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

“May I?” he asked.

Mama nodded.

“You are headed west. I can help. For a reasonable price I know a guaranteed way.” He spoke very quietly and very calmly.

Mama looked at him with that steely look I knew so well. “Thank you, kind sir, but I am afraid that you are mistaken. We have no money and we are, in any case, returning home at the earliest opportunity, as ordered.”

The man raised his eyebrows a fraction and then gave a “have it your way” shrug and moved on to the next group of people.

The sun was starting to drop towards the western horizon. It was less than an hour until sunset. The Russians were still playing soccer, but they had become louder and were laughing a lot more. I watched carefully and then spotted the source of this merriment. They were passing a large, almost empty, clear glass bottle between them.

Mama whispered to me, “That border runner in the hiking clothes? I saw him give that bottle to the soldiers. It’s vodka.”

Sometimes the best decisions are made spontaneously without long discussion, or really any discussion. I stood up and looked at Mama, inclining my head slightly towards the sun. She understood and whispered to each of the children. None of the Russian soldiers were looking our way and the officer had not even once come out of the farmhouse. To my quiet astonishment we were able to simply walk out of the yard, as if casually wandering over to look at something in the next field, and then we ducked out of sight behind a fence.

We did not know where we were as it had been impossible to keep track of directions while in the back of the truck, but the orientation was simple — the sun set in the west and west was where we wanted to be. So, we walked directly into the sun, crossing fields and trying to keep out of sight by staying behind hedges and clumps of trees. The Brocken was clearly silhouetted on the horizon on our left, to the south. The land here was gently rolling, so soon a series of low hills lay between us and the Russians. The countryside was empty, almost eerily so. There were no people or animals about, not even any birds. After an hour, just as the light was beginning to fade, we came upon two elderly farmers who were planting potato seedlings. They seemed trustworthy, so Mama asked them whether we were headed the right way. They said yes, just keep going the same way, it was not too far to the border anymore, maybe three or four kilometres.

It is one thing to walk west when you have the setting sun to aim for, but now it was gone and the glow on the western horizon quickly disappeared as well. The hills and small woodlots also made it difficult to walk in a straight line. We had been walking a couple of hours at this point and we were all very hungry, so fatigue had definitely set in. My siblings were remarkably quiet and brave though. They understood the importance of soldiering on without complaint, even seven-year-old Oskar. Paul was asleep on Mama’s shoulder. I could only imagine how exhausted she was carrying him, but she led the way.

After a while I was sure that I recognized a particular tree, even in the dark.

“Mama, I think we have walked in a circle.”

“Oh?” She was too tired to say anything else.

I stopped walking and looked up at the inky sky. The moon was just a thin waxing crescent and gave no appreciable light.

“Look there, Mama. There, below the Big Dipper. That is Polaris, the North Star. If we keep him to our right, we will be walking west. You taught me this in Leipzig during the blackouts.”

Mama and all the little ones, except Paul, looked up. “Yes, Ludwig, you’re right. Thank you.” Her voice was quiet and weak.

We adjusted our course and began to walk again. We were all in a kind of trance. I was so thankful that the weather was not foul and that there were no patrols about. In our state, even a small problem would have been insurmountable. I do not know how long we walked like this as time lost all form, like Dali’s melting clocks. It was possibly hours.

We eventually found ourselves on a dirt farm track, which then became a small gravel road. I was very conscious of the loud crunching sound our five pairs of feet made on the gravel as I was sure we must be near the border by now. I was right. In the starlit dark I could make out a rise immediately to our left. There was a small structure on top of it. It was too small to be a farmhouse. I whispered that we should all stop for a moment. In that instant the door of the building swung open and yellow light flooded out. Silhouetted in this light I could see the shape of a soldier holding a rifle. He had a flashlight in his other hand. He swept the beam up and down the road, but miraculously not quite back to where we were. I held my breath for a long minute. Then the soldier turned around and went back into his hut. I could hear everyone around me exhale simultaneously.

Oskar whispered urgently, “I’m sorry, I have to!”

I whirled around to see what he was talking about. He had dropped his pants and was squatting. He was pooping right on the road, presumably out of sheer fright.

I hissed at him, “Be quick!” I was furious, he was seven years old after all, and I would have screamed at him had the circumstances permitted it.

Ahead of us on the road was a high gravel berm surmounted by a few strands of barbed wire. We scrambled over this as quickly and quietly