Chris Bohjalian - Skeletons at the Feast

He tapped the gas tank. “No petrol. I coasted the last stretch on fumes. And there isn't a liter of fuel to be found in all of Stettin.”

“Not even for a dedicated soldier of the Reich?”

He smirked. “Ah, and none for me, either.”

“So you're going with us… again?”

“I am.”

“Why?”

“I like your company,” he said, not even a trace of sarcasm in his response this time.

“Tell me something.”

“Yes?”

“How have you not been shot?”

“By the Russians?”

“By your own bloody army. I would think you would have been executed by now, not advanced to an officer.”

He seemed to think about this. Then: “I do my share, it seems.”

“Where have you been the last four or five weeks? Dare I ask?”

“Well, I haven't been hiding out in a lovely house near the Baltic. Tell me, is this the first time they let you out? Have you been a house pet-an indoor cat-the whole time?”

Callum inhaled slowly through his nose and tried to remain composed. He was a Scot in the middle of Stettin. He was unarmed at the moment and he was talking to a German captain. And, the truth was, he had indeed spent most of his time here either indoors or in the backyard. His greatest, most risky excursion? Carrying Theo to and from the hospital. He was only outside in front of the house now because they were harnessing the horses and loading the wagon, and were about to try to catch up to the long columns of refugees streaming west. And while Mutti must have suspected that he and Anna were now something more than friends, they had not gone out of their way to specify their relationship for the woman. He and Anna had discussed whether they should. But first the fact they were in Elfi's house had precluded them, and then Theo had gotten sick. And so instead of answering Manfred's question he said simply, “You got here just in time. If you'd come half an hour from now, we might have been gone.”

“That would have saddened me,” he said, and he took a pair of the leather straps that were dangling near the horse's chest and buckled them together.

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“I have to ask, then: Why?”

“Why have I come back?”

“Exactly. Is it Anna?”

At the far end of the block, along the cross street, they watched a German staff car speed past and then, a moment later, a pair of half-tracks loaded down with soldiers driving in the opposite direction.

“There are staff officers still here in town,” Manfred said and he sounded surprised-almost incredulous. “I would have thought they would have left days ago. Most of this ship is underwater. The rats should be long gone.”

“You didn't answer my question. Are you in love with Anna?”

Manfred seemed to smirk. “Oh, I don't think I know her well enough to be in love with her.”

“But you might be?”

“No, not likely. You can sleep easy. And I promise you, I didn't come back here because of her. Can we leave it at that?”

“We can,” he said. “But I really don't see why you're with us and not with your unit.”

Nearby a shell fell and exploded, one of the first to hit the outskirts of the city itself. Callum guessed it was no more than three or four blocks distant, and along the street a block to the west. A plume of brackish smoke began to curl up into the spring air. Seconds later another shell detonated even closer, this one no more than a block away, and the men watched as both horses sniffed at the air.

URI HADN'T PLANNED on telling Callum his story that moment. There were still plenty of Nazis who would have been all too happy to gas him or shoot him, despite the fact their cause was irretrievably lost. And he certainly didn't want to get into the details at the start of an artillery barrage. But, the truth was, a reason why he had come back was this Scotsman standing before him now, and so-almost impulsively-he said, “I don't really have a unit.”

“Well, that's a surprise. How come? Dare I ask?”

“Because, my friend, I'm a Jew,” he said, the words liberating in a way he hadn't expected, a stupendous, bracing, and unforeseen release. Abruptly, his story was spilling from him. “You asked if I know loss? Trust me: I know loss. I've spent two years trying to stay alive by hiding out in the German army-and for a few days not precisely in Ivan's army, but with a Russian coat on my back-and my goal now is to get to your army in the west. Get to your people or the Americans. I want out of Germany. I want off this continent. And so if I have come back for anyone, Callum, it is for you.”

“Me?”

“Indeed.”

In the doorway, driven outside by the proximity of the falling bombs, were Mutti and Anna, each of them wrapped in a shawl and carrying a small bundle with clothing. The larger suitcases were already in the wagon. The air was starting to fill with dust from the building on the next block that had been hit, and somewhere in the distance there was a siren.

“I'm trusting you not to tell them,” he added before the two women had reached them.

“Why?” Callum asked. “You know them. You can't possibly think they're anti-Semites.”

“You're the first person I've told, and I only told you because I thought it might make our walk together a little more peaceful.”

Callum wasn't completely sure he believed him. He thought he did. And he wanted to believe him. But this fellow seemed willing to do whatever it took to survive-impersonating all manner of German or Russian soldiers-and now he was insisting he was Jewish. It was just as likely he was SS. Nevertheless, he had come back here to be with them. And that had to mean something. Moreover, he had made them all feel a little safer when he had been with them, hadn't he? He was a chameleon, but he was also as tough as any soldier Callum had met in either army.

Still, he wasn't going to hide something from the Emmerichs. “If you don't tell them, I will,” he said finally.

“Tell us what?” Mutti asked. “Is it about the Russians?” She sounded almost fatalistic.

“Manfred here has a bit of a bombshell.”

“Uri, actually. My name isn't Manfred. It's Uri.”

Mutti looked a little perplexed to Callum, and then her eyes widened as if she understood. “You're a spy?” she asked.

Anna turned to her mother, took the bundle from her arms, and tossed it unceremoniously into the wagon. “No, Mutti, I don't think that's what he means at all.” She looked at him, her eyes still red from her tears, and said, “Is this your way of telling us you're Jewish?”

He realized that he was shifting his feet anxiously. “Yes.”

“Fine. It's lovely to have you with us once more as a traveling companion. We missed you. Now, shall we leave?”

A small series of shells landed on the next block, close enough that Waldau snorted nervously and turned his massive neck as far as he could in the direction of the noise.

“I told you they wouldn't care,” said Callum.

“Okay, then,” he agreed, and he took the two rucksacks off the motorcycle, tossing one over his shoulder and grasping the other by one of its buckles.

“Why don't you put those in the wagon?” Anna suggested. “I think the horses can handle them.”

He thought about this, but only for a moment. Then he placed the packs in the long farm cart beside the bags of feed and the luggage and turned back to the women.

“Mrs. Emmerich?”

“Yes.”

“I am so sorry about Theo. He was”-and here he paused, glancing briefly at Callum-“a courageous and wonderful young man. I can't tell you how much I liked him. It's a terrible loss.”

She looked back at him with a strength that he found a little disarming. “It is,” she said. “But I thank you. And I am sure you have had your losses, too.”