My Own Dear Brother

by Holly Müller

  They all jumped like cats when Frau Hillier entered. She came into the kitchen breathless – she had news to bring. ‘They’ve closed the factory,’ she said. ‘They arrested the bosses – marched them away down the road with hands on heads and threw them straight in the camp. They told all us workers to go home. And then they made the SS guards crawl like dogs and Herr Adler too.’ She leaned forward and clutched Mama’s shoulder. ‘They’ve locked him up! The prisoners kicked dirt in his face. You should’ve seen it.’ She accepted a cup of Malzkaffee and joined them at the table to continue her report.

  Some of the Russian officers had taken the Siedler farm as quarters, she told them. Herr Siedler, the richest farmer, had torn out his expensive wooden floors to try to put them off, but still they chose his house, because it was so large and because he had two plump daughters. More trucks of soldiers had been tumbling out on to the street all morning, and their horses drank from the fountain. At the edge of the village the verges were used as toilets – the Russians squatted in plain view and relieved themselves. ‘To think they’d do that! I know they’ve no barracks but what a dirty thing to do. We shan’t be able to walk out that way – the stench is terrible.’

  She went on to describe the arrival of a vehicle full of bigwigs – the commander, and one or two others of distinction, who’d climbed out and looked around with serious faces. ‘A lot are coming here,’ said Frau Hillier. ‘The factory is the thing, I suppose. I don’t know the ranks. It seems you just look for the red star on the hat or a good overcoat. They’re the ones in charge. The rest of them are scruffy enough.’

  Ursula remembered the big blond Russian with stars on his hat – he must have been an officer of some kind.

  Then Frau Hillier set down her Malzkaffee in a meaningful fashion. ‘I have an announcement to make.’

  Ursula, Mama and Dorli shared a look, sure it would be news about Herr Esterbauer. Ursula tried to see Frau Hillier’s engagement finger but her hand was beneath the table.

  Frau Hillier drew a deep breath. ‘Schosi will be coming home and he’ll go to church with me this Sunday!’ Her eyes grew wet with tears and a broad smile erased her usually tired expression. ‘Can you believe it? At last!’ She gave a short laugh. ‘I’m so happy. So happy!’

  Ursula’s heart skipped. Of course, now the Russians were here her friend could go where he pleased. He could walk about without fear. ‘Oh, wonderful!’ she said. She stood abruptly. ‘I’m so glad!’ She hugged Frau Hillier, pressed her face into the grease-stained fabric of her work dress, and squeezed tight about her ample arms and chest. She wanted to run directly to Schosi and hug him too. But she couldn’t – not alone, not without the wine-soaked rag in her underwear. Now it was she who must be vigilant.

  The next day a Russian soldier knocked on the door of the Hildesheim house, accompanied by two others carrying guns. The man who spoke to them was slight and dark-haired with wire-rimmed glasses and a large nose, bookish in appearance and with a bird-like way of glancing around. He was a clerk and wrote often in a notebook. He asked questions in a polite tone, nodding and conciliatory. He asked whether they were hiding any National Socialists in the house, or any Wehrmacht soldiers, or any Germans.

  ‘No,’ said Mama. ‘We’re all Austrians – all women here.’

  The Russian clerk smiled and wrote something down again. The soldiers with guns were silent and peered into the house. They wore the same green caps and dirty uniforms Ursula had seen in the village. Their eyes lingered on her till she blushed and backed into the living-room doorway to hide herself.

  ‘Please report to the town hall next Wednesday at eight o’clock in the morning,’ said the clerk. ‘We’ll be registering all adults of working age. That is to say, between fifteen and sixty.’ The small man peered at his notebook short-sightedly then continued. ‘Until that time please continue attending your work as normal. If you’re a factory employee, please resume work tomorrow morning.’ He spoke fastidious and accurate German, his accent and pronunciation very good.

  Mama nodded and assured him they’d cooperate.

  ‘Many thanks,’ he said. His companions shifted their weight and one of them hefted his gun on to his shoulder to rest his arms. ‘We come as your liberators, we mean you no harm.’

  After this official statement of reassurance, the soldiers saluted and walked off across the yard. Ursula emerged to watch them go. The clerk led the way, diminutive beside his companions who turned to look back, sauntering bandy-legged out of the gate. Their hungry faces and brutal, long-barrelled guns seemed out of place amongst the exuberant pink of the fireweed that lined the track. The plants sprung about in the breeze, tossing their heads as if nothing in the world was amiss, and the soldiers were soon hidden from view but Ursula stayed in the doorway and listened, barely breathing, as the stamp and jingle of their steps grew faint and eventually disappeared.

  34

  It was late evening and Schosi watched from his attic window while Herr Esterbauer stumbled against the fence below and tried to open the gate. After a while of fishing for the latch he managed to come unsteadily through into the garden, then wended off the edge of the path. He trampled through a patch of flowers that were the only bright things in the dank, unfilled garden. The stems snapped and the leaves mashed into the soil, squashed by the farmer’s heavy boots. Schosi was surprised to see him so clumsy – even clumsier than himself. He looked in danger of falling over. Schosi’s mama would soon be home and she’d see straight away that the flowers were spoiled.

  There came a knock on the door. ‘Schosi, lad!’ Herr Esterbauer hollered. ‘It’s only me!’

  Schosi didn’t answer at first, afraid that Herr Esterbauer was here to take him back to the hut in the field. He never wanted to go into that dark place again. He was very relieved to be home, even though all the space in the rooms made him nervous. The farmer banged on the door again. When eventually Schosi let him inside he seemed happy, patting Schosi on the shoulder and ruffling his hair. ‘Isn’t your mama home?’ he asked.

  Schosi shook his head.

  ‘Thought I’d visit you.’ He pulled a chair out from the kitchen table and sat. He scratched himself on the jaw and then told Schosi to come to him. ‘You pleased to be back?’ he asked and put a hand on his shoulder. Schosi nodded. Herr Esterbauer was red in the face and a strong smell of beer was on his breath. He was drunk like Schosi’s papa used to be after playing cards at the Gasthaus, when he came home swearing and couldn’t unbutton his jacket. Herr Esterbauer spoke in a heavy tone. ‘It’s a bad time – a bad time for me.’ He gave a lopsided grimace that was almost a smile but it fell quickly away so that his cheeks hung like empty pockets. He said gruffly, ‘Not so for you, hey? At least those Russkis will hang that bloody doctor of yours.’

  Schosi became worried at the mention of a doctor. He began to wind his comfort blanket, squeezing and twisting it round and round until his finger pulsated.

  ‘She’s working for them now. Did you know that?’ Herr Esterbauer pointed at the door. ‘They’ll keep her there till late.’ He took a beer bottle out of his coat pocket, drained some of it then put it on the tabletop. Bubbles scurried to the surface of the tawny liquid; foam settled in a white scum. Schosi leaned on the table and waited – he was glad to be with Herr Esterbauer who made the house feel secure, his anxiety about the doctor fading as the clock ticked and Herr Esterbauer sighed, sniffed, swigged at the drink every few minutes, belched, and shifted his dirty boots back and forth. He occasionally looked at Schosi, a squint from beneath his unruly eyebrows.

  ‘You want to come and live at my place?’ he said eventually. ‘If I marry your mama you can. We can live together on the farm. What do you think about that? You’d have your own room.’

  Schosi liked the idea of living at the farm, but it wasn’t his home.

  ‘You’d be in charge of the herd, lad. How about that?’ Herr Esterbauer gave his grimacing smile again then drank more of the beer.

  Sch
osi had never been in charge of anything before; he watched the farmer disbelievingly for a sign that he was joking. He’d like to do something like that very much, something important. Herr Esterbauer finished the bottle and looked around the kitchen, at the skinny cupboards and rough floor, at the mildewed walls and spider webs stretched across the window.

  ‘I could make her very happy.’

  ‘But you stepped on her flowers.’

  Herr Esterbauer laughed. ‘Yes. She won’t be happy about that!’

  Very late she came. It’d been dark for a while and Herr Esterbauer had made some food that tasted not very nice at all, but Schosi was hungry so he was eating it anyway. She walked into the house and looked shocked to see Herr Esterbauer in the kitchen. He wasn’t blundering around so much any more but he was still red in the face, and spoke with a loud voice. Schosi’s mama was filthy, her eyes raw around the rims. Her arms were covered in small cuts and grazes, which showed lurid pink through the grime. ‘What’s wrong?’ she said. ‘Is something the matter?’

  ‘No, everything’s fine,’ said Herr Esterbauer. ‘I just came to keep this one company.’

  ‘And your mother? You left her alone?’

  ‘She’s fine.’

  Schosi stopped eating his tasteless dinner, which was cabbage and noodles without any salt. His mama went to the sink and washed her hands and face. She wiped herself with a cloth and smoothed her straggling hair.

  ‘What was it like at the factory?’ said Herr Esterbauer.

  ‘I’m very tired.’

  Schosi got up so that his mama could sit down.

  ‘We had to strip out the machines and load them straight on to the trains. It’ll be the same again tomorrow.’

  ‘You see,’ said Herr Esterbauer, ‘they’ll take everything. Mark my words.’ He glared fiercely, and Schosi knew that the glare was meant for the Russians. He often talked about them, or the Soviets, which was the same thing, and when he did he always glared in that way. He liked to say why he hated them, though the reasons he gave never made any sense and it was very complicated. Schosi only remembered the bit about Russians being like animals, which he didn’t think was a bad thing.

  ‘They came to my farm yesterday.’ Herr Esterbauer withdrew another bottle from his coat, pulled the stopper, put it down. White froth rose and poked above the top like snow. Schosi touched the froth with his fingertip and tasted it but it was bitter and unpleasant. Herr Esterbauer drank and offered it to Schosi’s mama; they shared the same bottle, which wasn’t normal. Normally there’d be a glass each. ‘They’ve taken part of my land. They’ve already ploughed one of the fallow fields.’ He shook his head and his mouth turned down at the corners. ‘They’re moving into the house soon.’

  Schosi had seen him arguing with the soldiers the previous day at the farm where he’d been brought from the hut to wait for his mother. Russians had been standing near the farmhouse shouting with Herr Esterbauer. Then some of them had gone into the cowshed and Herr Esterbauer had yelled at them to come out, otherwise they’d disturb the cows, which would soon have their calves. The Russians had come out again and gone off into the field.

  Herr Esterbauer shook his head again. ‘They’re moving in tomorrow or the next day. Mother’s terrified. I tried to keep a bedroom for her but they’re to have the whole of the upstairs.’ He talked a lot about this, angrily, and Schosi’s mama nodded, slow and weary. In between his ranting Herr Esterbauer sometimes touched her hand, or looked at her. They kept passing the bottle back and forth. ‘I can’t stand it. All I’ve worked for, and they take it from me.’

  ‘We’re treated lightly, compared to Germany,’ said Schosi’s mama. ‘The posters in town call us “victims”. I can’t believe it.’

  ‘And we will be, by the time Ivan’s finished with us. They burn rubbish in my yard and make a mess of everything. They’ve taken away the women who work for me.’

  ‘They’re to go back to Poland, which is right and a good thing.’

  ‘I’m to be ashamed then?’

  ‘You’re to admit what you’ve been part of.’

  ‘And bear it as they laugh at me – as they rob me? Gita, be gentle.’ He took her hand and a begging look came into his face. Her expression softened.

  Schosi, feeling sleepy after his meal, rested his head on his arms on the tabletop, the room dim-lit and full of the adults’ voices. He dreamed about the man shot in the back yard all that time ago, the body bucking and flipping behind the horse. He slept and when he woke his mama was on Herr Esterbauer’s knee and their lips were pressed together. The farmer broke away from the kiss and held her face between his palms. ‘Just marry me,’ he said.

  Schosi watched through one cracked eye, pretending to sleep. If they got married then Herr Esterbauer would be his new papa – Ursula had told him that. He thought again about being in charge of the herd. He would love to have a papa.

  But his mama pulled her face free and said, ‘It’s no good, Erich. I’m sorry.’ She climbed from his lap. ‘I shouldn’t have.’ She moved away from the table and leaned against the sink, folding her arms, her body becoming small. Schosi had never seen her look like that, defensive and sad. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said again. ‘It’s just not right.’

  ‘But why?’ said Herr Esterbauer more loudly. ‘You won’t tell me. You won’t tell me why. I want to know.’

  Schosi sat upright; both adults looked at him. ‘Why, Mama?’ he echoed.

  ‘Schatzi, be quiet, we’re talking.’

  ‘Get married?’ he prompted.

  His mama frowned then turned back to address the farmer but no words came, she only looked at him helplessly.

  Herr Esterbauer made a noise like ‘Bah!’ and stood.

  ‘I know you feel it like I do,’ he said. ‘It’s not the reason. You won’t say the reason. You kiss me like that – you do love me.’ He put on his hat, collected his coat. ‘It’s not right, Gita, what you’re doing to me.’ He pointed his finger and shook it in the air. He moved towards her, dropping his arm to his side. He took her hand, pressed it. Schosi thought his mama would cry. ‘Just think about it. Please. If you say yes, I can bear it all – all of this.’

  35

  The following Wednesday the Hildesheims went to the Rathaus as the Russian clerk had directed; Traudi was brought out in the pram, her first public outing. All the way to the village Dorli grumbled and complained. ‘But what kind of work?’ she kept asking. ‘What type of work are we to do?’

  Frau Hillier went with them, leaving Schosi at the farm with Herr Esterbauer. Ursula came too, even though she was still too young for work duty. Mama and Frau Hillier walked slowly at the back of the group. They whispered to each other, obvious in their concealment, but Ursula didn’t take notice, nor did she care because a letter had come from Anton. It had arrived that morning with her name scrawled across the tattered envelope and a Viennese stamp. Mama had snatched it from her, not reading whom it was addressed to and thinking only of Siegfried. She’d torn it open. After scanning its contents she’d said, ‘Stupid boy,’ dropped the letter on to the table and walked away. Ursula seized it with shaking hands and pounding heart. The postmark was outdated by several weeks because the postal service was interrupted everywhere and the page was ragged at the edges and water-damaged, but it was legible. Tears trickled from her eyes as she read the thick ungainly hand; it felt good to hold a scrap of him. The message was short:

  Dear Uschi

  I’ve gone to meet the Red Army. I’ve got it all planned out so don’t worry about me. I won’t let them get to you. I’ll soon be back. You’re still my best girl.

  Toni

  After reading it she sat down for a while because her knees felt like water. She couldn’t be sure what he meant by half of what he’d written. One thing was clear; he’d gone to the most dangerous of places, to the Front. What did he mean by having it all planned? Did he mean he planned to get safely away from the fighting? Or did he mean killing plans, dangerous plans, w
ild plans? Had he deluded himself that he could single-handedly hold the Russians off? But they were already here. Vienna had been besieged and occupied and many had died, the Soviets filling the city. He’d said he’d come home, but he had not. Did that mean he’d been killed or captured and sent to Siberia? Or was he even now on his way home? But then, if he came here, the Russians would surely seize him. Many boys had been arrested in other towns over the last few months, shot at dawn or sent to NKVD camps. Anton would find some way to make trouble, fight unwisely when he should give up. She saw again an image of his death, his precious body shattered amongst dust and rubble. She re-read the affectionate end to the note. He’d forgiven her; he wasn’t angry. She was too relieved and grateful to notice that he offered no apology.

  ‘Mama!’ she called, needing comfort. She found her in the scullery, kneeling on the floor polishing shoes, her knuckles white. ‘He’s gone to the Front.’ Ursula was unable to prevent her voice from breaking. ‘I’m scared for him.’

  ‘Foolish behaviour.’ Mama rubbed furiously with her cloth till the brown leather gleamed. ‘He insists on harming himself, on getting himself killed. I won’t grieve. I won’t.’

  Ursula recoiled. How could she be so cold and unfeeling? Those were not the things a mother should say. Ursula was about to declare just this when she saw that tears were trickling down Mama’s cheeks.

  Things in the village were a little different than they’d been the previous week – there were more soldiers in the street, droves of them, it seemed, unpacking trucks, whistling, bickering over irritating tasks, feeding and grooming horses that stood in lines, the gutters clogged with the animals’ droppings, the smell overpowering. Cyrillic lettering had been painted on to road signs beneath the German names and the swastika flags were gone from the houses, Soviet flags in their place, the red material reused by the residents – the angular black symbol had been cut away and replaced with yellow hammer and sickle.