Monika Schröder: The Dog in the Wood

They had cleaned up the kitchen last night before they went to bed. The drawers were back in the cupboard, and chairs stood arranged at the table. Fritz looked out the kitchen window. No Russians in sight. The only sound was the chatter of the chickens huddled together in the corner of the yard. What had the soldiers done to the farm? The door to the pigsty was open. His heart sank when he saw the empty pen. He went outside and walked swiftly to the horse stable, hoping to find Max’s and Moritz’s big heads nodding over their doors, but Grandpa Karl’s two Holsteiner horses were also gone. Only Carino, the pony, remained. He nudged his lip at Fritz’s shoulder. Fritz quickly rubbed the white patch on the pony’s forehead and moved on to the cow stalls. With relief Fritz heard the sounds of mooing and chains rattling as he went closer to count the swishing tails. All ten cows were still in their places.

The garden fence was broken, and truck tires had torn through the garden. They had mowed down the gooseberry bushes, the rhubarb, and most of Oma Lou’s lettuce and onions. With a sting Fritz imagined Oma Lou shaking her head and scolding the Russians for the destruction of her well-tended garden. At least the tomatoes were unharmed, and the rows of strawberries Fritz had planted stood untouched.

As Fritz walked back to the house. Lech came out of the barn.

“They took Max and Moritz and the pigs!”

“I saw that last night,” Lech said.

“What are they going to do with all our animals?”

“Some they will use here. Others they will send to Russia,” Lech said.

“Will the soldiers come back?” Fritz had not dared to ask Mama last night.

“Yes. They’ll come back. Some of them might even set up camp nearby and stay for a while. We are now under Russian occupation,” Lech said.

“How long will they stay?” Fritz asked.

“That’s hard to say.” Lech shrugged. “Once the Allies have taken Berlin, they will talk about what to do with Germany. But no one got hurt here. That’s the most important thing.” Lech looked around. “Is there any food left for breakfast, or do we have to eat milk soup from now on?”

“The chickens are still here.”

“Why don’t you close the front gate while I get some eggs?” Lech turned back toward the chicken house.

Before he pulled the heavy wooden gate shut, Fritz looked down the village road. Old Frau Bartel was sweeping broken glass from the sidewalk in front of her house. A military truck had parked in front of the pub. White flags—sheets, linen, and tablecloths—were hanging from the windows on both sides of the street. Just one house had chosen a different color. On the flagpole outside of Paul’s family’s house a red flag fluttered in the wind.

Irmi had already finished milking her five cows when Fritz put his stool down to the right of Bertha’s rear end and placed the bucket under it. He massaged the cow’s udder, took hold of two teats, and applied gentle pressure with his thumb and index finger, just as Oma Lou had showed him, letting the other three fingers follow one by one with a slight downward tug. The milk splashed down into the bucket. It was comforting to fall into the familiar rhythm of this chore. At least one thing remained the same—cows needed milking twice a day. Bertha turned her head, chewing her cud. When the bucket was full, Fritz poured the milk into the churn through a strainer.

“Here you are.” Paul entered the stable, ducking away from Bertha’s tail.

“I’m almost done. Irmi will work the centrifuge,” Fritz said. “Did the Russians come into your house as well?”

“Yes,” Paul nodded. “They came and broke stuff. They took my mother’s brooch. I told her to hide it, but she was sure they wouldn’t touch anything because of the red flag. She showed them my dad’s Party book, but they didn’t care. They shot one of the pigs right there in the middle of the yard. Then they took the rest, our goats, and Willi’s rabbit. He cried all morning.”

Fritz remembered their last conversation, when Paul had said that his family was looking forward to the arrival of the Russians. But he decided not to say anything. He didn’t want to start another argument.

“Let’s go and see what else happened in the village,” Paul said as Fritz hung up his apron and washed out the bucket.

They walked down to the end of the yard and turned the corner, passing the barn. From there they could see down to the pond.

“Wow! Look at that!” Paul said. Next to the pond sat a tank.

“It looks like it’s stuck in the sand,” Fritz said.

They looked around, but the tank seemed to be deserted.

“Let’s go and look at it,” Paul said.

The tank was the color of kale. The treads were crusted with a paste of pebbles and mud. When they moved closer, Fritz could see that a lid, like a round door, on top of the tank was open. From between two small slitlike windows a cannon barrel protruded, pointing directly to the back of their barn on top of the hill.

“We shouldn’t go too close. What if someone shoots at us?” Fritz said. “What if a Russian is still inside?”

Paul took no notice of Fritz’s concern. He even walked a little faster and stopped right in front of the tank.

“Hello?” Paul called. But no one answered.

“What if there’s a dead soldier inside? Or someone who is just waiting for us to get close enough?” Fritz caught up with Paul.

“We should climb inside, see what it looks like in there.” Paul motioned to Fritz. “You first!” Fritz wanted to protest, but he was too afraid that Paul would tease him. With a pounding heart he pulled himself up from the top of the treads to the opening and slid carefully inside the tank. It was dark and cold. It had looked so big from the outside, but it felt small on the inside.

“Can you see anything?” Paul called.

“There isn’t much space in here,” Fritz answered. Strange letters were printed on a sign pasted on the side. Lots of black buttons and red levers stuck out of a metal board under the window slit. Beside the metal seat and behind the steering levers he saw a package. Its German label read “Additional food rations for tank crews.” He picked it up, wondering if the food package had been taken from a conquered German tank. “Are you coming?” Fritz asked.

Suddenly Fritz heard voices. Through the window slits he saw two soldiers. Both men had rifles hanging over their shoulders. He panicked and quickly dropped the package. Through the two window slits he saw Paul running up the hill. Fritz jumped to the opening, pulling himself up, his fingers clinging to the rim, but when he stuck his head out, he looked right into the face of a Russian.

The soldier asked him something in Russian. When Fritz didn’t move, the man grabbed him by the arm, pulling him out in one swing. Fritz landed on the treads. He had to hold onto the tank to steady himself. Below stood the second man, who stretched his arm out, seeming to offer help to climb down. Without thinking, Fritz took the hand of the stranger, who swung him to the ground. By then both men were smiling, and Fritz allowed himself to relax. The soldier who had climbed up first now let himself slowly down into the tank. The second man clapped Fritz on the shoulder and said something in Russian. He was still smiling, and Fritz could see that he was missing a tooth on his right upper jaw. His head was shaved, and a thick scar shimmered through the bristles.

The other soldier reappeared from the inside of the tank, throwing down the package with the German label. His colleague pulled a knife from his pocket and opened it. Inside were several smaller packages. Fritz recognized a brand of cookies. On the side were four small rectangular bars wrapped in foil. The soldier with the scar took one of the bars and passed it to Fritz. He took it, and with a nod from the soldier he opened the wrapping. Inside was a dark brown solid. The soldier also opened one of the bars and took a bite from it. Fritz lifted the strange bar to his lips and licked carefully. If the soldier was eating it, the bar could not be poisoned. Fritz took a small bite. “ Shokolatte ,” the soldier said. This was chocolate? He had heard of it but had never tried any. The solid melted in his mouth into a sweet liquid, exploding a wonderful taste. He smiled back at the man.