by Holly Müller
‘It’s from my Oma,’ the boy said again. ‘It’s mine.’
The shell went back in his pocket just as the nurses appeared some distance down the corridor. Their skirts flapped as they strode along. They carried blankets.
‘Come,’ said one of the nurses as soon as she arrived. She seemed to be the boss and the other nurse took direction from her. The one who had spoken was very ugly, like a bulldog, with curly hair and a thick jaw. ‘This way.’
Schosi and the little boy were led down the corridor. The nurses stopped outside one of the doorways and indicated that they should go through it. Schosi peered inside. It was a large room full of beds with a black-and-white-tiled floor and brown walls. Pale daylight was coming in. The beds were very close together in rows and sitting on the beds were many boys.
‘Go on!’ commanded the nurse. ‘Get on with it!’ She pushed Schosi into the room and over to one of the beds. She threw one of the thin blankets on top of the bare mattress. ‘If you wet this blanket, you wash it yourself,’ she said. Schosi looked at her dumbly, not able to understand her rapid speech. ‘Turn out your pockets.’ Schosi tried to work out what she meant but couldn’t. The nurse tutted, shoved her hands into his trouser pockets and yanked them inside out. She found his wristwatch and put it in her apron. He wanted to protest but instinct told him to stay quiet though a painful feeling filled his chest like hot liquid. The other nurse checked the pockets of the little boy, who’d been placed in the bed next to Schosi. She discovered the shell.
‘No!’ said the boy in desperation as the shell was taken from him.
‘What do you mean, no?’ snapped the boss nurse with the bulldog face. ‘We’ll have no silly trinkets here.’ And with that she threw the shell on to the floor and crushed it beneath her heavy shoe until it was in fragments. The boy wailed loudly in the echoing dormitory, tears flooding his cheeks.
‘Be quiet!’ said the nurse and lifted him roughly on to the edge of his bed. He immediately struggled back off the bed and on to his feet and continued to cry. The nurse slapped him smartly across the cheek. The boy cried and cried. The nurse shook her head. ‘Dinner in one hour,’ she said. Both women walked out, throwing a warning glance at the room as they exited.
‘You won’t last long in here’, came a voice from a bed across the room, ‘if you carry on like that.’
The boy who’d spoken had raised himself on to his elbow and was frowning crossly. Schosi’s companion stared at the older boy who soon lay down again. His crying subsided gradually. Then he came and stood beside Schosi. Some of the children, who were lounging or sitting on their beds, watched them. They reminded Schosi of owls, wide-eyed with dark circles beneath, staring and malevolent. No one talked, though some of them sighed and one of them began crying softly, but Schosi couldn’t tell which boy it was. Every now and then a nurse came by and looked into the room, always with a frown, and said, ‘No talking!’ then walked away. Schosi looked at the narrow windows. It was wet outside. Trees crowded close against the glass; the leaves were yellow. Some of the leaves had come off and were stuck to the glass. What had he done to be put here? he wondered. What had he done wrong?
‘My name’s Aldo,’ said the little boy. He looked at Schosi with his mud-brown eyes. ‘What’s yours?’
‘Hillier Schosi,’ said Schosi.
‘Trommler Aldo,’ said Aldo. ‘I’m from Lichtenfeld.’
Schosi didn’t know where Lichtenfeld was. Aldo told him it was in Germany. They lapsed back into silence. Schosi noticed that Aldo was putting his hand again and again into his pocket, looking for his shell.
14
Ursula and Herr Esterbauer made their way as fast as they could along the track. They soon reached Ursula’s house.
‘You stay here,’ Herr Esterbauer told her. ‘I’ll be quicker on my own. And send your mother up to the farm. I know she’s not well but I don’t trust the Poles without supervision.’ He lowered his voice. ‘She’ll have to make up some lie about where I’ve gone.’
Ursula had assumed she’d be going along to help look for Schosi – he was her friend and she was the one who’d discovered he was gone. She didn’t want to be left behind – she was scared for him. She had an awful feeling about it being her fault and that something bad had happened. She hated waiting, and then the adults always told her only what she ought to know, never what really happened. She watched Herr Esterbauer clomping along the track away from the house, not even saying goodbye to her, and felt angry. She ran after him.
‘Wait!’ Her voice came out louder than she’d intended. ‘Let me come.’ Herr Esterbauer stopped and turned to look at her. She clenched her fists inside her coat pockets and hoped the farmer wouldn’t shout or send her away. ‘Please. I want to help.’
Herr Esterbauer considered for a moment, his face serious.
‘All right, you can come. But at least run inside and tell your mother that I need her to go up to the farm.’ She began to dash towards the front door. ‘Be quick! And if you can’t keep up with me then you’ll have to forget it.’
She hurried into the house and up to Mama’s bedroom. Mama was seated in a chair beside the window staring at her hands, which lay in her lap; she wasn’t looking out.
‘Mama,’ said Ursula, breathless. ‘Herr Esterbauer needs you to go up to the farm. We’ve got to look for Schosi. He’s lost.’
Mama didn’t answer at first then blinked as though waking from a dream. ‘Lost?’ she echoed. ‘How?’
‘I don’t know. He’s not at the farm and he’s not at home. He’s gone missing. Herr Esterbauer needs you to look after the farm while he’s searching the village and to lie if anyone asks you what he’s doing.’ Ursula wasn’t sure Mama had heard her. She took a step forward, impatient. ‘Can you do it?’
Mama frowned then stood. She stretched, her body thinner than it had been a few months before, apart from her belly, which stuck out disturbingly. She walked over to her set of drawers. ‘Tell him I can take care of things for as long as he needs me to.’
Ursula sped down the stairs and out of the house – the farmer was still there, pacing beside the firs. She ran to the shed, shouting the news as she went that Mama had agreed to oversee at the farm. She flung open the shed door and went inside.
‘Hey!’ called Herr Esterbauer. ‘Where are you going?’
She didn’t answer; she was too busy disentangling the bicycle and dragging it into the yard. She climbed on, unable to reach the saddle – it had belonged to Papa and was much too large – and rode towards Herr Esterbauer. He threw his arms in the air in exasperation. ‘Come on then,’ he said. ‘I’ll run.’
They set off along the track. The bike squeaked like a greedy chick – the rod brakes didn’t work, they were old and stiff and Ursula’s hands too weak to squeeze them. She pedalled as hard as she could to build up speed. She steered frantically to avoid crashing into the deep cart tracks. Herr Esterbauer ran alongside, leaping like a young man, coat sailing, white hair fluttering beneath the rim of his hat. He caught her handlebars when she hit a deep pothole and almost toppled sideways.
They reached the village and Ursula put one foot in the dirt to slow herself. The road was quiet, only one or two women talking on the pavement. They surveyed the road for a sign of Schosi.
‘The church,’ said Herr Esterbauer.
Ursula nodded. Herr Esterbauer jogged, keys or coins jingled in his pocket; sweat glistened on his wrinkled forehead. They looked around for Schosi as they went, in case he might be hiding somewhere, or might have passed by and left some clue. Ursula looked between the houses, into the little gaps and lanes and tracks; she scanned the ground for items belonging to him – a glove, a hat or a wristwatch. They reached the bakery and the grocer’s. People were going in and out and there was a delivery of ice for the meat counter at the butcher’s. Herr Esterbauer tipped his hat to one or two of the ladies. They smiled and nodded in reply. He was a popular man and Ursula was glad to be seen with him. After a few minutes
they reached Frau Gerg’s house with its two balconies and many flowerpots and ornaments. The door opened and Frau Gerg appeared. She waved.
‘Herr Esterbauer,’ she called. ‘Whatever is the matter?’
Ursula had never heard her so sweet, so conniving. She glided down the steps.
Herr Esterbauer slowed but didn’t stop. ‘Nothing’s the matter,’ he said.
‘Are you looking for someone?’
‘No, no,’ said Herr Esterbauer.
‘Has it anything to do with what I saw this morning? The Hillier boy that works on your farm being dragged along by Herr Adler and a constable?’
Herr Esterbauer halted. ‘Herr Adler?’ he said. ‘Are you sure it was the Hillier boy?’
‘Oh, quite sure. I recognised him though I haven’t seen him for years. The officer and Herr Adler were being rather rough.’ Frau Gerg smiled in a way that was most unpleasant.
Ursula swallowed on a throat that was suddenly as dry as parchment; she remembered the day in the village when Frau Gerg had stared after Schosi with that hungry look. The police, the Party, had taken him. Surely not for the fruit. Surely that couldn’t be enough reason. But it must be. It was her fault – her fault entirely.
‘Come on,’ said Herr Esterbauer to Ursula, setting off at a pace towards the police station. She shot a look of pure loathing at Frau Gerg before cycling after him, trying not to collide with people on the road, shoppers with shopping baskets, a delivery man with a cart. She wrestled with the heavy bicycle, difficult to ride on a slight incline, and imagined how frightened Schosi must be – he hated to be in trouble, even over the smallest thing. He’d be distraught if he was thrown in jail or locked in handcuffs. An unsettling awareness was in her mind. She tried to push it aside but it was persistent: Anton. It was Anton who’d done this. Just as much as Frau Gerg and Herr Adler – he’d deliberately shouted outside Frau Gerg’s house and called Schosi a thief. He’d gone back to speak with Frau Gerg. About what? About Schosi. Perhaps about Sepp, too.
The police station was off the main road, around the corner from the Rathaus and the Gasthaus. They stopped outside the entrance; Ursula dropped her bicycle on to the verge. Herr Esterbauer wasted no time in striding into the station, forgetting to hold the door for Ursula. She hopped inside just behind him.
It was warm in the station; a policeman was seated at a wide desk, smoking and filling out paperwork. He looked up without raising his head, his forehead corrugated. His eyes were marbled pink.
‘Grüss Gott,’ he greeted them. ‘How can I help you?’ He placed his cigarette in the ashtray on the desk and eyed Herr Esterbauer.
‘I’m looking for my employee,’ said Herr Esterbauer. ‘Missing from work, and from his home. A boy called Hillier Schosi.’ Herr Esterbauer towered over the policeman, seeming enormous in the narrow reception room. The policeman was small-framed and thin – a runt in comparison to the broad farmer. From his position at the desk he was forced to crane his neck to see Herr Esterbauer’s face properly, like a child seated before a teacher. Herr Esterbauer continued. ‘A woman in the village said she saw him this morning being taken along the road by Herr Adler and one of your officers.’
Recognition dawned in the policeman’s expression. ‘Yes,’ he said, taking another drag from his cigarette then stubbing it out. ‘You must be Herr Esterbauer, the farmer.’
‘That’s me.’ Herr Esterbauer tapped the edge of the desk with one of his thick fingers. ‘I’m most put out that the boy hasn’t turned up to work. Where is he?’
‘He was caught stealing and behaving improperly in the village, according to our witnesses.’
Ursula drew in a breath, her cheeks and ears flamed. Should she speak out? Tell the policeman it was she who was the thief? But he’d not listen, she told herself; it was too late. Her heartbeat grew rapid as she tried to quieten the inner voice that whispered ‘Coward’. She wished even more passionately that she’d never brought Schosi to the village. Stupid, careless, pig-headed girl. The policeman shrugged. ‘So . . .’ He spread his hands as if to say, ‘What can I do?’ Then he glanced to the side through a partially open door, from behind which came the sound of voices. He seemed uncomfortable.
‘But where is he?’ said Herr Esterbauer again. His tone was gruff and laced with threat.
‘That will be up to the doctor, mein Herr,’ said the policeman. ‘I imagine they’ll have found a suitable place for him.’
‘What do you mean?’ said Herr Esterbauer. ‘Talk straight, man!’ He slammed his palm on to the desktop and leaned close to the policeman. The policeman shrank back in his chair. Ursula didn’t know quite what the farmer would do next, whether he’d entirely lose his temper, whether he’d make everything worse.
The policeman shuffled his papers to one side. ‘He was taken to the surgery for assessment. He’s clearly not right in the head. And with no one to supervise him. The boy lives like an animal.’
Herr Esterbauer’s hand bashed even more loudly on to the tabletop. The policeman jumped, eyes widening. ‘He works for me!’ he shouted. ‘I’m losing money and valuable time because of your meddling.’
‘Well, I suppose the fault is your own,’ snapped the policeman. ‘You should choose appropriate employees, rather than idiots and reprobates.’
Herr Esterbauer glared, his chest heaved and his cheeks were ruddy with rage. He said nothing but stood for a while, his whole body tense with fury. Then he swiped his hand through the air dismissively. ‘Bah!’ he said. ‘You’re not worth the breath. Come on, Ursula.’ He turned.
Ursula trotted after him out of the station.
‘Some people’, said Herr Esterbauer as she hastily grabbed her bicycle, ‘are rotten.’
Hurrying back through the village they drew curious glances from onlookers. Herr Esterbauer did look rather wild, his expression grim and determined, his strides long. Frau Gerg again watched them as they passed but Herr Esterbauer didn’t even glance her way, so fixed was he on their destination, which was the surgery at the other end of the street.
When they arrived he said he’d better go in alone: doctors had no patience with children. He promised he’d tell her everything. Ursula accepted his decision reluctantly and waited beside the surgery’s ochre-painted wall. It seemed a long time until he emerged, replacing his hat.
‘What happened?’
Herr Esterbauer shook his head; he was sweating and grey-faced. ‘Bad news.’ He held out his hand. ‘Come. Walk with me to the factory. I have to tell Frau Hillier.’
‘What is it? Tell me!’ Ursula was horror-struck. She took the farmer’s hand, which was rough and dry and hard as wood. Herr Esterbauer pushed her bicycle one-handed and Ursula was like a child again, led firmly along as she had been by her papa long ago.
‘He’s been sent off,’ said the farmer. ‘To the mental hospital in Brauhausen.’ He cursed. ‘I suspected as much.’
‘The mental hospital?’ said Ursula. ‘But why? He’s innocent – he’s not – he’d never hurt anyone.’ She’d almost said, ‘He’s not the kind of boy to be a thief,’ but then she didn’t want to admit her part, or admit that she’d said nothing.
‘You don’t have to be causing harm to go there,’ said Herr Esterbauer. ‘My mother would be a perfect candidate. For all the complaining I do, I’d hate to see them take her. A bad place to be, a very bad place indeed.’
‘Why so bad?’ said Ursula. But she thought she’d already guessed as she remembered Frau Hillier’s whispers to Mama, the story of a boy snatched from Lillienfeld, his parents receiving ashes in the post two weeks later with only a name tag to identify that this was their son, about chimneys raining human hair on to towns, the smell of meat, buses going in full, coming out empty – the murder box, the oven.
The farmer squeezed her hand. ‘Boys like Schosi don’t tend to come back.’
—
Frau Hillier was fetched from the production line and brought into the foyer. The foreman lingered by the door. ‘She’ll
drop below her quota,’ the man kept saying. ‘She’ll fall behind.’
Frau Hillier wiped her oily hands on a rag. Her stockings were torn, her arms black. She had smudges on her face that looked like deep bruises. She eyed Herr Esterbauer with apprehension, sensing at once that something was wrong.
‘Frau Hillier, your Schosi’s been arrested and sent away.’ Herr Esterbauer blurted the news in a rush of words, as though he couldn’t bear to hesitate. There was no way to say it more gently. ‘He’s gone to Brauhausen, to the mental institution. I’m going to get him out. I’m going today to get him out of there.’
Frau Hillier clapped a hand to her mouth. She turned ghastly white – her eyes rolled, loose and ugly. Herr Esterbauer caught her arm just in time to slow her fall as she crumpled to the dirty tiles, head lolling, her face waxen beneath the muck. Herr Esterbauer squatted and cradled her head in his hands. He stroked the hair away from her forehead.
Ursula wandered by the exit while Herr Esterbauer held Frau Hillier on the floor. She felt uncomfortable being near to them just as sometimes she’d felt uncomfortable being near to Mama and Siegfried when they were being affectionate or sharing long meaningful looks. It was clear to Ursula that Herr Esterbauer loved Frau Hillier very much, and it was probably clear to the horrid snooping foreman too, who still stood in the corner, arms officiously crossed.
Herr Esterbauer waited for Frau Hillier to come back to consciousness, watching her face intently – he knelt perfectly still, his large mud-caked boots braced against the floor.
15
The door of the dormitory flew wide. The metal handle struck the wall and there was a deafening, shrill whistle. Schosi woke with a shock. He stared at the grey paintwork alongside his bed and the ceiling high above. Morning light shone with a flat glare on to everything. He tried to remember where he was, mind fogged and cluttered with anxious repetitions, an extension of his dreams, something about being stuck in the horse chestnut tree near Herr Esterbauer’s farm, amongst the pungent cream-white flowers, drunk on their scent, almost falling. A blue bulb glowed on the ceiling, attached to a small box – it’d been the only thing he’d been able to see in the darkness when he’d woken in the night. He wasn’t at home. He was somewhere strange – somewhere bad. He couldn’t yet recall the fact that he and Aldo had been transferred in the middle of the night from Brauhausen Hospital to a second hospital, the Hartburg in Vienna. After a while lying in the bed in the harsh morning light some bits of memory returned of the confusing events of yesterday and of the night, the nurses coming in darkness to the Brauhausen dormitory, shaking them from sleep, bringing them out into the bitter air in only their underwear. Schosi had worried about his clothes – they’d left them behind. The two boys had been put on to another bus. Schosi hadn’t been able to see out of the windows because there were thick curtains screening the glass, and when he’d tried to part them a nurse had hit him across the head with a rolled-up magazine. They’d driven for a long time and he and Aldo had eventually slept in their queasy, swaying cradle. Then they were woken and told to get out on to tarmac wet with rain. They’d stood and shivered and looked up at another hospital building, even larger, unlit and crowded by many trees. Nurses had led them inside, smothered their mouths and hurried them through a small door where they were received like parcels being delivered. More hands, gloved, pressed over their mouths and they were marched up a flight of stairs and along corridors to a small office. They were weighed on tall clanking scales and given an injection. Then put inside a black room full of sleeping people. Schosi was lifted, drowsy and weak, and tucked tightly into a bed; the blanket clamped unpleasantly across his neck so that if he’d had the strength he would have wrenched it away as soon as the nurse closed the door.