Monika Schröder: The Dog in the Wood

Fritz turned to give Lech a hug. Lech embraced Fritz with his strong arms, and as he pressed his face against Lech’s shoulder, Fritz felt less frightened of what was to come.

No one had thought of the asparagus. The night before, Fritz had peeked under the cloth that covered the mounds of sand in which the asparagus grew. It was ready to harvest. Fritz shivered in the morning cold. He had brought with him a basket, a dishcloth, and a knife. Asparagus had to be cut at dawn to prevent the stalks from turning dark. He gently moved the soil from the tips, dug the knife deep along the stem, and cut the tender stalks. Fritz collected the spears in his basket and covered them with a kitchen towel to block out light. Fritz liked the cracking sound of his knife cutting the stalks, and he was looking forward to the prepared asparagus he would eat later. Oma used to call asparagus the “king of vegetables.” He cut two rows, filling the basket to its rim. When he returned to the kitchen, Mama and Irmi were having breakfast. He put the basket on the table, beaming at Mama. Mama lifted the dishcloth and burst out, “Oh no. The asparagus!” Fritz didn’t understand. Her tone of voice didn’t match the reaction he had expected. He stared at her. Mama swallowed, then with a softer voice said, “Fritz, we don’t have time to prepare it. They say that the Russians will be here today. We need to get ready.”

“I’ll peel it,” Fritz said, looking down. “Then you just have to steam it.”

“All right.” Mama sighed, and mussed his hair.

After lunch Mama opened the sideboard and took out Grandfather Karl’s watch and all his Nazi lapel pins. “We should have burned these together with his uniforms,” she mumbled, placing all the items into a small box.

Irmi sat on the sofa, cutting the chevrons off her Young Maiden uniform.

“What if they nail us to the wall? That’s what I heard from one of the refugees.” Irmi’s voice took on the hysterical note Fritz hated. “Or take us to Siberia? We cannot just stay here and wait.”

“We don’t have any other option,” Mama said. “What could they possibly want from us?”

Fritz wondered if he should mention the hole to Mama now. They still had enough time to reach it.

“I don’t want to just sit here and wait!” Irmi said in a voice shrill with fear.

“Well, if we had wanted to join the refugee treks, we should have done it much earlier. Now we’ll stay here and await whatever happens.” Mama picked up the box and walked toward the living room door. “I’ll take this box up to the attic. Fritz, can you open the door, please?”

Irmi screamed after them, “Don’t you understand? They won—we lost! The Bolsheviks are coming! The Nazis did horrible things to the people in Russia, and they will now do horrible things to us.” Irmi ran to her bedroom.

Fritz felt a tremor of panic. How bad was it going to be? They could pack a crate with food, take blankets, and run to the hole. Fritz knew he could find it. Knowing they could all stay there safely might make Mama feel better. He decided to tell her.

Mama came down from the attic with a bedsheet from the chest of drawers.

“What are you doing now?” Fritz asked.

“We’ll hoist this on the flagpole to show that we surrender,” she said. Fritz looked at her face and knew that she had been crying.

“Grandpa Karl dug a hole in the forest. I know where it is. We can go there and hide until the Russians have passed,” he told Mama hastily, imagining himself leading the family toward the hole under the forked tree. Mama looked at him, her eyes widened. She took several short breaths. The pause grew longer, and he saw exactly the moment she made the decision.

“No. We’re going to stay here. Lech will stay with us. We’ll show a white flag and hope for the best.”

The sound of hooves on the cobblestone echoed from the street. From the back of the house the roar of a tank drew closer. Mama sat down between Irmi and Fritz on the sofa. Then Fritz heard shouts, and Mama grasped his hand.

Lech moved the curtains to look out the window. Fritz saw the white sheet flapping from above. He was glad that Lech was with them in the house.

“Just keep breathing, everyone!” Lech said and sat down in the chair by the window. “They will be wild and scary-looking. Do what they say.”

Heavy footsteps sounded on the tiles in the hallway. Then three soldiers entered the living room. They all wore torn green jackets with small red flags sewn onto their sleeves. They shouted in Russian. Fritz held Mama’s hand and tried to stay as close to her as possible on the sofa. One of the soldiers broke the glass of the sideboard with the butt of his rifle, took out the bottle of brandy, drank from it, and passed it to the others. They rummaged through the china cabinet, throwing the plates on the floor. Fritz saw the white china bowl break and little pieces of white porcelain with blue flowers spread over the carpet. Mama held his hand with a firm grip. Suddenly, one soldier pointed his rifle at them. “No!” Mama screamed. Fritz held his breath.

“ Stojat! ” Lech stepped toward the middle of the room, holding his arms up. The soldier turned to Lech, who spoke in what sounded like their language and motioned toward the pantry. The Russians seemed to understand. One soldier waved the tip of his rifle toward the door and motioned them to move. Fritz got up, holding onto a chair, his legs shaking. Following Mama and Lech closely, he walked into the hallway.

When they reached the pantry, two of the Russians grabbed sausages hanging from a hook. Others pried open jars of canned fruit. One jar broke on the floor, and Fritz watched four big gooseberries roll onto the black and white tiles, the translucent syrup magnifying the tile pattern. One of the soldiers ate pickles out of a jar; another slurped canned fruit. If they only wanted food, it might not be so bad. Lech handed them a sack and helped them fill it with jars, meats, and the dried sausage Oma Lou had saved for a special occasion. The soldiers stuffed it all into the sack and their uniform pockets, then, shoving Fritz aside, made their way to the door. Their boots echoed on the tile floor, and suddenly the house was quiet.

Mama let go of his hand, leaving a small pain where her fingers had clenched his.

“Irmi?” Mama screamed. “Irmi? Where are you?”

Where was Irmi? A minute ago she had been sitting with Mama and Fritz in the living room. The fear was still all over him, and another wave of panic crept down his shoulders. Had they taken his sister? Fritz ran back into the living room, his shoes crunching on the broken china. “Irmi?” She was not there.

“Irmi?” He heard Mama call from the yard. Fritz ran back to the kitchen. It also had been looted by the Russians. He scanned the room. The bread box was empty, and the intruders had left all the cupboard doors open. One drawer was removed from the sideboard, and cutlery was spread out on the table. The wooden boards they used for breakfast plates were scattered on the floor. Fritz hurried to the bedroom. He squatted to look under the bed, and there was Irmi, lying facedown, her arms covering her head.

When Fritz woke up the next morning, the house was quiet. Now it had finally happened. The Russians had come and left. The worst was over. He and Irmi had slept in Mama’s bedroom. Mama still lay sleeping on her back, fully dressed, Irmi still clinging to her in her sleep. With a shudder he remembered the cold fear he had felt when the soldier had pointed his gun at him.

Fritz pulled his shirt off the chair and tiptoed into the hallway. The door to the living room was open. Illuminated by the morning light, the disheveled room looked less alarming.