The Willow Wren Philipp Schott (best free e book reader TXT) 📖

My original intention was to search the forest to find food for the family, but as it happened the food situation unexpectedly became less dire. I did not hear a clear explanation, but it was logical to assume that the remaining farms were able to produce more now that it was properly summer, even though they were mostly back to nineteenth-century horsepower. It was also logical to assume that the transport of food had improved as travel restrictions within the Soviet occupation zone were loosened. The level of harassment and outright mortal danger from Russian soldiers was substantially less now, some important bridges had been at least provisionally repaired and most — not all but most — of the landmines had been cleared from the major roads. The other factor to consider was that with such a large proportion of the young to middle-aged male population dead or imprisoned, and with so many people having fled further west, there were fewer mouths to feed in this area than before the war.

As I approached the forest from the bridge it looked unchanged. I had not been sure what to expect, so I was cautiously pleased. The small road leading up to it was, however, heavily cratered by artillery fire from the American push on Colditz in April. There were also unidentifiable pieces of metal of varying sizes and shapes strewn about, so mindful of Theodor’s warning, I avoided going near any. This meant that I had to slalom cautiously around the big holes and the metal shards. The 500 metres took twenty minutes rather than the usual ten. There was nobody else around other than a single bored Russian sentry squatting on the bridge, cleaning his gun, who did not so much as glance at me.

Once inside the forest the only immediate evidence of the war was some discarded equipment beside the path. There was nothing of value or interest, just a few German helmets, some empty ammunition clips and various decals and insignia ripped off uniforms. As was always the case, the minute I was deep enough into the forest that the trees closed behind me and sealed off the outside world I felt entirely different. Outside it was a hot July day, but in the forest it was cool. Outside there were various sorts of random, often unpleasant human noises, but in the forest, it was only birds and insects and the wind in the leaves. Outside I was unable to shake a pervasive sense of dread, but in the forest, I felt safe and confident. I realized that this was the opposite of what many people felt, which seemed to me like yet more evidence that people were generally strange.

But I had not come to the forest for selfish reasons. I had come to scout for food. Yes, for the moment we were no longer starving, but there was no doubt that this could change very quickly. Theodor was planning to explore the roads and identify accessible apple trees. In the eighteenth century King Frederick the Great ordered the roads to be lined with apple trees to feed and shade his armies on the march. Now this was primarily in Prussia, but the practice was followed in some parts of Saxony too. Also an ancient Saxon law required that a man plant six fruit trees before he could take a bride. These were typically also near roads and around farms. It was not apple season quite yet, but Theodor felt it wise to be prepared. For my part, the wild, or more or less wild, forest was my domain. I knew that red currants, gooseberries and blueberries should be ready. Blackberries and nuts would be easier to find and more numerous, but their season was not until later. I was also curious about mushrooms. I had seen them frequently when I had come to the forest last year, but I had not paid especially close attention.

I was walking along, collecting the few currants I could find in my canvas bag and listening to the birds — sparrows, robins, woodpeckers, warblers and, yes, the wren — when I heard a different noise. I ducked behind a bush and froze in place. It was not a bird or the wind. It was the rustling sound of branches being pushed aside. A larger animal perhaps? Like a deer? There were stories that wolves and bears had been pushed into Germany out of the Carpathians, fleeing the Red Army just like the people did. Then the rustling stopped, and I heard a quiet voice. I held my breath. The wolves and bears were replaced by Russian soldiers in my imagination. Or maybe German Werewolf partisans. Being in the forest usually made me feel more confident because I knew the rules, but that only applied when I was alone. When other people were involved, that confidence evaporated. The voice was clearer now. I still could not make out the words, but the rhythm was distinctly German. And it was a child’s voice. A girl I guessed. I would still rather there be no people at all, but if there had to be, a German girl was the best possible scenario. I stepped out from where I had hidden, taking care to make a bit of noise first so as not to startle them. I was mostly right. It was a girl, but there was also a boy with her. They were quite young. The boy was close to my age, maybe a year younger, and the girl was likely a year younger than that. They were dressed in what can only be described as rags and they were barefoot. Their brown hair, hers in long pigtails and his very short, was quite neat though and their faces were clean. They each had a wicker basket and were obviously collecting berries as well. We stared at each other from across the small clearing.

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