My Own Dear Brother

by Holly Müller

  The men talked as they went along the track towards the village, mostly about what they would eat for lunch. Herr Adler planned to have rye bread and sausage and a beer at the Gasthaus. The weasel described the meal of Knödl and cheese that his wife would be preparing. He too liked a beer with his lunch and suggested he could meet Herr Adler at the Gasthaus before the station reopened.

  Schosi was less frightened now that the men were ignoring him and talking about normal things. He trotted to keep up with Herr Adler – maybe his mama would come and get him once he was in the village. She always knew what to do. He hadn’t stolen any fruit. He’d tell her that and she’d believe him. He watched the crows with grey beaks in the treetops – they flapped from branch to branch, following him.

  It started to rain just as they reached Felddorf, the same fine rain as when his mama had left for work, so that even the cheeriest houses looked blurry and colourless. A woman watched from a window, her face framed by net curtains, her gaze tracking them as they passed. Schosi realised that it was the same woman with the bony face and the thin brows who’d come to his house, and who he’d also seen here once before with Ursula and Anton. He craned his neck to look back but Herr Adler shook him until he faced forward again.

  They reached the doctor’s surgery. Schosi became very anxious the moment they went inside. He remembered the hallway from a long time ago, the smell of leather and dust and the wide passageway with doors along it. The weasel stopped outside one of the doors, which had a gold square of metal on it with some writing. He knocked. After a couple of seconds a voice called, ‘Come!’ and the weasel opened the door. They went into the room where a man sat behind a desk in front of a small window. Schosi knew that the man was a doctor – he wore a white coat and had black-framed glasses. He gestured to a chair but Herr Adler shook his head.

  ‘No, thank you, we’re in a hurry. We just want to bring this boy to your attention.’

  The doctor looked at Schosi. His eyes were large behind his spectacles and they moved slowly, like fish underwater.

  ‘It’s been reported to us that he’s cretinous, and neglected by his mother. He’s been stealing fruit and causing trouble in general. We have reliable witnesses.’

  Schosi became upset again. He wasn’t a thief. Where was his mother? He must get away. They were telling lies about him. He struggled to free his arm from Herr Adler’s solid grip; he wrenched back and forth, but Herr Adler only strengthened his hold until Schosi gave up and stopped struggling. His breath gasped loudly in and out.

  Herr Adler watched Schosi’s attempt to disentangle himself with amusement, then, after a moment, continued speaking.

  ‘He’s very troublesome, as you can see. And he’s living in squalid conditions. His mother can’t care for him – she’s rather unconventional, a dubious character, I can assure you. We thought it best that you assess his case and consider other options for him. Things can’t go on as they are.’

  ‘Does he have a name?’ said the doctor.

  ‘Hillier Schosi.’

  The doctor scribbled on a notepad. Once he’d finished he nodded. ‘Leave him with me, gentlemen. Thank you.’

  Herr Adler and the policeman left the room and closed the door.

  12

  Mama didn’t go to work that day. She stayed in bed. When Ursula got home from school in the afternoon Mama was still in the bedroom and nothing had moved in the kitchen – the bread hadn’t been touched and Edi was calling in pain from the cowshed, her udder full to bursting. Ursula went up to the bedroom door and listened. Silence. She went inside and Mama was a lump under the covers. She crossed to the bedside, touched Mama’s hip and shook it. Mama raised her head.

  ‘Edi needs milking.’

  Mama let her head drop on to the pillow and sighed.

  Ursula went downstairs, put on her headscarf, collected the milking pail, and went out to the cowshed. Her thoughts were crowded with worry. She’d not been able to concentrate in school and had been told off by Herr Gruber, but she hadn’t cared; her mind was elsewhere; there were too many things; she couldn’t clearly see or understand. her feelings – anger, sadness, guilt, fear – were meshed together in a tangle so that she felt she was snagged in the centre of a thicket of thorns.

  Edi was shifting her feet and the veins on her udder bulged, the whole thing terribly swollen. Ursula milked her and it took a long time – she wasn’t as quick as Mama and had to concentrate; between the regular movements of her hands she tried not to think. But the behaviour of Anton in the village kept replaying in her memory. This made her own veins thump; it physically hurt to be angry with him, an aching throb. She went over in her mind the spite and fury of his outburst in the village. The shock of it still made her fingers shake. He was vengeful, but for what? Just because she spoke to others, had made a friend he didn’t like? Schosi didn’t deserve that. He could have got into real trouble. And Sepp too – his aunt. She began to fret then about what Anton had said of Sepp. Had they really hidden a Russian? Was that why Sepp had made comments in the playground about the prisoners being murdered? A Russian-lover. A Commie. Some would think he deserved to be punished. She prayed that nothing would come of it but her nerves said otherwise. An echo of her stifling dream crouched at the edge of her thoughts, accusatory. She’d taken Schosi where she shouldn’t have. She’d ignored all his mother’s warnings in a fit of pique.

  The cats came and sat near her stool, waiting for a game that she always played with them whenever she milked the cow or goat. Once she’d got a good amount of milk out and Edi was more comfortable, she turned one of the teats towards the cats. They rose on to their haunches, then she squirted milk into the air and the cats opened their mouths. Once Ursula had tired of the game, the cats sat and licked their faces, cleaned their legs and paws and settled in the straw in case there was a second round. She was glad to have the animals all to herself again, without having to share them with Siegfried. But conscription to the People’s Army – the poor man. A wave of near panic washed over her. He’d die for certain and Mama would lose her mind entirely. The locals often muttered about the pointless slaughter of their men, as grandfathers and young sons were dragged from families and deployed to the front line. It was Hitler’s blind pride, they said. Only fanatics like Herr Adler and Frau Gerg still believed in the final victory. How could Siegfried survive, when it was said that the bullets supplied were often the wrong type for the guns, or else the guns themselves were factory rejects that misfired, or relics from the Great War? Ursula thought of how patient he’d been with her and of the gifts he’d brought. She was ungrateful, spiteful, selfish. No matter if he was a philanderer and a cheat, he was a person and Mama loved him and he’d still be here if it wasn’t for her. She dried her tears. She’d take a walk to calm herself – she’d go to Schosi’s house, check he was all right, spend an hour in his ordered world of few words, of watches and comfort blankets, of firewood placed carefully and precisely in the basket, of prayer in front of the Holy Mary. She’d read to him or invent a story while he dozed in her lap. He always made her feel better and asked no questions – he liked her no matter what.

  She rapped on the side window of Schosi’s house using four short knocks, their signal. She tried a second time before going to the door. Instead of being locked, it wasn’t quite closed and swung inwards at her touch. She noticed a splintered indentation on the doorframe, wood showing bright through the paint. She stepped inside; the house was silent. The cellar hatch spiked up from the floor throwing a wedge of shadow; she went and looked down into the cramped space but there were only sacks. She found herself treading softly, holding her breath, dry-mouthed. She climbed slowly to the loft, peered into the room, hopeful that Schosi would be asleep on his bed. The bed was empty, his comfort blanket crumpled on the pillow. After descending, she ventured out into the back yard. She half expected to see the Russian inmate there, even though the body had been dragged away months before. The yard was quiet and ordinary in daylight. C
ats sat in the entrance of the woodshed but Schosi was nowhere to be seen. She was certain he was supposed to be at home today rather than at the farm. But then maybe he’d been called in to cover for Mama’s absence. That would be a sensible explanation. She returned to the front of the house and wandered in the garden not knowing what to do, rubbing her hands together distractedly, kicking at the heads of weeds. She inspected the splintered mark again, the flakes of dislodged paint crunching beneath her shoes, and then walked into the adjacent field and called his name. Perhaps she should just go home. He was probably fine. She wandered for a while, picking grasses as she went and trying to make them whistle. They were all the wrong thickness and ripped between her fingers. She found herself near the top of the sloping field, and realised that she was already part-way towards Herr Esterbauer’s place; she may as well go and see whether Schosi was there. Herr Esterbauer would probably be pleased that she was keeping an eye on him. She struck off and felt better for having made a decision. The fields were damp from rain, the hills and forest dull green and autumn brown, dreary but somehow refreshing too. She remembered Papa commenting on the fine Austrian air. She breathed a lungful.

  At the farm the Polish women were sweeping; their stiff brushes hissed on the concrete and the whole yard was awash with muddy water. Herr Esterbauer was in the house eating a late lunch. He came to the door with a bread roll in his hand and flour on his face.

  ‘Is Schosi at work today?’ Ursula asked.

  He shook his head, swallowed and then wiped the flour away. ‘No, no, never on Wednesdays. He’s at home.’

  Her stomach lurched with horrible dread and she stared at him. ‘But he isn’t at home. I just called on him.’

  Herr Esterbauer frowned. ‘Frau Hillier said you aren’t to go there.’

  ‘I know, but I was alone and Mama isn’t well and I thought I’d just walk by.’

  ‘That’s no excuse,’ he said. But he wasn’t really angry; his brow was furrowed with concern.

  ‘Let’s go searching,’ he said. He went into the house and came back a moment later with his coat. He put on his boots, which stood outside the door.

  ‘Lidia,’ Herr Esterbauer called to one of the Polish women as he crossed the farmyard. ‘I have to go out. Please take care of my mother. Just make sure she doesn’t get out of the house.’

  The woman called Lidia nodded. She carried her broom to the shed. Herr Esterbauer led Ursula over the fields towards Schosi’s house, and then onwards to the village.

  13

  Schosi sat beside a small boy on the bus. The boy had arrived at the doctor’s surgery from another town and had been examined in the same room. The rest of the bus was full of strangers. The man from the surgery, not the doctor but the one who’d taken notes while the doctor examined Schosi, covering a piece of paper with spidery handwriting, sat behind the boys. Schosi didn’t know where they were going. He was sure his mother wouldn’t know where he was, even though the man had told him she would. He stared out of the window as the bus lurched and bounced along the pitted road. Dirty puddles filled the potholes and when the wheel of the bus hit one of them, brown water leapt up to the window near his face. The boy beside him had knees that were red and grazed and was sniffling into a large yellow handkerchief. Schosi wondered what was wrong with him. Was he missing his mama? Was he worried because he was in trouble and was unexpectedly going on a journey? He watched the boy for a while. After a bit, the little boy put his hand into his pocket and took out a pale object, small and round; it shone like a polished stone, but it wasn’t a stone, and there were striped patterns on its surface.

  ‘What is that?’ said Schosi.

  The boy jumped and stared at Schosi. His mud-coloured eyes stretched wide and his handkerchief fell away from his nose. His lip was covered in snot.

  ‘What is that?’ repeated Schosi.

  The boy glanced down at the object in his palm. He turned it over and there was a hole on its underside.

  ‘A shell,’ he said. He turned it again and the shell gleamed, faintly pink, but mostly cream in colour. Schosi thought it was beautiful. ‘From my Oma,’ added the boy.

  He put the shell back in his pocket. Schosi was disappointed. He’d wanted to hold the shell and look at it properly. He’d never seen one before. He gazed out of the window again, but kept thinking about the shell and checking to see if the boy had taken it out again. The boy just stared ahead, legs swinging, hands by his sides.

  Buildings appeared as they reached the edge of a town. Some of them were broken and falling down, one had no roof. Schosi saw a dog trotting on the pavement alongside the bus. The dog had a bushy tail, sharp ribs and thin legs. The houses were more and more ruined as the bus carried on through the streets; there were piles of stones and people wearing striped clothes digging, and some boys in Hitler Youth uniforms pushing wheelbarrows full of stones and mud. A large colourful building appeared. Schosi vaguely remembered it; he’d seen it before. He recognised the yellow paint with red-and-black patterns. It looked like a Rathaus. It was much bigger than the Rathaus in Felddorf, but it had the same red flags on the front with the black-and-white symbol. Beside the Rathaus one of the buildings was gone and he could see through the gap to the houses behind. Smoke came from somewhere and he could smell it. One or two cars drove slowly by.

  Eventually they stopped. There were women in nurse uniforms waiting on the pavement. The man from the surgery prodded the boys.

  ‘Up you get!’

  The man ushered the boys along the aisle of the bus. Other people began to rise and file out on to the pavement. One of the nurses grabbed Schosi as he climbed down from the high step. She turned him round and held both his arms from behind, so that he couldn’t see her. The other people walked away down the pavement, some went right, some left. The man from the surgery and the small boy stayed near to Schosi as they set off walking. Soon, they passed through high black gates and along a narrow road that had trees at the sides. The trees had big shiny leaves and tangled vines wrapped round them. Schosi saw a large grey building. He knew straight away that it was Brauhausen Hospital; he remembered the square grey shape and the many windows from long ago. His mama had brought him to the health centre here and the man had stabbed him with needles. He’d felt ill afterwards and his mama had cried. She’d said it was wrong to do that to her boy, to take that from her boy. He didn’t want to be here at this place but the woman holding his arms was marching him forwards. He began to panic, remembering how they’d hurt him and made his stomach ache for days and days. This time his mother wasn’t with him, and he was accused of stealing. He hadn’t stolen anything! Nothing at all!

  He tried to twist to look at his captor. The nurse only tightened her hold and shoved him till he turned forward again. He felt more and more afraid as the grey hospital grew larger and higher above him. They passed a statue standing in the shallow dish of a fountain; a dark lumpy column with green slime coating it, like the green slime on Schosi’s house. As they reached the entrance, the high wooden doors opened and swung inwards, so that he could see into the lobby; above the doorway was some writing that he couldn’t read. Their footsteps echoed loudly on the polished floor and bounced off the high ceiling. Schosi was guided along many corridors with doors set into the walls at regular intervals. The nurse was pushing and forcing him to go fast.

  ‘Mama!’ he called. But he knew she was nowhere near and couldn’t hear him.

  He glimpsed the small boy to his left – another nurse held him by the hand. They went through some thick double doors that were unbolted and then bolted again behind. Beyond was an identical corridor. The smell became even stronger, the stench, like an outhouse, made Schosi retch. They stopped. The nurse gripped Schosi by his shoulders and moved him so that he faced the brown wall, the small boy placed beside him. The man from the surgery spoke to the nurse who’d held Schosi.

  ‘He’s had an initial assessment. Here’s the report.’ He handed the piece of paper to the nurse. ‘H
e’s fifteen years of age, severely maladjusted, congenitally inferior and unfit for education or work. He’s also socially abnormal.’

  The nurse murmured agreement. Papers rustled. The man spoke again.

  ‘See here – prominent frontal bulges and flat back of head – there’s more detail on page two. It’s pretty conclusive.’

  ‘Yes,’ said the nurse decisively. ‘Quite.’

  The man bade her good day and went to speak with the other nurse concerning the little boy. Schosi caught the words ‘idiocy’ and ‘retardation’. The man had a bossy tone and the nurse replied very obediently.

  ‘He’s underdeveloped and feeble-minded. One foot is deformed.’

  As the adults spoke Schosi glanced at the little boy. The boy was resting his forehead on the wall, and his hand was in his shorts pocket, fiddling with something inside. Schosi knew that he was holding the shell. Schosi felt for his wristwatch in his own pocket but he daren’t take it out. He wished fervently that he’d brought his comfort blanket. He pictured where he’d left it, on the topside of his pillow. After a while the man went away and the nurses spoke to one another, then one of them came towards them.

  ‘Stay here. Do not move. We will be back in a moment.’

  Schosi was frightened by the woman’s hard voice and he stayed still and copied the small boy by placing his forehead against the wall. It was cold and smelled of oil paint.

  ‘What’s happening?’ said the boy to Schosi.

  Schosi shrugged.

  The little boy began to sniffle again and took out the yellow handkerchief.

  ‘Can I see the shell?’ asked Schosi.

  The little boy shook his head. ‘It’s mine.’

  ‘Show me,’ Schosi persevered. ‘Please?’

  The boy hesitated for a moment and then he took the shell out of his pocket. He held it so that Schosi could look at it. Schosi reached over very carefully and touched it with the tip of his finger. He stroked the brown striped pattern. It was very smooth and the inside shone with a lovely light. He stroked it for a little while longer. It was one of the most wonderful things he’d ever seen.