Thunder in the East
The first wagon was filled with uniforms of all shapes and sizes.
But when we struggled to get our arms through sleeves made for grown-ups,
they told us to focus on the head gear.
There were only a few smaller-sized steel helmets for boys;
regular army helmets dropped over our ears and eyes.
I managed to get a World War I Pickelhaube and a fancy armband.
"German People's Storm-Army," it said.
I heard thunder in the East.
The second wagon was filled with weapons and ammunition.
There were some sabers from the War of 1870/71,
some World War I service pistols,
a bunch of 1940 French rifles with 3 bullets each,
and all sorts of hunting rifles, all much too long for my short arms.
The policeman gave me one of the hand grenades with wooden handles.
"People's Hand Grenade #45" the label said.
I heard thunder in the East.
Captain Werther taught us how to line up in rows of three,
march to the sound of Left...Left...One, Two, Three, Four...
He cursed, cajoled, and threatened us when we didn't stand straight enough,
a jacket wasn't buttoned right or somebody's hair wasn't properly combed.
He grasped a pole with a rolled-up flag from his deputy,
planted the pole's end firmly on ground, and shook the flag loose
until its red field and white circle with the black swastika
broke into the light. Then he drew a sword, held it up,
where it gleamed in the sun, and made us take the oath.
"In the presence of this blood banner," we repeated after him,
"which represents our Führer, I swear to devote all my energies
and my strength to the savior of our country, Adolf Hitler.
I am willing and ready to give up my life for him, so help me God."
I heard thunder in the East.
Then we each had to throw a grenade and watch it explode.
Those who hesitated were "little grandmothers" and
others who didn't throw far enough were cursed in the name of
all the Germanic gods looming above us in the sky....
-----
Suddenly, there was noise in the street.
As far as we could see, there were wagons, slowly, ever so slowly,
making their way from east to west. No cars or trucks,
just wagons drawn by teams of horses and an occasional ox.
Some wagons were covered, with tarpaulins and bed sheets,
even Persian rugs, but we could still see people looking out,
lying on tall piles of straw and hay.
Other wagons were open; we could see couches, chairs, and boxes,
piled three meters high, and kitchen utensils hanging from the sides.
The frying pans made quite a racket because of the cobblestones.
Other wagons were filled with animals behind wire mesh.
We saw chickens and ducks, turkeys and geese, goats and sheep,
pigeons and pigs. Cats sat on top of cages and poked their claws
through the wire, scaring the pigeons. And cows!
There were hundreds of cows, tied to each other and to the wagons,
mooing and ringing bells, screaming and dripping milk,
getting caught behind trees along the street and leaving piles of green shit.
And there were people, so many weary people, walking and tottering
besides the wagons and behind them, pushing baby carriages
filled with belongings, carrying bundles of clothes tied to poles
that sat on shoulders like rifles in a parade.
I thought of Noah's ark as each wagon crawled, imperceptibly crawled,
past our windows, day and night, in sun and rain....
Hundreds of eyes watched from behind lacy curtains;
if anything happened to slow down the endless caravan,
people would shout: "No room here" or "No food here, go on!"
I heard thunder in the East.
I remember one of the wagons, drawn by a pair of tired horses,
led by exhausted women and children walking beside it,
overloaded like all the rest. It creaked and groaned,
its steel-rimmed wheels pounded the cobblestones.
I saw horseshoes striking stone and making sparks.
The axle broke. "Your wagon's blocking the street!" they yelled.
I heard the lady with the scarf talk of her two-month trek,
of Shturmovik fighters, with red stars painted on their sides,
appearing out of nowhere, their cannons reaching out to kill,
to kill and kill, only to fly off, turn, come back, and kill again.
I heard them talk of bullets flying into fields, if they were lucky;
but into men, women, children and animals, if they were not,
leaving behind screams and splintered wood and
thrashing bodies of men and beasts, dying side by side.
I heard them talk of disemboweled horses, left behind where life ran out
or rolled into the nearest ditch and barely covered with a bit of soil....
I caught the smell of horse apples, saw the bloodstains where horses
stood with feet worn raw from unshod hooves.
I watched a cow moo in agony from swollen udders.
I heard thunder in the East.
-----
The refugees had passed, but the streets were jam-packed once again,
this time with army vehicles, in various stages of disrepair.
We saw trucks filled with soldiers and weaponry,
their engines now stalling, then revving,
their headlights covered with black electric tape,
except for narrow slits, to make for safer beams at night;
we watched battered tanks lurching and bumping forward
on the cobblestones, pulling cannons behind them;
we noticed covered wagons with big red crosses on their sides,
pulled by teams of horses; fancy Mercedes convertibles
displaying officers in charge. We watched the flat-bed wagons,
pulled by tractors here or oxen there, even a lone elephant,
overloaded, all of them, with rows of wounded soldiers,
lying on thick beds of hay and straw—soldiers without arms or legs,
with bloody stumps of knee, with chests or heads encased
in white turned red to match the crosses on the side.
I heard thunder in the East....
The Prince of Prussia was barely recognizable;
ambulances parked outside the old hotel, a huge Red Cross
painted on the front door. The lobby was filled with women
bringing water and food and mounds of bandages torn from sheets.
The pharmacist was there, too, stocking a cabinet,
with aspirin, bandages, salves, and similar things.
A Red Cross worker unloaded boxes filled with Front Fighter Packages.
Each contained a rock-hard army loaf of bread, a half-liter of schnapps,
a small cake, selected sweets, and a bar of chocolate, the label said.
Every room and every corridor was filled with wounded soldiers,
most of them lying on blankets spread out on the floor.
We saw men with drawn faces and hollow cheeks,
still unshaven and unwashed, still greasy and covered with sweat,
some of them squatting next to piles of bloody gauze pads,
surrounded by squadrons of flies circling above them,
walking on their faces and hands and feet and, finally,
landing on their bandages and feeding on the clotted blood seeping through.
We saw faces lost deep in weariness, perhaps past all feeling,
some mute and oblivious to others, some staring at us
or groaning and wailing and imploring,
some talking to themselves, uttering the names of those
who might help if they were only there.
We saw men writhing in pain or retching or wandering through
the corridors, all dazed, and unbelieving that this is what had happened
to the great invincible armies of the east.
My mother promised to come back, with lots of food, but
then we heard the morning news. Himmler promised
"severe punishment for those who give food to retreating troops."
"The German soldier is obligated to stand and fight to the death,"
he said. "Only traitors retreat."
I heard thunder in the East.
-----
The Chief of Police stood next to the Thousand-Year Oak,
talking to one of the Chain Hounds, the SS men whose silver chain
signaled total power over life and death. This one was in charge;
he wore the Knight's Cross with Oak Leaves and Swords.
He said gallows would be set up in front of the Town Hall.
His men would execute any and all traitors right then and there.
He reminded everyone of the kinship responsibility laws:
Close relatives of traitors would be treated as accessories,
as equally guilty. "Death to all traitors! Heil Hitler!" he said.
We learned about treachery and desertion:
Running away from the field of battle; malingering in the hinterland;
creating self-inflicted wounds hoping to be shipped to a hospital;
putting on civilian clothes; possessing or passing enemy leaflets,
carrying white handkerchiefs, which can be used to signal surrender....
They painted slogans on the walls of houses.
"Those who are afraid of an honest death in battle deserve the
mean death of cowards."
"Protect our women and children from the Red Beasts!"
"Traitors take care, the Werewolf is watching!"
"We will never surrender!"
"We believe in Victory!"
-----
By then the roads were littered with abandoned things:
Broken wagons without horses, wrecked army trucks in camouflage paint,
perambulators and hand carts without wheels, torn suitcases,
empty ammunition boxes, forsaken weapons, cast-off helmets,
pitiful piles of crockery and toys....
And I came upon the carcass of a horse, still smelling sickly and vile.
Strips of meat had been hacked from its flanks,
thousands of flies rose up in black swarms to greet me.
I counted the wooden crosses on the side of the road,
fashioned from birches usually, often listing just a name,
sometimes rank and years of birth and death or nothing at all.
A Chain Hound stood in the middle of the road, legs astride,
holding a pistol; a soldier in a gray-green uniform lay in front of him.
The Chain Hound jammed the muzzle against the man's forehead,
and I saw the man rise to his knees, then to his feet, the pistol following,
his eyes closed, waiting, I presumed, for the last sound he would ever hear.
But then the Chain Hound put away the pistol, took the lapels
of the man's coat in both of his hands, pulled the man's head
into his collar and made it disappear like that of a turtle
I had once seen at the zoo. Later, I found three soldiers hanging
from the gallows in front of the Town Hall. Each of them
had a different sign around his neck, written in large black letters:
"Whoever fights can die. Whoever betrays his fatherland must die.
I had to die!" one sign said.
"Here I hang because I did not believe in the Führer" said the next one.
"I was a coward, but died just the same!" said the last one.
I heard cannons in the East.
