Rhineland Inheritance

by T. Davis Bunn

  “Your friend, not mine,” Karl scoffed. “Tell him we take whatever we want, with or without his offers.”

  “This one you’ll like,” Jake said for himself, pleased that he had managed to speak in a flat, unconcerned tone. He ignored Fox’s startled glance at the sound of his German. “It’ll give you something besides dirt to fill your bellies with.”

  “So, so. An invader who knows the mother tongue.” A tall lanky youth, skinny to the point of emaciation, stepped from the shadows. “What do you have that could interest me, Fremder? Chocolates? Cigarettes? Where is it? In your pockets? Yes? You like me to search them for you?”

  Jake stood his ground. He met the young man’s hostility with a flat gaze. “You’ve got spunk, I’ll give you that much.”

  “You’ll give me nothing,” he spat. “You’ll give me death. That’s what you’d like, yes? To see us all just curl up and die.”

  “Food,” Jake replied. “Three times a week. Hot. Fresh. Add that to the two meals the chaplain is already giving you and there’s a chance you might survive this winter after all.”

  The anger faltered momentarily. “You lie, Fremder.”

  “That is something I will try never to do,” Jake said solemnly. “I will even start with truth. There is a chance this will only last for five weeks. But five weeks is better than nothing.”

  Other boys and girls emerged from the dimness, coalescing into wasted rag-draped shapes that appeared to be little more than hollows and eyes. Their eyes were huge. Great, dissipated eyes, large as saucers, that stared unblinking at Jake. Food.

  “Hot meals,” Jake repeated. “And something else you need to make life worthwhile. Something else you need almost as much as a home.”

  “What is that, Fremder?” But without the resentment this time.

  Jake looked straight at the young German, and replied, “Hope.”

  ****

  “You want us to do your searching for you, is that right?”

  Jake sat on a stone across from Karl, surrounded by silently listening wraiths. It was hard to tell the girls from boys, and not simply because of the dim light. Emaciation had stripped their bodies of muscle and feminine contours, and turned all faces into almost identical sets of hard lines and deep hollows. “There will be two groups,” Jake said, explaining the plan he had outlined to the chaplain. “While your gang looks for smugglers, the others will search for some place large enough for a hidden hoard of treasure.”

  “Who is in this other group?” Karl demanded, turning to the chaplain. “The Crypts?”

  Fox nodded in the affirmative, explaining to Jake in English, “The other gang I work with lives in an abandoned cemetery. Well, abandoned is not the right word. Stuffed to the gills and then left alone is more like it. They found an old mausoleum, broke in and stripped it bare, and are living there now.”

  “In my chambers the only language spoken will be my language,” Karl insisted.

  “Of course,” Fox said. “It was a slip. Forgive me.”

  The unexpected courtesy stopped the youngster. Jake recalled Sally’s comment that the only source of kindness for these children was the chaplain. Jake said, “What I need from you is your help in finding the people shipping the treasure across the border. I suppose it would be possible for your gang to search out information for me?”

  Karl puffed out his gaunt chest. “We go where we like, when we please. We hear and see and know everything.”

  Jake rose to his feet. “Then it sounds like I’ve come to the right place.”

  “One moment, Fremder.” Karl remained seated on his little rock throne, the room’s single chair covered with several layers of sacking for comfort. “Why should we tell you anything? Why not just keep it all for ourselves?”

  “Where would you go with treasure?” Jake countered. “Who could you trust to pay you anything, give you anything except a knife across your neck?”

  There was a murmur of agreement through the room. It was the only time anyone else had spoken since their arrival. “And we can trust you?” Karl asked suspiciously.

  “I bring you food,” Jake pointed out. “And you know the chaplain’s an honest man.”

  “I trust him to do as he says,” the chaplain affirmed. “I think you should as well.”

  “We will discuss your offer, Fremder,” Karl declared.

  “Then come for a meal tonight,” Fox replied. “Thinking is easier with a full belly.”

  * * *

  On their way to the cemetery, Jake confessed, “I don’t see how you can deal with this on a daily basis.”

  Fox made his way around an ice-encrusted bomb pit. “I just put my trust in the Lord and go where I feel called.”

  “But doesn’t it get to you?”

  “Of course it does. But I can’t let it crush me. I wouldn’t be able to do my job.”

  “I don’t understand how you do it.”

  “There is sorrow everywhere, Jake. Everywhere and always. A man has three choices—any man, chaplain or otherwise. He can let it overwhelm him, and if he does, it will drive him around the bend. We’ve both seen cases of that, haven’t we?”

  “Too many,” Jake confessed.

  “Yes, that is the tragic nature of war. The product of war is ruin, of cities and of lives. Peace is only a by-product. A wish. A goal. That is why war must always remain an instrument of last resort for any civilized nation. But where was I?”

  “Choice number two.”

  “Yes. The second alternative when faced with the agony of war is to lock yourself away. This the majority choose to do. Nowadays we are seeing thousands of men who simply refuse to leave the base except when on duty. Others do leave, but all they allow themselves to see is their hunger—for sex, for drink, for some gratification or another. Still others see nothing but their own hate. They remain blinded at will, and view their own pain and anger as justification for a nation’s suffering.”

  “Are they wrong?”

  “I try not to judge anyone, Jake. But I think their lives are misery. They remain imprisoned within themselves. God holds the key, of course. With forgiveness. With love. With compassion. And with healing. But only if they ask for it. And to ask they have to recognize their internal prison for what it is. That I see as my job, to be a mirror for anyone struggling to look with honesty. To help them see the lies they tell themselves for what they are.”

  They detoured around a building that had slipped from its destroyed foundations and created a hillock in the middle of the road. When they reached the other side, Jake asked, “And the third?”

  “The third choice is to learn to take each day as it comes, and to do what you can with what you have. This means learning that you cannot avoid seeing the suffering of others, which is hard. Extremely hard. I would imagine that it would be impossible to do this without the strength of God in your heart. At least a believer can respond to this suffering with prayer. But the key is to learn to do with what you have, Jake. That is the central issue. Do not see yourself as a failure because you can’t touch all who suffer. Recognize that universal healing can only come through Jesus Christ, and accept your assigned task. Then do all you can with everything you’ve been given.”

  Chapter Five

  They returned from the second meeting to find Sally Anders still at the créche. Jake walked through the door and was met with the cocked head, the hands on hip, the blunt, “Well?”

  “Well what?”

  “Don’t be obtuse, soldier. How did it go?”

  Chaplain Fox answered for him. “It went splendidly. I do believe they have taken to both Jake and his idea.”

  Jake fumbled about with his cap, bent over to stroke the cheek of a passing little girl. Finally he glanced back at Sally. She watched him with a small smile playing across her lips. “You may invite me out to dinner, Captain Burnes,” she said. “If you like.”

  “I like very much,” he said.

  “I know a little place not far from here. A farmhous
e. Probably the only decent restaurant for miles. You can pay with dollars, chocolate, cigarettes, booze, or food.”

  “Sally, I think you should know I didn’t do this for you. Well, not entirely. That is—”

  “I know, I know,” she said, reaching for his arm. “That’s why I accept.”

  Jake pushed open the créche door, waved a farewell to the smiling chaplain, said, “Step into my Rolls, and let me take you away from all this.”

  “If only you could, soldier,” Sally said, mounting the stairs. “If only you really could.”

  ****

  They climbed a hill out of the city, passed through deep forest as darkness descended, then came over a crest and entered a clearing that stretched out for what seemed like miles. A cluster of farm buildings offered the only sign of life. The farmhouse was a vast structure, rising among a series of stables and barns that covered over an acre. Lit by lanterns and warmed by a sweet-scented wood fire, the farmhouse was the first sign of coziness Jake had seen in months.

  “This is terrific,” he said, taking his place at the end of a long farm-style trestle table. “How did you find it?”

  “Being one of the few American women around means I field all kinds of offers,” Sally replied, settling herself across from Jake. “You should know that, soldier.”

  Seven long tables filled what once had been a great family hall. Antlers and old blunderbusses decorated the high smoke-stained walls. The farmer and his wife, serious middle-aged folk, cooked and served with the help of a pair of shy country girls. The clientele was mixed. A few German civilian officials who had the power to obtain curfew passes sat in shiny suits beside women decked out in hats dating back to the thirties. They spoke in low whispers and avoided the eyes of everyone else. Most of the others were American officers from surrounding garrisons. Some escorted local girls. Those without female company sat in inebriated clusters and eyed the others with envy.

  Sally’s beauty drew a lot of stares. The candlelight flickered with gentle fingers across her face, deepening the glow in her eyes, softening her features. It even seemed to gentle her voice. “There’s no menu,” Sally explained as the host walked over and set two pewter mugs and a tall clay jug in front of them. “Homemade brew to drink, and whatever dish they have.”

  “Schweine Roladen mit getrokene Pfifferlingen und Knödeln,” the host said abruptly, “Zwei Dollarn pro Kopf.”

  “I only got the first couple of words of that,” Sally admitted.

  “Ist gut, wir nehmen zwei Portionen,” Jake said for them both, then translated when he had left, “Pork loins rolled and stuffed with smoked ham. Pfifferlingen are mountain mushrooms, sort of nutty tasting. A lot of country people pick them in the fall and hang them out to dry. Knödeln are big potato dumplings.”

  Sally shrugged out of her jacket, a stiff affair meant to copy a uniform’s uncompromising lines. Underneath she wore a starched white blouse which accented the delicate curves of her body. Her hair was pinned back, but enough had escaped to fall in abundant auburn disarray around her shoulders. “Where did you learn your German?”

  “I was studying at the university when I was called up,” he said by rote, then stopped himself. “That’s not exactly true.”

  She leaned across the table. “Are we going to be truthful tonight, soldier? Sounds dangerous.”

  He ignored the jibe. “My brother was already in the infantry. Nothing was ever said about it, I guess there was no need to. After I finished my second year at university, I enlisted. That’s just how things were. The last thing my dad told me was, be a good soldier. I was brought up to obey my parents. I did as I was told.”

  “Where are you from?”

  “A small town nobody ever heard of. Sauderton. Pennsylvania. Dutch country. Solid people. Hard-working. Bedrock of the nation type of folk. The kind who go where they’re told and do what they’re told to do.”

  She inspected his face, and said, “Are you looking forward to going back?”

  Slowly Jake shook his head. No.

  “Why not? The decorated war hero coming home to a grateful nation. They’ll have a parade for you, Jake. Make all kinds of speeches.”

  “Parades come to an end,” Jake replied quietly, his eyes fixed on the fire. “Speeches go where all hot air goes.”

  “Why don’t you want to go home?” Sally pressed.

  “I’m just kind of lost, I suppose,” he said quietly. “Here or there doesn’t seem to matter so much, when ‘there’ is no longer the place I left behind. People and places change, I stay the same.” He turned to face her. “Lost here, lost there, what’s the difference?”

  For some reason his words had stripped her bare. It took a while for her to gather herself, then she asked, “What is it you’re after?”

  “I don’t know,” he sighed. “Things just seemed a lot clearer in the war. Everything came down to one basic rule—knock out the enemy. That was the only way to survive.”

  “Weren’t you scared?”

  “I lived with fear all the time,” he replied. “Every time we were about to go into action, I used to get such a sick in my stomach until the first shot was fired. Then all that mattered was surviving. Keeping myself and my troops alive, and bringing the boys home.”

  “And so now you miss it.”

  “No,” he stated flatly. “That’s not it at all. I know some guys do, and I can understand them. I really can. But that’s not the way I feel.”

  “What is it, then?”

  He wrinkled his forehead in concentration. “What I did stood for something. I fought for what I believed in. There was a clear pattern to life. That much about it felt good. I was doing something with meaning. Now it’s gone. All gone. I guess I just need something to believe in.”

  Sally filled their two cups, lifted her own, and said, “Here’s to all the yesterdays, soldier. Wherever they’ve gone.”

  “To yesterday,” he agreed.

  “I want it all back. All of it. I’d trade my life for one day of how it used to be.” She set down her cup and said softly, “I can’t work out how it’s supposed to be now.”

  “I can’t either,” he agreed.

  Their meal was served, two steaming platters piled high with solid country cooking, German style. They ate in silence, gathering themselves, recovering from the shock of honesty.

  Eventually she set her fork down with a contented sigh. “I didn’t know how tired I was of army food, or how much I needed that meal, soldier. Thank you.”

  Jake nodded. “Will you do me a favor?”

  “Depends.”

  “Stop calling me soldier.”

  The look of mock surprise returned. “All this time and I didn’t notice? Excuse me, sailor. I didn’t catch the cut of your uniform.”

  “Not sailor, either,” he persisted. “Jake. Just Jake. It’s my name.”

  “Okay, Just Jake. From now on, Just Jake, that’s all you’ll hear.”

  “Why do you make a mocking joke out of everything?”

  “It’s my last line of defense,” she said, her tone brittle. “Don’t knock it down. Please. It’s not much, but it’s all this girl’s got left.”

  He searched her face and said quietly, “Tell me about your fiance.”

  Her eyes became open wounds. Her mouth worked, but for a moment she could manage no sound. Then, “Why?”

  “Because I want to know. Because I feel his presence with us here.”

  “No you don’t,” she said shakily. “What you feel is his absence. He is not here. I wish he were, but he’s not.”

  “Tell me,” Jake pressed.

  She turned away from him and looked out beyond their table, beyond the farmhouse wall and the darkened forest and the dusty tumble-down city and the war-torn country, to a place and a time that was no more. Jake let her be, content to sit and watch her search the unseen distance, and wonder if a woman would ever love him that much. Or if he would ever deserve such a love.

  She turned back and sa
id with strength and a kind of fervor, “He was a great man, Jake. Not a good man. A great man. The hardest thing I’ve ever had to do in my whole life is forgive God for letting him die. Sometimes I can, and sometimes it’s just beyond me. I mean—” She stopped and took a couple of harsh breaths. “The world needs men like him, Jake.”

  “Tell me about him,” Jake asked, because it seemed now that she wanted the question asked. It tore at him more than he thought possible to encounter this love for another man in her voice and her eyes. But still he asked.

  “Strong,” Sally replied, smiling with a tenderness that washed over him, making it hard not to stand and rush over and crush her to his chest.

  “Strong in body and strong in spirit,” Sally went on, unaware of the effect she was having. “He was a leader. Not born that way, but made that way through his faith. All the credit for his life he gave to God.” Sally looked at him, but saw him not. “I’ve never met a strong man who could be so humble. I admired him. I admired him as much as I loved him.”

  “And you loved him a great deal,” he said softly.

  “More than my own life,” she said, her voice trembling. “More than . . . More than I thought it was possible to love and lose and survive. But I did. Lose him and survive the loss. For the longest while I didn’t think I would. He taught me to see God as somebody alive. That was an incredible gift, his ability to make the unseen seem within reach. And now that he’s gone, I can’t find that invisible strength when I need it most.”

  “But you’ve made it.”

  “In a way. I almost didn’t, though. I almost accepted the fact that this old body would keep right on ticking for another fifty years or so, but the life would be gone. Dead and dried up and blown away.”

  “What changed your mind?”

  “The children,” she replied simply. “Seeing others who hadn’t ever had the chance to live and love at all suffer a hell as bad or worse than my own. It woke me up, Jake. It made me realize that I had a purpose too. It gave a meaning to what was left of my life. But I had to make a choice. I could either drown in my sorrow and watch my soul die, or I could struggle back to the surface and survive. Or try to. And I did. But I didn’t do it for me. I would never have had the strength to do it for myself. I did it for them.”