Seal Woman

by Solveig Eggerz

  An aquamarine wave climbed higher and higher. She ascended its snowy white tops, rising, rising, moving now in rhythm with the entire universe. When the ocean pulled away, she glimpsed the jade green of its depths and shuddered with pleasure. At last, she lay exhausted on the shore listening to the music of a single violin while the warm surf caressed her whole body.

  A golden plover sang in the nearby tussocks. Dirrin-dirrin-di, then pattered over the ground and flew off.

  She dressed quickly in the cool breeze.

  "I hope my mother fed the chickens," he said, adjusting his suspenders.

  Afterwards, crossing the fields next to him, she felt tall and lean. A weight had lifted from her, and a promise of new strength nestled in her muscles.

  "When can we begin leveling the tussocks?" she asked.

  He turned toward her. "Soon."

  She knew he'd never look at her the way he looked at a cow that gave rich milk, or at horse that could carry him to the interior without a slip. But she sensed that he considered her an asset to the farm.

  The gable of the farmhouse emerged over the hill in the distance. The sun was low in the sky. They'd been gone a long time. The old woman would raise her eyebrows. But some things took a long time to tell.

  They approached the trestles for drying fish, a wooden framework covered with turf. The posts were set in the ground and supported by large black basalt stones. Cod and shark, in brown, withered pairs, swung gently in the breeze. The old woman had prepared an ointment for rash—valerian, violets, red clover, and bedstraw—traded it for fish caught during the winter fishing season.

  Charlotte decided to bring back a couple of hardened fish in her apron. She would cut them into pieces, crush the heads and feed them to Skjalda for calcium.

  Ragnar gestured towards the trestles. She pictured him as a tour guide. This, ladies and gentlemen, is the Parthenon, temple to the goddess, Athena.

  "My father collected driftwood for years before he could build this. Gunnar and I went down to the shore about once a week to see what we could find."

  He approached one of the posts, placed an arm around it.

  "We found this one rolling around in the seaweed. He got so excited that he climbed over the rocks and fell into the water trying to get it. The tide was coming in, and we had to move fast before the ocean covered the rocks. We thought it had been uprooted from the banks of the River Volga, then traveled the ocean to us. We used to make up stories about wolves scratching that tree in the dark forest. We carried it up the hillside on our shoulders."

  She'd never brought back a single piece of driftwood.

  "Can you do a painting for me?" he asked suddenly.

  She'd expected to be buried in his field before he asked this question.

  "Two boys carrying a log up the hillside. We could hang it next to the painting of Lena."

  Nearing the farmhouse, they fell silent. The old woman met them on the steps.

  IV - Lena

  Do Everything They Say

  Monika sat up in bed and rubbed her eyes. Someone was at the big door downstairs. He didn't use the brass knocker. It wasn't the milkman. He was banging it with something, like she did when she had to go to the bathroom and mamma didn't hear her at the door. The yelling made her feel afraid. Now she heard Sister Marie Luise. Why was she speaking in that strange voice? Squeaky, like the women in the puppet shows. Boots climbed the stairs. Louder and louder. The door opened. He was in the room. Didn't he know only girls were allowed in this room?

  He wore a brown uniform and black boots. The boots frightened Monika. She and Mamma had been in the park. Boots like these had been kicking a man. Mamma had pulled her away, but she'd looked back over her shoulder.

  "Get the kids dressed and into the truck," he shouted.

  Sister said something to him, but Monika couldn't hear him. The man in the boots looked angry.

  "Children, we're going to a summer camp," Sister said. "You'll play games and have fun."

  But Sister's face looked funny. She talked into the man's face. "I'll bring the children down."

  The man in the boots backed out of the room. Now Sister stood at Monika's bed. She helped her with her dress. "Bring your bear. He'll enjoy the trip." Monika was holding Sister's warm hand, and the other children were following them. The door was open. That was funny. It led to the back of a truck. One of the big girls was the last in line. Grete's red hair stood out stiff and uncombed. Usually Grete didn't talk to Monika, but now she let her stand beside her.

  "Hurry up," the man yelled.

  Something horrible happened. A girl fell. The man picked her up by an arm and a foot and tossed her into the truck. She cried when she landed on the floor of the truck.

  Sister let go of her hand and said, "Take Grete's hand, and climb in. Quickly now."

  Monika sat close to Grete on the hard bench. When the truck pulled out of the driveway, the children all knocked against one another. The ones who were standing fell on the dirty wooden floor. It was funny, but Grete didn't even smile. They drove for ever and ever. Monika heard trams on tracks. Milk bottles clanged. Somebody was baking bread. The smell made her think of Mamma. She almost cried. The wheels made a big sound when the truck stopped. She saw an angry face. And a helmet.

  "Out," the man shouted.

  The children lying on the floor scrambled to their feet. Monika clasped the fold of Grete's dress. She recognized the train station. And the kiosk. That was where Mamma bought a newspaper for herself and a caramel for her.

  "Stand here," shouted one of the boot men.

  And they stood. It's really hard to stand still for a long time. Monika moved a foot to wake it up. A man with a helmet shouted at her. When he bent to light a cigarette, Monika whispered to Grete, "Where's the train for the summer camp?"

  But the man hissed. Grete didn't answer. Monika was tired. She didn't want to go to the summer camp.

  "Move," a voice said.

  Monika followed Grete. They walked and walked. At last they came to the end of the platform and stopped. She saw train cars with sliding doors, like her toy train at home. No windows. No seats. Her toy cows and pigs traveled in those cars.

  The man pointed to the train car. "Get in."

  But she couldn't climb into the car because it was too high off the ground. "Bring me a stepstool," the boot man yelled.

  "Jawohl. Heil Hitler," another man said. Somebody was always saying that.

  The man disappeared into the train station. He came back with a small stepstool and hurried away.

  "Get in."

  Grete climbed in before Monika. Then Monika stood on the stepstool and reached for Grete's hands. But she wasn't fast enough. The boot man grasped her. The station twirled. And she hit the inside wall of the train car and fell onto the straw in the car. She sat up and rubbed herself. Another child—a small boy—came flying in the same way she had. He cried.

  A tall girl bent over him. "Shut-up."

  Monika saw her pointy breasts under her nightgown. "She's not dressed," she whispered. But Grete pinched her. "Quiet." Grete lowered herself to the floor. So did Monika. Their backs were against the metal ridges of the car.

  The big door rolled shut. It was dark in there. The other kids smelled of sweat. Nobody said anything. Klickety klack. The train was leaving the station. Monika fell asleep. Splash. Grunt. Splash. Somebody sat on the bucket. After that everything smelled. Monika's nose hurt from the bad air. She saw the boy who took pills at every meal. He sat with his nose at the tiny cracks in the side of the car. Somewhere a dog barked. That made Monika think of people who didn't go on trips, people who stayed home and petted the dog.

  Grete sat stiff and silent next to her. The train was slowing down. Less klickety klack. Shouts. The door opened. The air smelled sweet.

  A man reached in and took the slop bucket. He said a bad word. "Scheiße—what a smell." Had they been pooping for a couple of days into that bucket? The station looked like a cardboard toy house, th
e kind Mamma had made for her toy train.

  Hands pushed a can of water into the car. Monika was so thirsty. But they all reached for it at once. Some of it spilled on her dress. She sucked the cloth until her mouth was dry. The door was still open. The girl in the nightgown and a big boy pushed the boy who took pills to the door. His shirt tore and the skin of his chest caught on the rough edge of car door. They pushed him out. He landed somewhere below. "Why?" she whispered.

  "Dead," Grete said.

  The empty slop bucket was back. The door rolled shut. Grete slumped against the wall. A grinding sound. Monika's belly hurt with hunger. Grete's mouth was at her ear. "We lie near the door. Pretend to be dead. They'll throw us out."

  Out. Monika said the word to herself, rolled it on her tongue. Grete didn't speak after that. Didn't move. Mamma. When would mamma come and save her? She leaned against Grete. Mamma. She hadn't meant to say it. Grete pulled away.

  Monika pretended to be dead. Forever and forever passed. The train kept going. It was one of those days they put at the beginning of the week. Sunday or Monday? She didn't ask, just kept being dead. At last the wheels slowed. The big boy stood over them. His breath smelled like old food. With rough fingers he probed her eyelids. Finally, he said it. Dead. The train moved slower and slower. The door opened. Men talked funny. The man who took the slop bucket was clumsy, and the waste spilled over the edge.

  The big boy's hands felt warm on her shoulders. He dragged her to the door and pushed her out. She held her bear tightly as she fell. The ground was hard. But the air smelled sweet. She opened her eyes. She lay in a ditch next to the train tracks. Play dead till they're gone, Grete had said. She closed her eyes again. Mamma was holding her hand, and they were walking in a garden, smelling flowers, wearing clean clothes.

  The door of the train above them shut, and the train rumbled to a start. Grete lay next to her, her arms and face bleeding. Above them was a dark sky. Grete began to crawl along the ditch. Monika followed. She scraped her knees on the rocks, but she didn't say anything. Birds flew low overhead.

  "Bats," Grete said.

  In the fading light, they looked like mice. Each time one swooped down, Monika looked into its bulging eyes. Grete picked up a tin can. She ran her finger along the inside. She gave Monika a can and showed her how to do it without cutting herself. They licked their fingers.

  Grete saw the apple core first, but she shared it with Monika. Something tightened in Monika's stomach. She gagged, then retched into the grass. An empty flour bag lay on a rock. Grete reached for it. A flick of a tail, and something scurried over the rocks. It sat up. It wanted the flour bag, but Grete held onto it. Instead, she picked up a stone and hit the rat on the head, leaving a small splash of blood on the rock. The creature lay on its side. Grete dropped another rock on it.

  "Meat," she said. Her teeth looked very white.

  Grete knew how to do things. She cut the rat down the middle with a sharp stone, pulled off its skin, and squeezed out its guts. With thumb and forefinger, she tore off the flesh, put it in her mouth. She offered a strip of meat to Monika.

  They chewed the meat, making squishy sounds with their mouths open. Monika dug her fingers into the carcass for more. Her belly didn't hurt anymore. But Grete said they couldn't stay here. She pointed to the dark forest up ahead.

  "Wolves?" Monika asked.

  "We'll catch them with our bare hands and eat them," Grete said. But she smiled. Monika hadn't seen her smile since they left the convent for summer camp. They started walking. Twigs crackled. Monika thought she heard a wolf. She began to cry. Grete slapped her hand over her mouth. Tears came into her eyes. Every time Monika spoke, Grete squeezed her hand hard. Monika thought she might crush the bones.

  A golden glow came up ahead between the trees. It looked like the sun had fallen into the forest. Three men sat around a campfire. They had beards. Monika thought they looked like goblins. They drank from tin cups and smoked.

  The biggest one raised his cup and said something Monika couldn't understand. But they made room for them on one of the logs. The big one offered them a drink from a tin can. It made Monika cough, but the burning liquid washed away the taste of the rat. A woman came out of the tent. Monika thought she was beautiful. She had black hair piled on top of her head.

  The next morning, she woke up in the tent wrapped in a blanket. Grete lay close beside her. She saw the shoulder of one of the men and the dark hair of the woman.

  Monika followed Grete out of the tent. They stepped over the logs from yesterday's campfire and pulled down their underpants. Softly, they peed on the pine needles. Grete looked straight into Monika eyes.

  "Do everything they say, or they'll send us back to the boxcar," she said.

  Monika nodded.

  "I mean everything."

  Monika held her bear so he too could pee.

  The big man came out of the tent, yawned noisily and stretched his arms. He smiled. He had big teeth. Monika's felt fuzzy. She hadn't brushed them since she got into the boxcar. He tweaked Monika's ear. Grete moved closer to Monika. He entered the woods. She saw him unhitch his pants.

  Monika had barely talked to her bear since the beginning of their trip. She raised him to her face. "Yesterday I think I was a little drunk," she said.

  The woman came out of the tent, buttoning her blouse. She made the fire and handed each of them a saucepan.

  "Come," she said, gesturing to them.

  They washed their faces and hands in the creek. She made each of them carry a pan of water back to the campsite. The woman was pouring the water into a big pot. The smiling man came up behind her and touched her in a rude place. She set a dented frying pan on the fire and sliced a chunk of fat into it. In a tin can, she mixed some grain and water. She dropped it onto the sizzling fat.

  The big man went back into the tent. Monika heard him yelling at the sleepers. They must have been wrestling because she saw the sides of the tent moving. The other two came out of the tent. They rubbed their eyes like little kids. The woman served them something she called grain cakes. Monika liked it better than rat, but she dropped her cake into the leaves. The woman was nice, like Sister. She placed a large, warm hand on her shoulder and gave her another cake.

  The men cleaned their guns. The nice woman treated them like little boys. She told them to run into the woods and hunt squirrels and birds. She handed Monika two rocks and gave her a handful of walnuts. Monika crushed nuts, took the meat out, and gave most of it to the woman. But when the woman turned her back, she gave some to her bear.

  "Mamma will get us soon," she whispered into his chest.

  The woman gave Monika a knife and made a chopping movement. Holding the blade with both hands, Monika chopped the walnuts into little pieces.

  The men came back with rabbits slung over their shoulders. The big one skinned them.

  The rabbits looked funny when they were naked. The big man threaded them onto a long stick and held them over the fire. One of the other men poured the drink. It was different from last night. This time it tasted like freshly baked bread. They talked and talked, but Monika didn't understand a word.

  "It's Polish," Grete whispered. But Monika didn't know what that meant either.

  Grete asked the big man, "Where are we?"

  He nodded, picked up a stick, drew a map in the dirt at their feet. He said a lot of strange names.

  Krakau to one side. Rybnik. Just below it Ostrava. Between the two Bielsko-Biała. Moving the stick all the time, he made an X west of Krakau and northeast of Bielsko-Biała. Ośvięcim, he said, grinning now. Monika didn't know whether to like him or not. She would have to ask Grete.

  That night Grete whispered in Monika's ear, "Partisans. They can save us from the Nazis."

  Monika nodded. She didn't understand, but Grete's tone soothed her.

  In the middle of the night, she woke up suddenly. She heard a noise outside the tent. She lifted the flap and peered out. In the light from the campfire she saw G
rete's white leg, her small breast. Above her was the big smiling man. His bottom moved between her legs. His hand covered Grete's mouth.

  "Grete," she screamed, but the man kept moving on her. He was panting and grunting. At last, he rolled off Grete and disappeared into the bushes. Grete lay on the ground like a wheelbarrow turned upside down. A tuft of hair between her legs sparkled wet in the firelight. "Go away," she said. Then she turned over and reached for her clothes.

  They crept away from the campfire and slept in the woods the rest of that night, curled up together. The next morning, Monika felt something hard and cold against her skin. A knife lay between her and Grete, the same knife the big man had used to skin the rabbits.