by Roxi Harms
Re-wrapping the buck in his sweater, he retraced his steps to the fence behind the old man's barn and climbed through. Everything was quiet. The only sound he could hear was the buzzing of the bees in Herr Haas's garden. He started towards the barn, congratulating himself as he went. It was going to work. Even one grey litter would be a good start. He could work with it.
Suddenly, he heard the front door of the house open and the Haas' dog bounded around the corner into the back yard, barking at the sight of him.
"Shhhhhhh," Adam urged. But Herr Haas was already alerted, and as he came around the corner of the house, Adam froze, halfway between the fence and the barn.
"What the hell are you doing here?!" yelled Haas.
"Nothing," was all Adam could think to say, the bundle heavy in his arms.
"What's that you've got?!"
"Nothing," Adam repeated, heart in his throat.
"Show me what you've got!" demanded the old man.
Trapped!
Frozen to the spot, Adam unfolded the edge of the sweater covering the rabbit. The grey buck blinked limpid black eyes in the sunlight. Herr Haas strode towards them, his eyes bulging as he recognized what Adam was carrying. Reaching them, Haas reached out and wrenched the bundle from Adam's arms.
"Why, you little thief! You're stealing my buck!"
"I borrowed him! I was bringing him . . ." Adam tried to explain as he backed away, looking up into Herr Haas's enraged face, but the old man was too livid to hear him. As he continued to rage over top of Adam's explanation, Adam turned and ran.
"Stealing right under my nose! You rotten little no good thief! Come back here!" Herr Haas sputtered as he made a half-hearted attempt at pursuit. But Adam had already slipped through the fence and was almost out of sight.
"You're going to pay for this! I'll go to the police and report you, you little thief!" Adam heard behind him as passed the yard in between theirs and the Haas'. Slipping through the fence into his own yard, Adam stopped and leaned against the wall of the wood shed, panting, then looked around. Old man Haas wasn't behind him, and everything was still quiet here. No one had noticed the ruckus. What now? Heart still pounding, Adam digested what Haas had said. This was the biggest trouble he'd been in yet. What would Dad do when he found out? Leaning his head back against the wall, Adam closed his eyes and swallowed hard.
A couple of hours passed, and nothing happened. His dad came in from work, whistling, and washed up as usual. Maybe Haas had cooled off. Adam started to breathe a little easier as he and Theresa headed to the well to haul drinking water.
When they returned with the full buckets, everything had changed. Adam's heart pounded as his dad and Tony Stumpf Sr. stood up from where they'd been sitting on the porch. Tony sometimes came over and played cards with his dad, and Tony Junior had become a constant companion to Adam and Franz. But that afternoon Herr Stumpf was dressed in his policeman's uniform. Clearly, he was there on official business.
"Adam, what the hell is wrong with you?" Adam's dad yelled. His mom was standing behind his dad in the doorway of the house. Was she crying?
"Why?" asked Adam feebly.
"Stealing! I can't believe it. You're in big trouble this time," his dad paused and turned to the policeman. "I guess you better handle this, Tony."
The policeman stepped forward and spoke. "Adam, stealing is a very serious crime, and I've informed your father that it is my duty to lock you up in jail."
Looking at the three adults on the porch, Adam swallowed quickly and began to talk. "Hello, Herr Stumpf. Dad, I wasn't stealing the rabbit. I borrowed it to breed with two of my females because his rabbits are a very nice colour and a lot bigger than mine, but I was taking it back when he saw me. I wasn't stealing, I swear . . ." his voice trailed off. Adam looked from one man to the other, trying to read their faces.
His dad spoke in a low, angry voice. "You should be ashamed of yourself, Adam. And just wait until they let you go and you come home so I can deal with you. Now go with Tony and god-damn-well do what he says."
Adam could feel the stares of the neighbours as he balanced on the cross-bar of the policeman's bicycle. "I wasn't stealing it!" he wanted to yell. They rode without speaking, Herr Stumpf's arms bracing Adam on either side as he steered the bicycle.
A few minutes later, the black metal gates of the little jail yard adjacent to the town hall loomed in front of them, standing open, waiting. Tony steered the bicycle inside, past the police wagon and horse team, and pulled to a stop beside a dark jail cell.
The lock of the cell door sliding into place made a loud metallic ‘clunk,' and the policeman strode out of sight, keys dangling from his hand. Adam stood just inside the door and looked around curiously. The air felt damp, and the dirt floor was cool on his feet. Sitting on the bench against the inner wall of the cell swinging his legs, he continued to inspect the jail cell. The bars were thick, and too close together for him to fit through. The concrete wall at the back was cool and damp to the touch. All the other cells were empty, as far as he could tell. He held still and listened but couldn't hear anything at all. It was really quiet in jail. Growing bored, he jumped up and walked the perimeter of the cell, testing the bars every few feet. It was wrong for him to be locked up. He wasn't a thief.
It was starting to get dark when Adam heard his dad's voice somewhere out in the direction of the street.
"That's probably long enough, hey, Tony?"
"Sure, George. I hope this taught him a lesson like you wanted. But he didn't cry or anything. Didn't even seem scared. Pretty brave for nine."
"He's the most stubborn kid I've ever seen," his dad replied, as their footsteps and voices got closer and the two men came into sight.
That night in bed, Adam thought about how they'd made him put his hand on the Bible and promise never to steal again. His dad just shook his head when Adam said, " I promise never to steal. And I swear I wasn't stealing the grey buck, just borrowing him and I was returning him when Herr Haas saw me. "
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
It was over six weeks since Adam's afternoon in jail, and his dad was still mad at him. But both of the females had had litters a couple of weeks ago, and after having a good look at the babies yesterday, he knew he had proof. He was planning to show them to his dad that afternoon. If they ever finished burying the grape vines. His dad was teaching him to prepare the vines to survive through the winter.
"Okay, now do this one. Gently! Okay, now cover it. You gotta learn this stuff, Adam. Knowing how to look after the grapevines will mean you can put food on the table for your own family someday. Unless you'd rather sit around the churchyard every morning hoping to be picked up for day labour and bust your back for a pengo or two. Look at me. I'm looking after grapes for almost every goddam farmer in Elek now. Because I do a good job," he paused as they finished and moved to the next vine.
"And that's why they give the work to your ol' man," the tirade continued. "And it's not just the grapes. You gotta know how to harvest the wheat. You're getting pretty good at tying the bales, but you gotta learn to do the scything too. If Geisler didn't trust me to do his wheat faster than any of the other guys in town and waste less, nobody would be dropping off those bags of wheat at the gate. Those are payment for doing a good job of the wheat harvest and that's the only reason we got enough flour all year long. And then you gotta know how to harvest corn properly, so you can get jobs doing that and get them bags of cobs for the stove." Another pause as they moved to the next vine.
"If those lazy farmers knew how to do any of the goddam work themselves, there wouldn't be any work for the rest of us. They got all the land, make all the money, and we do all the work. All the work that makes them all the money they spend on their fancy teams of horses and their fancy houses. And all they pay us is a few pengoes."
As they finished the last vine in the row, his dad finally stopped talking, standing up straight to stretch his back.
"Okay, I'll finish up this section. Faster on my own anyway. You
go round up those geese and take them home. But take ‘em over to the pond for a swim first."
Hooray! thought Adam.
"Quack, quack," he said in his best goose imitation a few minutes later as he approached the flock in the nearby field where they were feeding happily on wheat that had fallen during the harvest over the past few weeks. "Quack, quack, quack, quack," he continued. A few geese looked up at him. He started to back away, continuing to call them. Slowly he led the flock into town to the pond. From the bank he watched them splash around and preen themselves, a piece of dry grass sticking out of his mouth. Another month and they'd be stuck in their pens, hardly able to move, and he'd be shoving food down their necks with his fingers and tying their throats shut with a piece of corn husk to fatten them up for Christmas.
"Adam wants to show you something in the back yard before we sit down to eat," he heard his mom say from the porch an hour later.
He was standing in front of the rabbit cages when his dad came into the back yard with his mom trailing behind. The two mother rabbits sat quietly munching the grass he'd stuffed in with them in the other cage where he'd moved them temporarily so that his dad would have a clear view of the babies.
"Look," he said, pointing into the cage where the babies lay crowded together. "Look at how many grey babies there are. I've never had any grey babies before. And look at their ears." He couldn't help grinning as he waited for his dad to see that he'd been telling the truth.
His dad peered silently into the cage for a long moment, then turned and walked through to the front yard. Adam and his mom looked at each other, confused. Adam hastily closed and latched the cage, then rushed after his dad. As he stood at the front gate and watched, his dad turned into the Haas yard. A moment later, Adam heard his father's booming voice.
"Haas!"
George Baumann was a man firmly entrenched in a world where the man of the house reigned supreme and children obeyed without question. Thus, Adam's mischievous nature was difficult for him. Perhaps that was why he had believed Haas over his son six weeks earlier. But the unshakeable belief in justice and truth with which Adam had been born had led him to stand his ground those six weeks, and that afternoon it had paid off. His dad had defended him to Haas, and all was right with the world.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Summer 1939
When he squinted a little bit, he could see them. He was sure of it. A thin line there on the horizon.
Adam was sitting on the front steps. His dad was already gone to the vineyards, and his mom was working quietly in the garden. Everyone else was still sleeping. The sun hadn't been up long enough to burn off the morning freshness.
They'd learned about the Carpathian Mountains towards the end of grade four, and he was sure he could see them in the distance on clear days like today. He sat a little longer, enjoying the sun on his face.
"You should probably get to your chores," his mom called out quietly from where she was kneeling between the rows of peas.
"Ya, I know," he replied, slowly getting to his feet. What he dreaded more than the chores was having to go to the church after breakfast for altar boy rehearsal.
Right from the start, Adam had told the priest that he really didn't want to be an altar boy. He'd explained it to his mom and dad too. He didn't want to wear that white dress and look like a girl, and he didn't want to ring the stupid bell or do any of the other stupid things the Father was trying to get him to do. There were plenty of boys who did want to do it and he wasn't one of them. Ever since his First Communion last year, he'd been trying to get out of being an altar boy. And here it was, Saturday, and he had had to spend half the day at it, practicing the special mass for the annual Church Festival the following weekend.
He wished he'd never done that stupid First Communion. The priest had talked to his parents after the ceremony and said how nice it would be to have a tall altar boy like Adam and they'd agreed.
But, then, if he hadn't done his First Communion, he wouldn't have his gold watch. He'd thought a lot about who to ask to be his sponsor. He'd known Martin a long time and the Mahlers were rich, which meant he'd probably get Adam a really good First Communion gift. And his mom had said that Martin would be really proud to be asked. It had turned out perfectly. Martin was proud. And Adam had received a beautiful gold watch. He kept it on a shelf by his bed, wrapped in the soft cloth and case that it had come in. Each night before bed, he wound it gingerly, then carefully rewrapped it and placed it back on the shelf. Someday he'd wear it in his pocket and pull it out to have a look any time he wanted.
The priest made them go through the mass three times that day to make sure they knew when to ring the stupid bells and when to say "Amen" and all that Latin stuff. They were finally done, and the other boys had gone. It was Adam's turn to put the robes away. As he carried the pile into the side room where they had to be folded up and put into the drawers, Adam's eyes lit on a jug of wine sitting on a little table near the door. He'd been repeating all that Latin nonsense for hours and he was thirsty. He glanced around. The priest was nowhere to be seen. Wait until the guys heard about this! Dropping the armful of robes on the floor, Adam went over to the jug and pulled out the big cork. Grabbing the wicker handles, he lifted the heavy bottle to his lips. Just as he felt the cool, sweet wine pouring down his dry throat, Adam heard a gasp.
"How dare you?" demanded the priest from a small doorway on the opposite side of the room.
Startled, Adam dropped the bottle back onto the table with a thud. The priest was charging towards him, his eyes bulging in rage.
"That is the blood of Christ!" the priest yelled as Adam fled out the door he'd come in through. Adam glanced over his shoulder as he leapt down the steps at the front of the stage. The priest was right behind him! He felt his heel catch on the bottom step, and with a crash he was on the floor in front of the first pew. Scrambling, he tried desperately to get away, but in an instant, the priest was on him, pinning him to the floor.
"An outrage! You have sullied the sacramental wine!" The priest twisted around to reach for something as he kneeled on Adam with his full weight. The next thing Adam saw out of the corner of his eye was the priest's arm raised in the air, a shoe clenched in his hand.
Whack! Adam felt the sting of the shoe on his backside. Whack! Whack! Whack!
The priest was stronger than he looked, that was for sure. Adam couldn't move, and as he struggled to get his breath, the beating continued.
"I will beat you within an inch of your life! And that is nothing compared to the punishment you will receive from God," the priest sputtered, out of breath from the exertion.
Whack! Whack! The blows continued to rain down. Finally, the priest gave one last Whack! with his shoe and pushed himself off of Adam, stumbling to his feet, winded.
"Get out of my church and do not come back until you are ready to confess. You are not fit to be an altar boy and I am sick of trying to train you. You are a disgrace."
Adam got up clumsily and limped to the side door as fast as he could, not looking back. Disregarding the stinging of his backside and legs, he ran awkwardly across the church yard, and down the street to the corner. Only when he was out of sight of the church did he stop and lean on a tree to catch his breath. Reaching back tentatively, he touched his backside. Owwww!
Slowly, as Adam caught his breath, the stinging dulled to an ache. The priest had said he wasn't fit to be an altar boy! Hooray! Adam stood up straight and grinned. That was worth several beatings. And he wouldn't have to be in the special mass next weekend. Adam began to whistle as he headed for home, limping only slightly.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
September 2, 1939
Summers were always the busiest time in the fields but being excused from being an altar boy gave Adam a little extra time. He spent it practicing the harmonica his Uncle Florian had brought for him a few months back. He'd loved the little mouth organ immediately. By the end of the first day he'd been able to play the simple tune h
is uncle had shown him. Uncle Florian had cheered. Little Anni had clapped hard and squealed for more. His dad hadn't been impressed, though. Said Adam needed to spend that much effort learning more important things. Since that day Adam had learned many songs, practicing quietly, hidden high up in the cherry tree out back where no one could find him.
That afternoon he'd come down from the tree early. He had to fetch the radio batteries before supper, and he wanted to pick a bag of mulberry leaves first. Herr Schmidt had hatched a large batch of silkworms and he would pay for the leaves to feed to them. The school year was starting soon and pencils and books cost money, even more this year with little George starting first grade. His mom would be grateful for a few extra coins.
That evening, a hush fell over the room as it always did when Hitler came on the air. The men inched closer to the radio, listening to the impassioned words.
"For months, a problem has tormented all of us. Long ago the Diktat of Versailles bestowed this problem on us. In its depravity and degeneracy it has now become insufferable. Danzig was a German city and is a German city! The Corridor was German and is German! These regions owe their cultural development exclusively to the German Volk. Without this Volk, these eastern regions would still be plunged in the depths of barbarism.
"Danzig was torn from us! Poland annexed the Corridor! The German minorities living there are being persecuted in the vilest manner imaginable."
"Polish bastards," Adam's dad said over the radio. The other men murmured their agreement and then quietened back down to listen.
"I am wrongly judged if my love for peace and my patience are mistaken for weakness or even cowardice! Last night I informed the British Government that, under the circumstances, I no longer see any willingness by the Polish Government to enter into serious negotiations with us. And thus all attempts at mediation must be considered to have failed. For we had indeed received a response to our proposals which consisted of: 1. general mobilization in Poland and 2. renewed, heinous atrocities. I have therefore resolved to speak to Poland in the same language that Poland has employed towards us in the months past.