Monika Schröder - The Dog in the Wood

“Are you threatening me?” Mama took one step toward the mayor, who had gotten out of his chair. She focused her eyes on him, bending slightly forward. How could she be so brave? She could get arrested. Fritz was clenching his hands into tight fists.

“All I’m saying, Gertrude, is that you should be careful. We don’t need a troublemaker in Sempow!”

Mama let the last comment echo unanswered. She took Fritz by the hand and pulled him out of the room.

“Mama! You’re hurting me!” Mama was still pulling his arm when they were back on the sidewalk.

She slowed down and turned to him, looking puzzled, as if she had momentarily forgotten that she was with Fritz. “Sorry!” She let go of his hand. “I’m just so upset.” She took a deep breath and exhaled loudly.

When they entered the house, Lech’s jacket was hanging on the wardrobe in the hallway. “He’s back!” Mama burst out, and she ran into the living room.

They came during lunch.

The door opened abruptly, and a tall man in a dark green uniform entered the room. He was holding a rifle. Another armed man followed.

“Are you Gertrude Friedrich?” The tall man held his rifle toward Mama.

“Yes,” she answered. “What do you want?”

“We have been informed that you are hiding weapons illegally,” the man continued. “You are hereby arrested. The Military Government Decree forbids civilians the possession of weapons.” Fritz stared at the man, “hereby arrested” echoing in his head.

“But we don’t own any weapons,” Mama answered, her voice trembling.

“There’re no weapons in my house,” Oma Clara interrupted. She got up and stood now between Mama and the man with the rifle. “My daughter was evicted from her farm in Schwartz. She lost her husband in the war. She and her children are helping me keep up the farm. You cannot arrest her.”

“You have to come with us.” The tall man nudged Oma Clara aside with his rifle and gestured toward Mama.

“No!” Fritz cried out.

“We have no weapons, comrade.” Lech had gotten up. The tall man pushed Mama toward the door. Lech stepped ahead, grabbed the barrel of the rifle, and pointed it toward the floor. “You cannot take her, comrade! She has two children!” he insisted. “And she hasn’t done anything wrong.”

“Who are you?” the second man stepped toward Lech, lifting his rifle.

“This is Lech. He is a friend of ours. He helps us with the work,” Mama explained hastily, stretching her right hand out in front of the man, trying to protect Lech.

The man looked at Lech skeptically. Picking up on Lech’s Polish accent, he said, “Why don’t you go back home to Poland? Do you have something to be afraid of there?”

“I like it here. These are good people. They can use all the help they can get. They pay me well for my work,” Lech said. Fritz felt cold. The taller man nudged Mama closer toward the door. Lech tried to follow, but the second man swung the stock of his rifle and struck Lech with its butt on the side of his head. Lech fell, and Mama screamed. Oma Clara buried her face in her hands. Irmi gasped. Fritz waited for a shot to split the air. For a moment they all seemed frozen as in a painting.

Then everything happened quickly. The two men grabbed Mama by her arms and pulled her outside. “Lech!” Fritz heard his own voice as though echoing in a barrel. Lech tried to get up just as the two men returned. They grabbed Lech and pulled him outside.

Fritz forced his legs into motion and ran outside. Mama was hunched down in the back of the truck, her hands cuffed to the rack of the truck. The two men snapped handcuffs around Lech’s wrists and shoved him into the back of the truck as well. Fritz stared at Mama, trying to hold her with his glance. Just as he screamed her name, the vowels sounding like the yelp of an animal in pain, a tarp came down, covering the last glimpse he had of Mama and Lech. The engine howled, and the truck drove off.

Fritz stood on the sidewalk watching the truck disappear. Oma Clara shook him out of his trance. “Come inside, boy!” She put her arm around his shoulders and moved him gently toward the house.

Irmi still sat in the kitchen, her eyes red and her face swollen from crying. “Where will they take them?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” Oma Clara answered. She went to the window and stared out into the yard. “It’s all a big misunderstanding.”

“But we need to tell the police that it was a mistake.” Irmi pleaded, wiping her face with the kitchen towel. “Can’t you ask someone?”

“I’m going to the mayor’s office and ask.” Oma Clara took her cardigan from the back of the kitchen chair. “He is friends with the Russian military administration and might know something.” Oma Clara walked toward the kitchen door.

“I think we should come with you,” Irmi suddenly blurted out. Fear quivered in her voice. Oma Clara hesitated for a moment, then said, “Get your jackets!”

The three of them walked quickly to the mayor’s office. Fritz had to take long strides to keep up. He needed to wake up from this nightmare. A mistake had been made, and soon it all would be resolved. They briskly walked over to the mayor’s office, where only a week before he had been with Mama. Oma Clara opened the door without knocking and stormed into the room.

“My daughter has just been arrested by the military police, together with a Polish worker who lives on my farm. It is a mistake, and I would like to know where she is now.” Oma Clara stopped in front of the mayor’s desk. The startled man did not have time for a formal greeting. He stood up and folded his hands in front of his chest. She had to look up to meet the mayor’s eyes.

“I know, Clara.” Johann Müller focused his eyes on a spot somewhere behind Oma Clara on the other side of the room. “We had received information that she had hidden weapons. Therefore, we—”

“What do you mean? Who told you that?” Oma Clara’s voice grew louder.

“I cannot disclose the sources,” the mayor said, still averting his eyes from Oma Clara. “We have to follow orders. It’s a crime to own weapons, and whoever breaks the Soviet military regulations has to live with the consequences.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Oma Clara was exasperated. “Follow orders? Breaking the Soviet regulations? You know me. We went to school together. My daughter had to leave her farm in Schwartz, and she and her two children live with me now.”

Oma Clara motioned toward Fritz and Irmi. “We don’t have any weapons. I handed over the hunting gun I used to own when the Russian demanded it right after May eighth.” She took a deep breath and shook her head. “Who told you a lie like this? Why? Haven’t we suffered enough through the war? And how can people be snatched away without any proof?”

A man in a Russian uniform approached her from a corner of the room. “Your daughter is in our custody,” he said in German, with a heavy accent. “She has committed a crime, and she will be held responsible for it.”

“This is crazy.” Oma Clara shook her head. “Where are they? Can we visit them?”

“No!” the man said firmly. “And you must leave now.”

Oma Clara glared at the mayor, who just shrugged his shoulders. Then she turned to Fritz and Irmi, her face gray, older. “Let’s go home,” she said quietly.

Back on the sidewalk Irmi searched for Fritz’s hand. As her fingers joined his, Fritz did not pull back.

Somehow they managed to have dinner. Oma Clara said something about how food kept body and soul together, but Fritz couldn’t eat and mostly just stared at his plate. No one spoke. Finally, Oma Clara got up and heated water for the dishes. Fritz wanted to bang his fist on the table or break a plate. The ticking of the clock in the corner echoed in his ears. He couldn’t sit still any longer.