The True Story of Hansel and Gretel

by Louise Murphy

  “I demand that you kill at least a third of this village.”

  “And what do we do with the bodies? Take them all the way to Germany with us?” The Major was standing now. The priest sat slumped and leaning against the wall. One eye was swollen shut and his mouth was bloody.

  “You will follow my orders or be court-martialed when we return to Germany.”

  “And Nelka?” The Major had never intended to let the Oberführer know that he knew about Nelka and the blood. He had never intended to say anything, but he was angry. “As head of this village, I hear many things, Oberführer. I heard that you used the woman, Nelka, for your own purposes. Something to do with transfusions, I believe.”

  The Oberführer felt the anger rising and twisting in him. Who had told? Not Sister Rosa. She would never go against his will. It had to be the bitch, Nelka.

  “I also seem to remember that someone reported something about Nelka’s ancestors. It was rumored that Nelka’s great-grandmother was a Gypsy. That makes Nelka a subhuman.”

  “It was a jealous rumor. She is of pure blood.”

  “In some circles—at home—the rumor might be believed. It’s too bad, really.” The Major didn’t smile, but he let his voice relax into amusement. “That would make you one of them now.”

  The SS man took a step forward and the Major put his hand lightly over the pistol at his side as if resting it there.

  The rumors of Gypsy blood could have been right, the Oberführer thought, and it would end his career. Nelka had known all along. The bitch hadn’t told him. She sat on her chair and watched him being contaminated. His hatred of her made him begin to pant. He stepped to the priest and kicked him twice, as hard as he could, but it didn’t help. The rage was so great it made him sweat.

  He needed to kill the Major and all the soldiers. The Major could have told all of them about the blood. He had to kill them, and he knew it was impossible. If he killed one soldier, the others would kill him. They had that loyalty to each other that the Russian front had bred. All he could do was hope that they died in the fighting of the next months.

  He had planned so carefully for how he would live after the war if they lost. “I am the Chalice,” he whispered. The great truths had been poured into him, the selected one. He held the knowledge, and if the war was lost, he would be able to teach the next generation. But he must be pure. He must be the purest of the pure, and Nelka had ruined that. And Nelka must have told the old woman. The children would know. The boy was always hanging on to Nelka.

  “You can at least round up the old woman and those brats that live with her.”

  The Major hesitated. If it satisfied the Oberführer, it might be possible. Then the man would let him get on with the job of retreating and saving as many of his men as he could.

  “We’ll execute the priest. When the trucks get here, we’ll collect the old woman and the two children. They can go with us until we get to a place where they can be disposed of.”

  “How are you going to kill the priest?”

  The Major looked at the old man. He had murdered the boy.

  “I’ll shoot him myself.”

  “It’s almost dawn. What’s the date, Major?”

  “The twentieth,” the Major said and then remembered that he’d been up all night and it was a new day. “The twenty-first,” he corrected himself. “It’s the twenty-first of March.”

  Telek carried most of the food and blankets and a heavy canvas cloth they could use for shelter. That and his guns and ammunition weighed him down, but he moved quickly. Nelka wore all her warm clothes and carried the baby and a light pack with the flour and bread she had in her kitchen when she got back to the house carrying the baby.

  “We have to go to Magda’s first,” she said.

  “I told Magda to take the children and go into the forest at dawn, after I got back from burning the bodies. They may not find the bodies until the guard changes at four. They won’t think of Magda in the confusion. They may not think of her at all.”

  “You’re sure she’ll leave at dawn?”

  “I told her to. Magda and the children will be all right, but we could get caught if we try to double around and get to the hut. They guard that end of the road at night.”

  “As soon as we can, we’ll go get them.”

  “When the Germans are gone. Feliks thought it would be in the next few days. Walk faster. We have to get to the swamp so our tracks can’t be seen.”

  “Did you make your confession to Father Piotr, Telek?”

  His silence told her.

  “Oh God. He saved you from killing them.”

  Telek took small steps so she could easily walk where he put his feet and avoid the pools of water that were growing deeper around them. The spongy peat gave under his feet. He knew where they were going, and it would be shelter for a few days. Then they would move on.

  “He saved the baby,” she said.

  Telek couldn’t talk about it. He had wanted to kill the woman and the soldier for Nelka. He flushed in his shame that an old man had done it for him. They walked in silence for an hour and then rested for a few minutes on a sandy spit in the bog.

  “The guns are closer.” Nelka adjusted the baby and shifted the sack on her back.

  “They won’t come through this part of the forest. They’ll stay on the roads. Trucks and tanks can’t come over this ground.”

  Nelka looked up and gasped. It was like a bonfire in front of them, but there was no roar of fire. It jumped and moved and leapt in the air and then died down to appear again farther on. The dank layer of water vapor in the air was lit by blue, orange, and gold light swirling in front of them.

  “Swamp fire.” Telek put his arm around her shoulders.

  “They say it’s witches leading you into the bogs where you’ll never get out.”

  “There are no witches, darling.”

  Nelka shuddered and made the sign of the cross in the air. They stood close until the fiery light died out and left them again in the swirling fog. “We’ll go and find Magda in a few days?”

  “When it’s safe. I don’t want to lead them to her.”

  In a few more hours they would be on a larger island of sand where they could rest. The Germans wouldn’t follow them so deep into the swamp of the forest. Not with the Russian guns so close. They moved on slowly now, the water sometimes as deep as Nelka’s knees.

  “We don’t have to leave until noon, child. Let me sleep.”

  Hansel had tried three times to get Magda up. She was too weak, and didn’t understand what he kept telling her, and then she would fall back into a feverish sleep. He thought of taking Gretel to the hidey-hole and coming back for Magda, but Gretel might wander off and get lost.

  Hansel groaned and rubbed his eyes. He wouldn’t leave Magda. He’d never leave her. Finally, just before dawn, Magda woke. She had feverish memories of what the boy had said during the night, and then she heard it. Guns. Big ones. The front was moving toward them.

  Telek said it was time to hide in the sty. She had told him she would be gone with the children by dawn. She sighed. There was still work to be done. She knew the Russians. They’d steal everything. And if they stole her baskets of medical tools, how would she support herself?

  “Magda? We have to go. Quick. I told you.”

  “I’m trying, boy. It isn’t a good morning.” She coughed deeply.

  “They must have Father Piotr now. Nelka and the baby are already gone.”

  Magda heard him distantly. It was such a lot of work to get her boots on.

  “Telek will bring her, and the baby.” Magda sighed deeply and sat down in the chair. They would need water. The bucket was empty.

  “Magda.” Hansel was crying. “We have to run. They’ll get us.”

  It was barely light outside when she opened the door. Magda sniffed the air. They had burned the bodies of the dead. Dug them up and burned them. No peace even after death. The ground around the creek was soft and the mud
covered her boots to her ankles. She pulled her feet out of the black earth with an effort and smiled. The land was running water. Weeping like a child. Everything moist and muddy and the night fog lying heavy.

  Hansel kept talking to her, but she didn’t understand most of it. The war was slipping past them, and perhaps they could have some peace. Telek said if they left by noon it would be safe. The boy must have been dreaming. Her brother would never kill. That wasn’t his sort of sin.

  Magda dipped her bucket into the creek and lifted it half full. They wouldn’t need more than that. They’d be gone by noon. Her head spun with the fever. The boy’s voice was very far away. She had to concentrate. It was a long walk into the woods.

  The sound of the guns told every man and woman in Piaski what was happening, but they couldn’t rejoice. The Germans weren’t gone yet, and who knew what the Russians would be like.

  “The women will have to hide in the woods for a week or two,” Patryk told his wife. “The Russians will be like wolves.”

  She nodded. They sat in silence thinking of what to take with them.

  “Raus! Raus! Raus!” The German order chilled them, and Patryk shuddered. They both stood and moved to the door. He picked up the boy and carried him. The boy could walk, but Patryk carried him anyway. With the child in his arms, he turned toward Zanna. She touched his forehead and made the sign of the cross on his skin. Then she made a cross on the boy’s head.

  Patryk pushed aside the heavy hair that hadn’t been braided yet for the day and made the same sign on her forehead. Then they went outside.

  “Raus! Raus!” the soldiers screamed.

  “They’re excited—” Patryk began and then stopped. He didn’t want to frighten the boy.

  It was the morning of March twenty-first. The Mechanik moved at a trot. It had to be close. He was beginning to recognize landmarks in the fields.

  “How far to Piaski?” he asked the Russian.

  “You’ll see it today. What’s there for you, brother?”

  “Something, I hope.”

  “God willing you find your woman, brother.”

  The Russian could be right. What if she had gone looking for the children? It was something she might have done. Perhaps she had to stay and take care of them. With any luck they would find no Germans and have no battles. His mind couldn’t hold that much hopefulness.

  Everyone in the village gathered in the square. Not a child cried or made noise. They waited, watched by the soldiers who carried their guns at the ready and the machine guns mounted on the trucks.

  The door of the Major’s office opened and he came out. Behind him were two soldiers with a man between them. They almost had to carry him. His feet dragged the way men moved when they had been tortured and couldn’t walk. It was Father Piotr, beaten so badly that only one eye was open. His mouth and coat were crusted with blood. A gasp shook the people like a light wind.

  “This man,” the Major said, “has been arrested for the murder of a German soldier and the murder of Sister Rosa, the Brown Sister, a German national, a woman. He confessed to this crime. Tell the people, priest.”

  Father Piotr opened his mouth. He hung between the two soldiers who grunted as they held up his limp weight. He wanted to tell the people how sinful he was. How sorry he felt that he’d failed them all these years. How they shouldn’t worry about him. He wasn’t important anymore.

  It was hard to speak. His teeth were loose, and his tongue swollen. He opened and shut his mouth, but no sound came.

  “Are you guilty of these crimes?” the Major shouted.

  Father Piotr nodded. Those and others. The women. The drinking when he was younger. The throwing away of all his chances. Hating this village. Sneering at the uneducated peasants. Not taking care of his mother. Not telling Nelka that he loved her and the babe. All of it.

  The soldiers turned loose of the priest. He fell to the mud as if already dead and lay with his mouth open. Stepping close, the Major put the gun to the back of the man’s head.

  “For the boy,” he muttered as he pulled the trigger. The priest’s body jerked twice and lay still. It was a better death than he had given the woman and the boy, the Major thought.

  “Put his body in the shed behind my office. He goes on the truck with us.”

  “The woman, Nelka, and her child have fled the village,” the Oberführer shouted at the villagers’ blank faces. “We know the woman was involved in this crime. Do any of you have any knowledge of where she has fled?”

  It was asinine, thought the Mayor. No one would ever say if they knew. The village square was silent except for the sound of the artillery in the distance. The Major’s head was beginning to ache and the sun was barely up. The people all shook their heads.

  “Since he confessed to the murder, only the priest will die.” The Major didn’t look at the SS officer. “But be warned. Today every person will stay in their house. Any person seen on the street, and this includes children, will be shot. You will go inside your houses and stay.”

  The Major knew it wouldn’t satisfy the SS man, but that was too damn bad. They couldn’t leave a pile of dead women and children for the Russians to photograph.

  The trucks came at seven o’clock. The Major was pleased to see Unterfeldwebel Rahn driving a truck. At least there was one man he could trust. Everything was loaded in an hour. The Major made sure that all the files and papers and every single note and memo were packed and put on a truck. They had to get back to defend Germany. The people at home were sitting with the Russian guns moving down on them.

  Two soldiers brought out the priest’s body and carried it to the back of a truck that stood apart from the others. The Major looked in and saw ten or fifteen people crouched under the canvas top. Women and children. A few men. Jews he supposed. He was surprised. He thought all the Jews had been killed.

  “Where are these people going?”

  Unterfeldwebel Rahn shrugged. “We’re taking them to the railroad line. They’re the last. Orders are that we bring them with us.”

  “Put the priest’s body in,” the Major said to his men.

  “He’s dead. What’s the point of putting him on a train?” Sergeant Rahn kicked at Father Piotr’s corpse with his boot.

  “I’m ordered to leave no bodies. There isn’t time to burn it.”

  “So throw him in the woods.”

  “No. You throw him on the train. Orders direct from Berlin. We leave no corpses. None.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The soldiers tossed Father Piotr’s body in the back of the truck. The Major was exhausted, but he would do his duty as a soldier until he died. The Sergeant, who had been on the unlucky pig hunt, met his eye and nodded. At least one man understood the problems.

  “Major? Do you know where the woman, Magda, lives?” The Oberführer had not shaven, and the Major was pleased to see that his shirt was dirty at the neck.

  “Somewhere in the woods, off the road.”

  The Oberführer turned and walked to the nearest house. He opened the door and went in.

  “You, woman!” He gestured to Zanna, who sat at the table with her son.

  “Heil Hitler,” she whispered. Patryk stood up and put his hand on her shoulder.

  “You’ll ride in the truck and show the driver where the Gypsy, Magda, lives.”

  Tears began to run down Zanna’s face. Magda had delivered her children and tried to save her two daughters, the angels, when they were so sick and died.

  “There’s no need for tears.” The Oberführer smiled. “We’re merciful even though decent Germans have been killed by the trash allowed to live in this village. We are merciful. You show us the house, and then you can walk home.” He smiled again and drew his pistol.

  “I’ll go with you,” Patryk said. “The woman isn’t well.”

  “No. Your wife can do this.”

  Patryk swayed slightly, and the Oberführer watched him with interest. The man had almost jumped him. Even though the peasant fa
ced a loaded pistol. The Oberführer admired the spirit and wondered if he should shoot the man.

  “Be sensible. You have a family to think of.” The Oberführer smiled at the peasant, and backed to the door. He gestured to Zanna, who caught her breath in a sob and followed him. She didn’t look back at Patryk and the boy.

  “I never played with that boy,” her son said suddenly.

  The Oberführer stared at the child.

  “The witch’s nephew. But Halina did. They played off in the forest sometimes.”

  The soldiers put Zanna next to the driver in the truck carrying the priest’s body. They waited for long minutes, and then a second truck fell in behind them with the Oberführer and six soldiers. The black Mercedes had been set on fire right in the shed where it had been stored. The fire burned quickly with a muffled explosion when the gas tank caught. It never would have gotten through the mud all the way to Germany, but they wouldn’t leave it for the Russians to take back to Moscow.

  “Take the Oberführer and this woman where she directs,” the Major ordered Sergeant Rahn. “We’ll rendezvous on the road two miles from the village where the crossroad is. Be quick.”

  Major Frankel waved the two trucks on. His headache was less intense now. The Oberführer had something to keep him busy and out of the way. The people were quiet, the trucks nearly ready. Soon they would be gone. He knew that even men with one eye would find battles to fight in Germany before the year was up. He welcomed the clean terror of battle after the years of sitting in the mud of this village. He felt like he was going to a lover.

  The sun was up now, and Hansel kept wringing his hands as he tried to make Magda move more quickly. She was dressed and he hoped it wasn’t too late. The fire had died out in the firebox. Only coals were left. The oven door stood ajar. The sleeping platform was stripped of blankets. The wooden bowls were gone from the table. The pegs on the wall were empty.

  Hansel looked around at the bare hut. “Hurry, Magda. Please. Just come on.”

  And then Magda stopped what she was doing with the basket. She turned and stared at Hansel, and he heard it too. Voices. Speaking in German.