apology many times, not to Ursula exactly, maybe to God or someone she was thinking of. Ursula wondered whether she should offer her a hanky. She left the kitchen and let her grieve.

  Several more days passed and the boys gradually improved, regaining their appetites. The first time Schosi spoke was while Ursula was combing his hair. His weak, cracked tone sounded like an elderly person’s.

  ‘Little bear,’ he said.

  Her heart thudded with joy and she gripped his hand.

  ‘Where’s my mama?’

  ‘Your mama’s at home.’ She gave what she hoped was a reassuring smile. ‘You need to rest. Then you can see her. All right?’

  She took to lying at the foot of Schosi’s bed, drawing pictures to entertain the two boys, leaning on an atlas belonging to Frau Wilhelm. Schosi’s friend was awake now too and had introduced himself as Moritz. When Ursula asked which animal the boys would like to see, Schosi always called ‘Cat!’ or ‘Cow!’ and Moritz ‘Aeroplane!’ or ‘Car!’ not caring much for animals or perhaps not having seen many. She drew the requested thing in an amusing way and showed it to them but the boys coughed painfully if they laughed too much so she couldn’t do it for long.

  Frau Wilhelm liked to tend to Moritz and called him a poor, dear little thing.

  ‘And Moritz, where’s your family?’ Frau Wilhelm had asked one evening while feeding him spoonfuls of soup.

  He’d slashed a finger across his neck, a strange gesture to use when talking of his own relations.

  ‘Oh dear.’ Frau Wilhelm had looked sorrowful. She murmured, ‘He’s had so little care. Where will he go after this?’ Then she read to the boys from one of her mould-speckled books. It looked as though it hadn’t been opened for a hundred years. Moritz nestled into the crook of her arm and a pink tint rose into Frau Wilhelm’s cheeks. She kept reading and Ursula closed her eyes and listened with pleasure to the hushed narration and whisper of pages.

  It wasn’t long before Frau Wilhelm decided that Moritz must stay with her.

  ‘I might even adopt him,’ she declared one morning as she nibbled her breakfast, leaning against the kitchen work surface. ‘I can pretend I found him on the street – a waif and stray – and took pity.’

  She beamed at Herr Esterbauer and Ursula, dropped her breakfast things into the sink with a splash, and left for work. They heard her descend the stairs at a brisk pace then, faintly – it might have been she – someone started singing as they crossed the courtyard.

  Moritz got up on the afternoon of the fifth day and went to the window. Ursula and Herr Esterbauer were in the kitchen preparing mustard presses when they heard Eva hiss out, ‘Stay away from the curtain, child!’

  When Ursula arrived in the room, Eva was half raised from her seat. Moritz yelled and dodged away from Eva, tottering perilously. He shouted something at her, but his voice was slurred. Ursula hurried to him and took his arm and led him back to bed, hushing him. His eyes didn’t leave Eva for a second; he glared, breathing as rapidly as a cat and it took Ursula several minutes to calm him. But he started off again as soon as Eva got up to go to the toilet and neared the bed. This time Ursula heard what he said: the word ‘Murderer!’ repeated over and over, with barely a pause in between, a continuous string of sound in a high keening note that made Ursula shudder. Herr Esterbauer came hurrying in. He knelt and clamped his hand over Moritz’s mouth. Moritz’s nostrils flared and his eyes bulged. Eva ran into Frau Wilhelm’s bedroom and hid there, until Moritz was asleep.

  Eva left late that night. Moritz had set up his eerie, accusing cry whenever he clapped eyes on her and the
re was no avoiding each other in the small flat. She must pass him and he would bring the police to their door as sure as anything if it continued. She told them she planned to flee Vienna as fast as possible.

  ‘And where will you go?’ asked Frau Wilhelm.

  ‘I suppose I’ll try to get back to Germany.’ Eva stared around at them briefly, intensely, her eyes glinting. ‘You don’t have to worry. I’ll say nothing. If I’m caught it’s my punishment to take.’ She straightened her back. ‘Thank you for your hospitality – for protecting me.’ Her whole frame was stiff and her lips were bloodless. She was trying to sound brave but her voice quaked. ‘I’ll have to give a false name, or something, won’t I?’

  ‘It might be wise,’ said Frau Wilhelm.

  They wished her good luck then she slipped away.

  Afterwards, the rest of them sat in silence, Ursula’s mind whirring with worry, her body braced in the chair, alert. Were they fools to trust her?

  30

  The road was silent, striated black and white with wheel tracks in the snow. The only light was from the moon and stars. Schosi warily eyed the murk that clustered at the foot of walls and trees. Herr Esterbauer pushed the key under the lip of the apartment-block door then looked up at the windows shuttered tight against the weather. Schosi looked too and became instantly dizzy. Were these the pavilions of Hartburg? He gripped Ursula’s hand, expecting to see a nurse any moment or a blue-covered trolley. As they set off walking, an image of Aldo flashed into his mind – his friend with palm outstretched, offering his Oma’s shell. They followed the steep street downwards, the pavement slippery with ice and uneven lumps of snow.

  Schosi had been told he was going home, but he couldn’t believe it, nor picture it, nor even think about it yet. He was too tired – his body demanded all his energy just to keep walking and to avoid falling down. When they turned a corner and the view opened out before him he stopped and refused to walk on – the indistinct buildings stretched to the horizon, the moonlight picking out spires and domes amongst an endless mass of walls and roads. He wanted to return to the flat and to his friend Moritz. But Ursula and the farmer made him keep moving, their boots stamping firmly into the snow to find purchase, holding him upright and catching him every time he lost his footing.