The Last Green Valley

by Mark Sullivan

  The Germans took the refugees by boxcar, starting with the one closest to the coal car. The Martels pulled and pushed their wagons behind three soldiers who led them and the other refugees on a dusty, hot road that led out through fields that still lay fallow, awaiting the plow.

  Emil was pulling, and Adeline and her mother, Lydia, pushing. Malia had gone to help Karoline and Johann. The boys were trudging along behind. As he was nearest to the three soldiers leading them, Emil could hear most of the discussion they were having.

  “Like clockwork,” one of them said.

  Another said, “More vermin left last night, just in time for this new blood to take their places.”

  “Clothes and bugs off them first,” a third said, sounding disgusted as they crested a rise to see a group of four buildings, two on each side of the road.

  A sign said “Einwandererzentralstelle (EWZ).”

  “Immigration Control Center,” Emil said to Adeline.

  The soldiers stopped at the center of the four buildings, and Major Haussmann appeared around the front of them.

  “Men and women are to be separated here briefly. All boys are to be with their fathers. If they have no fathers and are under the age of four, they will go with their mothers and sisters. Over four years old, they go with the men.

  “Keep your papers with you,” Haussmann went on. “Your belongings will be tagged and returned to you as soon as it is allowed. Bitte, men to my left, women to my right, enter the front doors before you.”

  Emil kissed Adeline, then took the boys by the hands and with his father led the way up to open steel double doors in a brick wall about three meters high with barbed wire strung across the top. On the other side, they entered a courtyard of sorts with soldiers waiting behind long tables and piles of clothes thrown behind them.

  “Strip!” a soldier shouted. “Keep your papers and strip. Leave your clothes here, and then give your papers to be protected. Alphabetically. A to M, left, N to Z, right!”

  Walt stared in fright at Emil. He did not like to be naked, but Emil said, “Do what the officer tells you.”

  Will stripped off his clothes right away and was dancing about, laughing and ignoring the disapproving looks from the men just coming into the courtyard. Walt finally complied. Holding his hands over his groin, he followed Emil and Will and his grandfather to the officer who was taking their papers.

  “Don’t worry,” the soldier said. “They’ll be given back to you on the other side. Through those doors, bitte.”

  Inside, soldiers led them to chairs where their hair was shorn off with clippers. Emil’s and Johann’s beards—long and bushy from the six-week journey after a long winter—were taken down to stubble, too.

  Both boys rubbed their hands across their buzz cuts uncertainly as Emil led them and his father through the third set of doors into a low-ceilinged space with drains set in the concrete floor. More soldiers waved them in, yelling, “When the order is given, you are to close your eyes and cover them with your hands. If you open your eyes, they will be burned by the shower that kills the disease-carrying lice on your bodies. Repeat: do not open your eyes until the second order is given!”

  “Did you hear him?” Emil asked both boys who were looking up at pipework and shower nozzles for the first time in their lives. Their home in Friedenstal had had no running water. They were used to drinking and bathing in pail-drawn well water.

  “We close our eyes,” Walt said finally. “We wait for the order.”

  More men and boys were crowding into the delousing room behind them.

  “Will?”

  His younger son stood up straight, slammed shut his eyes, and covered them dramatically with his hands.

  “Good boy,” Emil said.

  “Quiet!” a soldier roared. “Listen to the loudspeaker!”

  The doors were shut, cutting off all light. The boys clung to Emil until the voice came over a speaker saying, “Cover your eyes with your hands. Tilt your heads down. Close your eyes and wait for the order to open your eyes.”

  Water mixed with chemicals that smelled like tar rained down on them for several minutes and then stopped. They were ordered to remain with their eyes shut and covered. After what seemed like hours, a second shower began, longer than the first and without the petrol smell.

  When the water turned off, doors on the near wall opened. They stepped out into a grassy area in the sun. Eight military lorries were parked four opposite four and fifteen meters apart with their tail ends facing each other. Soldiers were unloading piles of clothes from the trucks.

  “Retrieve your documents first,” a soldier in uniform yelled. “Then go to the clothes. These have all been boiled clean. There are pants, shirts, coats, and shoes divided into small, medium, and large. Get one or two of everything for now. You will be given more clothes once you have been assigned a place to live.”

  Emil stood in line only a few minutes before retrieving their documents. It did not take them long to find clothes and shoes that fit them all well enough. Emil was amazed by the feel of the fabric of the pants and shirt he now wore. He’d never worn clothes this fine in his entire life. Except for torn yellow stitches on the left chest, the suit jacket he discovered was almost new.

  “I’m hot,” Will said.

  “Take off your jacket for now.”

  “I want my shorts.”

  “We’ll find you shorts,” Emil said, and was surprised when they did.

  With their new clothes on and more in their arms, they were directed to another larger courtyard to wait for their families. Not long after, Malia and both grandmothers came out of the doors on the opposite side of the courtyard, wearing new dresses and shoes, but completely shorn of hair. None of them looked happy about it.

  They became unhappier when Will and then Walt started pointing at them and laughing. “I hate lice,” Malia said, tying a scarf around her head.

  “If we had them, they’re gone now,” Adeline’s mother said.

  “Where’s Adella?” Emil said.

  “Helping Marie find clothes for the babies,” Malia said.

  Karoline put on a scarf as well. She walked to Johann and said, “I don’t recognize you without the beard and the wild hair.”

  “I could say the same,” he said.

  They fell quiet and stood there awkwardly.

  Emil had never truly understood their relationship, tottering between indifference and rancor at times, a marriage that had a gaping wound in it from years spent apart, not knowing whether the other was alive or dead.

  Adeline came into the courtyard with one of Marie’s sons in her arms and trailed by her cousin and her other boy. She wore a dark-blue skirt now, a gray blouse of fine quality, and a blue-and-red scarf around her head. Even with her hair shorn, Emil thought she looked radiant in the late-day light.

  A new life was beginning for them. He could feel it. They’d relied on themselves to get through the abandonment of their lands forever and a long, difficult journey. They had made it to Poland when so many had died along the trek. Rese’s accident was a senseless tragedy, but seeing her reaction to Praeger calling her “beautiful” actually gave him hope that his little sister would recover and find a way to a better life.

  “Who is that strange-looking man?” Adeline asked, waving one of the baby’s hands at Emil as she walked up to him.

  “I know who you are,” Emil said. “I’d recognize you anywhere, Adeline Martel.”

  They kissed. He pushed back her scarf to look at her haircut. “It becomes you.”

  “Don’t count on it lasting,” she said.

  The courtyard filled as more refugees streamed out of the delousing station, wearing their almost-new clothes. SS soldiers appeared and led their group on foot almost three kilometers to a large camp of buildings and tents surrounded by a high wood-and-wire fence.

  Inside, they were registered, had their temperatures taken to identify and segregate anyone with a fever, and then were assigned to tents
on the far side of a parade ground east of the biggest building in the camp. The extended Martel clan had three tents tall enough for everyone but Johann. Marie and the twins bunked with Malia and Lydia. There were pallets with fresh straw mattresses and blankets, and towels and soap, and a lantern hanging from a pole. After so many weeks outrunning the war, sleeping on the ground beneath the wagon, and huddling in culverts during bombardments, these simple quarters felt almost too good to be true.

  And the food! Something savory was cooking, and bread was baking. They’d smelled it all as they’d passed the big building by the parade ground. After arranging their belongings, they were directed back to that building, a sprawling mess hall where they stood in line for egg noodles and pork sausages and onions and applesauce and fresh rolls with butter. The boys were given milk with melted chocolate in it. Emil and Adeline were handed small mugs of hoppy, frothy beer.

  “It’s a feast!” Adeline said, shaking her head at the plate she carried.

  “And all for us?” Malia wondered.

  “I never expected this,” Emil said as they went to long tables with benches.

  Walt dug in the moment he sat down, shoveling in noodles and meat so fast, his mother had to slow him. “But it’s so good,” he protested, his cheeks full.

  “You’ll choke to death, and then where would good be?” Malia said.

  “Listen to your aunt and slow down,” Adeline chided. “Enjoy this gift from heaven.”

  Wherever it had come from, it felt like a gift to Emil as well. He ate each fork and spoonful of the meal like it was his first. He sipped the beer and smacked his lips. His head swirled a little, and slowly his shoulders dropped. He looked at Adeline and the boys, and with each sip of the beer—his first taste of alcohol since that night with Nikolas—he felt easier, more relaxed, and more likely to laugh.

  When was the last time that had happened? When was the last time he wasn’t constantly looking out for his survival? His family’s survival? The second day of the trek? When Will had to go pee and he couldn’t stop the wagon?

  Whenever it was, the weight of being vigilant slipped away with the second beer and allowed Emil to feel good, so good, he grabbed Adeline by the hip, spun her around, and kissed her while the boys and Malia hooted and clapped.

  “I love you,” he said.

  “You’re drunk.”

  “I still love you.”

  They weren’t as far west as Emil could imagine, somewhere across the sea, but the worst seemed over. He felt it in his bones. They’d been through a nightmare but lived through it to enjoy a meal like this with only better days ahead.

  After they finished with full and distended bellies, the Martels wandered through the ever-filling refugee camp, finding the latrines and showers and the gates in the fencing that led to the medical clinic and other buildings outside the fence. An hour later, in the gloaming and shadows of late day, floodlights went on, and loudspeakers called them to that parade ground by the mess hall. At one end, there was a low stage of sorts with Nazi flags fluttering to either side of a large radio microphone on a stand.

  Major Haussmann came onstage and went to the microphone.

  “I trust you enjoyed your meal after your long journey?” he asked.

  The crowd roared its approval.

  “That was a welcoming gift to you from Reichsführer Heinrich Himmler who himself authorized the treks that rescued you and more than one hundred thousand others. Because you were part of the last trek to arrive, Reichsführer Himmler wanted to be here to greet you personally but was unavoidably detained. The Reichsführer has, however, sent a message that he has asked me to read to you.”

  The major retrieved a piece of paper from his breast pocket and began to read:

  “‘I bid welcome to the last of the Black Sea Germans to arrive in the Warthegau. You are very important to the Third Reich and to the führer, good loyal pure German bloodstock returning to the greater Fatherland to strengthen our Aryan roots after a century apart. Know that I consider you a critical part of an expanding German future where Judeo-Stalinism will be completely and permanently destroyed. You are in quarantine now and will be for the next few weeks until the doctors say it is safe for you to join the general population. But you will be given a home soon and a way to be useful to the Reich. I bid you welcome again, and congratulations. Signed, Heinrich Himmler, Reichsführer of the Schutzstaffel.’”

  Other SS officers began to clap as Major Haussmann lowered the letter and looked expectantly at the refugees, who began to clap as well. Soon all of them were clapping, and some whistled their approval.

  Haussmann let the applause build and last a few moments before he held up his hands for quiet. “In a moment, you will get in lines for doctors and nurses to have a quick look at you before we release you to sleep. Tomorrow, you must have your papers with you to prove your German ancestry in order to receive your Umsiedlerausweis, or resettlement identity card. Your application must include your Einbürgerungsantrag, Stammblatt, Volkstumausweis, and Lebenslauf.”

  Adeline leaned forward and whispered in Emil’s ear. “We have them all?”

  He nodded. “Naturalization application, family tree, ethnic identity card, and our life stories.”

  Haussmann was still talking. “My assignment to protect you is now complete, though I will remain in the area until you are moved to permanent housing. I know it has been a tiring journey, but you are safe now. More important, as Reichsführer Himmler himself just said, your pure Aryan blood is safe now, too.”

  Music played from the speakers.

  Haussmann put himself at attention and shot out his right arm in the Nazi salute.

  “Heil Hitler!” he roared. “Welcome to the Third Reich!”

  Close to the stage, a large group of semidrunken refugees immediately responded with the salute and bellowed “Heil Hitler!” in return. Among the Martels and the other Black Sea Germans, the response was more muted.

  Haussmann stood there, looking furious, and bellowed, “Sieg!”

  Every soldier in the camp threw his arms out and bellowed, “Heil!”

  The major glared at the refugees. “Sieg!”

  “Heil!” roared the soldiers and many of the refugees.

  “Sieg!”

  “Heil!”

  By the eighth time, Emil noticed, every refugee, every member of his family, including himself, Adeline, and his two young boys, were calling back to Haussmann and throwing their arms forward and up in unison.

  The major stopped, his arm still in the salute, the arms of everyone in the camp still in salute. A record played over a loudspeaker, static and popping that gave way to blaring trumpets and rousing drum tattoos and a chorus of men and women singing “Horst-Wessell-Lied,” the anthem of the Nazi Party. Every soldier sang along. One by one, every refugee did as well. If they didn’t know the words, they acted as if they did while the recording of Adolf Hitler’s Brownshirts’ street-fighting song played:

  Raise the flag! The ranks tightly closed!

  The SA marches with calm, steady step.

  Comrades shot by the Red Front and reactionaries

  March in spirit within our ranks.

  Clear the streets for the brown battalions,

  Clear the streets for the storm division!

  Millions are looking upon the swastika full of hope,

  The day of freedom and of bread dawns!

  For the last time, the call to arms is sounded!

  For the fight, we all stand prepared!

  Already Hitler’s banners fly over all streets.

  The time of bondage will last but a little while now!

  Raise the flag! The ranks tightly closed!

  The SA march with quiet, steady step.

  Comrades shot by the Red Front and reactionaries,

  March in spirit within our ranks.

  When the recording ended, Haussmann again strode to the microphone.

  “Heil Hitler!” he roared, thrusting his arm out and
up.

  “Heil Hitler!” the refugees shouted with more enthusiasm.

  “Heil Hitler!”

  The refugees shouted it back even louder. Emil noticed again that by the eighth time, the entire camp was bellowing “Heil Hitler!” as one monstrous voice.

  Haussmann smiled. “Well done. Now, line yourselves up in one of ten rows here for a brief medical examination, and then you may retire.”

  The Martels got in the shortest line, which led past the stage to a doctor and nurse, wearing surgical masks and inspecting people, one by one.

  Emil noticed Nikolas was well ahead of them in the line of ethnic German refugees, almost to the doctor. When Nikolas passed Haussmann, the SS major nodded to him.

  “I’m tired, Papa,” Will said.

  “My stomach hurts,” Walt said.

  Emil took his attention off Haussmann and Nikolas when Adeline said, “That’s what happens when you eat too fast after not eating much for weeks.”

  The line was moving quicker now. Emil glanced up to see the SS major less than ten meters ahead, still on the stage, as a junior officer came to Haussmann with a piece of paper, which he took and read. As Emil passed him, however, the major picked his head up, made eye contact, and then nodded. Emil nodded back and continued on.

  A few moments later, Emil glanced back to the stage and saw Major Haussmann staring after him. Their eyes met. One of the SS officer’s brows rose, and a hard smile came to his lips before he nodded and shook a finger at him.

  Emil turned, feeling his heart sink into the pit of his stomach. What did that mean?

  He didn’t dare look back, though the question kept spinning fear in his head and gut. It took every bit of will to answer the doctor who examined Emil, Adeline, and the boys after taking their temperatures and asking about fevers or persistent illnesses they may have had in the last three months. Emil told him he hadn’t been sick in five years, which was true. And Adeline said Walt had been sick the year before, but Will was in generally good health. The doctor waved them on.