Monika Schröder: The Dog in the Wood

Fritz shook soil off the carrot before he placed it to one side. Then he pulled another carrot out of the ground and adjusted the position of his knees to reach into the next row. He loved the smell of the moist soil. He would leave three plants standing untouched so they could flower and produce seeds for the following year. With his thumb he rubbed the dirt between his fingertips. At the edge of the garden the gooseberries had reached the size of small plums, their minute black seeds visible through the transparent gray-green skin. He needed to get gloves to protect himself from their thorns. Mama would make jam out of the sour fruit if there was enough sugar for canning.

Fritz woke up with a start. It was still dark outside. He tried to hold on to the warmth and sunny colors of his dream, but it was cold in his bedroom. Fritz dressed quickly. Even inside the house he could see his breath.

When he entered the warm kitchen, he was greeted by the delicious smell of doughnuts. “Good morning!” Oma Clara waved the wooden spoon, sending little drops of dough flying before she dropped a dollop of dough into the hot oil. She fished a doughnut out of the pot and placed it on a cooling rack. “Here, you want to help by sprinkling the powdered sugar over them? I traded goose lard for the powdered sugar.” She offered him a sieve. He scattered the sugar over the shiny yellow doughnuts as she fried more of the yeast balls.

“Did you see what happened overnight?” Oma Clara motioned toward the window. A thick layer of snow covered the barnyard. “We’re lucky that storm didn’t knock out the electricity.” Fritz put down the sieve to look outside. Small mounds of snow had gathered on the windowsill. “When spring comes, I will start a garden,” he said.

“Oh, a garden is all pain, very little gain,” Oma Clara said. “I usually just trade for what I need with Frau Bauer next door.”

“But I am very good with plants,” Fritz said. “I raise tasty tomatoes. We could sell them.”

Oma Clara focused on the next doughnut. “Really?”

“The space between the stable and the water tank is the perfect place for a garden. Not too much wind and lots of sun,” Fritz added.

“Maybe we can trade tomatoes for geese. Then you can also watch those.”

He looked up at her, but she laughed and nudged him. “I got you there for a moment,” she said. “Don’t worry. No geese. Just the garden!”

Fritz sprinkled another shower of powdered sugar onto the doughnuts. He should have asked her earlier.

Just as he was wondering when it was time to try the first doughnut, he heard a knock on the door. It was Konrad, who had come to hear about the trip to Nirow. The boys sat down at the kitchen table, and Oma Clara placed the plate with doughnuts in front of them. “Grab them while they’re still warm. I’m going to leave you boys alone so Fritz can tell you how he almost brought us all into the devil’s kitchen by visiting the Russians,” Oma Clara said, shaking her head at Fritz. Then she smiled and quickly mussed his hair before she left.

“He promised you a letter. That’s good,” Konrad said after he had listened to Fritz’s account.

“Yes,” Fritz answered. “But I wish I could have seen them.”

“You’re so lucky that you met that same Russian again,” Konrad said. “I wish I had a promise of a letter from my dad.”

Suddenly Fritz felt selfish and added, “Thank you for getting me the bike!”

Oma Clara had returned to the kitchen and set down a basket of firewood near the stove. “You haven’t finished them all!”

“I’m stuffed.” Konrad leaned back. “Thank you, Frau Lendt.”

“Those were delicious, Oma.” Fritz wiped the powdered sugar from his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Why don’t you two go sledding? It’s Sunday. No school. We have lots of snow outside, and there’s a sled in the barn.”

“Want to go sledding?” Fritz asked.

“Sure,” Konrad said. “I love sledding.”

The two boys passed the cemetery on their way toward the hill on the south end of the village, and Fritz suddenly remembered how, back in Schwartz, he and Paul had had to push the Russian on his motorcycle.

“What’s the matter, Fritz?” Konrad said, looking closely at his schoolmate.

“Oh, I was just thinking of the day I had to push a drunken Russian up a hill on a motorcycle. At the end he pulled his revolver.”

“That must’ve been scary,” Konrad said.

“It was,” Fritz said, and with the images of the scene, once again came the terror he had felt when Paul had yanked him between the Russian and himself.

How different it was to be with Konrad.

“We had bad experiences with Russians, too,” Konrad said. “When we were on the trek, moving along the frozen beach of the Baltic Sea, we were attacked by Russian airplanes. They flew very low and shot at us. Since we were on a beach, there was no place we could hide. My mother screamed and pulled us under the wagon.” Konrad took a deep breath.

The two stories lingered between them. Fritz and Konrad continued to walk silently. When they reached the bottom of the hill, Konrad also grabbed the rope to the sled and together they headed up.

The letter arrived two days later. It was a Wednesday afternoon as the three of them were sitting in the living room. Oma Clara was mending socks, Irmi was knitting, and Fritz was finishing his homework. Fritz knew it right away when the doorbell rang. He flew to the door and took the letter from the postman’s hands. In the living room he handed it to Oma Clara. They sat down at the dining table, and Oma Clara began to read:

Dear Family,

We cannot tell you where we are held. But Lech and I are together. That gives us strength. Don’t worry about us. We are healthy. There will be a trial, and as there is no evidence against us I am hopeful that we will come home soon.

Irmi and Fritz,

Please help Oma Clara as much as you can.

P.S.: Note from Lech: “Fritz should get the dog out of the wood!”

“Why is it so short?” Irmi asked.

“They probably can’t write more. I’m sure if she could have, she would have,” Oma said, and folded the letter back into the envelope. For a while they sat silently around the dining table. Fritz took the envelope and reread the letter, looking for more than the words said. Mama and Lech were together. They were healthy. Mama thought that they would come home soon. He let the words slowly sink in. It was good to hold the paper that had recently been in Mama’s hands.

Then Oma Clara finally spoke. “I am so glad we got this note. Thanks to you, Fritz,” she said, smiling. “I hope that she is right and they will come home soon.”

“What does it mean ‘get the dog out of the wood’?” Irmi asked. “We don’t have a dog.”

But Fritz had already gotten up and was on his way to the back room. He dressed in his quilted jacket and boots before going out to the barn, where he picked up Lech’s carving tools and the piece of wood he had been working on. It still looked more like a pig than a dog.

Back in the living room, Fritz flattened a piece of newspaper on the table and placed the carving tools in a row in front of him.

“What are you doing?” Irmi looked up from her knitting.

“I’m going to work on my carving,” Fritz said.

“In the living room?” Oma Clara asked.

“It’s too cold in the barn,” Fritz said, pointing to the newspaper he had spread out to protect the table. “This will be a dog,” he continued. “Lech showed me how to do it, and I want to finish it before they return.”

Fritz picked up the carving knife and looked around the room. It seemed brighter than he remembered. He felt the warmth radiating from the yellow tile oven. In the corner stood the grandfather clock, its hands frozen forever at a quarter past four. How he had laughed when Lech had wondered if Oma Clara’s sofa and chair were upholstered with an old brown poodle’s fur. A small red stain remained on the wall from a bug Irmi had squished with a scream. A fine lace of spider webs hung between the windowsill and the Bakelite radio Oma Clara refused to switch on. This was the place where Oma Clara and Irmi shared his hope for Mama’s and Lech’s return. This was his home now.