by Holly Müller
She’d seen Siegfried as soon as she’d come into the house. She’d barely had time to register that he had returned before there was a shocked outcry from Mama and Frau Hillier; her blood-streaked legs and skirt brought them running. They heard her mumbled explanation then bundled her upstairs. Mama helped her to peel off the wet dress and wiped her legs clean with the rolled-up garment. Ursula felt like a pony being rubbed down. Then Mama dug out an old sheet already stained and wrapped it around her body. Warm water was fetched and Mama helped her to wash properly at the washstand, gave her rags for her underwear and told her to put on her darkest-coloured and least favourite skirt. ‘Siegfried’s quite different,’ she said, as the water in the bowl blushed pink. ‘Don’t be upset. It was tank fire.’
Over breakfast, Siegfried described the seige of Vienna, the high death toll, the hopelessness of the fight, starvation all around. Mama sat close and they both looked at Traudi. Mama kept welling up and smiling. After a short time Siegfried went upstairs to rest; he limped badly and was slow. Mama took Traudi and the three retired to the bedroom. Ursula and Frau Hillier washed the plates. Ursula experienced a moment of jealous exclusion: baby, mother, father – the other papa. Would Mama always choose to resurrect Siegfried instead? Would she prefer to live with him and Traudi as a happy threesome? She sighed, knowing that soon she must set off for work and still her belly ached. ‘Where did you find him?’ she asked.
‘At his apartment,’ said Frau Hillier. ‘Such a stench! Rotten food in the kitchen, dust an inch thick, living off nettles the neighbour left on his doorstep. Dismal. His wife’s dead. Jumped out of the window apparently. They lived on the fourth floor.’ Frau Hillier grimaced. ‘No doubt to avoid the inevitable. I asked him why he didn’t come here, to Felddorf. But I suppose it’s hard to be less than you were.’
Ursula dried the rest of the dishes in silence; Siegfried’s wife might have lived if he hadn’t been conscripted and was at home to comfort her. She tried to put the thought out of her head. She and Anton had done an appalling thing.
A different weight, however, had lifted from her. Here he was, alive, and Mama made happy again. Would he stay? He mustn’t go back to that squalid flat, that isolated existence. From now on, she vowed, she’d be unfailingly kind.
45
Cold air nipped Schosi’s nose as he came down from the hayloft; Dorli was still sleeping but Ursula was gone from her place beneath the blankets. He wondered where she could be as he crossed the yard and took a walnut from the box in the shed; he always ate a nut each morning before beginning work. Herr Esterbauer said it was good for his bones. He squatted and placed the nut on the concrete and cracked the shell with a stone – it wasn’t rotten, which was good. The walnut tree that grew near the farm was a gift from God, Herr Esterbauer said. Schosi believed that was true. He chewed and enjoyed the bitter oily taste.
He made his way to the outhouse; the hooded rascally crows patrolled the field beyond the fence, and further still the horse chestnut tree with bare branches made a shrugging shape, spindly fingers fanning out at the ends like the hands of a priest turned upwards to the sky. He thought about the time he’d climbed in the flowering tree, the aroma so thick and sweet he’d got drunk and had to call for Herr Esterbauer to lift him down; later, he’d had a dream about it, but the blast of a nurse’s whistle had torn him from the branches and back into that harsh place where no one knew him and everyone was cruel.
Schosi walked along the side of the farmhouse, past the water butts and back into the yard, empty except for a few chickens dawdling near the barn door. The cows lowed now and then; he wondered where everyone was. He went to the rabbit cages, which were clean and bedded with fresh straw, but their dishes were empty. The rabbits twitched their velvet noses. Outside, he sat on the tree stump that was carved into the shape of a chair. He waited – he supposed that Herr Esterbauer was late to rise and would soon emerge to milk the cows. Schosi would help him and they’d talk to the animals and to each other. He picked at a scab on his knee and squinted up at the leafless creeper that tumbled from the top of the barn. Birds’ nests, now empty, clotted the underside of the eaves and white droppings streaked the wood. In summer he liked to watch the house martins flit with their thin wings, emitting high cheeps that echoed off the buildings.
Ursula arrived, swinging her arms and legs, her feet loud on the concrete. She greeted Schosi, sat beside him and gave him some of the bread she was eating. They chewed in silence. Ursula frequently looked up at the windows of the Russian quarters but there were no lights on. They were probably already in the fields. She ate the rest of the bread and then dusted the crumbs from her hands. The chickens came close to their feet, pecking the morsels. They groaned to each other, like unoiled hinges. She kicked at the chickens and they scattered, flapping. Why did she do that? wondered Schosi. The birds had done nothing wrong. But he knew Ursula was unhappy – she was always either angry or sad.
‘I found out Toni’s hiding in the forest,’ she said. ‘And Siegfried’s back.’
‘Anton?’ said Schosi. He became nervous. ‘In the forest?’ He’d rather Anton stayed away – he remembered him only as someone who was rough and unkind, who’d played mean tricks, called him names, had thrown a helpless cat into the river.
‘He’s living with Rudi and some other boys. Like an animal.’ She tempted another hen forward only to kick at it again. ‘Perhaps they’ve got a treehouse or a burrow or something. They look half starved.’
Then she asked Schosi if she could please have a nut and he went to fetch it, cracked it for her. She thanked him.
‘He won’t speak to me,’ she said, chewing, resting her elbows on her knees and frowning. Schosi did the same so that their heads were close together. He vaguely recalled something his mama said about ragged boys scavenging in the village. People had seen them thieving from shops and farms and also from delivery lorries when the delivery men weren’t paying attention. They’d even stolen from the Russians, someone had said.
Ursula stood. ‘I’m going to see who’s in the field.’ She wandered off.
Schosi continued to wait. He checked his wristwatch repeatedly. Eventually he became too restless. Perhaps Herr Esterbauer had already done the milking. He went to the cowshed and pushed open the heavy door. Some of the cows were lying in their stalls, broad humped backs visible, tails swishing in lazy circles, while others stood and ate from their feeders. Their udders were full and the animals trod fitfully from hoof to hoof. He’d make a start. He went to the adjoining shed. He lifted the milking pails from their hooks. He looked down the length of the shed.
Herr Esterbauer hung from the rafter, his boots dangling above the floor. A chair was overturned not far away. His face was dark and his tongue poked from between his lips like a slug. Schosi dropped the milking pails. They clanged and rolled at his feet. He knew that Herr Esterbauer was dead; the red eyes and swollen neck and thrusting tongue could not be mistaken. His heart lurched painfully and beat with unstoppable speed. He ran out of the house and down to the fields, his stutter stifling his cries.
Ursula was standing amongst the Russians who were busy sawing a fallen tree trunk into pieces. The smell of resin filled the air. Schosi waved frantically. She came to meet him. ‘What’s wrong?’ she said.
He could only point and stammer, ‘Esterbauer!’
She shouted to the Russians to come and everybody ran, Schosi floundering behind, his legs weak and chest hurting.
The soldiers were used to death. They shook their heads and crossed their chests to save the farmer’s soul. They murmured about what they should do. Ursula hugged Schosi and told him not to worry, to come away, to step outside, but he wouldn’t leave the shed and one of the Russians righted the chair and made Ursula sit because she was crying so much. Then two of them held Herr Esterbauer’s legs and lifted him slightly to slacken the rope, while another cut him down.
46
Schosi milked the herd twice daily. His mama and Frau Hilde
sheim spent a busy week organising Herr Esterbauer’s things. Lawyers were called to the farmhouse; they made mounds of papers, spreading them everywhere so that the kitchen was covered in snow just like the land outside.
Herr Esterbauer was buried in the churchyard, his suicide concealed. Many villagers came to the funeral but he didn’t have family – there were no cousins or nephews to see him off. Some of the Russians attended and stood stiffly at the back. Siegfried wore a finely tailored suit that made his wounds look all the more monstrous, the sleek fabric contrasting starkly with his ruined skin. Eyes turned to fix on him and a murmur passed through the gathered crowd.
Schosi’s mama cried very hard and said she was sorry as she went past Herr Esterbauer’s coffin. She also told Schosi she was sorry as they walked home, together with the Hildesheims. ‘He’s gone,’ she said, rubbing her son’s broad, stooped back. ‘But you’ll see him again one day.’
Ursula’s eyes were gritty from crying and she felt worn-out from holding herself rigid and proud by the graveside. The others in the village gave no thought to how well the Hildesheims and Hilliers had known Herr Esterbauer; to them it was merely unpleasant to share his departure with two such families. She hadn’t known whether to wear the necklace or remove it. In the end she’d taken it off and laid it under her things in the bottom of the wardrobe, feeling little and drab without it.
It made her sadder still as she watched Schosi walking ahead of her with his rickety gait, his reaction to the loss muted – hapless. Outside the church he’d mentioned again the blue blanket and cart. He’d said something about a friend called Aldo – about freezing in a yard and going to the graveyard. This time she’d allowed him to insistently repeat himself until he was soothed. Some thing from that hellish hospital, she guessed. She shuddered, thankful for both their lives.
A little further down the track, Mama, who walked arm-in-arm with Siegfried, called to Frau Hillier. ‘I think it’s important for me to say,’ she announced, ‘that none of this . . .’ She shot a glance at Siegfried. ‘I’ve been very unfair.’ She cleared her throat, her tone not entirely willing. ‘This isn’t your fault.’ She glanced at her friend. ‘You do know that, don’t you?’
Frau Hillier cried even more after that.
—
December came and soon after, Krampus night. Frau Hillier told Schosi not to be scared because Saint Nikolaus and his band of followers hadn’t visited Felddorf since he was a child. Schosi believed what his mama told him and even forgot which day it was. After work, as a special treat, he was allowed to play with the wireless in the Hildesheim living room. He positioned himself in front of the bureau. The women laboured in the kitchen and scullery, Ursula too, while Siegfried read in the kitchen, harrumphing now and then, his boots resting on a chair. Outside, snow stuck against the doors and windows and congested the cherry branches. Schosi thought about the cats huddled in the woodshed, tucked tight against one another – Simmy had settled here now; wherever Schosi went was his home. He twisted the knobs on the wireless. His mind drifted as the stations drifted, his mood as restful as the white hiss in between. He loved the oiled motion of the knobs, the needle jerking on the dial, thin like a whisker, the dial lit with a warm yellow radiance, and when the needle struck the right point music leapt from the speakers straight into his heart. He hummed and tapped his feet, turned the knob again until the notes were swallowed by nothingness. A tap on the shutter made him jump. He listened. There it was again! A slow tap-tapping on the shutter.
‘Mama!’ he called. No response. From the scullery came the banging of hard objects being washed in the sink. ‘Mama!’ But no one heard his cries. He daren’t go into the hall. He’d have to pass the front door, which had a small window near the top. He didn’t want to see what was outside. He grabbed a blanket from the settle and cloaked himself. He climbed on to the padded seat and pulled the blanket over his head, creating a cavern – he pressed the wristwatch Pasha had given him to his ear. From outside came metallic rattling, another tap. His mama had lied to him. He began to panic and thought about all the bad things he’d done. He’d drunk beer and schnapps with Herr Esterbauer; he’d listened to the farmer swearing and copied the swear words under his breath. He’d had unclean thoughts, lain with Uschi under the sheets, touched her. He began to cry quietly. He curled into a tight ball, his knees beside his face – dread huddled with him beneath the blanket. ‘Mama!’ he wailed.
There was a terrible bashing and clattering against the shutters. Schosi leapt from the settle and ran out of the living room. He headed for the scullery, praying loudly as he went. He begged forgiveness for all his bad deeds. He kept his eyes averted from the door. He careered around the corner and collided with his mama just as she was tipping a bowl of suds down the sink. She slopped some of the water on to her feet.
‘For God’s sake!’ she said. ‘What are you playing at?’
But she quickly saw he was frightened and put the bowl down. The women stepped into the hall, Frau Hillier holding Schosi’s hand. Outside the door, chains battered against the wood; someone laughed and then there was the gibbering squeal. Schosi clamped his hands over his ears.
In the village, lamplight threw shadows into the potholes on the road. Groups gathered outside the Gasthaus and on doorsteps, or staggered, inebriated, against fences and hedges. The family made their way slowly through the throng towards the beer hall where a band played. Schosi grimaced and twirled his blanket incessantly but Ursula was sure this was the best thing; they all thought so. Everywhere were merry people, the quickening of alcohol in the air. Ursula felt it in her own blood though she hadn’t drunk a thing; the atmosphere of fun and forgetting seemed to soak through her skin. She relaxed a little. It had been so long since she’d seen festivities and it felt precious, a rare spectacle that she could view as if from a high-up window. Some way off a group of Krampuses called at a house near the bakery – they crept the length of the shovel-scoured path between mounds of soiled snow, postures exaggeratedly hunched and menacing, predators trailing chains and rattling bunches of sticks, dressed in sheep-skins, rabbit skins, black and brown with tails sewn on at the rump. They assembled behind Saint Nikolaus who stood on the doorstep, forming a tight semicircle, their dark shapes melting one into the other and their horned heads pressed close so they appeared to be one great spiny beast.
At the Hildesheim house Siegfried had gone to the door and shooed the mischief-makers away, a ragged trio of masked Krampuses who’d jabbed their sticks into his belly before bounding off with calls of, ‘Cripple!’ and, ‘Who toasted you in the fire?’ Schosi had grown hysterical, piercing sounds erupting from his mouth that were unlike his usual voice. He’d shouted repeatedly about not wanting to go to Hell; he’d struck his mother across the face when she tried to touch him and looked at them all with such terror it was as if he couldn’t recognise them. Ursula had seen this before, but not so bad. Not even the music on the wireless could pacify him. The family had set out to the village as a last resort. They’d go to the Gasthaus, somewhere bright and lively – the music would cheer him and they’d show him that the Krampuses were nothing to be afraid of. Before they’d left the house the adults made a big show of being light-hearted, cajoled Schosi until he began to quieten, coaxed him into putting on his coat and told him not to worry, that there was nothing outside any more and that they were going to a party. Siegfried exaggerated his limp as they crossed the yard and acted the clown. Schosi watched him but didn’t laugh like he normally would.
In the beer hall, the adults drank at a long table near to the band and Ursula, Schosi and Dorli munched on apricot dumplings and watched the antics. Russians crowded against the bar or slid from their stools with drink, and there were one or two scuffles between them, ending in laughter and loud singing. When they’d finished eating Frau Hillier hoisted Schosi out of his seat.
‘Come,’ she said, businesslike.
Ursula followed them into the street. They walked as far as the low wal
l of the fountain then Frau Hillier swept the snow from the stones and sat. Ursula and Schosi sat beside her.
‘Look.’ She gripped Schosi by the shoulder and pointed. ‘They’re just boys in costumes. They can’t hurt you.’
Not far away a group of Krampuses showed off to passers-by their masks of carved wood with angry eyeholes, gnarled horns and long red tongues, which stretched beyond the tips of their chins into a lascivious point. The shaggy, dark shapes were goat-like, bear-like, misshapen and monstrous. Ursula felt an echo of childish fright as she observed them – they did look evil. How silly, she thought. There was nothing to be scared of. But something tugged at her consciousness, tried to make itself known, a memory just out of view, fear that was real and rooted deep. Beside her, Schosi put his hands partly over his eyes, a white dusting of dumpling sugar on his lips. He mumbled to himself and Ursula felt a surge of protective love. He was tall as a man but with all the innocence and credulity of a child. She put her arm around him. On each doorstep parents appeared with their little ones and the saint and Krampuses were handed glasses of schnapps, which the demons upturned on their horrific lips. At other houses they went to the windows where parents had left the shutters undone, leering through the glass so that errant children would see their gruesome faces. They shook their chains and made their signature gibbering noise until shrieks and sobs came from within. As Ursula watched, three more Krampuses arrived to join the group, running from the unlit alleyway beside the bakery, shouting and jumping over flower borders, crashing into one another. They immediately joined the terrorising but from these three came a different feeling: they weren’t only unruly and mischievous but aggressive and destructive. They swung their chains against the windows so roughly that she worried they might shatter. Ursula recognised them as the Krampuses who’d come to their house.
‘Silly boys,’ she told Schosi. ‘They’re just silly boys.’ But she watched them with wide eyes, trying to make sense of the raised and rowdy voices, disoriented by the leaping figures everywhere.