The Most Dangerous Animal of All

It was the fall of 1935. The evening air was just taking on that extra chill that whispered of winter's impending arrival. The beech trees that stood guard around our little farm were afire with colors of burnt orange and umber red, while smoke rose in a constant, steady plume from the chimney like a beacon.

These signs of impending winter had me on edge and grumpy. I knew what was to come all too well; long days of being trapped in doors with my brother and sisters, hauling feed through snow banks piled up nearly to the door knob, and a constant, bitter chill that would not be shaken until spring finally broke free again.

On top of this, the world around me was changing in ways I could not understand nor comprehend. There was talk of change amongst the grownups, gossip spurred by the rising power of the Nazi party and Herr Hitler, but even at ten years old, I understood from the tense jaw lines and fear laced tones that these changes were somehow very dangerous.

Mam and father did their best to keep us shielded from the happenings of the outside world. Having lived most of my life on an isolated wool farm north of Berlin, it was easy to feel as if the political turmoil engulfing the rest of Germany simply could not touch us, or more accurately, was entirely unaware of our existence altogether.

Regardless of who was in charge or what laws were passed, the sheep still needed feeding, the barn needed mucking out and water needed hauling. We took shelter in a false sense of security provided by our day-to-day rhythms that remained blissfully untouched by the mounting political tensions. That is, until the mandatory census.

Mam and father had stayed up late into the night, whispering in hushed and frantic tones, the day the summons had arrived.

I had been chasing our unruly chickens across the yard when the day's relative quiet had been shattered by the sound of an approaching car. My father, bent low to the trench he was digging, had straightened quickly and scrambled out of the ditch just as a black, sleek automobile drove slowly into the yard. I stood planted in place, still as a snared rabbit, curiosity and fear warring for my attention.

Two finely dressed soldiers had emerged from the car, the broken cross patches on their arms identifying them immediately as Nazi soldiers. Everything about them was sharp, lean and efficient. Even their movements were calculated and exact, as if well thought out in advance, like any good predator. Their tall, black leather boots kicked up dust as they marched across the yard, their holstered fire arms glinting dangerously in the weak afternoon sunlight. Father watched them approach silently, his body tensing from top to bottom as if someone had suddenly pulled his strings taught, his knuckles white around the shovel.

The soldiers stopped and saluted my father in unison and I could see my father’s hesitation before he mimicked the salute back, his steel blue eyes darting apprehensively between them. The soldiers spoke to my father in brisk tones, but I was far enough away that I could not make out the words no matter how hard I strained my ears. They eventually handed him an official looking document, which I would later learn was a summons for a mandatory census in Berlin. It seems that the Fuhrer requires an accounting of all his subjects. The soldiers had left shortly afterward, their eyes carefully appraising the farm and its contents as they made their way back car.

As they drove out of sight, I ran to my father’s side and grabbed his calloused hand in mine, my eyes searching his for answers, but he avoided my gaze and ordered me back to my chores with a few clipped words. Father remained where he was, watching the bend in the road where the car had disappeared with a new expression I didn’t quite recognize on him, but one I instinctively knew as fear. Seeing my usually stoic father afraid for the first time had alarmed me even more than the soldiers’ arrival.

Later on, I would look back on this day as the moment we were no longer shielded from what was happening in the rest of Germany. With the soldiers' arrival came the bleak realization that we were just as vulnerable as anyone else to Hitler's plans for Germany, and we had been noticed.

Mam spent the days leading up to the census a bundled knot of nerves. She often stood by the kitchen sink, her eyes fixated on some distant object, wringing her milky white hands over and over. My siblings and I often escaped to the woods for respite, despite the deepening cold which kept most children in-doors. We’d stamp our frozen feet and clench our jaws to prevent them from chattering as long as we could stand it before we finally gave up and returned home with runny noses and numbed toes. I wasn't sure why Mam was so upset, but adults were largely still giant mysteries to me, full of complicated thoughts and feelings that hurt my brain to try to make sense of.

My best friend Ruth, who’s family lived in a small cottage just a mile or so from our own, would meet in me the woods on the less frigid days to trade secrets and bits of gossip we had managed to overhear from our Mams. In the past, Ruth and her little brother Samuel had often come over to our house to play, while her father, Nathan, worked for our father as a farm hand, but that had ended weeks ago, after the arrival of the soldiers.

Mam had said I was no longer to see Ruth and Samuel because I was getting too old for childish games and needed to focus on my chores and schoolwork, but that still didn’t explain father letting Nathan go and eliminating all ties to the Hoffman family.

I had figured that mystery out on my own.

I had been sneaking a nap in the hay loft when father had called Nathan inside the barn and lit a cigarette, quickly explaining between nervous drags that he was going to have to let Nathan go. Quietly, I had rolled onto my belly and peered down between the gaps in the splintered planks, my ears growing hot as Nathan had pleaded with father to keep him on.

“I’m sorry, Nathan," my father had said, and he had sounded truly sorry, "but you know it’s just getting too dangerous with the way things are going. I can’t put my family at risk and you shouldn’t either. You should get out now, while you still can.”

Nathan had spit bitterly into the dirt and replied,”Go where? And with what money?”

Father had shrugged wearily and rolled his shoulders, handing his cigarette to Nathan,”I don’t know. Maybe England? France? We will give you what we can spare, but anywhere is better than here for your family. At least you’d have your lives.”

Nathan had coughed on the cigarette and scoffed,”You give him more credit than he’s due, Leonhard. Hitler’s just a man! One man! His power has limits and we will see those limits sooner than later. He’s just flexing his muscles.”

Father had looked visibly pained and rubbed his forehead wearily,”I think you’re underestimating him, Nathan, and how fearful and angry people are. It’s a dangerous combination. Take a hungry man and feed him fear and rage and you have yourself the most dangerous animal of all.”

Those words had rung through me like an alarm bell, but alerting me to what, I didn’t quite know. Nathan had left shortly afterward, his dark silhouette disappearing into the deepening evening shadows.

Despite Nathan being let go, I had still managed to meet with Ruth several days a week in the woods without Mam finding out. Part of me reveled in having a secret all my own, but the other part of me worried that perhaps my actions had future consequences I was not prepared to bare.

Today, Ruth looked tired and drawn, her cheekbones growing more prominent as the fall wore on, her skin sallow and thin. She plopped herself beside me and rested her head wordlessly on my shoulder. Our breaths came out in frosty puffs, mingling together before dissipating into nothingness.

I had managed to sneak some molasses cookies from the kitchen and pulled them from my skirt, handing them to Ruth with an apologetic grimace. I knew the Hoffman's had been on hard times since father had let Nathan go. I knew my offering was meager and insufficient, but Ruth still managed a small smile and took a delicate bite, stuffing the other one away in her skirts, for Samuel I imagined.

"My father got a notice," I began,"We have to go to Berlin tomorrow for the census." While I knew my mother was dreading it, I was secretly excited. It had been years since I had been to the city and I couldn't wait to see the tall, important buildings and slick automobiles and ogle at the fancy dress shop windows. I craved the sound of bustling crowds and loud traffic after years of near constant mind-numbing quiet on the farm.

Ruth's thin shoulders shuddered slightly beside me, "I know, we have to go, too."

This news thrilled me, "That's wonderful, Ruth! I will see you there then! We can visit the dress shops on Kurfustendamm together! I bet they have all the winter gowns out, you know the ones with the fine fur collars and matching hats?"

Ruth managed a weak smile in return. "Sounds wonderful,” she had echoed distractedly.

I imagined us strolling the outdoor markets together arm in arm, sampling the sweets for sale and trying on costume jewelry from the vendors.

I smiled back, confused by her own apparent lack of excitement. We chatted a bit longer as the evening shadows began deepening on our faces and then made our separate ways home. I found myself feeling unsettled and irritable as my feet crunched through the dead foliage, as if everyone knew a secret I did not.

The next morning was a bustle of tense activity. Mam had us wear our best clothes and braided my hair twice before she was satisfied with the outcome.

I strained in my seat on the packed train, looking for Ruth and her family, but could not see them. It seemed as if all Germany was on the train. Steam began to rise amidst the packed bodies despite the winter chill just outside.

As we exited at the train stop, we entered a sea of bodies all heading to the government buildings where the census was being held. I gripped my little brother's hand tightly in mine and followed the back of my father's head, his face once again a stoic mask of indifference. Mam, on the other hand, could not hide her tension, her rouged lips pressed into a hard, thin line.

As we neared the government hall, the crowd began to disperse into two large lines. Up ahead, I could see several Nazi soldiers blowing silver whistles and directing the flow of traffic with harsh barks. Two of the soldiers walked up and down the lines with vicious looking dogs straining on their leashes, their noses lifted to the wind.

My excitement drained quickly as the reality of the situation began to dawn on me. I had never seen so many people in one place in all my life, but the fear and tension of the crowd was palpable, as if we were cows being herded to slaughter. I wanted to call to my father to get his assurances, but something about his expression made me keep my mouth pinned shut. I watched the crowd flowing around us with wide eyes, staying close to my father's heels.

A harsh blast of a whistle drew my attention behind us. I turned just as a soldier grabbed a woman roughly by the arm and yanked her out of our line. The woman cowered in his grip as two children followed anxiously after her. My eyes widened in recognition.

"Ruth!" I called out, as loud as I could, standing on tip toes to get a better view.

My father's eyes snapped to mine, and I felt the heat of his glare immediately, along with the uncomfortable weight of a few stray glances from others around us, their gazes suspicious and calculating. My father's mouth was a silent grimace, his eyes conveying some urgent message I could not understand.

I turned my back to him with a single-minded focus, "Ruth, Ruth!" I called again and frantically waved my arms in her direction.

Suddenly, a strong hand grabbed me by the back of neck and my father whipped me around to face him, our faces nearly nose to nose, "Stop that this instant," he hissed angrily, spittle flecking my cheeks. His eyes were wild and frenzied like a trapped animal.

Startled and alarmed, I felt my bottom lip begin to tremble,"But it's Ruth, daddy," I tried explained.

Father's steely gaze never left mine, his fingers digging deeper into the back my neck for emphasis, "You don't know Ruth anymore. You may never mention her again, to anyone! Do you understand?" his voice was a deadly whisper.

Bewildered, I wanted to say "no", but I knew instinctively that was not the correct answer. So I nodded my head yes, a sob rising in the back of my throat.

Father appraised me silently, and apparently finding me sufficiently terrified, nodded to himself in satisfaction and turned back in line, my Mam shooting us both anxious glances beside him.

Behind me, a scuffle was ensuing. I sneaked a cautious peak behind me to see Ruth's mother, Ilse, being aggressively manhandled by the angry soldier, a look of absolute terror on Ilse's face. Ruth herself was standing stock still in place, watching her mother struggle, her mouth open in silent "Oh". Her little brother, Samuel, was in tears beside her, snot running down his face and his cheeks as red as cherries.

"You think you can trick us? Is that what you think?” The soldier growled as he continued to drag Ilse across the cobblestone walk to the other line. Ilse lost her footing and stumbled forward, her left shoe falling off in the chaos, but the soldier pulled her on, leaving the lone shoe behind in the center of the walk. I continued to watch in frozen horror.

“It was a mistake! I promise!” Isle pleaded with the soldier,” I didn't know! Please sir! I just didn't know!”

“Stupid Jews go in the stupid Jew line!” The soldier barked in her face, drawing a couple of amused chuckles from the growing crowd. Ilse grimaced but otherwise did not respond, her head bowed and eyes fixed on her single bare foot. I worried at how cold her foot must be. The soldier continued to circle her like a predator assessing his prey, spitting insults and taunts in her face.

Just at that moment, Samuel’s wails reached a fever pitch. All eyes were drawn to him just as a large wet spot formed on the front of his freshly pressed trousers. Samuel continued to shutter and cry as a warm puddle of urine formed around his feet. I groaned inwardly, knowing things would only get exponentially worse from this moment on.

The solider’s face was red with barely contained rage,”What is this?” He screamed at Ilse,”Your Jew child is not even housebroken?”

Again, another ripple of cruel laughter and obscene jeers erupted through the crowd, which was growing larger by the minute with curious spectators.

The soldier, now buoyed with an audience to entertain, continued his berating,"Get over there and clean that mess up!” He snarled, shoving Ilse at her hysterical son. Next to him, Ruth's face was as white as the lace collar on her best dress. She swayed slightly in place, as if she might faint or vomit. I could feel my fingernails biting into the skin of my palms as I clenched my fists tighter, trembling with helpless rage.

“But I don’t have a rag, sir,” Ilse responded, her eyes pleading, her palms open and empty. Her single shoe still lay in the middle the walk.

"But you have this!” The solder sneered and ripped of her jacket, the pretty velvet one that she always wore on market days. He threw the jacket at the puddle and pushed Ilse down to her knees, “Now clean it up!”

Isle, now trembling like a cornered deer, tentatively took her jacket in her thin fingers and began sopping up the mess, tears clinging to her lower lashes like iridescent pearls. The crowd continued hurling their taunts and jeers, reveling in Isle’s misery on full display.

I looked up to father, my eyes brimming with desperate tears, begging him to intercede, to stop this madness, to pull Isle up from her knees and get them far away from here, but father refused to even look at me, his back a stone wall to the scene unfolding behind him.

To my growing horror, the soldier then turned his attention to Ruth, who was still locked in place like a stunned animal,”Why are you just standing there?" he barked at Ruth, "Take off your jacket and help your stupid mother!”

Ruth shuddered visibly but stiffly complied to the soldier's orders, silently removing her cloak and joining her mother on her hands and knees, her mouth twisted up the way it does when I know she's about to cry. The soldier, fully enjoying in the crowd's hungry attention, began hawking large, wet spit wads on the ground, just mere inches from Isle and Ruth's heads as they bent to their work, "You missed a spot!” the soldier would crow over and over again and the crowd would scream with laughter. Soon, the crowd joined in and began raining spit wads down on Ilse and Ruth as they labored fruitlessly on their hands and knees. Meanwhile, Samuel continued to wail, a look of complete disbelief and fear etched into his small, delicate features.

My blood boiled so hot I began sweating in my winter jacket, my rage climbing to a fitful crescendo that I could no longer contain, but just as I opened my mouth to scream my righteous protest, my father’s hand clamped down painfully on the back of my neck and squeezed until my vision blurred. His grip held me firm, pinned in place, tears blurring my vision into a watery landscape. I had no choice but to be another spectator in the crowd, watching the misery of my best friend unfold before me.

I looked to the faces around me in utter disbelief. Is this all just a mad dream? These are our neighbors, our schoolmates, our friends; the people we trade with at market and greet at church. These people had brought soup and rolls when Isle had once fallen too ill to get out of bed. They had pitched in to help around the farm when Nathan had fallen and broken his arm, but I no longer recognized them. I was lost among a vast sea of strange and hateful faces; friends and family and neighbors that I am not sure I ever really knew.

It reminded me of a time when my favorite hen had hatched a full roost of chicklets, but one of the chicklets had been born much smaller and weaker than the others. I had carried him around in my apron pocket all day to keep him warm since his siblings had kept kicking him from the roost. The next morning, when I had gone to bring the hens their feed, I had found the chicklet pecked to death; his tiny, delicate body torn apart by his very own brothers and sisters.

I had sobbed into my mother's lap, explaining what had happened in between teary convulsions. Mam had sighed a heavy, world-weary sigh and explained that it was only natural for animals to behave in such a way, as they simply didn’t know any better. They only cared for their own survival and a weak member could weaken them all. I remember thinking I was glad I had not been born a simple-minded animal who could behave so cruelly and viciously.

But now, here we are.

Eventually the line in front of us shifted and my had father pulled me away from the horrendous scene, his fingers still tightly clamped around my neck, a constant warning pressure. I had stood numb and silent as we had awaited our turn to be approved by the census officials as “good and decent Germans” and then sent on our way without further incident.

I did not see Ruth or her family again.

Back on the train, I had silently watched the darkening landscape pass by, my forehead pressed to the cool glass and my heart a lead weight in my chest. Outside, the evening shadows seemed deeper and more menacing than before.

My Mam and father sat directly across from me, our knees nearly touching. Mam looked weary and forlorn, the edges of her mouth pulled down in a thoughtful frown, her rouge lipstick all worn away. For a moment, I could envision what she would look like as an old women.

My father was harder to read, his face once again an implacable mask. My impotent rage boiled inside me as I searched his face for any sign of regret or guilt, but he simply returned my gaze, eyes bright and intelligent. But I understood something then that I had not understood before, and that is that behind the intelligence, behind the carefully crafted logic and moral platitudes, was simply an animal, the most dangerous of all.