My Own Dear Brother

by Holly Müller

  Ursula seemed restless. She kept swivelling to peer behind her and averted her face whenever she saw a figure on the opposite pavement. There were few people – it was too early for most, long before sunrise. They aimed to catch the very first train.

  ‘Damn well hope there’s no setback at the station,’ muttered Herr Esterbauer.

  Before long Schosi was too weary to walk. Herr Esterbauer hoisted him on to his back and Schosi laid his head on the farmer’s shoulders, which were tilted forward to form a plateau. He felt safe and soon slept, the rocking of the broad body lulling him, reminding him of the time he’d been put on to Herr Esterbauer’s white carthorse, its body so wide that his legs couldn’t span it, and he’d lain prone as if atop a moving building as the docile creature had plodded across the field.

  He woke in the compartment of a train, though he didn’t recognise it as such. He was lying on a leather bench and Herr Esterbauer had spread his coat over him as a blanket. Ursula’s thigh was beside his head and one of her hands rested on his shoulder. He sat up.

  ‘We’re almost at Brauhausen,’ said Herr Esterbauer quietly. ‘Then we have to walk. Heaven knows how long it will take.’

  Ursula smiled at Schosi, a tight, small movement of her mouth, her hands clasped in her lap. After a while, she went to the window and raised the blind; on the other side of the glass was the night.

  ‘Have you ever been on a train before?’ she asked him. She brought him to stand beside her and opened the window, admitting a lashing stream of air that took the breath clean out of his lungs.

  ‘Don’t get him cold, Uschi! Away from there!’

  ‘Just for a second,’ she said.

  ‘Only a second. He can’t take much more.’

  She held Schosi’s shoulders and they leaned together out of the window and watched the land go by. He stared, astonished; the whole world hammered and roared under a magnesium moon. Wind whipped his hair, stung his forehead – shapes flickered, trees, hills, telephone poles and white-roofed sheds. Far off, clouds came over the horizon like colossal blue-black fish.

  ‘I almost think Toni might be waiting for me at home,’ yelled Ursula above the noise. She wrapped her arm around his waist and held him steady. ‘But you won’t want to talk about him!’ She was quiet for a moment then added, ‘You’ll be all right.’ It sounded like a question.

  Uschi, he thought, Uschi – he heard her name in the puffing steam that whirled above.

  The forest enclosed them, dense as a wall.

  There were no policemen waiting at Brauhausen station, no one there at all aside from a wizened old employee who warmed himself beside a small heater in the ticket booth. He watched them pass with hooded, yellowing eyes. Ursula was glad once they were out of the station building and into the street; she’d be gladder still to be in the countryside.

  As they set off through the unlit back streets, Schosi’s teeth chattered and Herr Esterbauer looked left and right at crossings, not for vehicles but for people, early risers or night-shift workers on their way home. A few passed them, and Ursula pulled her headscarf forward, lowered her gaze to the pavement. She wished they could have caught the bus. She felt exposed, a fierce, gusting wind pinning her skirt to her legs and making her head ache. The journey would take several hours and they’d reach Felddorf after sun-up, a risk she dreaded, but Herr Esterbauer said they mustn’t be seen by anyone travelling to Felddorf either. Some factory workers went by bus from Brauhausen to Felddorf and might spot them. People would talk. They must appear to return alone, with no Schosi. The story they’d give when questioned would be that they were turned away at Hartburg and eventually left disappointed. They hoped a convenient conclusion would be drawn: that the Hillier boy had escaped into the city with the other missing child, perhaps with the help of the young nurse who’d disappeared in the middle of her shift.

  From the edge of town, the road curved ahead through farmland, a grey ribbon in the pre-dawn light. They walked along it for a wearying time. Ursula’s boots chafed and it was very cold, the snow deep on the verges. They took to the fields as soon as the sky began to lighten. Here, they watched for farmers and their dogs that started work at daybreak. They kept to the trees where they could. The soil was solid beneath the snow, hard as stone, clogged with ice, tripping them, sliding beneath their soles. The ground looked as if nothing would ever grow from it again. Schosi walked too but he was slow and after a while he would lose strength entirely and need to be carried. Herr Esterbauer lifted him, panting with fatigue; Schosi slept and coughed.

  When they saw the first recognisable houses, the sun was seeping over the mountains with a wintry apricot glow. Herr Esterbauer chose a circuitous route, following a small footpath – a detour of several kilometres that cut through wooded hills. They gave the village a wide berth. Ursula’s belly squealed and burned with hunger and she was light-headed but she felt she wouldn’t be able to eat a bite; her heart thumped now that they were nearly home. She feared so much – hoped too. She thought of her mother and sister. With God’s help, let them be safe. If they could just get Schosi to the storage hut, deep in Herr Esterbauer’s land. She quailed on behalf of her friend. He’d hate it – the darkness, the loneliness; he’d be so frightened. But it was the only way. She ignored the pain of her blisters, her steps silenced on the carpet of needles as they passed amongst the pines. She glanced often at the trees behind, scanning for movement – for hunters or gamekeepers. The skinny trunks, straight as javelins, appeared to flicker.

  It was almost ten in the morning by the time they neared the camp, the River Traisen curving fast and strong through the valley and forcing them close; to ford the freezing water would be too dangerous. From the top of a long, undulating slope they looked down on the familiar barbed-wire fence, the watchtowers, the huts inside; there were no trees to shield them here. They progressed at a steady plod, Schosi propped on Herr Esterbauer’s left hip so that he’d be less visible if a guard were to scan the hillside with binoculars. Ursula kept to his right to provide further cover. From here, the guards in the watchtowers were invisible, the prisoners’ huts small as matchboxes, but Ursula felt afraid, a skin-prickling fear that made her throat dry, her body prepared to run; she waited for a shout, a gunshot, sprinting figures. They reached the other side of the hill and passed out of view of the camp.

  Schosi woke when Herr Esterbauer stopped outside a small wooden shed. He flexed his fingers, which felt numb, and gazed around. Near by, a bird hopped across the frozen crust of the snow. It stopped a little way off and croaked a greeting. Schosi stared. It was one of the Hartburg crows with black plumage and grey beak. Had it followed him here? the bird flapped away when Ursula unlocked the shed’s rattling padlock. Schosi was relieved but at the same time was sorry to see it go. Herr Esterbauer set Schosi down then guided him towards the shed’s open door; little bear went through it first, beckoning and smiling. Schosi followed. Inside was a pitch black space and he caught a dank odour that reminded him of the cellar in his house. No daylight showed between the overlapping planks that made up the walls. As his eyes adjusted to the light, more of the interior revealed itself: a clutter of items, tools leaning and hanging from hooks, sagging straw bales heaped in the corner, the golden strands speckled with mould. Sacks like rows of dumpy men hunched along the floor. Herr Esterbauer gave him bread and cheese, a raw carrot.

  ‘Stay here,’ the farmer said. ‘And be quiet. Don’t call out or make any noise. Don’t meddle with things. You have to leave the tools alone.’ Schosi eyed the spiked pitchforks and soil-clotted rakes, the hoes, dibbers, scythes, sickles and spades. They made unnerving shapes on the wall. He was afraid of Herr Esterbauer’s strict tone. ‘Can you do that?’ Herr Esterbauer was staring sternly at him. Schosi nodded. ‘I’ll come back after dark. I’ll bring your mama.’

  ‘Be brave,’ said Ursula, hugging him. ‘No crying.’

  ‘Sit there.’ Herr Esterbauer pointed to the straw.

  The bale was damp under Scho
si’s backside.

  ‘Good lad.’

  They went out and locked the door. Blackness dropped over him like a cloak.

  Ursula and Herr Esterbauer descended the hill to the farm. The cows were lowing as they entered the yard and there were the Polish women, scraping away the snow with broad shovels and brushes. Mama was there too with gigantic belly and hair tightly bound in a scarf, arms exposed to the biting air. She stooped over her shovel, heat in her face from strenuous work, and didn’t notice Ursula until she stood before her. She swore and clapped a hand to her mouth. Then she wrapped Ursula in a tight hug, the belly between them.

  ‘You stupid girl!’ She drew back. ‘You’re very bad.’ Then she looked at Herr Esterbauer, questioning and tense.

  Herr Esterbauer gave a slight nod. Mama breathed out.

  Dorli came out of the barn. She ran to Ursula and hugged her. Ursula realised that her own face was wet with tears – she must have started crying when she saw her mama. They went into the warm farmhouse kitchen where Herr Esterbauer’s mother slept, blanketed, in an armchair and it felt good under the heavy beams with the fire crackling inside the Kachelofen, a familiar smell of cow manure, wood smoke and raw milk filling the room. Dorli kept an arm around Ursula’s shoulder and offered her a handkerchief.

  ‘You’re in so much trouble,’ she said happily.

  ‘Is there any word from Anton?’

  Dorli shook her head.

  Mama sliced bread, gripping the loaf to her pumpkin belly and pulling the blade towards her middle, a method that always made Ursula flinch. Mama told Herr Esterbauer about the visits they’d had from Herr Adler. Dorli chipped in here and there to say how awful it had been. Herr Adler had demanded to know where Ursula was and why she’d gone with the farmer to the city. Was she a particular friend of the Hillier boy? Were they sweethearts?

  Ursula blushed. To think people might be saying that about her in school.

  Mama said Herr Adler had called her an atrocious mother. She’d been getting plenty of long looks in the village. The house had been searched twice. Frau Hillier was summoned to the station; Herr Esterbauer’s mother had been interrogated in this room and she’d wept, confused and frightened.

  Ursula sat down in the second armchair opposite Herr Esterbauer’s mother; she tucked her feet up on the seat and watched the old woman’s slack mouth, which puffed outwards with every exhale. Worry stirred in her belly as she thought abstractedly of what lay ahead, but she was so tired; her eyelids were heavy and her mind fogged, her body incredibly weary. She shut her eyes and allowed herself to drift. She thought about her brother. She imagined he was at home, waiting for her, or tending to his gun in the shed. Surely she’d see him soon. She’d hear his voice calling her, saying he was glad she was back.

  A loud rattle startled Schosi from sleep. He sat up on top of the straw bales and stared towards the entrance of the shed, heart thumping. The door lurched open, admitting a rush of freezing air. He couldn’t see anything – the blackness outside was deep – but he heard footsteps and heavy breath coming into the hut and then the door was closed with a bang, stopping the draught. A second later a voice quavered through the dark.

  ‘Schatzi? My love?’

  A match flared. He was momentarily dazzled. A lantern was lit, two figures caught in its amber glow. One of them came towards him. He recognised her thick form in its many layers with its heavy-legged, limping gait, the headscarf tied around her face like a bun wrapped in cloth. He felt a strange kind of pain. He couldn’t speak. The joy of seeing her paralysed him. He struggled to stand, his muscles locked with cold. Then her breath fell all over his face and kisses rained down on his cheeks.

  ‘My mouse, my dear, dear boy, my little rabbit!’ She wept and squeezed him to her.

  ‘Gently. He’s frail,’ said Herr Esterbauer.

  There were more frenzied kisses. ‘Oh, my little one! What have they done to you?’ She made a loud sobbing sound, gulping as she tried to control the noise she made. She stayed holding on to him, kissing him and crying. Schosi reached his arms around her, which set off more of her wild sobs.

  After a while, Herr Esterbauer said quietly, ‘I’ll go on back to the farm. Stay as long as you like.’ He placed an empty bucket on the floor, some pieces of newspaper, a cushion, a thick roll of blankets. From a bag on his back he got out three jars of water, a loaf, some cheese and boiled eggs, a jar of preserved vegetables, a section of salami, an enamel plate and cup, some cutlery. He brought out a small metal churn of milk and set it down with a clonk. He straightened. ‘Just make certain you’re not seen.’

  Schosi’s mama disentangled herself from her son; she stood and went to Herr Esterbauer. She put her arms around him and kissed him several times on his cheeks and then on his lips. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘Thank you a thousand times.’

  Herr Esterbauer bowed his head, buried his face in her neck and closed his eyes.

  Part Three

  31

  It was late March 1945 when people began to talk incessantly about the Russians. Those with family in the Alps bought handcarts from the farmers, loaded them with things, and fled. Rumour had it that the Red Army was already in Austria, the first of the Allies to arrive; there was no chance any more it would be the Americans. The Soviets had swept westwards across Europe in a quickening tide, ferocious, undisciplined, chaotic, absorbing the formerly German territories. One night, the headmaster of Felddorf school packed as much as he could into a truck transporting manure, crawled with his family beneath the canvas that covered the foul-smelling load, and was driven away. Another teacher disappeared the next day, a panicky escape, his house door left open behind him. After that, the school was closed; the church was crammed with rows of kneeling people, spilling off the pews and filling the entranceway. Information was scarce; scraps, sporadic and late, came from the local paper, but that was all. The best place to catch up on hearsay was in the crowd around the water pump. Ursula fetched water daily for the Hildesheims and Frau Hillier, and for Schosi too. The pipes in the houses had dried. Some of the farmers had springs, but they were few.

  Much of the news she couldn’t understand. People spoke quickly and all on top of one another so that she often gave up and listened to her thoughts instead. But she heard that Wiener Neustadt and Baden were overrun and that Russian tanks would any day now reach Vienna. So close to Felddorf that it was difficult to believe, though the guns could be heard, a constant rumble, the air moving, grumbling. A dull orange glow lit the north-eastern horizon, a dual sunset at dusk. The Wehrmacht and People’s Army were under orders to fight till the last. Hitler’s deluded conceit, the villagers muttered. Ursula prayed for Siegfried but mostly for Anton, full of terror for him. The SS were executing deserters and hanging their bodies in the streets. In each direction: death. ‘And for all this we thank the Führer,’ someone remarked at the water pump, the once worshipful slogan turned on its head.

  Ursula delivered the water at home then went to the Hillier house where she left a bucket on the doorstep. Every other day she took a bucket to Schosi at his hut. For three months he’d been carefully concealed though the search for him had been abandoned some time ago. The bomb strike on the Felddorf factory and railway line had come ten days after Ursula and Herr Esterbauer had arrived home, and in a grim sense this had been their good fortune. The village was thrown into uproar – several houses had been flattened, killing three families. The factory was partially hit – some of the workers were injured and equipment was damaged. Frau Hillier was thankfully unharmed but production stopped. The calamity demanded the attention of the authorities and so the questioning of Herr Esterbauer and Ursula was interrupted. Ursula waited nervously for Herr Adler’s severe knock to rattle the door once more, but it didn’t come. Funerals were arranged for the dead; the wreckage was slowly cleared, the factory restored; gossip had veered on to the subject of the bombing, away from the intrigue about the Esterbauers, Hildesheims and Hilliers. And meanwhile Schosi stayed
locked in his shed. The war came closer week by week; uncertainty hung over them all. The line of enquiry was never picked up again. Perhaps their story had even been believed.

  Along with the water, which Ursula carried to Schosi after dark, she brought him things to eat, toys and pictures she’d drawn to brighten his dingy walls. She took away the bucket he used as a chamber pot, emptied it in the nearby woods then returned, feeling her way in the darkness. She led him in his exercises; he mirrored her: bending, stretching, lifting his knees to his chest, rotating his arms twenty times in each direction. He’d regained much of the weight he’d lost at Hartburg. She kept watch outside while he jumped up and down and ran back and forth inside the shed and occasionally allowed him to walk beside her along the edge of the field to feel the breeze, her arm tight through his, eyes roving the dark land around them. She doubted he’d try to run away, but she couldn’t take any risks. She coaxed him back into the shed with a promise to stay for another hour and read to him. He lay on his makeshift bed, pale as a horseradish, not having seen the sun for so long. She stroked his hair, the wiry curls flattening beneath her hand then springing free. He asked her questions.

  ‘Where’s Simmy? What’s my mama doing? When will she come?’

  Ursula replied that his mama would come soon. Frau Hillier visited as often as possible without arousing suspicion.

  It was consoling, for the most part, to be with him, a steady presence when everything else seemed to shift and change by the day, but she couldn’t talk to him about how much she worried for her brother and sometimes he behaved oddly, shouting as if he didn’t know her, or hitting her with reddened face then turning rigid. There followed a lock-limbed, wide-eyed fit of whimpering, tears coursing down his cheeks, which were now speckled with sparse, wispy hairs. He asked for Moritz then, and another: Aldo.