The Upside of Hunger

by Roxi Harms

  "Come on!" he grunted under his breath as he leaned backwards, straining until he thought he might pass out. An inch, and then another inch and another. It was taking forever. It was impossible to know what would happen if other prisoners realized what was going on. And the guard might get back to this side and hear them. Maybe he should have just run.

  "Okay, let me go," the doctor panted. He was through. Heaving himself to his feet, he looked left and right up and down the fence. "Let's go."

  They ran towards where the two officers had disappeared into the darkness.

  "Here," Adam heard one of the other escapees whisper as they reached the first building. Quickly Adam and the doctor bent down and slipped off their boots. Boots in hand, the four moved silently across the cobblestones into the back streets of the village. Stopping every few minutes to listen for pursuers, they worked their way along the edge of the little town to the other side.

  They'd agreed to head due east out of French territory, towards whatever might be left of Germany. The doctor had suggested they take Adam. He is just a boy, Adam had heard him say to the officers.

  They reached the eastern side of the town and stopped in the darkness at the edge of a field to put their boots back on.

  "Let's move," whispered one of the officers.

  The doctor paused, looking at Adam. "Are you okay to run on

  that leg?"

  "Yep, fine." He still couldn't straighten it all the way and it was stiff from not moving in the prison camp, but he would run for days to get away from the French.

  "Good," said the officer. "We've got a few hours before daybreak. They might not be organized enough to miss us or give chase, but who knows with these bastards. Let's just get as far away as possible. Be as quiet as you can."

  For five nights they moved steadily east, staying well hidden during the day, as military vehicles raced back and forth and civilians wandered in both directions. Adam was slowly piecing it together. With Hitler dead, Germany had finally surrendered. The war was really over. Germany was under enemy control, which meant that all Germans citizens were officially under the control of the enemy. But which enemy?

  After talking it over, they agreed to surrender themselves. They couldn't stay hidden forever. And based on their experience in Metz, France's plan for handling Germans wasn't very appealing. On the other hand, the four of them agreed vehemently that the Russians were worse. Much worse. That left the Americans and the British. They needed to keep going east and pray they found one of those before the Russians found them.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

  "Now what?" The doctor stood at the edge of a wide river, hands on hips, contemplating their predicament. The water, high with spring runoff, slipped by quickly in the silvery moonlight. They could just make out the opposite bank.

  The foursome headed north, hoping the river would narrow.

  "A boat!" the doctor said excitedly from up ahead. They ran to catch up with him and helped turn over the wooden rowboat he'd stumbled upon.

  Although the water was running quickly, it was smooth, and soon they were dragging the rowboat onto the opposite shore. There was enough time to make another fifteen or twenty kilometres before sunrise.

  A few hours later, Adam looked out from behind the clump of trees where he and the others were hiding. They'd been watching the camp since first light. It looked like a temporary camp, just a few tents and some trucks with American markings.

  "I'm pretty sure we're out of French territory," said one of the officers. "If we keep going, who knows how close the Russians might be? I say we approach them."

  Everyone agreed with his logic.

  "Okay, hands high in the air so they don't fire."

  Raising their arms as high as they could, the four of them stepped out from behind the trees and walked slowly towards the camp.

  Surrendering to the Americans had been a wise choice, thought Adam as he dug into the plate of noodles and meat sauce they'd been served when the Americans sat down for their midday meal. That night, after eating again, Adam smiled at the soldier who was guarding them and then drifted off to sleep under the warmth of a thick dry blanket and dreamed about his mom.

  The next morning after breakfast, the four prisoners were motioned towards the back of a truck. Adam didn't move.

  "This is what happened when they handed us over to the French," Adam said warily to the doctor. "They're going to drive us back."

  The two German officers and the doctor stopped and stood with Adam. The American motioned again and said something in a friendly voice. The doctor stepped forward. Pointing west, he shook his head. "No. No Frankreich." Next, he pointed east. "No Russisch." Finally, he pointed to the four of them and then to the American. "Amerikanisch," he said.

  Adam could see the soldier thinking, trying to sort out what the doctor meant. Then his eyes lit up with understanding.

  "Amerikanisch?" he said, copying the German word for American and pointing to his own chest.

  The doctor nodded enthusiastically. "Ja, ja, Amerikanisch."

  "Amerikanisch," the American repeated in a reassuring voice, pointing down the road. With a smile, he walked over to the back of the truck and motioned gently for them to get in.

  The drive was short. A large American military base had been established only a few kilometres away. The brightly lit room into which they were ushered smelled of fresh paint. Soon an officer came in and invited them to sit. Working through a translator, he asked their names and where they were each from, then explained that they would be issued identification papers that would allow them to return home and get on with rebuilding. They would stay in the camp until their paperwork was ready. Adam's case was a bit different. With Hungary under Russian control, he couldn't go home yet. The western allies had to negotiate a plan with the Russians. Until then, Adam would be billeted to a farm in Germany,

  "You'll be staying here in the Youth section until we have a placement confirmed for you. It should only take a few days. Do you have any questions?" the American officer asked.

  "No, I don't think so," said Adam.

  "What is this Youth section you mentioned?" asked the doctor.

  At this, the American officer sighed heavily. "Well," he began, "it seems that a significant portion of the German military are fifteen, sixteen, and seventeen-year-olds. Some even younger. We've set up a separate bunkhouse for the youths. That's what I was referring to. Giving them a bit of extra food, that type of thing. And in many cases, the kids don't have a home to go to. So there's some extra work to re-integrate them."

  With wishes of good luck, the officers headed off. As Adam prepared to say good-bye to the doctor, tears blurred his vision.

  "I can't thank you enough," he said in an unsteady voice. "I'd still be in Metz if it wasn't for you."

  "I don't know. You're a bright boy. Maybe you'd have come up with your own escape plan." The doctor grinned at him. "And besides, without you, I might still be stuck under the fence."

  In unison they reached for each other, and after a quick embrace, turned in opposite directions and headed off to their respective sections.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

  Summer 1945

  Like so many, the farm in Bavaria where Adam was billeted had been neglected for years, with the husband, and later the teenage boys, off to war. Only one of the boys had come back. He and his mother were grateful for the help, even though it meant another mouth to feed. At first the mood during meals was sombre. No one wanted to talk about the war, and there was nothing else to talk about. But as they relaxed with each other, conversation became easier. His hosts were curious about Hungary, especially the German villages. When the subject did turn to the war, the woman and her son shared stories of Nazi raids that stripped them of their valuables and food, and spoke solemnly of Jewish friends who had disappeared.

  The long summer days passed with relative comfort and ease and for once Adam enjoyed his chores, whistling while he worked the hardened fields a
nd repaired collapsed fences. At night he savoured the privacy of the barn and the comforting sounds of the animals bedding down for the night.

  But as July marched on, Adam began to get anxious. He wanted to get home. It was hard to believe that it had only been a year since he'd taken off without a word. It seemed like forever. His cousin would have told them where he'd gone, of course, and that would only have made his mom worry more. He hoped Henry's letter had gotten through. At least then she'd know he'd been alive six months earlier. The translator at the American army base had said it might take a couple of months before they were able to issue him with papers to travel to Hungary. It had been almost that since he'd arrived at the farm. Hopefully it wouldn't be much longer. Mr. Post would be glad to see him back. He wondered how long it would take to get the college up and running. If any professors had survived, that is.

  "We're going to put the radio on for the news if you'd like to stay and listen," his hostess offered as she cleared plates after supper one evening. A new German radio station had been set up and news broadcasts about international post-war politics had become a regular part of their routine.

  "Yes, thank you, I will." Maybe he'd hear some clue about how much longer he'd have to wait.

  "Soviet leader Joseph Stalin, British Prime Minister Winston Churchill, and U.S. President Harry Truman have been in Potsdam since July 17 negotiating terms for the end of World War II," the broadcast began. "In their first week, the Leaders have agreed on the implementation of a demilitarized and disarmed Germany, governed jointly by the western alliance and Russia. In the coming weeks, four zones of Allied occupation will be established - British, American, French, and Russian. And although Berlin will be within the Russian zone, the city itself will also be divided into four zones of allied occupation. Joint administration of Germany will take place from Berlin."

  Adam had heard this before. And they'd already announced a few days ago that all of Germany's military related factories and research centres were to be dismantled. Next the announcer explained that all of the anti-Jewish laws that had come into effect when he was a kid and during the war would be revoked. He'd heard that last week too. Adam pushed back his chair.

  "I think we heard all this the other day. I'll check the gates and head to bed. Good night," said Adam.

  "Okay, see you in the morning," the woman replied, not looking up from the hem she was stitching. As Adam got up to let himself out, the news continued.

  "Soviet leader Joseph Stalin has recommended that those people identifying German as their mother tongue on the last census be returned to Germany. Much discussion has taken place on this question and the three leaders recognize that the transfer to Germany of German populations remaining in Poland, Czechoslovakia and Hungary, will have to be undertaken."

  Adam froze, hand on the doorknob.

  "The terms agreed to today also specify that the transfers of people of German heritage out of Hungary, Poland, and Czechoslovakia should be effected in an orderly and humane manner.

  "The conference will continue tomorrow, as the leaders continue to deliberate on the Pacific War. . . "

  Slowly Adam opened the door and stepped outside. Moving Germans out of Hungary? That would be almost everyone in Elek.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

  Adam stared up at the roof of the hayloft, unable to sleep. If they transferred his family out of Hungary before he got back, how would he find them? He needed to get home.

  Adam couldn't have known the dangers of travelling in Russian-held territory, and even if he had, it probably wouldn't have changed his mind. All he knew was that he couldn't risk losing his family. He sat up, tempted to go right then, but as he looked around in the darkness of the loft, thought better of it. He'd be better off waiting a day so he could gather some supplies.

  His plan formulated, Adam rolled onto his side and nestled into the hay. Through the opening at the end of the loft he could see a tiny sliver of moon. Tomorrow or the next night it would be gone completely. And by the time it was full again, he'd be home.

  Twenty-four hours later, he opened the gate as quietly as he could and latched it carefully behind him. In the morning they would find the note he'd left. They knew he was anxious to see his family, so they would understand. He felt a bit guilty about the food he'd taken, but he had a long way to go and food was going to be scarce.

  The darkness was thick. As he walked along, he listened to the wind brushing through the trees along the roadside. His footsteps were loud in his ears. Something snapped behind him. Jerking his head around he stopped and stared into the darkness. Nothing. A moment later a loud Hooooo! Hoooo! burst out of the night. He jumped sideways, then let out his breath and relaxed his shoulders. An owl. Relax, he lectured himself, the war is over. And this area is controlled by the Americans. Glancing around in the darkness one more time, he turned and resumed walking briskly into the night.

  As the sun rose the next morning, Adam sat up between the rows of corn where he'd slept a couple of hours and yawned. After carving off a hunk of bread and cheese from his supply he stepped cautiously out onto the road, breakfast in one hand, sack in the other, and started walking. A few minutes later, he dove back into the sea of corn stalks. An old man driving an empty wagon came into view. When the wagon had passed, Adam ran out and strode alongside, smiling up at the farmer.

  "Good morning, sir."

  Startled, the old farmer pulled up the horses and stared at Adam. "Where did you come from?" he asked suspiciously.

  "I was just sleeping in the field. I've been discharged from the army and am heading home." The farmer wouldn't ask to see his papers. "I was wondering if I could get a ride?"

  "How come you talk funny?" the old man asked.

  "I'm from Hungary, sir. I'm German, but my family lives in Hungary. I came to Germany to help in the war."

  The old man stared at Adam silently for a moment before he responded. "If you came all the way from Hungary to fight for that demon, why would I give you a ride?"

  Adam's smile vanished and he stared back at the man, his mouth open. "I. . . I don't know," he fumbled.

  The farmer spoke again. "I'm headed to the next town to try to find some flour. Hitler's men came through a few months ago and cleaned us out again."

  "I'm sorry to hear. . . It's terrible. . . by your own people. I don't really understand it. I was on the Eastern Front fighting the Russians until I was wounded. I'm sorry to have bothered you." Adam backed up a couple of steps and started to turn around. He stopped when the man started to speak again.

  "Never mind. I don't think too many of us understand much about the last few years. The ones that came to our place said it was to feed the men at the front. Thing is, we needed to eat too. I trapped rabbits and squirrels. Made soup from a rat one time. Anyhow, we survived and so did you, and he's dead. I'll give you a ride. Climb up."

  When Adam was seated beside him, the farmer clicked his tongue at the horses and continued. "Took everything but the radio, the one the Nazis issued. Only gets the one station. The one with all the stories about winning the war. Nobody will want it, but I thought maybe I could trade the parts for some flour or something."

  CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

  In the hot dusty days that followed, Adam walked through the day and into the night, stopping only to hide when he heard someone coming, and to sleep a few hours in the darkest part of the night. He didn't know if the Americans would be looking for him and he didn't want to find out. Many of the fields he passed were ripped open by jagged craters and littered with toppled, scorched trees. Most of the human remains had been picked up, but skeletons of long-dead sheep and cattle lay in scorched pastures alongside various bits of deserted military equipment.

  Most of the traffic on the road was American military. Petrol wasn't available to civilians, and with nothing to take to market, few farmers had reason to be out. Adam worried that he wouldn't make it back to Elek in time. When the occasional wagon did come by, he ran out and fla
gged it down. Stories of loss and abuse made for depressing conversation, but he was glad for any opportunity to get a little further east.

  Hunger had once again become his daily companion. Gardens were sparsely planted if at all. Barns were empty and few yards had any chickens. The first door he knocked on was a farmhouse on a large acreage. They will have fared a bit better with so much land, Adam thought.

  The door opened only a crack, showing a slice of a woman's face. A child cried inside.

  "Hello. My name is Adam. I've been released from the army and I'm trying to get home to my family. I wondered if you could spare something to eat? Just something small?"

  A bitter laugh escaped from the woman's mouth.

  "Well, Adam," she said angrily, "if my husband or either of my half-grown sons had lived long enough to be released, we might have a few more animals around here and crops in these fields. When I figure out how to feed the three young ones I have left, you come back and we'll be sure to share our Sunday roast with you."

  The door slammed shut.

  He didn't try any more houses that day or the next, but eventually desperation propelled him up to another front door. The yard had a big garden space although much of it was lying fallow. He could hear chickens. Taking a deep breath, he knocked on the door.

  When the door opened a crack, his words tumbled out. "I'm sorry to bother you, but I'm trying to make my way home before they deport my family. I've walked from Bavaria and I'm too hungry to walk anymore and I'm afraid I'm not going to get there in time and then I won't be able to find them. I wondered if you might have something I could eat. I don't have any money, but I could shovel out your chicken coop or do some other chores if it would help you. I only need something small. I'm very sorry to bother you. . . ," his voice trailed off as the door opened wider. Flooded with relief, he saw that the thin woman who had answered the door was looking at him kindly.