Monika Schröder: The Dog in the Wood

The soldier finished his chocolate bar and gave Fritz another. Fritz looked up. Was this for him to keep? He wondered if Paul was watching them from behind the hedge near the barn. The soldier patted Fritz’s shoulder, nodded approvingly, again showing the missing tooth with a big smile. The other Russian now climbed down from the tank with a wooden box. He lifted the lid and took out two metal egg-shaped objects with a grid-relief on the outside. Both men stuffed three of the metal eggs into their jackets and turned toward the pond. “Come! Come!” the man with the scar motioned. Fritz did not want to go with them. By now Mama might be worried, possibly already on her way to look for him in the garden.

“No, thank you!” he answered, returning the men’s friendly smiles. “I have to go home now!” Fritz pointed toward the barn up on the hill. “This is where I live. I have to go back to my mother.”

“Mother?”

“Yes!” Fritz answered, relieved that they understood him. He nodded to emphasize the meaning of the word. The blond man addressed his fellow soldier in Russian. The second man nodded and repeated, “Maama!” turning to Fritz.

“ Dawai! Dawai! ” the Russians said, laughing and pushing him toward the hill, pointing up to the farm.

Paul was waiting for him behind the hedge at the barn.

“What did they give you?”

“Chocolate bars,” Fritz said.

“Show me!” Paul demanded.

“Here.” Fritz pulled out the bar.

“You have to give it to me.”

Fritz hesitated.

“You wouldn’t have it if I hadn’t sent you into the tank,” Paul said, grabbing the bar. Fritz wanted to protest, but Paul had already unwrapped the chocolate and taken a bite with a wide grin.

“I have to go home,” Fritz said and turned away.

Until the fences were repaired, Fritz’s main job was to herd the cows. It was a warm, humid afternoon when he had set out with his family’s cows to the green pasture behind the pond. Dark clouds gathered in the west announcing rain. As the first drops fell, Fritz sought shelter under a big oak tree. The ten cows had spread out on the grass, some lying down to chew their cud. The wind rose from the west, and the clouds moved fast. Fritz leaned against the tree, wondering if the rain would last, when two Russian jeeps drove onto the pasture. Four soldiers jumped out of the vehicles and ran toward the cows, clapping their hands, and herding them toward the road. Fritz wanted to scream, but the sound stuck in his throat. Instead he turned and ran. It was only a short distance uphill toward the house. “Mama! Mama!” he yelled, “Where are you?”

“What’s the matter?” Mama asked, coming out of the barn. “Why aren’t you out in the field?”

“The Russians are taking the cows! They’re driving them away!”

Mama walked with long strides across the yard. When she reached the brow of the hill, she began to run. Fritz sped to follow her. By the time they arrived at the pastureland, the cows were moving slowly down the road. “No! No!” Mama screamed, running toward the soldiers. One man turned around, yelled in Russian, and laughed. Fritz saw Mama passing the animals, spreading her hands in an attempt to stop them. But the other soldier pushed her away, patting the cows’ rears to encourage the animals to walk faster. Fritz did not move. He saw Mama stumble from the man’s shove, her face frozen in terror.

“Rieke!” the name of the lead cow darted out of Fritz’s mouth. “Rieke!” he called, stepping closer. “Rieke!”

The cow named Rieke turned around and trotted toward him. Two of the Russians reached their arms out to stand in her way, but Rieke continued on her path. One man yelled in Russian, but the soldiers couldn’t stop her. The other cows stayed with the soldiers, and they ushered them down the road. The Russians turned around, laughing, amused.

With rain dripping from Fritz’s hair, Rieke nudged him with her warm nose. Mama had collapsed under the tree, burying her face in her hands. Fritz walked over to her, followed by the faithful Rieke, and put his hand on her shoulder. “It’s okay,” he muttered, his heart aching at seeing Mama hurting like this. She looked up at him, but her attempt at smiling showed her distress even more. She swallowed hard, shook her head, got up, and wiped off her clothing.

“Thank you, Fritz!” she said. “I wish the others had followed her.” Mama sighed and took his hand and led the cow back to the barn. “Looks as if even the sky is sad that we lost our cows,” she said, tugging his hand to emphasize the joke, but Fritz knew that she could not make light of the loss.

Back at the house, Mama told Irmi and Lech what had happened. Fritz didn’t want to be there, especially when Irmi clasped her hands over her mouth and made it worse for Mama by crying. They still had Rieke, who could supply milk for the family, but there wouldn’t be any extra to sell. He washed his hands and looked at himself in the bathroom mirror. What a coward he was. He should have stepped in earlier. He had rescued only one cow. He should have run between the men and the herd. He should have tried to call them all back.

In the hallway he met Lech. “It’s not your fault,” he said, as if he could read Fritz’s mind. “The Russians are taking all the livestock, from everyone.”

“I wish I had done more,” Fritz said quietly.

“You did what you could,” Lech said. “I’m going to the barn. Would you like to come with me to work on your dog?”

“No,” Fritz said.

The following Saturday, when Fritz returned from milking Rieke, a jeep was parked in front of the house. Lech and Mama were standing in the kitchen with two Russians. Mama motioned Fritz to come closer. These men wore real uniforms instead of the ragged bulky green shirts he had seen on the soldiers he had met at the tank. The taller Russian stepped toward Mama, stretched out his hand, and said: “Mikhail Petrov.” His head was not shaved like all the other Russians’ Fritz had seen so far. Mikhail Petrov had a full shock of golden-blond hair and a square jaw. He looked like the handsome Aryans the Nazis had printed on their posters. How strange to know a Russian by name. “And this is Sergei Babiuk.” The second man, short with thinning dark hair, nodded in Mama’s direction but did not shake her hand.

Mama turned to Fritz. “This is my son, Fritz.” Fritz didn’t know if he should greet the men with a handshake. How polite would he need to be to Russians? Fritz couldn’t take his eyes off Mikhail Petrov’s chiseled face. The handsome Russian smiled at Fritz and said that he spoke only a little German: “Ich spreche nur wenig Deutsch.” The words came out in a soft melody. He pronounced the ch -sound in the back of his throat. Mama nudged Fritz and said in a hushed tone, “Don’t stare.”

Later, Lech explained that the two men were the commanders of the Russian army unit that had taken and secured the village and that they planned to set up their headquarters in the house for a while. “Headquarters? What does that mean?” Fritz looked at Lech.

“They’ll stay with us,” Lech said. “They’ll sleep in your grandparents’ old bedroom, and they’ll use the living room as their office.” Fritz looked at Mama to see what she thought of the Russians moving in. But just then Irmi entered the kitchen, and when she saw the two Russians, she threw her hands in front of her face and let out a scream. Mama put her arm around Irmi’s shoulder and pulled her closer.“It’s okay,” she told her. Fritz was not sure what to think. They seemed less frightening than the first soldiers who had come into their house, but Fritz made himself remember all the things he had been told about Russians by his grandparents, his teachers, and speakers on the radio. But then again, the two soldiers he had met at the tank had even given him chocolate. He argued with himself back and forth, trying to figure out what he thought of them. He certainly didn’t like them sleeping in Oma Lou’s bed. Irmi was more definite in her opinion. As soon as the two left to bring in their gear, she shrieked, “You want us to stay in the house with Russians ?”