The Upside of Hunger

by Roxi Harms

  "GET BACK!" Adam yelled at the top of his lungs, turning and stumbling, tugging on his shorts. Then the bull's head was under him, and he was launched into the air.

  "AAAHHHHHH!" he screamed. Adam's body slammed against the barn and he fell heavily to the ground.

  Dazed from the impact, Adam strained to open his eyes. The bull was still there, head down, scraping his feet on the ground. He was going to charge again!

  "Get back!" Mr. Sommer's voice boomed from the edge of the barn. The bull looked at where the voice had come from and looked back at Adam. "Get back, I said!" Mr. Sommer appeared in Adam's peripheral vision, ducking through the fence. He was waving a pitchfork at the bull and driving him back.

  "Open the gate to the field!" the farmer yelled to his wife who had come running from the garden. Adam watched from the ground while Mr. Sommer drove the bull back and forth a few times until the animal finally trotted through the open gate at the opposite side of the corral.

  Mr. and Mrs. Sommer knelt down beside him at the base of the

  barn wall.

  "He's conscious," said Mr. Sommer.

  "What's hurting, Adam? Is anything broken?" his wife asked gently.

  "I don't know," whispered Adam. His right side hurt. And his head.

  "Let's get him in the house," he heard Mr. Sommer say. "Can you walk between us?"

  The sound of linen tearing startled Adam and he opened his eyes a crack. He was lying on the kitchen table. Mrs. Sommer was tearing a bedsheet into strips beside him.

  "Thank the Lord you were on your way to the barn," she said to Mr. Sommer, who was standing on the other side of the table, looking down at Adam with a worried expression.

  "Owwww!" Adam cried out and looked down to where the pain came from. Mrs. Sommer had a bowl of water and a cloth. She had started wiping his leg. The water in the bowl was turning red.

  An hour later, they were in the old wagon Mr. Sommer used in the fields, headed for town. Adam's entire right leg and his torso and head were wrapped in white bandages. The scrapes that ran from his ribs to his foot burned, and his head throbbed with the jostling.

  "Okay, here we are," said Mr. Sommer, drawing the horses to a stop in front of the Baumann house. "Do you think you can walk?"

  "Yeah, I think so."

  "Hold on, I'll come around and help you down."

  Adam saw Theresa come down the steps to see who was at the gate.

  "Adam! What happened?" Theresa exclaimed. "Mom!" she called over her shoulder.

  "I'm okay," Adam insisted weakly as his mom and sister crowded around while Mr. Sommer helped him down from the wagon.

  "We got a pretty nasty bull out there. Can't be trusted obviously. I'm so sorry about this, Mrs. Baumann."

  "I'm sure it wasn't your fault," his mom replied.

  "He was thrown against the barn wall pretty hard. I don't think anything's broken, but he's got pretty bad scrapes all down his right side. His head's pretty bruised and scraped up too. My wife cleaned it up best she could. Thank the Lord the bull didn't gore him. He'll be pretty sore for a while though. I'll talk to the landlord about getting someone else out for the rest of the summer while your boy recuperates."

  "Thank you for bringing him home," his mom said graciously. "Adam, can you walk from here?"

  "Yeah, I'm okay, Mom." He turned to the farmer. "Thanks Mr. Sommer. I'm sure glad you came with that pitchfork as fast as you did."

  "All the best, Adam. Good day, Mrs. Baumann." Mr. Sommer turned and walked back to his side of the wagon, as Theresa opened the gate and his mom steered him through.

  Adam walked gingerly to the front step and looked up at where Anni stood on the porch, her little fists planted firmly on her hips in consternation.

  "Oh, Adam," her blonde hair swung back and forth as she shook her head at her big brother, tut-tutting. "What are we going to do with you?" she said with a heavy sigh.

  Adam laughed at his four-year-old sister. "Owww, Anni, don't make me laugh, it hurts. I don't know what you're going to do with me. I guess you'll just have to keep me for a while longer."

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Autumn 1942

  The scrapes and bruises from his run-in with the bull healed quickly, and soon Adam was back at the usual routines, working in the fields with his dad when he had to, and escaping to hang out with Franz and Tony when he could. Finally, eighth grade started, his last year of mandatory schooling. The following year he'd be at home and working full time. His dad talked about it often, how they'd start asking around soon for more vineyard contracts and other jobs that Adam could do, and how the family would use the extra money. A veil of impending doom hung over Adam.

  "My brother is coming home on furlough," Franz said as they left the schoolyard one warm Friday afternoon. Franz was still in school this year too. Even though grade nine wasn't compulsory, his parents wanted him to get an education. Franz's brother had joined the German army a couple of years ago and been promoted to officer. Franz talked about him all the time, and all the exciting places he described in his letters.

  Just then, on the corner up ahead, a town crier started ringing his bell. The boys stopped to listen.

  "Achtung, citizens! This is an important announcement! One week from tomorrow, on the 24th of October at precisely 2 p.m., the esteemed Heinrich Huber, envoy from the office of the Honourable Joseph Goebbels, Minister of Public Enlightenment and Propaganda serving the Third Reich, will be speaking in the Town Square, giving an official report on the progress of the German Army Group South B in the Battle of Stalingrad. Attendance of all citizens is mandatory! It is verboten to miss this rally!" The little man turned and faced the other direction, holding his bell above his head and ringing it vigorously a few times before repeating his announcement. "Achtung, citizens! This is an important announcement. . . "

  For Adam, the rallies added some excitement to the monotony of life in Elek. Not only had he been selected from the youth group to deliver the speeches that the organizers provided, but he'd volunteered to play one of the big, long, shiny heralding trumpets the Nazis had provided for the events. At their practices, he'd become the de facto leader, marching at the head of the little group, keeping time.

  "Well, now I know what I'll be doing next week," said Adam when the crier had finished the announcement. "It's a good thing Miss Krause will be back at work."

  Miss Krause, the grade one and two teacher, had been away sick the previous few weeks and there wasn't another teacher to fill in, so Mr. Post had asked Adam to help out. Each day, Mr. Post gave him materials he'd prepared the evening before, and then checked in through the day as Adam delivered the lessons to the kids. Adam's own lessons had to wait until the evenings, but he didn't mind. The little kids were fun, sitting in rapt attention hanging on his every word when he read out loud or made up stories for them.

  "I bet they'll ask my brother to do a speech," Franz grinned.

  "They sure should. An SS officer from right here in Elek!"

  It would be years before Adam, or the world at large, understood what Hitler's master plan had been, and the role that one particular top-secret division of the SS had played in it. It would be even longer before people realized that much of the German military, including most of the SS, had no awareness of the atrocities while they were occurring. Standing on the street that day, Adam and Franz believed, as most did, the simple propaganda – the SS was Germany's top-notch military force, and only the best and the strongest were allowed the honour of being a part of it.

  Sure enough, the leader of the youth group approached Adam the following day and handed him his speech. Adam glanced at it. "Official Speech of the Hitler Youth, October 1942, from Office of Joseph Goebbels, Minister of Public Enlightenment and Propaganda, Third Reich."

  It was pretty long this time. A new poem and some familiar stuff about the strength of the motherland and the evils that sought to destroy the superior German race. Adam didn't mind. Memorizing was easy and speaking on the stage
was exciting. He loved the crowds that gathered for the rallies.

  "How do you remember all that?" his mom asked, glancing over his shoulder later that evening. Adam knew she couldn't read many of the words, but whenever he was asked to speak, she looked at his script with interest and listened with a smile when he practiced.

  "I put it under my pillow at night so that it gets absorbed into my brain," he said, grinning up at her.

  On Saturday, Adam was ready around the corner from the town square at a quarter to two sharp. Although the morning had been frosty, the sun that shone down from the cloudless blue sky warmed the waiting boys. Adam had dressed in his brown Hitler Youth shirt that morning after chores and left early so they could practice the horns a bit more before the event started.

  The organizer at the front of the procession waved his arm, and Adam began to march. The other six boys fell into step behind him, two rows of three. And behind them, the rest of the youth group members in their crisply pressed Nazi shirts. As they rounded the corner and approached the entrance to the square, they stopped in unison and raised the long horns in one coordinated movement. Bah, bah, baahh! Their timing was perfect. Adam resumed marching. Bah, bah, bah! Into the square and in front of the stage, playing the whole way.

  The square was packed to overflowing, a sea of faces smiling in the sunshine, happily waving the swastika flags the organizers had handed out. As the seven horn players lined up in front of the stage, the rest of the brown shirts filed to the rows of chairs and took their seats. The officials from Berlin climbed the steps onto the stage and sat down on the chairs. When they were seated, Adam and his team blasted out the final few notes, then the seven horns went silent before they were lowered simultaneously to the boys' sides.

  "Good afternoon Volksbund of Elek!" the master of ceremonies cried out. After some opening remarks, he asked Adam and one of the League of German Girls to come up onto the stage.

  As he delivered his opening lines, Adam spotted his mom and dad. They were near the front of the crowd, beaming up at him with Theresa, George, and Anni beside them. The lines of the speech came easily and he glanced around the crowd as he spoke. At the end, he paused a moment for effect, then stepped back from the podium as the crowd applauded loudly. The energy of the crowd was building. Next was the girl's speech. Then Franz's brother was going to speak, and finally the dignitary from Berlin. By that time, the crowd would be jubilant. Looking back to his family he smiled and gave Anni a wink where she now sat atop of his dad's shoulders clapping as hard as she could.

  When the rally had finished an hour or more later, and the final applause had subsided, the elated crowd filed noisily out of the square, talking of the grand things they'd heard. Behind the stage, Adam put the long trumpet carefully into its case and handed it to the leader, then called out goodbye to the other kids before taking off for Franz's house.

  Franz sat on the front steps, waiting for him. "My brother has to leave tonight. He rushed home from the rally and got into the bath, so we can't talk to him right now. But his uniform and pistol are inside," he said in a hushed whisper. "And Mom and Dad aren't home yet. Come on." The two boys walked softly through the house and up the stairs into a bedroom.

  "Wow, look at that," Adam whispered in awe when he saw the uniform laid out on the bed. He'd never seen an SS officer uniform before. It was jet black, with a shiny row of brass buttons down the front, and an SS motif on each side of the collar. The shoulders were decorated with gold embossed insignia. Adam could hear an occasional muffled splash from down the hall.

  Franz picked up the jacket and held it up to his chest in front of the mirror. "My brother says the SS soldiers get superior training and better weapons than the regular army. The Russians turn and run when they see the SS coming." Gingerly, Franz slid his arms into the sleeves. "What do you think?"

  "It's too big on you. Let me try it."

  Carefully taking the jacket as Franz shrugged out of it, Adam slid it on and did up the buttons, then turned to face the mirror. He'd never worn anything so fancy. "Heil Hitler!" he saluted the mirror in a whisper. Franz snickered and thrust out his arm.

  In front of Adam on the dresser was a revolver. "Look at this, Franz!"

  "I know. I already held it. You can pick it up."

  Adam lifted the weapon and turned it over in his hands a few times. It was heavy. Placing it back down carefully, he looked into the mirror again and gave himself a big smile.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  When the weather turned cold, the work in the fields gave way to butchering season. Although it was hard work, butchering was a social activity that always involved a group of relatives and neighbours. Adam enjoyed it. Most weekends from late November until February, someone had a pig to kill, and with so many men gone to war or working in Germany, this year was busier than ever. The camaraderie of butchering days punctuated the winter with warmth.

  The work started early. First someone would lure the pig out of his shelter with the scrap bucket. Then one of the men would daze the poor bugger with a sledgehammer. Another guy would jump in with a long pointy knife and go for a quick, clean cut of the throat, holding a bucket in place to catch the spurting blood as it was pumped out by the pig's still-beating heart. The tangy smell of fresh, hot blood filled the air and hung over the yard until it was replaced by cooking smells later in the morning.

  When the blood had drained, the insides were quickly removed and handed over to the women, their dresses protected by aprons stained from butchering days gone by. By this time, Adam would have filled the big copper pot with water and built a fire under it to begin cooking down the head and other scraps as they were removed from the carcass. In a few hours, the copper pot would be filled with that delicious broth called "kredel."

  A high proportion of body fat made the Hungarian Mangalitsa Pig a popular breed in those days, as the lard kept well and was treasured for cooking and baking. Unfortunately, the breed also has a thick coat of curly hair, all of which had to be removed before they could begin the meat cutting. Piles of straw and wood shavings were placed on the hairy carcass and set alight to burn off the hair. It was a finicky business. If the fire burned out too quickly, the job wouldn't be complete and the spot would have to be burned again. And if the fire burned too long, the skin would char, creating waste.

  Once the pig was burned bald, the carcass was cut into sections. Adam's dad knew just how to get the most meat out of a pig and make nice hams, bacon slabs, pork roast, and sausage meat. Adam held the meat steady while his dad made the cuts. He'd watched it so many times, he was pretty sure he'd be able to do it just as well.

  After a couple of hours, one of the women would slice up the liver, coat it in flour and fry it up with some onions and fresh pig fat. Everyone sat down for a quick break and dug in.

  Then Adam's mom and the other women prepared the blood sausage, liver sausage, and head cheese, chatting and laughing amongst themselves all the while. The fat was scraped off the skin and set aside for lard. The skin was chopped up along with the kidneys, tongue, and various other parts, and mixed into the pig's blood. The mixture, seasoned with salt and spices, was then stuffed into the cleaned out large intestine and boiled in the kredel. The pig's stomach was carefully cleaned out and stuffed with a chopped-up mixture containing the pig's nose, ears, meat picked off the cooked head, and various other fatty trimmings from the pile Adam and his dad accumulated as they trimmed the meat. After the stomach was sewn shut, it was tossed into the kredel and cooked through, ready to be smoked.

  For lunch, the women ladled some of the kredel into a smaller pot, threw in some salt and homemade noodles, and called everyone to sit.

  Sausage making was the main act of the afternoon. His dad preferred Aunt Maria, Mom's youngest sister, to help with the sausage. She had a gentle hand and did the best job of scraping the film from the intestines with the back of a knife without tearing the delicate material. Then the intestines had to be washed several times before they we
re ready to be stuffed with freshly ground and seasoned meat. Everyone took a turn at cranking the handle of the meat grinder, and when the first batch was ground, it was time to season and mix. With a reputation for delicious sausage to uphold, Adam's dad concentrated on getting the seasoning of the sausage meat just right, adding salt, pepper, a variety of other spices, and of course paprika for colour, while the nominated mixer mixed and mixed and mixed.

  When he was satisfied with the seasoning, Adam's dad would call him over to start stuffing the sausages. While his Aunt Maria carefully slid the intestinal casing onto the end of the sausage tube, Adam filled the tube with the seasoned meat and placed one end of the wooden shaft into the end of the full tube, pressing his stomach against the other end for leverage. Pushing the meat through at the perfect speed was important, so that the sausage would be packed just right, not too loose, making floppy sausages that would fall apart, and not too tight as to tear the casing. Aunt Maria watched like a hawk as the casing filled with meat, pricking any air pockets with a needle she kept handily stuck into her apron for this purpose.

  Drawn by the smell of the kredel, neighbours dropped by in the afternoon, most with a pot in hand. The cooling broth was always shared generously, and for the next week, delicious soups and stews flavoured with the kredel would be enjoyed around the neighbourhood.

  As the afternoon wound down, the last big job was smoking the meat. Adam, Uchie, and the younger cousins headed to the yard across town where wagons and wheelbarrows were built, to collect shavings and sawdust to burn in the smokehouse. By the time they got back, the racks in the smokehouse would be filled with fresh meat and boiled sausage. Almost everything was smoked – hams, bacon, reams of sausages, and countless bones from which the meat had been cut away to grind for sausage. In the cold winter months, the smoked bones would make their way, one by one, into the soup pot or into a meal of baked beans.

  With the smokehouse filled and the fire burning just right to produce the amount of smoke needed, the men's work was finished. In the fading light, they washed up and sat down to relax over a cup of wine while the women roasted meat for supper and yelled to the kids to fetch vegetables from the root cellar.