The Willow Wren by Philipp Schott (free ebook reader for iphone txt) 📕

“Ludwig.”

“I’m Anna and this is my brother Hans. Where are you from?”

“Leipzig. But I have been in Colditz for the last two years.”

“We’re from Waldenburg in Silesia,” she said although the boy gave his sister a stern look. “It’s okay, Hans, I can tell that we can trust him.” She turned back to me and explained, “My mother told us not to tell people that we are refugees because we might be treated badly. We were near Chemnitz before and there it was a problem because the local people didn’t have enough for themselves and there were so many of us from Silesia.”

I did not really want to get into a conversation and was eager to go off deeper into the forest on my own, but it was clear that some sort of response was expected from me. “I heard it was bad in Silesia.”

“It was not as bad in Waldenburg as in Breslau, but it was bad enough. Hans doesn’t speak any more because of it and our father is dead. But then most people’s fathers are dead. Is your father dead?”

“Yes.”

She nodded. Neither of us offered condolences to the other. People had stopped doing that.

“Anyway,” she continued, “all the German people had to leave. Polish people are going to live there now. And I hear that Russian people are going to live where the Polish people used to live, further east. Poland has just been slid over to the west like it had little wheels underneath it!” She laughed at her own joke. I smiled weakly and Hans did not change his facial expression.

I was about to make my excuses, wish them a good day and leave when Anna spoke again. “Watch out for the Rübezahl if you go deeper in the woods!”

“The Rübezahl?”

“Yes, the Rübezahl. Hans and I are quite sure that he came with the refugees from Silesia, and this is the kind of place he would like to be.”

“I have never heard of him. Is he a man or a beast?”

“Neither!” The girl’s eyes widened, and she gestured with her hands, enjoying the prospect of being able to tell this story to someone who had not heard it before. “He’s a giant! But he’s not just any giant — he is the guardian of the mountains and the forests. He can make weather with his storm harp, especially bad weather like thunderstorms in the summer and snowstorms in the winter. He will only do this if you don’t respect him though. The most important thing is that if you meet him, you must not call him Rübezahl. You must call him ‘Lord of the Mountains’ or ‘Prince of Gnomes.’ This is tricky, because he might appear to you in disguise, as an old lady, for example, needing help. This is to test the purity of your heart. If you fail this test, he will take his real form and then your only chance not to get lost in a terrible storm is to beg for forgiveness using his real name. But if you are pure in your heart and pass his test, you will have good luck and you might even be lucky enough to be shown the path to treasures!”

“This sounds like a fairy story,” I said.

“I know it does, but it’s absolutely true. I know it for a fact. My great-grandfather saw the Rübezahl not just once but twice. Each time he passed the test. This is why our family was so fortunate right up until the war. We were wealthy and respected in Waldenburg.”

I was still not entirely convinced. “Why would he come here? And why does he not want to be called Rübezahl, if that is what everyone calls him?”

“Silesia is gone now. The Rübezahl will move west until he finds a new home to protect. Here you have a perfect forest, although no mountains, so it is a fine place for him to rest until he finds the right kind of mountains again. And he is called Rübezahl because of the story that he fell in love with a lonely princess. To cheer her up he magically turned turnips into companions for her. She was afraid of him though, so she asked him to count all the turnips in the garden to distract him while she escaped! You see, Ruebe Zahl — Turnip Counter! This part might be a made-up fairy story though. His name might have a more ancient and mysterious origin. But the Rübezahl himself is as real as you and me and Hans, so you need to be careful and respectful.” Anna beamed at me and gave the brisk nod that some people give when having told a definitive truth.

“I am always careful and respectful here,” I said in a sharp tone.

“Of course you are,” Anna said, still smiling. I noticed that she had dark eyes that reminded me of Clara’s. I also noticed that her clothes, which had looked like rags, appeared to be carefully hand-sewn in a cheerful patchwork of bright colours.

It occurred to me then that I was actually relatively new to this place as well. Moreover, the story of the Rübezahl had an unsettling ring of at least partial authenticity to it. Perhaps it was best not to make enemies of these children, let alone the theoretical Rübezahl only for the sake of my pride.

“Thank you for telling me about the Rübezahl. It is an interesting story.” I was careful to make my tone softer and friendlier. I hoped I succeeded. It was difficult to tell as Anna kept smiling regardless and Hans continued to look inscrutable regardless.

“You’re welcome,” she said. “Hans and I should go now. Just remember to help any old ladies you find, unless of course they’re witches. Then you should be careful not to be tricked! Goodbye, Ludwig!” She took Hans’s hand and they walked off down a side path.

“Goodbye,” I replied.

Witches? I had not considered those before. They were likely real. On