by Holly Müller
39
The house was smashed; anything expensive or decorative was taken or destroyed. The food was gone, what there was of it. The Hildesheims and Hilliers gathered after a cursory wash in the rain butts and a change of clothes, though Dorli refused to get out of her torn things. Mama repeatedly professed the wish that she was dead, spoken through thick and bloodied lips. Ursula was afraid to look at her and avoided her eye – her face was much worse than when Papa used to bash her. Frau Hillier took the lead. They’d go to Herr Esterbauer. He’d know what to do. They put on warm things and set off.
The fields were a soggy expanse, no longer a familiar place but a landscape drained, as they all were, and full of danger and disorienting things. Ursula couldn’t walk fast because there was sharp pain between her legs and each time Schosi shuffled near to stroke her shoulder she withdrew abruptly and her heart began its feverish drumming – her very skin recoiled from touch after the stifling and crushing of the soldier’s body.
‘Little bear,’ he murmured. ‘Little bear.’
They went onwards in fits and starts, Frau Hillier quietly offering encouragement, and finally came to Herr Esterbauer’s place. They paused behind the barn in a patch of black shadow. Many Russians were billeted here, maybe even some of the ones who’d attacked them. They went together to the front door of the farmhouse, tiptoeing like fugitives. The shutters weren’t closed and the unlit windows reflected their faces as Frau Hillier tapped on the pane. The farmer now slept in the kitchen area on a stack of cushions and blankets; Ursula saw a bulky shadow detach itself from the floor and approach the window. Herr Esterbauer’s face appeared then disappeared; he opened the door.
‘What’s the matter? Are you all right?’ He was fully dressed with thick woollen socks pulled high over his trouser legs.
‘Please can we stay here tonight?’ said Frau Hillier, voice quivering. ‘We’ve had a terrible time.’
‘What happened?’ He sounded angry and stared at Mama’s swollen face. Ursula felt nervous in case he called them names or sent them away.
‘Please don’t ask,’ said Frau Hillier.
He said nothing more.
The next morning he waved them off from the top of the hill. He found it difficult, it was clear from his grave expression and his lengthy goodbye, but they couldn’t stay amongst the Russians at the farm; they all felt they must slip away soon after dawn. ‘We’ll meet again tomorrow,’ he said, ‘and share a drink.’ He regarded Frau Hillier with a tragic frown; she looked everywhere but at him. ‘You mustn’t be alone – stay together in one house. And keep a gun to hand.’ He looked truly wretched. ‘I’d come with you but Mother can’t manage without me. I’ll call on you later today.’
They set off along the forest edge, back through the fields cottony with mist, and on to the track, walking in a tight knot and glancing around all the while for signs of trouble. At the turn in the track Dorli tripped and grazed her knees. She knelt on the ground for a full minute with her head in her hands like an overwrought child.
There was a lot to be done and the morning was taken up with chores – no time yet for sleeping or bathing. They couldn’t rest until the house was theirs again; broken glass must be swept, the bedroom scrubbed clean. Traudi was the only one who was happy and played amongst the mess. Ursula found it a comfort to watch her and tried to stay in the same room as much as possible, but Mama often took her off and kept her to herself, cuddling and feeding her for long periods of time. Ursula noticed that Mama showed her breast when feeding the baby, which she’d never done before, and there were red marks all over the white skin, bruises and dried blood.
Afternoon came and Herr Esterbauer didn’t call. Ursula and Dorli collected edible things from the verges – sorrel, dandelions, chickweed and nettles. They added them to the stew that Mama and Frau Hillier made. The only foodstuffs that the Russians had left behind were half rotten and needed laborious preparation. They’d even stolen the rabbits. Frau Hillier lit the oven, which took an age as it kept dying as though it too was tired and confused. Eventually the fire was built, and it felt good to have the warmth and crackle of the spitting logs. Dorli crushed herbs on the board with a stone, hair hanging in ropes. Frau Hillier and Mama picked through the potatoes, whittling away bad flesh and throwing the misshapen remains into the stew pan. No one went to fetch water: they’d settled for drinking from the trout stream, or the river. It needn’t be said that they wouldn’t venture as far as the village.
Ursula ate hungrily that day. She wanted her strength for whatever lay ahead. They hadn’t collected any rations so they broke into their storage box in the cellar and opened a few jars of preserves. They devoured the stew, which was hot and thick and filling. Frau Hillier ate with them and apologised many times for being a drain on their resources; she promised that as soon as she could bring a contribution she would do so. Mama silenced her with an impatient hand, though Ursula watched the food disappearing into Frau Hillier’s mouth with regret.
At about five o’clock two Russians forced the door with an iron bar. At first Ursula thought it was the same men from the previous night, but these were older, grizzled and grey-haired. One of them, with a thin face and scabbed lip, dragged a bandaged foot. The other had bristling grey hair and a square-shaped jaw. They located Ursula and Dorli. Gusts of alcoholic breath came from them. The larger soldier seized Dorli and the other wrenched Ursula’s arm behind her back. The man holding Dorli pointed his gun, one-handed, directly into Mama’s face. Ursula was terrified he’d accidentally press the trigger: he didn’t look very much in control of his movements. Mama raised her hands, kept still as stone. The girls were marched to the cowshed where the animals chewed and gently knocked their hooves on the straw-covered ground.
As the Russians left, the larger man slung one of the kids, bleating and struggling, over his shoulder, then the sisters lay for a while before going inside, listening to the fading cries of the baby goat separated from its mother.
Mama bathed them in the kitchen, washing their bodies with warm water and soft cloths. They were helped into bed. Frau Hillier prepared tea made from mint she’d harvested from the watery ditches.
‘This will make you safe,’ she told them, brushing hair from their foreheads. ‘It’s best to be careful – even you, Uschi. You must drink it regularly for a while.’
Dorli sipped her drink. ‘I’m thirsty,’ she kept saying, ‘I’m so thirsty,’ her face oily with sweat, and then quickly she was asleep, her breath leaving her in abrupt, deep exhalations.
40
Over the next week there were two further attacks, both at night. They drank the mint tea four times daily and deliberated about whether it would be best to hide in outdoor places, especially the girls; it might be safer than the house. In the daytime, Ursula accompanied Schosi, Mama and Dorli to work so as not to be alone; she minded Traudi while they laboured on the farm.
Herr Esterbauer went to one of the commanders to complain about how the soldiers behaved, but he was dismissed. ‘Come! Our boys only have a little fun. It’s a hard war for them. Do they really hurt anyone?’ Herr Esterbauer assured the sardonic, black-haired commander that the soldiers did very much hurt his neighbours, who lived far from any witnesses – that the troops were drunk and dangerous. He was sent packing with a warning not to make trouble again.
Whenever the Hildesheims were at the farm Herr Esterbauer asked them how Frau Hillier was. How they all were. And they learned to tell him nothing because he became mad with anger, shouting, ‘If only I could do something!’ and raged and cursed against the Russian rapists, slammed his fists, said he couldn’t bear to think of it, lapsed into depressed silence. Schosi sobbed in alarm when this happened and Herr Esterbauer growled at him to dry his tears. ‘Just speak to that mother of yours! And make her see sense.’
‘You should have said yes,’ said Mama to Frau Hillier over breakfast one morning. She took bread from the basket and spread fat across it, fat that Herr Esterbauer had s
ent the previous day. Schosi had delivered the gift along with another plea for Frau Hillier to reconsider. But Frau Hillier wouldn’t eat the fat or agree to the marriage. Mama muttered something about her stupidity, her cruelty, that Herr Esterbauer couldn’t be expected to understand seeing as she’d explained her reasons to no one. ‘You could be away from here. You could be protected.’
‘You want me gone then?’ Frau Hillier’s eyes burned.
‘Don’t be such a Dummkopf!’ Mama set her knife down with a clang. The two women faced one another like cats. Ursula allowed Schosi to take her hand beneath the table, his palm clammy. ‘I just feel sorry for him. You don’t tell me anything. It’s so stubborn!’
‘And why would I, when you blame and make judgements? Perhaps you miss your man and think I’m ungrateful. Is that it?’
‘I can’t listen to your stupid talk.’ Mama sounded rather childish. ‘All I know is you’ve made him miserable – I see it every day. It’s pitiful. You can’t—’ She glanced at Ursula and Dorli then continued. ‘You can’t lead him on with kisses and God knows what else and then—’ She stopped again. Schosi was transfixed, rocking in his seat. ‘Your son needs a father. You should think of him.’
Frau Hillier threw down her napkin, stood up and walked halfway towards the door. ‘You’ve so many opinions! My son is everything to me. I do everything for him.’
‘You can barely feed yourselves – you rely on us.’
‘We’ll go then! It’s clear we’re no longer welcome.’ She swept from the room.
‘Madness!’ exclaimed Mama as soon as Frau Hillier slammed the front door to make her way to the factory. ‘What I wouldn’t give!’ She seemed to be squawking, amongst the subdued and listening children. ‘He gambles and neglects his work, even his mother, and all because of her.’
Ursula wondered if this was quite accurate. There were other reasons Herr Esterbauer was unhappy. And it was unfair to make Frau Hillier feel unwelcome when she’d nowhere to go. Her house had been spoiled by the Russians; they’d broken in, smashed the windows, set fire to the kitchen, perhaps by accident, no one knew, and taken what little was there. Frau Hillier and Schosi wouldn’t be able to go back until it was repaired.
They got ready for work and Ursula dressed in her ugliest clothes, concealing her figure with large shawls. She helped Dorli to push a pillow up the back of her coat to imitate a hunchback. Schosi became more cheerful – he always found this process hilarious, especially when they scooped redcurrant jam with their fingers and rubbed it over their faces as though it was a lotion. It created the look of weeping sores. He observed Ursula closely as she tied a scarf over her head in the style of an old woman and screwed up her eyes into as many wrinkles as she could; he wrinkled his eyes too and she was glad to giggle with him, to forget for a moment what the strange attire was for.
‘I’m going to have a new papa!’ he crowed, his voice cracking between the tones of a man and a boy.
‘You’re not!’ She pushed him playfully. ‘Cos your mama’s a silly goose.’
He lunged for her and licked her sweet-tasting face.
‘Have some decency, girl!’ snapped Mama. ‘You’re not an animal.’
Ursula pushed Schosi off and told him not to. She stung from the rebuke. How could Mama care about such things after all that had happened? To her it felt only right to be squalid. Her mood plummeted sharply: she was oppressed by her unsightly clothes, the repulsiveness, inside and out, and wished that somehow she could become nothing – wiped away – nothing at all.
That evening Mama took her daughters to one of Herr Esterbauer’s remoter fields where a haystack stood far from any house. They went under the cover of darkness with a small lantern to see their way across the ditches.
‘Don’t be scared, my dears,’ said Mama, petting them. ‘Use the hay to keep warm and stay quiet till morning.’
Ursula took one of the blankets from her knapsack and arranged herself amongst the damp hay; she tried not to think about slugs, snails and spiders. She wrapped the blanket tightly around her body and tucked it beneath her behind. Dorli pressed close and Ursula was glad of her sister’s solid presence. Mama handed them the lantern, a jar of stewed apple and a portion of bread, then kissed their heads. ‘Don’t use the light if you don’t have to. Be invisible.’ She said goodbye before setting off into the night.
Ursula sat awake a long time, listening; it grew cold and dewy and there were creatures in the field, hares and foxes and mice, and the stars increased in number until the sky was full, pregnant with milky light, and they looked cold and unforgiving, surveying what was below, not caring about their plight. A moon glided upwards, free to sail, no longer trapped in apple branches, she thought. She studied its shadowed face, its shadowed eyes; was it God gazing down at her, listening to her like she was listening? Or something else? The accusing stare – her brother’s blaming look. They hadn’t kept her safe, she realised, neither God nor Anton. They watched over her, not kind but jealous and judging, just as Mama was jealous and judged Frau Hillier. But this was a much darker thing.
Wings flickered. A bat gave its almost inaudible call. Dorli huddled closer, took Ursula’s hand; it felt good to be held. They stayed with arms entwined beneath the blankets, the outside of the wool now coated in moisture. Mama would come at first light and then another day at the farm. Who knew what would occur? Would a Russian wait outside the outhouse again and when Ursula emerged sidle near and show her a palm full of money?
‘I have somewhere to go,’ he’d said.
‘Bleeding, bleeding,’ she’d replied, running as fast as she could to her family.
As the shadow-eyed moon climbed Ursula drifted, half waking, half sleeping, her thoughts on her brother and the letter he’d written, which was stowed in her knapsack. She prayed that God would at least not abandon him. He must come back, she thought blearily. But she was afraid too. Could she keep such secrets? Would he see how she’d changed? And if he didn’t come back? If he never returned, what would that be like? The rock that had smashed the ice at the river pool, the black scar after it sank: it would be like that, she thought. Exactly like that.
‘Good day,’ said the officer, lifting his hat.
It was a Sunday afternoon and the family were in the Hildesheim garden. Frau Hillier stopped her work and straightened.
‘Grow vegetables,’ said the man with a smile. He was big as a bear and his thick blond hair stood up in tufts. His eyes were light blue and his eyebrows white. Ursula remembered him from the first day the Russians had arrived – he was the broad officer who’d taken her loaf for his men. He came around the fence to stand closer to them. ‘My name Efim.’ He bowed slightly, the introduction directed at Dorli who stood beside Ursula wearing muddy gardening gloves. ‘I have record – play music. I have food. Chocolate.’ He gave a hopeful smile. ‘I come tonight?’
What could he be thinking of? thought Ursula. Talking to them as if they were chums. Dorli looked at Frau Hillier with a silent plea.
‘No, no, sir. Go away!’ Frau Hillier flapped her hands.
The officer bowed again. He backed away. Frau Hillier continued to shoo him. Eventually he walked off down the track at a leisurely pace, throwing glances over his shoulder. Of course he’d persist, thought Ursula, because it didn’t mean anything to say no.
Later, as they cleaned their tools in the stream and Ursula began to watch the sinking sun fearfully, Frau Hillier broke the silence.
‘You girls wouldn’t have to sleep in the field any more,’ she said. She was contemplative as she scraped soil from the trowels. ‘It’s making you ill.’ It was true that Ursula had developed a harsh cough and Dorli was always on the verge of being unwell. ‘He’d bring food and at least some safer companions.’ She eyed them, her expression furtive. ‘You’ve heard about the Siedler daughters.’
Dorli drew back. ‘I don’t want to be like them! They’re as good as prostitutes.’
Ursula wondered what Frau Hillier could
be driving at. The Siedler girls were despised and called Bolshevik whores.
‘Would you rather be fair game for the whole pack?’ said Frau Hillier. ‘He’s one of the better ones.’
Dorli’s cheeks flamed. She didn’t reply.
At dinnertime Mama was informed about the encounter. After eating she went into the living room with Dorli. They were in there for half an hour and when they came out it was obvious they’d both been crying. Dorli appeared persuaded, though she was dejected and ate very little. Frau Hillier commented that it was a good job Dorli was naturally well built, because the officer preferred her over the rest, who’d become scrawny and unattractive. At this Mama straightened in her chair and glared. Frau Hillier fell silent.
The following evening Efim the officer returned with three more Russians; one of them Ursula recognised as the bookish clerk who’d called at the house about work duty. His small stature and calm bespectacled face were unthreatening and Ursula was surprised to find that she liked him immediately. Everyone in the household had dressed and washed in readiness. Mama had braided Dorli’s hair and wrapped it around her head in an elegant style. Ursula stayed close to Schosi, linking arms with him as he twisted his comfort blanket and let it loose to tickle her legs. In the living room the soldiers seemed oversized and awkward amongst the low chairs and settle and what was left of the decorative trinkets. The glass in the cabinets was gone, but Mama had chipped away the broken remains so you could hardly tell there was nothing in the frames. When the soldiers sat, their knees bent double and the springs squeaked and groaned, especially under the bulky officer. Ursula hung about on the edge, the situation unlike anything she’d known. She spied some tins of fish in the clerk’s satchel and when he opened his bag further she saw two records and a bottle of clear alcohol with a Cyrillic label. Mama dragged the small table in front of the chairs and the clerk set all the things on it, nodding and smiling. Ursula crept closer. She tried to see what the records were but they were in their card sleeves and she couldn’t tell. The officer picked one up and offered it to her.
