My Own Dear Brother

by Holly Müller

  ‘A spineless gesture,’ commented Dorli beneath her breath.

  The bakery and grocer’s were serving again. Large sacks of beans on the pavement were spilling on to the road in a mess. The people queuing held bags and pots, or paper rolled into cones to contain the beans measured out by a couple of soldiers. It seemed there was a basic rationing system in place. The Gasthaus owner had written a hasty notice and propped it against the outer wall: Russians welcome – beer and schnapps available. Ursula peered inside as they passed; the walls were still covered with antlers and boar skins and bunches of dried flowers, but there were no SS guards from the camp smoking thin cigars. Russian soldiers perched on stools amongst the elderly regulars. They looked into their drinks and one soldier twisted a ring round and round on his finger.

  On the Rathaus doors were posters in Russian and German celebrating May Day, Stalin, the Russian victory. Inside was a murmuring mass of people. Some were queuing at a table, manned by two Russians, who had papers spread out before them. Others were being organised into rows by a man wearing an armband of the Austrian flag with a hammer and sickle sewn on to it. He was a local and seemed to have been allocated as a supervisor of some description and was counting and recounting the people. Ursula spotted Frau Gerg, Frau Arnold and their friend Emmalina amongst the throng, and some of the Siedler family; the two daughters, round-faced and dark-haired, stood close together. Ursula felt immediately nervous, as she always did when she saw Frau Gerg.

  ‘I’m surprised she’s not been arrested for her role in the League,’ whispered Frau Hillier. ‘The Russkis are nothing if not completely inconsistent.’

  ‘Wait at the door,’ Mama said to Ursula as they entered, giving her charge of the pram.

  Ursula sat on the steps beside the pram, the marble cold on her bare legs, while Mama, Frau Hillier and Dorli joined the registration queue. She held on to Anton’s letter within the pocket of her dress and stroked the furred and rippled paper. Frau Sontheimer stepped past her outstretched legs and then Sepp came after her. He stopped when he saw Ursula. She quickly drew her legs in and pulled her dress down over her knees.

  ‘Hello,’ he said in his frank way. ‘Are you signing up today?’

  She shook her head. His face was sun-browned and lovely. She touched again the edge of the letter within her dress. Anton wasn’t here to see her; this couldn’t hurt him.

  ‘You’re not old enough, are you?’ Sepp continued, squatting down beside her. ‘I always forget you’re a year younger than me.’ One of his olive-gold knees almost touched her and she inched away. She could smell him, a warm, sweet scent like roasted chestnuts. ‘You seem the same age,’ he continued.

  ‘Well, it’s only a few months’ difference.’ She noticed that her fingernails were black with soil and hid them behind her skirts.

  ‘I’m signing up, of course. Dunno what they’ll have me doing.’ He looked towards the queue. Frau Sontheimer was talking with Frau Hillier, and Mama had reached the front table; the Russian seated behind it was wearing an important-looking hat and smiling expansively. ‘I was going to say when I saw you last time, before you ran off, do you fancy coming for tea one day?’ He glanced at her then quickly away, gazing out at the street.

  She was speechless for a moment. She had a feeling of falling, falling from the clifftop to the blaze of water beneath, disbelieving, overjoyed. But surely it couldn’t be real. Marta and Sepp were sweethearts. He was asking only as a friend, nothing more. Don’t imagine he feels the same way, the shadow in her thoughts cautioned and dissuaded. Why would he? Why would anyone? Anxiety rose in her throat; her heart began to pulse hard and a glow spread to her face. She felt suddenly trapped on the steps, too close, unable to hide.

  She folded her arms. ‘With all this going on?’ she asked abruptly.

  ‘Well, perhaps when it’s calmed down a bit.’ He looked embarrassed. ‘Maybe then?’

  ‘Maybe.’ But she couldn’t go. Of course she couldn’t have tea with him in that tidy, pious house. Even as a friend, it would be dreadful and awkward just as before – how would she manage to be normal throughout an entire meal? Impossible. She’d nothing proper to wear and no idea about manners – she’d have to wash her feet before entering. Despite Frau Sontheimer’s good nature, Ursula was sure she must think her whole family indecent. She grew overheated just thinking of it, picturing herself at the Sontheimers’ table, trying not to besmirch the immaculate cloth; she’d be an ugly curiosity compared to the poised and pretty Marta who was probably a regular guest. ‘But I’m really not allowed,’ she added. ‘I mean, thanks for asking.’

  ‘All right,’ he said, an uncomfortable silence descending. He trailed his fingers along a crack in the smooth marble step. A hint of suspicion came into his eyes. ‘Is it because of your brother?’

  ‘No!’ She looked at him sharply.

  ‘He doesn’t like us talking together, does he? He doesn’t like me.’

  ‘Maybe he doesn’t, I don’t know.’ The letter scratched against her leg as she moved and the paper rustled.

  ‘I can tell – he doesn’t.’

  ‘Well, he told me you insulted him at the HY so perhaps that explains it.’

  ‘I didn’t!’ Sepp’s eyes were round. He stared at Ursula until her cheeks turned fierce red.

  ‘You hit him or fought or whatever.’ She heard the challenge in her voice. ‘He said you were jealous because he got promoted. He said you hid a Russian prisoner in your house, and that he fought you about it. You shouldn’t have done that – hidden a Bolshevik. That’s what Anton said.’

  Sepp’s mouth opened in outrage. He shook his head, emphatic. ‘No! That never happened.’

  They were silent for a moment. Ursula tried to hide her confusion and dismay by averting her face.

  ‘He’s a ruddy liar!’ Sepp burst out after a moment. ‘He just wants to bring me down – he wants you to hate me too. He’s started all sorts of rumours about me. I could never be jealous of him. I’m sorry for him, in fact, for his bad character.’ He scowled, his face marred by a frown that drew his black brows together. ‘I never touched him – I never even spoke to him! I didn’t want to because he’s nothing but trouble.’

  Ursula stood and Sepp stood with her.

  ‘He hasn’t got a bad character,’ she hissed. ‘He doesn’t want to speak to someone like you and he doesn’t need your pity either.’ Sepp was a no-good sort after all and Anton had known and tried to protect her. But even as she thought it and saw Sepp baulk as if she’d whipped him with a fly swat, she knew it wasn’t so. Sepp had every right to be angry; his words uncomfortably echoed those of Herr Esterbauer, the counsel he’d given to her in Vienna. But she couldn’t say it, couldn’t show it now. She stayed as she was, glaring, fists clenched.

  ‘Never mind.’ Sepp looked wounded. ‘Forget it, it doesn’t matter.’

  She crossed her arms and leaned against the Rathaus wall, sullen with the beginnings of remorse. She wouldn’t look at him; from the corner of her eye she could see that he stood with shoulders hunched, hands in pockets. Just then Marta appeared at the base of the Rathaus steps and began up towards them. She reached the top and immediately fixed Ursula with an aggressive stare, her chin raised like a territorial goose. ‘Josef!’ she cooed, her expression transforming to a sickly smile.

  He turned and waved then faced Ursula again. ‘See you,’ he muttered. He moved off to join his aunt, Marta in tow.

  Not long afterwards Ursula’s family arrived, their registration complete, and she went with them out of the Rathaus, shame and regret making her steps slow and reluctant.

  ‘What is it about that boy?’ said Dorli, looking back and trying to get a view of Sepp. ‘Whenever you see him you seem to be miserable afterwards or in some sort of panic.’

  ‘Nothing,’ said Ursula. ‘It’s not because of him. I’m fed up, that’s all.’

  ‘Fed up! You don’t look fed up – you look ill!’ Dorli smirked but didn’t persist.

&nbs
p; They began discussing work.

  ‘I’m to stay on at the farm,’ said Mama. ‘Dorli too.’

  ‘I’m back at the factory,’ said Frau Hillier with a wry purse of her lips. ‘Frau Sontheimer’s there also. I’ll try to stop them from working her too hard. She’s not used to graft.’

  ‘And to think you could get out of it,’ said Mama to Frau Hillier. ‘If you used your head.’

  Frau Hillier gave an aggravated frown but otherwise the cryptic comment was ignored.

  Dorli resumed her complaining. ‘We get meals then instead of money?’

  ‘We get breakfast and lunch,’ said Frau Hillier. ‘Which is certainly not to be sniffed at. What good is money after all?’

  Emmalina exited the town hall just after the Hildesheims and walked close behind along the main street, scurrying within their shadows as if she was afraid to be seen. Adelind Gerg, Frau Gerg’s daughter, was ahead, surrounded by a knot of Russian soldiers. As she walked the men capered alongside her, tugging her clothes and the ends of her hair. Adelind kept her head lowered and arms wrapped around her middle. Ursula felt sorry for her, even though she was a Gerg. The soldiers heckled her and made kissing noises as if to a dog.

  Emmalina fell into step beside Mama. ‘See that?’ She indicated the besieged Adelind and the rowdy soldiers. ‘There’s worse to come. My cousin in Baden told me to watch out for this new lot, because they’re nothing but pigs. The first soldiers weren’t so bad. They were good people.’

  ‘These aren’t the same soldiers?’

  ‘No. They arrived two days ago and are stationed here now as well. My cousin said many of them are recruited from Soviet prisons. They’re a bad sort.’ Emmalina continued to walk beside them until she was safely at her house. ‘God preserve you,’ she said, as she left them.

  They went on, staying close to one another. The soldiers blocked the road ahead. Adelind reached her home and the men shouted comments as she climbed the front steps. One threw a pebble at the door as Adelind closed it behind her.

  ‘Hey,’ said a soldier as the Hildesheims and Frau Hillier passed. ‘You married? Have husband?’

  Ursula wasn’t sure whom the questions were meant for, or whether they were aimed at the whole group.

  ‘You like Russian kisses?’ said another. As Frau Hillier passed he swung his gun like a cane and struck her across the backside. A few of them watched as the women and girls turned off the road on to the track.

  36

  The day was white above, featureless as a bed sheet, and a cool spring wind blew insistently along the road. Shop signs flapped and jerked and Ursula’s clothes whirled around her body, strings of hair clinging across the wetness of her eyes and nose. After distributing identity cards to the residents of Felddorf in the Rathaus, the Russians had gathered the villagers in the road, every person over the age of four, which left the babies and toddlers unattended in their homes. The Russian soldiers were quiet and didn’t speak to one another, formidable with guns angled across their uniformed chests, guarding the edges of the crowd.

  The soldiers led them in a procession through the wire gates of the camp, which sagged forlorn into the trees after having been battered open the week before. Ursula, once inside, couldn’t see much because the villagers choked the pathway with their numbers, slow-moving, their eyes rolling like jumpy cattle. Many of the women shielded their children’s eyes beneath their shawls but the soldiers pulled the shawls away and handed them back to the women with shakes of their heads. To their left were the rows of wooden huts, mildewed and dank, creepers growing on the roofs like hair and darkness seeping up the planks from the ground. From the doors and windows of the huts peered the remaining inmates; also some of the Polish labourers, who were waiting to be transported home. Their faces were as bony as ever, there not being sufficient rations to fatten them. They came shuffling out of the huts like rickety marionettes and stood near by with blankets around their shoulders and socks on their feet. Each had the stripe of hair down the centre of their head, and short hair at the sides, which used to be shaved close but was now growing out. Ursula covered her nose with her scarf; a terrible smell of unwashed bodies came from them.

  ‘Move along,’ said a Russian soldier with a long coat and stars, one of the officers. He pointed down the grit path in the direction the villagers should go. More ghoulish figures came from the huts, and crowded forward to watch. Around Ursula, the people of Felddorf jostled and whispered and held on to one another – some of the old men who’d been in the Great War walked with regimental dignity, but most were hunched and obviously scared. The tall wire fence shook in the wind; it made the sound of coins in a pocket, a hectic metal clamour that filled the air and disoriented Ursula. Ahead there was a larger building and before it a heap of earth tall as a man and long as a truck. Beside it was the hole. The villagers were ushered into this area and instructed to be still and quiet; they coughed and groaned because filling the air was a sickening smell. The prisoners followed like shadows; there was some talking between them, mostly in Russian or Polish. Ursula thought it was odd to hear their voices now, which had been forbidden before. This time it was she who must be silent.

  The soldiers arranged the villagers in a line, with the men in front. Russian soldiers stood ready around the hole at a distance of a couple of metres. ‘Walk forward,’ came the instruction. ‘Single file.’

  The men began to move, milling in a knot, none wishing to be in front.

  ‘Walk forward!’

  Herr Siedler, the rich farmer, took the lead. He wore his Sunday best with a sharp crease in his hat and a bright sprig of jay and pheasant feathers, which looked too jolly as he stomped towards the hole, his arms held tightly at his sides. The others followed – white-haired men: Herr Wemmel the grocer, several farmers, including Herr Esterbauer. There were a few who were younger and dark-haired. Marta’s handsome father was one, and the former guards and men who’d run the factory – they’d been brought out from their imprisonment to join them. Herr Adler too had been brought out, both his eyes surrounded by black skin, swollen like plums just as Rudi’s used to be. When the men reached the edge of the hole they were directed to look into it. They did so, a mismatched line, their trousers fluttering in the spring wind; a few put their hands over their nose and mouth. After a couple of minutes had passed, which felt much longer, the Russians moved them on behind the long mountain of earth, out of sight of the waiting women and children. Ursula could hear nothing of the exchange that followed as there was a lot of crying and hyperventilating amongst the cram of waiting villagers. Eventually, the men re-emerged. In pairs they carried bodies, sagging between them, one man gripping the ankles, the other the hands. Herr Esterbauer was paired with Herr Siedler, the corpse naked, thin and mottled, with a lolling head. Ursula watched Herr Esterbauer, his usually ruddy face greenish-white, his mouth stretched into a grin of horror. He struggled with the head of the dead man, which dangled loosely and dragged along the ground. ‘Lift him!’ snapped a nearby Russian. Herr Esterbauer lifted the arms he held as high as he could; he gasped and panted and his mouth fell open in a slack hole. Some of the villagers began to sob and a few women sat on the ground and yanked their children into the folds of their skirts. Herr Esterbauer and Herr Siedler carried the body to an area alongside the larger building, where soldiers met them and indicated a row of graves dug neatly in a line with crosses at the head. They lowered the body, using ropes, into a grave. They were waved away to wait beside the huts. Herr Esterbauer fell on to the ground, where he rested with face lowered.

  Ursula was in the second group called to the graveside. Beside her sister and mother she looked into the hole. The corpses were about a metre and a half below, thirty or forty of them in a heap. The smell that rose from them was not just an ordinary smell, it was a foul soup, cloying and dense, that Ursula could feel in her nostrils. She breathed through her mouth and tried to close her nose to the air, but she could still taste the stench, sickly and awful.
/>   ‘Our officers!’ called a Russian. ‘Our men shot here like dogs. You look!’

  The skin of the dead people was discoloured and unnatural. Flies teemed across them and the frenetic movement of the insects created the illusion that some of the bodies themselves were moving. Faces peered from beneath an arm or a leg, some of the eyes open, some closed, the cheeks and lips wizened. Along the graveside somebody retched. Ursula thought she herself might vomit. She looked behind to see Herr Esterbauer still lying on his side, a flask of vodka being pressed to his mouth by a Russian. He was pulled upright and made to stand.

  Ursula wondered if he was amongst them, the Russian that her brother had killed – and those that Herr Esterbauer had killed too. They might be buried at the bottom of the pile with a dozen bodies on top. At this thought coldness clenched her insides and wrung them tight. She held her breath but the feeling washed over her again and again – she felt faint and light, as though she might crumple or float away. She clutched Mama’s arm. Vaguely she registered that she must be wrong, that those particular Russians couldn’t be in this grave. The night of the escape from the camp was over a year ago, and the body of the Russian frozen in Frau Hillier’s yard would be dust and bones by now. At this she felt relief, but then she thought that these other dead men were just the same, and that her brother had killed one, murdered a person just like this – had been celebrated for it. She began to cry and knew that she was making a lot of noise but couldn’t stop. Her voice seemed separate from her, like a distant caterwauling from over the fields. She wanted to look away from the bodies but the Russians wouldn’t allow it. Beside her, Dorli muttered and when Ursula looked up at her, her lips were framing Hail Marys.

  ‘Move along!’ commanded the Russian close by.

  The people shuffled along the edge of the grave.

  ‘Frau, move along!’

  There was a disturbance further down the line. It was Frau Sontheimer, Sepp’s aunt. She was weeping and not moving along. Sepp was holding her hand. A Russian soldier pulled her forcibly from the graveside and out of the way. She was placed beside the skinny tree near to Herr Esterbauer, still crying and hiding her face. Ursula caught Sepp’s eye and he gazed back with a worried frown. Their group was sent to wait with the men, while the next lot of women came to the graveside. While all this went on, the prisoners watched intently, their shoulders touching, as if they found some paltry nourishment in what they saw.