The True Story of Hansel and Gretel (35 page)

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 faced 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.

Magda thought she would faint. Her heart beat so unsteadily, she had to gasp for air. Looking out the partly cracked door, Magda saw them coming through the trees. German soldiers, the SS officer with them. It was only a little after eight, but they had come already.

She looked at the floorboards where she had hidden her food, but she had taken the boards up. They lay loose on the floor. There wasn’t time for the children to crawl down and then replace all the boards perfectly. She looked desperately around the hut. Hansel had not been dreaming. Her mind moved in jerks and she couldn’t think what to do. She stared at Hansel, who wrung his hands over and over.

The boy suddenly leaped toward the oven. He opened the door and stared at Magda.

“It can hold both of you. Quick, my darlings, do what I say. Inside. Both of you. Curl up.”

“It’s hot.” Gretel frowned.

“It’s hot, but you can do this.” Magda took off her coat and put it on the oven’s floor.

“Get in, lie still and for God’s sake, whatever you hear, don’t make a noise.”

“But you, Magda? Where will you hide?”

“Hush, my little boy. Obey me.”

“I won’t go without you.”

Magda slapped his cheek so gently, it was like a kiss. “Obey me, boy.”

Gretel climbed inside. The boy followed her, giving a single dry sob, and they curled up in tight balls.

“Don’t move an inch, Hansel. If the door latches shut, you can’t open it from inside.”

“It’s hot. I can’t breathe—” Gretel began.

“Silence.” Magda’s voice was harsh.

Hansel wanted to put his hand over Gretel’s mouth, but he couldn’t reach her. The metal was hot, and he tried to keep his back from pressing on it. The fire was out, but the metal still burned his back. He bit his lip hard so he wouldn’t scream.

The door banged open.

“Take her,” the Oberführer shouted. The soldiers grabbed Magda. One of them went to the boards lifted from the floor. He lay on his belly and looked under the hut.

“Where are the children?” The Oberführer spoke such thickly accented Polish, and his voice was so choked with rage, that Magda couldn’t understand at first.

“Their mother came a week ago. She took them with her. She’s trying to stay in front of the Russians.” Magda looked him in the eye as she spoke. The lie was her death sentence, she knew it, but it didn’t matter anymore. The truth or a lie, they’d both kill her.

“You witch! You knew what your brother was planning, didn’t you?” The Oberführer slapped Magda. One of the soldiers threw a board and it hit the oven with a hard clang. Magda stared. The oven door had latched shut.