Monika Schröder: The Dog in the Wood

“We’re here as members of the land reform commission,” one voice said. “We want to inform you that the commission has decided on the basis of the new government’s land reform decree to divide your property. Your land holdings exceed a hundred hectares. The commission has decided to allocate small pieces of land to new farmers and refugees.”

“So you’re taking away my farm?” he heard Mama ask. Her leaden voice broke Fritz’s heart. He swallowed. They were taking the farm.

“We also order you to leave the district and to move at least thirty kilometers away from Schwartz. You may take personal belongings and a horse cart but no livestock,” the man continued. “This decision takes effect immediately.”

Fritz let his body slump against the wall. He heard Mama’s pleading tone, but he couldn’t hear her words. His blood seemed to have flooded his ears. Fritz imagined the three of them with a horse cart, pulling their possessions toward the west like the people in the treks. Who could they stay with? He rushed toward the stall kitchen, picked up the basket, and made his way to the clothesline behind the barn.

The sun was already very high, and a dark blue sky met the outline of the pond at the horizon. To reach the clothesline, he had to step on a wooden block he had rolled out from the barn. Mechanically, he took a large sheet out of the basket, threw it over the line, and then fastened each end with a wooden clothespin. What was Mama doing right now? Had the men left? He couldn’t go to her before the chore was completed. Fritz bent over to lift another sheet, but what if she was sitting all by herself in the kitchen crying? Fritz sped up his movements, but the basket didn’t seem to empty. What if Mama was so desperate that she… ? He dropped the laundry and ran back to the house, raced up the stairs, opened the back door, and rushed into the kitchen. His mother was with Lech, who was holding her with both arms. She was crying. Lech whispered soothing words into her ear. Fritz stopped at the door. Watching them embrace felt uncomfortable, but hadn’t he waited for this? He tried to detect the feeling more precisely, but Mama turned around, her face swollen and wet from tears. There was a dark spot on Lech’s shirt where her face had rested against his shoulder.

“What’s going on?” Irmi asked as she came into the kitchen.

“The land reform commission was here,” Mama explained in a hollow voice, wiping her tears away with the tip of her apron. “We have to leave.”

Fritz expected Irmi to cry and become hysterical. Instead she remained quiet. In a sober voice she asked, “Where will we go?”

After a short pause, Mama said, “We’ll go to Oma Clara’s and see if we can stay in Sempow until we have a better plan.”

“Can’t we go somewhere else?” Fritz burst out.

“Do you have any suggestions?” Irmi asked impatiently. “We don’t have other relatives.”

“I do have an uncle in Silesia,” Mama said. “But it wouldn’t be a good idea to go east. He has probably lost his home as well. We don’t have a choice. We need a place to stay. We can’t be choosy now, Fritz.”

“I’ll get the horse cart ready. We can take only what Carino can pull,” Lech said.

“Take only what you need,” Mama said to Fritz and Irmi.

Irmi hurried to the bedroom, but Fritz was glued to the chair watching the hand on the kitchen clock move. He wished he could slow down time by walking toward the bedroom in small steps. “Take only what you need!” Mama had said.

In the bedroom Irmi was folding her underwear into the old suitcase she had pulled from the top of the closet. Fritz sat down on his bed. The frame gave off the noisy squeak that sometimes woke him up at night. After today he would not hear that squeak again.

The hardest part was to say good-bye to the house he had lived in with Oma Lou. Leaving Oma’s home was like abandoning her for good. After he had filled his crate, Fritz entered Oma Lou’s old bedroom and opened the door to her closet. Empty. None of Oma Lou’s clothes were left. Mama had altered some of them for herself and had traded others with neighbors for things she needed. But there still was the faint smell of Oma Lou’s soap. He inhaled and held his breath, hoping that somehow he could seal the memory of her smell inside.

“Fritz!” Mama called from the kitchen. But Fritz could not yet leave the room. He pulled out the drawer of the nightstand and reached in the back. Oma Lou had once shown him the small album of pressed flowers she had collected when she was a young girl. It was still there. She had told Fritz that the flowers reminded her of the village near the sea where she had grown up. Fritz opened the slim album to a page with a flat round flower on a long thin stem. In her pointy handwriting the plant was labeled “Buttercup.”

“Friiitz!” Mama called again. He stuck the small book into his pocket and left.

Fritz walked outside, keeping one hand inside his trouser pocket, patting the flower album. He joined Lech and Irmi, who were waiting at the cart. He looked over to the garden. More cucumbers had ripened and hung from the trellis. Other people would now harvest the rest of the vegetables. He had packed the tomato seeds. Maybe there would be a garden at Oma Clara’s.

When Mama closed the door, she let out a single deep sigh. She looked awful. There were lines of strain around her mouth and shadows under her eyes. Fritz wanted to run to give her a hug, but he didn’t move for fear he would break out in tears.

Once everyone was seated on the cart, Lech passed Fritz the horse’s reins. As Fritz stirred the horse out of the yard onto the village road, he thought of the refugee treks he and Paul had watched. Now he was also a refugee, his home not taken by an enemy force but by his own neighbors.

“We didn’t say good-bye to Oma Louise and Grandpa Karl,” Fritz burst out as they passed the cemetery. He turned around to look at Mama.

“I know,” she said, calmly. “We don’t have time. But we’ll keep them in our thoughts always.”

The closer they came to Oma Clara’s house the tighter the knot grew in Fritz’s stomach. The main road separated two parallel rows of flat, plain houses with high-tiled roofs above low ceilings. In front of Oma Clara’s entrance grew a well-tended rosebush, its dark green leaves shining in the last rays of afternoon light. Lech opened the gate, and the horse pulled the cart into the courtyard. Fritz looked for Oma Clara’s geese to come hissing toward the fence. One had bitten him once. But the pen was empty. The Russians must have taken the geese.

“Hello!” Oma Clara stepped out of the back door. She was a compact woman, her cheeks ruddy from lots of work outdoors. Irmi jumped off the cart and fell into Oma Clara’s arms. “Welcome, girl!” Oma Clara held Irmi tight. Fritz stayed on the other side of the cart, avoiding the inevitable hug as long as possible.

“They took the farm,” Mama said, and Oma Clara just nodded as if she had expected that to happen. Then the two of them embraced. Mama introduced Lech. He took off his cap and shook Oma Clara’s hand. Fritz was watching her closely. It was important that she welcome Lech. Oma Clara smiled at Lech. Then Mama motioned Fritz closer, and he found himself pressed against Oma Clara’s housedress.

“How are you?” she greeted him. “Did you see the empty pen? The Russians took my geese. I thought you’d be sad to hear that.” The women went inside. Fritz wanted to inspect Oma Clara’s farm. It was so much smaller than the farm they had left in Schwartz. Her barn could use a fresh coat of paint. Fritz counted one cow and two pigs. A rooster strutted around the manure heap. There was no garden.