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TWILIGHT FELL, FRANZISKA summited a hill, and we came out upon a verge to find a tiny village nestled in the valley. I didn’t see any factories and wasn’t sure if the village even had electricity. Like Gregor said, I saw no sign of a military presence, no trucks, cars, or motorcycles. As a matter of fact, I couldn’t identify a main road into the hamlet, though there must have been one. Small, single-story dwellings with thatched roofs dotted most of the landscape, and I imagined, in the springtime, the acreage would be carpeted with verdant grass. In the center of the little town rose a white church spire. Picture perfect.
Had I been on foot, I would have snuck into the chapel after dark to seek sanctuary and escape the elements for the night. However, sneaking my enormous companion into a tiny town church seemed laughable, not to mention ill-advised. I searched for another option, and my gaze alighted on an outlying farm. A figure exited the barn carrying a lantern. The clothing identified the form as a woman. She navigated the snow-covered ground to a two-story brick house; the light disappeared as the wooden door shut behind her. I contemplated the gray weathered barn.
Darkness drew in swiftly, as it does in the winter months. Franziska and I waited patiently while the village quieted for the night. Lights flickered here and there, doors opened and closed, a dog barked, the scent of hearth fires drifted through the valley, and stars began their twinkling dance in the night sky.
I approached the barn from behind, hoping the structure would cloak Franziska’s clopping steps. Our footprints created a path behind us, but it couldn’t be helped. The moon rose; its light was alternately blocked and unobstructed as shadowy clouds drifted past. When we reached the barn, I hooked Franziska’s reins over a nearby tree limb and snuck around the side to a normal human-sized door. The rusty metal latch squeaked when I lifted it, but the rough-timbered door swung silently into the barn. A chicken clucked and I heard the rustle of shifting hay. A quick flick of my lighter showed an average barn. Holding the light up high, I perceived a couple of goats, some chickens in racks up above an overhang, and a donkey’s muzzle poking out of the stall directly in front of me.
The scent of hay, earth, and manure blended together in the cozy space. The barn brought welcome warmth from the outside temperatures that continued to plunge; I was relieved to be out of the bitter wind that had picked up after sunset. Further investigation revealed three unused stalls covered in straw. I found a pitchfork leaning against a post and took a few minutes to freshen the hay before leading Franziska through the door. It was tight, his mid-section barely fit through without scraping the sides, but I daren’t open the large barn doors as they were in the direct line of sight of the house.
I didn’t worry about the goats or chickens, but I feared the donkey would kick up a fuss. The bray from the creature would be heard like a foghorn across the valley. It was a tight corner, and Franziska and the donkey came nose to nose. The donkey stomped, and as soon as Franziska’s rear end cleared the opening, I quickly pulled him down to the berth at the end. The donkey kicked the side of his stall and gave three quick snorts. Franziska snorted and shook his head up and down, his mane flying in different directions.
A soft lullaby that I used to sing to Klara at night when she cried for her mother filled the chamber with my mezzo-soprano voice. The song calmed Franziska, but the donkey shifted restlessly in his box and gave off a snorting whinny that threatened to turn in to a full-fledged, teeth-grinding bray. Once I loaded Franziska into his stall and closed the door, I went back to calm the donkey, using shushing noises and singing quietly. Above me the chickens rustled in their nests, and one of the goats gave a bleat. I strove to calm the environment that could, any moment, erupt into an all-out symphony of agitated animal racket that would surely bring the farmer and give me away.
My heartbeat pulsed in my ears, and I clenched my fists in an effort to maintain my own calm. The donkey was at the heart of the animals’ edginess, so I tugged some fresh straw out of a hay bale and held it out to the restless creature while speaking German nonsense in a singsong voice. He seemed to grow less nervous as I stroked his nose, and taking the straw out of my hand, he turned away to masticate his treat. Pressing unsteady fingers against the pounding at my temples, I quietly made my way back to Franziska.
He’d found the fresh hay in the hayrack and was already eating. I pulled him back for a moment to remove the bridle, then allowed him free access to the meal. I didn’t want to use up the fluid in my lighter, so I moved about the barn by the light of the moon shafting across the floor from the open door and a window in the front of the structure. However, when I closed the door through which Franziska and I had entered, the darkness almost completely closed in. Even with the window and my night vision, I had to feel my way down the walkway, back to where the horse stood.
My toe kicked against something hard that skittered into a nearby post. I bent forward, sweeping my hand back and forth, until my fingers contacted uniform metal prickles that I recognized even in the darkness. Franziska’s head turned only once to look at me as I stroked the curry comb through his pelt before continuing his meal. A shiver of pleasure rippled through his muscles. I brushed by touch, skimming my other hand behind the comb, feeling for encrusted clumps it might have left behind. I think by the time I’d finished, most of the matted dirt had come clean, and having taken care of the horse, I was finally able to sit on a bale of hay to eat.
I had to use the lighter in order to find the tin of sardines in the rucksack. The residual tension of the day’s events also had me opening the second bottle of bier. The alcohol warmed my belly, and the salty fish tasted satisfactory even though they were served on a flavorless stale cracker.
Finishing the last of the bier, I went outside and made my way to the back of the barn, where I found undisturbed snow to fill the bottle and relieved myself for the night.
The quiet, soothing sounds of the barn—rustling, a snort, animals breathing—relieved me. Franziska lay down among the straw, and I curled up against his back, wrapping myself with a small blanket, by the smell, I assumed belonged to the donkey.
How on earth did I end up here? The nonsensical thought flitted through my head. It was foolish because I knew exactly how I’d gotten here.