Read Online The City in Flames by Elisabeth von Berrinberg - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Elisabeth von Berrinberg
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above her to end the snoring.
When my father pretended to snore, it usually ended with a long, loud yawn, which let us know we no longer had to whisper. Then we heard movement. An arm reached down to pull back the window curtain.
“There it is—the Easter Bunny! Look, quickly!” my father would exclaim.
This was our cue to begin the egg hunt. The Osterhase long disappeared by the time we crawled out from our bunks, and we never got to see it, except once. The timing of my father’s Osterhase sighting coincided with the visit of a wild hare, which somehow made it into the garden despite the fence. Unaware of us, it sat there in a vegetable bed, munching away on our carrots. Although I expected the Easter Bunny to be pink, the sight of this long-legged, rather homely looking creature strengthened my sometimes-wavering belief in the existence of the Osterhase.
Now I almost longingly watched the fields and meadows, hoping to see a wild rabbit that would give this day at least some sign of Easter. But the wild animals we used to watch had gone. Some had been scared away by our dog, Flora, who constantly chased them without ever catching any. Others had been trapped by farmers for food.
“I wonder what next Easter will be like?” my mother pondered.
My father was about to answer when his eyes caught a figure nearing our fence. It was a German soldier. His helmet was tied to his belt, and his coat was loosely draped over his shoulders. The rifle he carried was tied to his back, with the strap crossing over his chest. This was no soldier out to fight a war. He smiled wearily when he saw us.
“I was hoping to find someone here,” he said.
My father walked up to the fence. “Where is the front?” he asked the soldier. It was odd for a single soldier to be in our vicinity. An entire company had passed through the day before, heading toward the southeast corner of the valley. He came from that direction.
“It’s down there someplace,” he said, motioning behind himself without looking back. Then, his voice subdued, he asked, “Do you have any civilian clothes I could borrow?” We told him we lost our belongings and were about to decline his request when we remembered our scarecrow.
“Help yourself,” my father said and motioned to where a weathered wooden stake, clad in a weatherworn assortment of rags, towered amidst rows of blooming strawberry bushes. Still there from the previous summer, it barely survived the winter’s icy snowstorms and tearing winds.
The soldier accepted our offer. Curiously, Rita and I watched from behind the curtain as he stripped his clothes to exchange them for the rags. After shaking off some of the hardened bird droppings, he slid into the baggy pants.
“What kept you out?” he asked my father.
“A kidney,” my father replied. “Had only one since I was fourteen.”
“You were lucky,” the soldier said.
He rid himself of his rifle and other war accoutrements while passing some bushes along the road. Soon he had disappeared into the distance.
“Look!” my sister said with a laugh. “Our scarecrow got drafted!”
The scarecrow in its new attire, the uniform of the Deutsche Wehrmacht, looked very real. Not real enough to scare the birds away—one had already landed on its extended arm—but real enough to cause trouble should the Allies see it.
“Get me some matches,” my father ordered me.
Hours passed. The bright afternoon sun now transformed into a glowing ball of fire that slowly lowered itself beneath the horizon. The shadows from the branches of the bulky cherry tree began to dance in the sand as the breeze grew stronger. The small pile of ashes amidst the strawberry bushes was picked up by a mild gust of wind, which carried it, along with fallen leaves and small debris, off on an unknown journey.
Moments later, artillery fire penetrated the peaceful quiet of the evening.
The scarecrow got drafted
Back to front
Chapter Sixteen
Liberation
The time had
When my father pretended to snore, it usually ended with a long, loud yawn, which let us know we no longer had to whisper. Then we heard movement. An arm reached down to pull back the window curtain.
“There it is—the Easter Bunny! Look, quickly!” my father would exclaim.
This was our cue to begin the egg hunt. The Osterhase long disappeared by the time we crawled out from our bunks, and we never got to see it, except once. The timing of my father’s Osterhase sighting coincided with the visit of a wild hare, which somehow made it into the garden despite the fence. Unaware of us, it sat there in a vegetable bed, munching away on our carrots. Although I expected the Easter Bunny to be pink, the sight of this long-legged, rather homely looking creature strengthened my sometimes-wavering belief in the existence of the Osterhase.
Now I almost longingly watched the fields and meadows, hoping to see a wild rabbit that would give this day at least some sign of Easter. But the wild animals we used to watch had gone. Some had been scared away by our dog, Flora, who constantly chased them without ever catching any. Others had been trapped by farmers for food.
“I wonder what next Easter will be like?” my mother pondered.
My father was about to answer when his eyes caught a figure nearing our fence. It was a German soldier. His helmet was tied to his belt, and his coat was loosely draped over his shoulders. The rifle he carried was tied to his back, with the strap crossing over his chest. This was no soldier out to fight a war. He smiled wearily when he saw us.
“I was hoping to find someone here,” he said.
My father walked up to the fence. “Where is the front?” he asked the soldier. It was odd for a single soldier to be in our vicinity. An entire company had passed through the day before, heading toward the southeast corner of the valley. He came from that direction.
“It’s down there someplace,” he said, motioning behind himself without looking back. Then, his voice subdued, he asked, “Do you have any civilian clothes I could borrow?” We told him we lost our belongings and were about to decline his request when we remembered our scarecrow.
“Help yourself,” my father said and motioned to where a weathered wooden stake, clad in a weatherworn assortment of rags, towered amidst rows of blooming strawberry bushes. Still there from the previous summer, it barely survived the winter’s icy snowstorms and tearing winds.
The soldier accepted our offer. Curiously, Rita and I watched from behind the curtain as he stripped his clothes to exchange them for the rags. After shaking off some of the hardened bird droppings, he slid into the baggy pants.
“What kept you out?” he asked my father.
“A kidney,” my father replied. “Had only one since I was fourteen.”
“You were lucky,” the soldier said.
He rid himself of his rifle and other war accoutrements while passing some bushes along the road. Soon he had disappeared into the distance.
“Look!” my sister said with a laugh. “Our scarecrow got drafted!”
The scarecrow in its new attire, the uniform of the Deutsche Wehrmacht, looked very real. Not real enough to scare the birds away—one had already landed on its extended arm—but real enough to cause trouble should the Allies see it.
“Get me some matches,” my father ordered me.
Hours passed. The bright afternoon sun now transformed into a glowing ball of fire that slowly lowered itself beneath the horizon. The shadows from the branches of the bulky cherry tree began to dance in the sand as the breeze grew stronger. The small pile of ashes amidst the strawberry bushes was picked up by a mild gust of wind, which carried it, along with fallen leaves and small debris, off on an unknown journey.
Moments later, artillery fire penetrated the peaceful quiet of the evening.
The scarecrow got drafted
Back to front
Chapter Sixteen
Liberation
The time had
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