Crossword (25 page)

He was approaching a small hamlet just outside of Germering
and he slowed his pace so he could better scope out the surroundings for
anything that might be useful. A small square was visible up ahead, in the
center of which stood a large cement roundabout bordered by a walkway that
circumscribed a rather ornate fountain. It reminded him of a piazza he once saw
in a small Umbrian town, but here it simply looked out of place, cold and
without charm. There were numerous stone figures in the fountain, the usual
statue of Neptune, a few mermaids and other effigies that he presumed to be
German heroes or perhaps old Teutonic gods. The statuary was chipped in
numerous places and covered with soot colored grime. The fountain itself was
also in disrepair, several inches of greenish water covering the bottom and the
pipes of broken spouts protruding from the brooding figures who looked out on a
populace as disfigured morally as the statues were physically. Water trickled
feebly from several of the pipes but most were dry.

People on foot and on bicycles detoured around the fountain,
not even looking at it, now merely just another obstacle. As he came to the
square an old woman on the other side began to turn her bicycle, somewhat
unsteadily, to circumvent this impediment, the weight of several boots and a
small load of groceries affixed to the rear of her bike adding to her
difficulty in navigating the turn. Larry altered his direction and adjusted his
speed so that he was on a collision course, then turned his head to look at
several children, arms extended like tightrope walkers, walking along the top
of the low wall that bordered the fountain. Out of his peripheral vision he
noticed the woman trying to change course but the irregular road surface and
her poor balance was making this difficult. Ignoring her cries to watch out, he
became absorbed in the antics of the youngsters until her maneuvering grew
frantic and then, just as she was in peril of falling over he suddenly noticed
her and grasped hold of her bike, front and rear, firmly steadying it, keeping
it upright while apologizing profusely for his absentmindedness. In the
excitement of the moment she did not notice anything strange in his dialect,
nor did she notice him deftly lift a sausage from the bag strapped to the back
of her conveyance and slip it into his pocket. While the event was quite a stir
for the woman, most of the other passersby simply ignored the minor commotion
or gave it only a quick glance as they hurried to their destinations. The old
lady continued to grumble and Larry continued to apologize, offering to help
get her on the way again. Without waiting for an answer he began walking the
bike forward, picking up speed and finally propelling the startled driver down
the road, her feet scrambling to gain a hold on the pedals as she muttered
various invectives, most unknown to Larry but which, he was sure, would make a
maiden blush.

He watched her pedal on down the road, making sure she
didn't stop to inspect any of her cargo, then turned back toward the fountain
and walked to its edge, peering over the balustrade into the brackish water.
Looking in, he quickly turned his head to make sure no one was standing behind
him because the reflection that greeted him was surely that of someone else. A
dirty, unshaven face with unkempt hair stared back at him, lips cracked from
lack of water and the eyes recessed in dark rimmed sockets. His first instinct
was to reach into the water, however dirty it appeared, to wash his face, and
he actually started to reach down before regaining his composure and hurrying
off in the direction of Germering and Munich to find a place to rest and try to
clean up. It was starting to get dark and traffic on the road was thinning out,
houses becoming scarcer. This would change as he got closer to the city, and
once past Germering, he expected it to be congested and built up all the way
into Munich. He had only a small window of opportunity, perhaps only the next
few kilometers, to find his final refuge before entering a large urban area
where dangers abounded and the risk of detection increased exponentially.

The aftermath of allied bombing was in evidence along this
stretch; craters pockmarked the macadam and burned out or mangled army vehicles
lined the side of the road, everything of any possible use having been removed,
probably by looters, possibly by members of the military. Stray bombs had also
damaged some of the houses and buildings alongside the highway, a few beyond
repair and now apparently unoccupied. Larry slowed his pace, carefully eyeing a
house and adjacent barn about one hundred meters ahead on the left. The barn
had burned and little remained except a concrete foundation and a few upright
timbers surrounding a large open area visible to all who walked by. No chance
of shelter there. The house, however, had possibilities, about half of it
seemingly intact although canted a bit to one side. One whole side had been
blown away, most likely by the same bomb that destroyed the barn, and a pile of
rubble formed a low berm partially blocking the opening into several rooms now
exposed to the outside world. It looked promising, he thought. There must be areas
inside that were hidden from view of anyone passing by. At thirty meters he
stopped and bent down on one knee to tie a shoelace that was already firmly
secure, then he continued his surveillance while he stood, arched his back,
stretched his shoulders and adjusted the meager contents of his pack. A group
of older men had just passed him, deeply engrossed in a conversation, and their
backs were now to him. Up ahead, barely in view, a few people approached but
were unlikely to represent a threat, so he quickly walked up the path to the
house and around the side, scampering up and over the debris until he stood in
what was left of a room of indeterminate use. Nothing remained to give any clue
as to what its purpose was other then to shelter some family now departed and
perhaps dead. He stared at the bare walls for a moment before gingerly stepping
across a refuse littered floor toward the opening into one of the interior
rooms, then suddenly froze in his tracks.

Turning his head slightly and angling it up a bit he quietly
inhaled. He smelled smoke and it was coming from inside the house. His first
inclination was to immediately leave, but a haven where he could prepare for
the next phase of the operation was a necessity and his options were fading as
quickly as the pale April sun. Placing one foot in front of the other, careful
not to step on anything that was likely to cause noise, he slowly inched closer
to the doorway. Although smoke usually meant people, this was not invariably
so, but unfortunately in this case it was true. The doorway led to a small room
lined with shelves, obviously a pantry. Peering cautiously through the opening
and into the room beyond, he saw a grizzled looking woman attending a fire, and
next to her in makeshift sleeping bags, two forms softly snoring. Silently he
backed away, retracing his steps and exiting across the barricade of rubble,
leaving the chair leg that he had picked up on top of the pile. The odds were
not in his favor.

Back on the road, the group that he had spied before had
already passed and it was too dark to see very far ahead. There was no choice
but to continue on, hoping for some other shelter, while assessing the
possibilities if no sanctuary could be found. In the distance he could see the
lights of Germering, apparently defying allied air power, although he knew from
his briefings that this area was not a priority target for the heavy bombers.
Although the road was essentially deserted, it was now bordered by a vast
expanse of meadows with no forest to provide cover. Up ahead he could see a
lone house, the glow of a kerosene lamp in the window. It appeared to be the
gatehouse of what was once a large estate, now a solitary sentinel over a
barren land. As he came up to the small stone structure the light was extinguished
and the door opened, discharging a stooped figure who pulled the door shut
after him, fishing in his pockets for a key, followed by a rather substantial
sound echoing in the still night when he turned the bolt. Larry ducked behind a
few scraggly bushes and watched the man hurry off toward the city, stout staff
in hand, probably heeding the call of a siren pub.

This place is empty and will probably remain so for at
least an hour or possibly two. Maybe even more. Best not to tempt fate. An hour
will be my deadline.
When the man had faded into the distance, Larry made a
beeline for the back of the house.
Shit.
A large solid door that
provided entry from the back yard had been boarded shut and the two windows on
either side were protected by bars. Apparently, protection was high on the list
of priorities in this region. Closer inspection of the windows and door did
nothing to brighten his spirits; this house would remain inviolate tonight.
Several firm tugs on the bars produced rust stains on his hands but nothing in
the way of movement.

"You'll never get in there."

Larry stiffened. He had placed his rucksack on the ground so
his hands were free to pull on the bars, an advantage now, but not much.
Forcing his body to relax sufficiently so he could spring quickly if necessary
he slowly turned around.
Understand the situation first.
No need to
make an enemy where there may not be one.
When he had done a one eighty he
found himself peering into a few ragged trees that bordered the rear of the
yard.

"I've tried. You'll never get in." Larry lowered
his gaze to stare at a boy of about ten years old. "Who are you?"

"My name is Lorenz."

"What are you doing here?"

"I don't mean any harm. I've been on the road a long
time. I just wanted to get washed up."

"You wanted to break in to steal something."

"No, just to get clean. That's the truth."

"Don't think I'm stupid just because I'm a kid. No one
would try to get into a house just to get washed."

Larry began to worry.
Oh, God, this situation could get
out of hand.
"All right. I'm hungry. I was going to try to get some
food."

"I can't blame you for that. I'd steal food and a lot
more besides, if I could get in. But like I said, it's impossible to break into
that old man's house. You talk funny. Where are you from?"

Larry tensed. He wanted no more killing of children.
"I'm from Solden, that's in the south, near Italy."

"I saw an Italian once in Munich. We used to go there a
lot. My mom said he was a businessman, trying to sell things to us." Larry
calmed a bit.

"Where are your parents?"

He shrugged. "My fathers fighting in the war. My mom
went to Munich one day a long time ago, maybe a few months, and she never came
back. I had to leave the room where we stayed because they said I needed to pay
them money and I didn't have any. I go to Munich all the time looking for her,
but I've never found her." His eyes glazed over momentarily at the
remembrance of all his fruitless expeditions, and he wiped his nose on his
sleeve, but no tears came. "Do you have any food?"

Larry reached into his pack and pulled out the purloined
sausage. The child's eyes widened and his tongue appeared briefly between his
teeth.

"If I tell you where you can wash will you give me
some?"

"Sure." The boy produced a knife and placed it
near one end of the feast, glancing up at Larry to determine what his portion
would be, an expectant look on his face as he moved the knife slowly toward the
mid portion of the sausage. When it reached the middle Larry said,
"Good," and smiled. The youngster broke into a grin and quickly
sliced it in half.

"You can get washed right here, there's a pump that
works and you can drink the water, too." He turned and pointed to a
wellhead in the corner of the yard, a large bucket standing next to it.
"We can cook the sausage right here, too. I've done that before. I think
he knows I come here but the old man doesn't say anything to anyone to make
them chase me away. He never comes home for hours. Sometimes not until it
starts to get light." Larry was almost knocked over by the verbal barrage.
It seemed that Friedrich, that was his name, was intent on telling his whole
life story, all ten years of it, while he bustled about the yard, gathering a
few sticks of wood for a fire, picking a place for them to sit and supervising
Larry as he fetched water. The words gushed out where no tears would flow, a
verbal release of the fear and loneliness that filled the very being of this
one small victim of war and all its associated atrocities.

Larry felt somewhat safe, at least for the moment, and busied
himself washing as best he could, stripping to the waist and dousing himself
with the cold well water, rubbing his skin vigorously and then rinsing again.
He had nothing with which to dry himself so he used his hands to squeegee off
the water, let the remainder evaporate for a few minutes until the cold was too
much, then he shook out his shirt and coat, putting them on again over his
still damp skin. The fire was going now, but it burned with a low flame, scant
fuel and secrecy preventing anything more robust. It provided little warmth
although the two sections of sausage, held on small twigs, were sizzling
nicely, the aroma both calming and stimulating. Their stomachs rumbled in
anticipation while the fragrant smoke soothed their tense nerves, like a beekeeper's
smoke stilled the hectic insects. After they had eaten the savory meat and
drank their fill of water, Friedrich seemed prepared to bed down for the night,
perhaps feeling safer or maybe just bolder, with Larry there. Larry, however,
knew that he couldn't risk staying here much longer and his eyes thoroughly
scanned as much of the rear of the house as he could see in the light from a
partial moon. Friedrich had quieted down, content with only the occasional
comment as they sat there, very happy to have a caring adult next to him, and
Larry made small talk while he continued his reconnaissance.