Monika Schröder: The Dog in the Wood

“That doesn’t make it better,” Irmi said.

“What’s wrong with one dance?” Fritz asked.

“She is dancing with a Russian!” Irmi said.

“What do you have against them?” Fritz had enough of Irmi’s constant bickering about the Russians. “They are treating us well. They share food with us. Mama says that they probably protect us from burglars and looters. So what’s wrong with them?”

“You just don’t understand!” Irmi threw the dishtowel over the rack. “They occupy our country. They bring Bolshevism. You are just too young to understand!” She ran into the living room.

Fritz switched off the kitchen light. If they could not see him from the outside, he might be able to stay longer at his observation post. He would love to go outside, but he knew that Mama would send him to bed immediately.

The accordion was in full swing, and another man had taken over the singing. His voice was not as deep, and he could carry the melody to very high notes. Fritz saw Mama standing on the side with Lech, listening to something Lech was telling her. Their shoulders touched.

The instruments played a faster tune, and one soldier stepped forward into the middle of the yard. He had folded his arms in front of his chest and began to jump from one leg to the other. When the beat grew faster, the man lowered his body as if to sit on his haunches. Then he kicked one leg in front of him, keeping his balance by bending his other knee. The others joined in a circle around him and clapped their hands to the rhythm. The dancer lowered his body further until he was squatting close to the ground, balancing himself on one leg while throwing the other leg out in front of him. Fritz wished that the adults would leave a bigger space in their circle so that he could see the lone dancer. The melody picked up speed, and the man was still jumping from leg to leg. The men waved their vodka bottles at the dancer and offered him a swig. When the music finished, the dancer bowed to thank his audience, let himself fall onto a chair, and wiped his forehead before taking a long drink from the bottle.

Mikhail turned to the accordion player and asked him something. The man nodded and took up his instrument. When the melody began, Mikhail turned to Mama and motioned for her to dance. She put her hand on his left shoulder and his arm circled her waist. They began to move to the music. Fritz never had seen Mama dance. He looked at Lech, who followed Mama’s every move. Sergei had been sitting on the chair smoking and emptying a vodka bottle almost by himself. When he saw the two dancing, he got up and shouted something in Russian. Sergei staggered up the stairs and opened the back door.

“Irmi!” the drunken Russian shouted. “ Dotschka !” Fritz followed him into the hall and saw Irmi just coming out of the living room. Sergei grabbed for her arm, but she pulled away and ran up the stairs. Fritz opened the back door and called for Lech.

Lech stomped through the hallway with Mikhail hurrying right behind. Fritz heard the heavy attic door open with a screech. Sergei was stumbling up the wooden stairs. Mikhail and Lech followed him.

“No!” Irmi screamed before she slammed the door shut. Mikhail called “ Stoj! Stoj! ” and grabbed his colleague’s belt. He pulled Sergei down the stairs, fiercely whispering something in Russian, his eyes dark with anger. Fritz pressed himself against the wall, breathing quickly. Lech opened the front door, and the two Russians stepped outside. Mama had also come inside, calling Irmi’s name. When she reached the top of the stairs, she called, “Irmi! Open the door! It’s all right now. He’s gone!” Fritz heard the door open, followed by Irmi’s cries of relief.

For the next few days Irmi acted as though she had been wounded in the war. She complained about headaches. During meals she put on a pained expression, and before bedtime she insisted on pushing a chair under her doorknob to secure her bedroom at night.

“Couldn’t Lech just sleep inside the house with us and make sure nothing happens to you?” Fritz asked when he and Irmi were alone in the stable. “Would you feel better then?”

“He is going to sleep in the house soon enough,” Irmi said and gave him the older-sister-knows-it-all look. He thought he knew what she meant, but he didn’t ask to confirm it.

In the garden, it was time to check on the strawberries. Fritz had mulched them with a layer of straw to prevent the plants from losing their moisture, but now, as the June sun had begun their final ripening, he saw that snails had attacked the red fruit. Oma Lou had shown him how to put eggshells around the strawberries to fend off the snails, but this remedy had not worked. The slimy creatures had climbed over the obstacles and attacked the strawberries. As Fritz sat on his haunches, wondering how he could protect his fruit harvest, Mikhail stopped at the garden fence.

“I’ll show you a trick,” he said. He walked back to the house and returned with a bottle of beer and several small plates. Mikhail placed a plate on each corner of the strawberry patch and poured beer into each one.

“Drink, drink,” he said, pointing to a snail. Then he let his head fall to one side and closed his eyes. “Drunk, drunk, sleep, sleep!”

Fritz laughed.

“Are you wasting the good beer on the snails?” Lech had come out of the barn and stood now next to Mikhail.

“I think he said that it will make the snails drunk and then they will leave my strawberries alone,” Fritz said.

“I could think of a better way to use beer,” Lech said and held his thumb to his mouth, imitating the motion one makes when drinking out of a bottle. Lech had a short exchange in Russian with Mikhail. Both men suddenly looked very serious.

“The Russians are leaving,” Lech said.

“The Russians are leaving Germany?” Fritz asked. “When?”

“No,” Lech said. “Our Russians, Mikhail and Sergei, are leaving.”

“You’re leaving?” Fritz looked at Mikhail.

Mikhail answered with a slow nod. “We’re moving into barracks,” he said. Now Fritz saw that Sergei had parked the jeep in front of the back door. He was packing boxes and bags into the back. Mikhail stepped toward Fritz. “ Auf Wiedersehen ,” he said. Fritz wondered if they would meet again. He shook the Russian’s hand and followed him to the car with Lech. Mama stood on the back stairs. She wiped her hands on her apron before she shook both Russians’ hands. Fritz watched the jeep as it left the yard. He remembered how conflicted he was when he first met the two officers. Now he was disappointed to see them leave.

When he entered the house, he passed Irmi in the hallway. “Don’t look at me like that,” she said. “It’s not my fault they left.” Fritz only glared.

Paul flung another nail at the rusty can on the old chair. They had taken refuge from the hot afternoon sun inside the barn. Fritz had finished telling Paul about the sudden departure of the Russians, but he didn’t seem to care much.

“My dad says that the Communists will organize all farming differently soon,” Paul said.

“How so?”

“Everyone will have the same amount of land, and farmers will share everything.”

“How can everyone have the same amount of land?” Fritz asked.

“People like your family have to give up most of theirs,” Paul said.

“What does that mean? People like us ?” Fritz asked, feeling the same tightness in his chest he had experienced when he met Paul’s father.

“Former Nazis, like you.”

“I’m no Nazi.”

“But your grandpa was. People like him brought on all the bad things that happened.”