My Own Dear Brother

by Holly Müller

  ‘Crazy woman!’ said Mama, ignoring her. ‘What are you going on about? Not much good fortune happens around here. We want you to be happy.’

  Frau Hillier gave an exasperated sigh and left the house.

  Ursula grabbed Dorli’s sleeve. ‘How long does it take to walk thirty kilometres?’

  ‘I don’t know. But they have vehicles.’

  ‘Will they come to the houses?’ Ursula followed Dorli as she began upstairs. ‘What will they do?’

  ‘Don’t ask me!’ Her voice turned shrill and unkind. ‘I don’t know everything!’ She stomped off then called from the landing, ‘Of course they’ll come to the houses!’

  Ursula shadowed Mama in her tasks. She tried to suppress the churning of her stomach. She helped with Traudi, changing her whenever the hideous green paste appeared in her nappy, bathing her and feeding her on cow’s milk. She tucked her into the basket in front of the Tirolia, kissed her belly, soft as rabbits’ ears and smelling of soap. Then she distracted herself further by musing about Frau Hillier and Herr Esterbauer. It was such a pity – if they married then perhaps one day Schosi could live safely on the farm. They’d all be happy and Frau Hillier would be much better off. What on earth was her reason? It couldn’t be because she disliked the farmer. They loved to be together, to lean against a gate, or sit beneath a tree, enjoying the last of the evening sun while sipping Herr Esterbauer’s home-brewed beer. Ursula had passed them on many occasions in the past so she knew they often stayed out until the shadows were long and the temperature fell, talking and watching the view with half-closed eyes. She wanted them to be like this always – a family full of patient love, the kind she’d never known herself. Why couldn’t it happen?

  She went to wash Traudi’s dirtied nappies in the scullery. She scrubbed until her knuckles ached in the cold water and her skin was abraded by the harsh bristled brush, but she couldn’t completely remove the stains from the white towelling, nor the trepidation she felt, like pressure building, because all things had descended into disorder and the future was full of unknowable endings made up of who would die and who would not, who would be lonely or sad, who would suffer or be punished, and who would be close to her or lost to her for ever. After a while she stopped trying to think of anything at all because it exhausted her. She went outside and hung the sullied squares in the cherry tree like flags of surrender.

  33

  Ursula was at the grocer’s and had almost reached the counter when she heard a cry from the street. A farmer from the outskirts of Felddorf sprinted with pounding feet, dark-faced with exertion, his clothes in disarray. He’d shouted himself nearly hoarse. ‘The Russians! They’re here. On the edge of the village. Inside! Inside!’

  Ursula registered his words with horror. She’d been sent alone to the shop; Traudi was ill, vomiting and feverish. Dorli too was pale and sweating with a bowl at her bedside. Now the worst had happened. She backed against the counter as shoppers jostled around her. She’d not put the wine-stained cloth into her underwear. She was unprepared. A woman shoved her aside to reach the shop exit then burst into the street. She ran then stopped and whirled about and ran in the opposite direction. Another woman hurried out also, calling someone’s name loudly and repeatedly. Ursula’s body jangled throughout; she felt an overwhelming urge to sprint but her legs grew strangely heavy like bags of sand and she found herself standing while others flowed about her. Herr Wemmel, the grocer, craned his neck to watch the hollering farmer, who was heading for the Rathaus and fountain. ‘Christ in Heaven!’ swore Herr Wemmel. He undid his apron and threw it on to the countertop. He went to the doorway. ‘Jesus and Mary!’ He seemed only able to curse and gape like a carp. He turned to Ursula, now the only customer remaining. ‘Go home!’ he said. ‘Go to your family.’ And with that he shepherded her outside. ‘Quickly!’ He closed the door, shutting himself inside. He pulled the bolt and dropped the blind in the window.

  Her route demanded she walk in the wake of the sprinting farmer, whose figure she could still just about see, legs unsteady as a drunk’s, for he wasn’t a young man. She wondered why she didn’t run too. Others scurried hither and thither. She ought to flee; her blood was quick with fear. But she hesitated. She realised that, despite it all, she was curious. She wanted to see them – the nightmarish villains who’d filled every thought and conversation for so many weeks and months. How would they look and what would they do? They must be more fearsome than anything. But where was her sense? She should go without delay to warn her family. She walked a little faster.

  Soon there was no one else in the street, all the doors of the houses closed. Sepp’s house too was quiet when she reached it. She looked for a face behind the modest curtains. In the adjacent homes a few people stood in the entrances to their balconies. She glanced up at them and thought that there was an unusual peace in Felddorf just then, in the appealing buildings with spring sunshine striking the bright roofs, the swept steps and trimmed bushes, the dome of the church tranquil against the sky. A leaf caught on a spider’s thread hung from a hedge and twirled in the breeze, appearing to float two inches above the ground. She watched its silent rotation.

  From the camp, twenty metres away, shouts erupted. Then a volley of shots cracked the air. Ursula jumped and turned round. She could make out little through the trees that lined the fence; she was glad because she didn’t want to see what was happening there. Everyone knew that a large hole had been dug in the centre of the camp two days ago; they’d all guessed what it was for. Then there was the low growl of engines and the people on the balcony turned their heads to watch the road. One of them gestured to Ursula, an urgent flapping of hands. The engine sound grew nearer; the leaf on its invisible filament danced. Her heart accelerated in sudden terror. She should have fled with the others! She looked frantically around. Where could she hide? She must find somewhere! A man came round the corner on a bicycle. He rode fast. Another man followed and then another, until there were at least ten men on bicycles, approaching in ragged formation. An army vehicle roared into sight. More came behind until the road was filled with squat dark shapes, the smoke of exhausts. The growling racket bounced off the buildings. Ursula dashed over to a nearby flower border and crouched behind its low wall. A scant hiding place but her only option. She pulled her hands into her sleeves so that her pale skin was concealed. She got ready to cover her face and peered through the manicured conifers that grew in the border.

  After a few moments, when it sounded as though the vehicles were nearly upon her, the wheels of the bicycles rushed by, the engine noise drowning out the whirr of their tyres. Voices were raised briefly above the din, a harsh staccato shout and raucous laugh. Ursula had heard that foreign language in the Weekly Update and on the radio. She tried to see the faces of the cyclists but the bushes obscured everything except their long boots that rotated on pedals, scuffed and grey with dust, khaki-patterned breeches tucked into boot-tops. The Soviets rode a random assortment of old and new bikes, some designed for ladies, others rusted and with a German brand name written on the frame. Next, the vehicles lumbered past, their huge tyre treads grinding the stones – stiff gusts of smoke blew into Ursula’s face and the ground vibrated.

  The Russians continued towards the centre of the village and then the engines grew suddenly much quieter. Ursula peered warily out from behind the bush. The vehicles were parked outside the Rathaus in clear view, their motors running – the cyclists gone. People emerged on to doorsteps, curtains twitched. Then from Sepp’s house came a hurrying Frau Sontheimer. She went directly towards the Russians and began to wave; Ursula stared in alarm. Didn’t Frau Sontheimer know the Soviets were dangerous? She shouldn’t go dashing towards them like that! She’d be shot!

  Red Army soldiers jumped from the parked vehicles – the guns they held were large and angular. They met Frau Sontheimer in the road.

  ‘Welcome! Welcome!’ She spoke slowly, just audible above the engines. ‘I am so glad you have come!’

 
; The Russians watched her in silence.

  ‘I have waited for years. Welcome!’

  One of the soldiers stepped forward, a short man with concave cheeks. ‘Watch!’ He gestured that she should show him her wrist. Frau Sontheimer hesitated then lifted her cuff to reveal her wristwatch. ‘Watch! Give!’ commanded the Russian. Frau Sontheimer paused again then unfastened her watch and held it out. The Russian snatched it and dropped it into his pocket. ‘Bread! Give!’ Frau Sontheimer looked back at her house. Sepp lingered in the doorway.

  ‘Have we any bread, Josef?’ she called, her refined voice rather unsteady.

  Sepp disappeared then appeared a moment later and raised his hands to show they were empty.

  ‘Come, Frau! Bread!’ the Russian demanded again.

  Frau Sontheimer looked around her in panic. Ursula touched the bread in her bag that she’d collected from Herr Wemmel, heavy and precious; she didn’t know when they might get more. But she wanted to help Frau Sontheimer and Sepp, to make amends for what they’d suffered with the inspections. She sneaked closer, keeping to the edge of the road. The rest of the soldiers had begun to dismount and were creating quite an uproar, all talking and calling to one another. A tall Russian who appeared to be in charge shouted directions above the commotion. There was none of the orderly saluting lines and tight-lipped obedience of the Wehrmacht. When Ursula was close enough to see the stubble on the chins of the soldiers, one of them spotted her, pointed, and several heads swivelled to stare. Frau Sontheimer stared too; she licked her lips and shook her head very slightly. Ursula clutched the bread to her front like a shield. When she was a few metres nearer, she took it out of the bag. ‘Here,’ she said to Frau Sontheimer. She tossed it.

  ‘Go!’ hissed Frau Sontheimer as she caught the parcel. ‘Go home!’

  Ursula backed away and watched as Frau Sontheimer handed the bread to the short hollow-cheeked soldier. The soldier passed it to the commanding Russian who was broad and deep-chested with pale blue eyes and thick barley-blond hair; he wore a long coat and stars on his hat. Below the hat his eyebrows were so light that they looked as if they’d been bleached by the sun. Ursula thought he was like one of Hitler’s beautiful men but in the wrong uniform.

  The other soldiers observed her from the far side of the vehicles, their eyes set deep and close together in sun-darkened faces, their bony brows giving them a brooding look, intense and serious. They were thin and their uniforms ill-fitting; long belted khaki tunics over breeches that billowed at the thigh. They wore narrow caps tilted forward, pointing towards their prominent noses. One of the men looked very different to the others; he had an ugly flat face, very brown and round like a plate with eyes that were barely open, as if he’d been beaten and they swelled shut. His hat was round and pointed on top like an onion. Ursula had never seen a person who looked like him.

  Frau Sontheimer came and took hold of her arm. She led her firmly inside her house. The Russians meanwhile began more shouting and gesticulating and soon a large group of them set off on foot towards the camp, jogging with guns braced. Another party went towards the Rathaus and a few began to manoeuvre the vehicles in the road.

  ‘Why did you greet them like that?’ said Ursula to Frau Sontheimer as she was brought into the polished pine hallway. ‘Like friends?’

  ‘Come out of the road. There’ll be trouble now.’

  Sepp appeared on the stairs. He smiled at Ursula where she stood with her muddy feet nestling in the white sheepskin rug, shedding black crumbs and bits of grass. She wondered if he thought her a terrible coward for running away from Herr Adler last time they met. But he wouldn’t think of that now.

  ‘I can’t stay. I have to go and tell my family.’ The disgraceful Hildesheims – and here she was polluting their house. She glanced out of the door to see what the Russians were doing but glimpsed nothing more. Frau Sontheimer quietly closed it.

  ‘It’s not safe yet. You must wait here for a while.’ Frau Sontheimer tried to usher her into the living room but she refused, feeling far too dirty to step into the smart room. She wanted to escape the plush, ordered house entirely, but daren’t. Her sense of shame made her mean. She shouldn’t feel so undeserving and low, she thought, because it turned out Anton had been right about the Sontheimers.

  ‘Take these, dear.’ Frau Sontheimer held out a box of crackers. ‘In exchange for the bread.’ Red and purple bruises ringed her wrists.

  ‘Did the Russians do that?’ asked Ursula.

  ‘No,’ said Sepp, ‘it happened during an inspection. That day when I saw you.’

  She looked for marks on Sepp’s wrists too and felt guilty again, though it became harder and harder to feel true anger towards her brother. Her loyalty stirred now and made her defensive; he’d only done what he thought right.

  ‘Well, let’s hope the Russians are a little better than what we’ve been used to,’ said Frau Sontheimer briskly. She moved to the window and gazed towards the camp. ‘But we’ll see.’ Another crackle of shots came, sharp and distant-sounding.

  Frau Sontheimer insisted that Ursula come to the table and eat one of the crackers. ‘You look very pale, dear,’ she said, guiding her by the arm.

  Sepp sat opposite, fidgeting and quiet, while Frau Sontheimer seated herself. Frau Sontheimer began to pray. Ursula nibbled the cracker and took pains not to meet Sepp’s eye. It would be too bad to be struck by his prettiness at such a time. She listened to the drone of Frau Sontheimer’s incantations; the starched tablecloth scratched against her legs. She had to get out of here, to go to her family. They knew nothing at home – oblivious, ill and vulnerable. She tried to be still. The neat, safe, sober room made her somehow more agitated. She put down her cracker, pushed her chair back; before Frau Sontheimer could finish her prayer, she dashed out of the living room and through the front door, bashing it closed behind her, calling ‘Thank you!’ as she went. She only glanced back once she was some way down the street. Sepp’s face was at the window, a smudge behind the net curtain.

  Trees swayed along the camp fence, their leaves rustling boisterously. She ran fast, past the Russians in the road, the crowd outside the police station, where Herr Adler hollered hateful words, held by several Red Army soldiers. A thickset soldier belted him across the face but he kept on screaming threats and condemnations. Ursula reached the beginning of the track. She hoped none of the Russians had gone that way. She ran onwards, leaping over stones, dodging thistles. She still flinched with the oppressive anxiety she’d felt in the Sontheimer house. She’d not tell her family about the bread; Mama would certainly beat her for taking such a risk. She passed the Fingerlos place – Gabriel the dog was in the yard, his ears pricked towards the village.

  When she reached the house she ran straight into the kitchen. A pot bubbled on the stovetop. Traudi slept in her basket, exhausted from sickness and crying. Mama emerged from the cellar holding a broom.

  ‘Where are the groceries?’ With a glance she took in Ursula’s flustered appearance, the absence of food in her satchel.

  ‘They’ve arrived.’

  Mama inhaled sharply. She leaned the broom against the panelling. It slithered to the floor with a clatter. ‘Right,’ she said. ‘We must hide. Fetch Dorli from bed. Make sure she dresses warmly.’

  They brought the last few bits of food down into the cellar. There wasn’t much – potatoes, a small bag of salt (Mama said you couldn’t survive for long without it), a muddy swede, and some dried beans. Ursula was sent to fetch a bucket of water from the trout stream. It would do for washing and cooking, and if they got desperate, for drinking. She worried for Schosi and if he would have enough to last an extra day. Outside it had begun to rain and the surface of the trout stream jumped and crinkled so that she couldn’t see the stones or the fish below as she dunked the bucket into the water. The twigs of the trees caught raindrops and held them in rows on their underside. The whole countryside had that same tranquil atmosphere she’d felt in the village before the rumpus and frenz
y had begun, as if it wasn’t real and they wouldn’t come; impossible that uniforms and guns might arrive in this place, or one of those monstrous army vehicles. She looked for figures beyond the gate, but there was no one. Rainfall obscured the hills. She went back inside with damp hair and collar.

  Mama pulled the wooden bar across the cellar door and they all sat for a while. Traudi vomited on her knitted suit. Ursula tried to divert herself from the smell and the fear she felt – she found small shards of stone at the base of the walls and used them to draw on the concrete floor.

  ‘They say Ivan’s bargaining with the Americans and will organise a deal,’ said Dorli from amidst blankets, the bowl within easy reach. She was still slightly green in the face. ‘At least the Yanks are civilised, so I hope that’s true.’

  ‘Heaven help us,’ said Mama. ‘We won’t know till we know.’

  Ursula gave up drawing and hugged her knees. Her sister was an insufferable know-it-all and sometimes Mama said such senseless things.

  After passing an uneventful night in the cellar, the family gave up trying to hide – by morning they were cold and sore and realised that the Russians might not come to their house that day, or even that week, and Mama said she’d rather not toilet in a chamber pot if she didn’t have to. ‘Maybe I should go to work,’ she said as she stoked the fire into life in the kitchen and prepared some hot food. ‘I could take all of you with me.’

  But she soon changed her mind – she was certain that Herr Esterbauer would rather she stayed home instead of walking across the fields and risking an encounter.