War Girls Complete Collection Chapter 220

Chapter 34: Stan

T

ime passed and Stan grew increasingly unhappy with his situation. The Western Allies had finally arrived in Berlin and divided the city into four sectors. The sector where he lived with the Klausen family was now under American control, which was a relief.

The Amis, as the Germans called them, were far from perfect, but a huge improvement compared to the Russians before. At long last the women could go outside again to get food without having to fear for their modesty.

Anna had returned to work as a nurse for the Americans. Stan meanwhile walked almost without a limp on his wooden leg and even stairs didn’t pose a problem anymore. Which was good, because he and Peter had taken to reconstructing the outer wall of the Klausen apartment. And a few days ago they’d moved back onto the fourth floor.

But Stan didn’t want to live on the charity of his married family anymore and grew more discontent every day.

“What’s wrong with you, grumpy man?” Peter teased him as they were fixing the splintered cupboards in the kitchen.

Stan merely sent him a dark stare and continued to carve out a piece of wood to use as a leg for the cupboard.

“From where I’m sitting, it seems you’re intent on wallowing in self-pity.” Peter kept pressing the issue.

Stan groaned. Off course, Peter had to play the caring-older-brother card now and pester him with good advice about life. When Peter was in that mood, there was nothing one could do, except shut up and listen.

“Are you still moping about your leg? You have managed so well, strangers don’t even notice.”

“You mean they don’t gawk at me in pity?” Stan growled. He definitely wasn’t in the mood for a lecture about the virtues in life.

“Just saying…here, help me and hold the waste pipe tight, while I…” With a clanking sound Peter yanked the pipe open and grimaced. “No wonder it won’t work. You could build an entire house with the debris in here.”

Stan continued carving and hoped his brother would forget about their earlier topic.

“If it’s not the leg, what then?” Peter asked after a while.

“Dammit! Why do you have to stick your nose into my business?” Stan burst out.

“Because I’m your brother and I…”

“Stop the older brother bullshit and leave me in peace!”

“I’d do that, but you’re not peaceful.” They stared at each other and Stan felt a rush of adrenaline course through his veins, ready to pounce at his brother and settle the dispute with a good old-fashioned brawl.

Damn leg! I can’t even have a fight with my brother!

He slumped against the wall and closed his eyes for a moment. “Know what? You’re right. I’m not at peace. I’m a worthless piece of shit. I failed you. I failed her.” Stan glared at his brother.

Peter stayed silent for a while, putting the pipe in place again and wiping his hands off. Then he turned around and said, “Oh, now we’re getting somewhere. You’re blaming yourself for what happened to Anna and her mother.”

“Rightly so.” Stan returned Peter’s unnerving stare. Why wouldn’t his brother understand that it was Stan’s fault? Had Peter been in the basement he wouldn’t have let those bastards have their way with Anna. “I’m worthless without my leg. I’m not even a real man anymore.”

“Well, that may be your perspective, but from where I’m sitting you look like a real man to me, albeit one intent on wallowing in self-pity.”

“You don’t get it, do you?” Stan hissed with barely concealed anger. “Every time I look at Anna or her mother I see those Russians and my worthless self.”

“Stan, let me ask you a question,” Peter turned to face him. “What could you have done? With two legs, or even with a pistol? One man against six?”

The futility of his argument took the wind from his sails and Stan shook his head, “Nothing. But that doesn’t make a difference. I should at least have tried.”

“No, you shouldn’t. Anna told me you probably saved her life.”

Every single hair on Stan’s body stood on end as he was transported back in time, seeing the gleaming blade in the soldier’s hands.

Peter’s big hand fell down on Stan’s shoulder, squeezing tight. “You may not believe me right now, but I’ll be forever indebted to you. Without you Anna and her mother would both be dead or at least marked for life.”

Stan sighed. The guilt weighed heavily on his conscience, despite logic and reason. Peter could talk all he wanted, but Stan would never fully forgive himself. “I hate being here! I hate not taking care of myself and being a burden to the Klausens. I hate the Germans. And I hate Berlin. I’m fed up with all this shit and I want …” He stopped as it hit him right in the center of the chest what he needed to do. “I’ll go home.”

“You what?”

“You heard me right, I’ll go home. To the farm.”

“That’s not a good idea. Not right now.”

“Why not?” Stan asked.

“Because of the Soviets. They’re still arresting Home Army and sending them to Siberia.”

“You think they’d arrest a cripple like me? I’m not a threat to them. And I won’t be of use in their Gulags either, so why bother?”

“Well, you might have a point there,” Peter said, pursing his lips. “But traveling is cumbersome. Who’d go with you?”

“We could all go,” Stan stubbornly said, although he knew full well that was wishful thinking.

“You know that’s not possible.” One couldn’t simply travel across sections and borders without a permit and Anna would never get one for Poland. All Germans were being expelled from their former homelands in the East; they wouldn’t welcome her in.

“Then I’ll go alone. This is my last word on the subject.” With his mind made up, he felt a wave of relief wash over him. He even cast a smile at his brother, happy about the future that waited for him.

“When?” Peter asked, eyeing him carefully.

“First thing in the morning. As much as I hate leaving you and Jan, this is something I have to do.”

“Good luck. I’ll accompany you to the train station,” Peter offered.

“Just like that?” Stan tilted his head, eyeing his brother suspiciously. This sudden change of mind unsettled him.

Peter nodded and then clasped him in a tight hug. “I understand. I wouldn’t stay in Berlin if it weren’t for Anna. I’d probably try my luck in England.”

Several days

later Stan arrived at the family farm near Lodz. Or what was left of it. As he rounded the bend, he felt his heart break at the devastation that greeted him. More than a year ago SS brutes had torched the farm. The sooty stone walls stood intact, but the roof and all the furniture had been burnt. For now he’d have to live in the garden shed, which miraculously had survived the destruction.

He eyed the remains of his former home, a feeling of loneliness seeping deep into his bones. It would be a long, long time until the farm could be called a home again. He found jars with pickled vegetables, canned meat and a bottle of vodka in the secret pantry beneath the kitchen.

Since it was a warm summer evening, he settled outside, eating some of the food and downing the entire bottle of vodka throughout the night. Then he wept. Wept for the years of war, his abused and betrayed nation, the millions who died. He wept for his lost youth, the many lives he’d taken in battle, the many friends who’d died.

Finally he cried for the loss of his leg, his twin brother and his home.

The next morning he woke from the sound of a barking dog, his head ready to explode. He opened his eyes to tiny slits and closed them right away, because the bright sunshine multiplied his headache.

“Hey, you! Take a hike!” a shrill voice yelled at him.

Stan had no choice but to open his eyes to slits again. The barking dog stood a few feet away and a tall boy bent over him.

“Get off this ground. Or I’ll tell the dog to chase you away.” The yelling boy looked strangely familiar and slowly recognition trickled into Stan’s foggy brain.

“Tadzio. It’s me. Stan,” he said in a hoarse voice. Damn alcohol.

“Stan?” Tadzio, the neighbor’s boy, slowly approached him. “Is it really you? Why are you sleeping on the porch?”

Because I was too drunk and nostalgic to get up last night

. “Help me up,” he said, extending his hand to Tadzio. The boy, who must be thirteen by now, was amazingly strong and pulled Stan up without difficulty, only to stare in shock at Stan’s trousers, where the wooden leg hung at a strange angle. “Doesn’t that hurt?”

“Not anymore.” Stan scoffed. “It’s a prosthetic. The Germans kept my leg over there.”

Tadzio’s eyes widened, while Stan hopped to the wall and leaned against it pushing the prosthetic into the correct place.

“How’s your mother?”

The boy kept staring at him, until he finally mumbled, “Fine. My little sister, too. And Rex, our new dog. Sorry for yelling at you, but there’s so many vagrants passing and stealing everything that’s not nailed down.” A shadow of guilt crossed Tadzio’s face. “We…we’ve been using your vegetable gardens and…”

Stan put an arm on Tadzio’s shoulder. “And you can continue to do so. Thanks for taking care of the farm.”

“Well, not really care. It’s a shame what the SS swine did, but Mother and I have scared off everyone trying to occupy the farm. We knew you or your sister would come back one day.”

“Do you know where Katrina is?” Stan asked.

“No. Last thing we heard was they had to flee from Bartosz’s farm. It was in the middle of the battle lines for weeks. Bartosz’s mom was killed.”

Stan had met the nice woman a few times, but at the news of her death he shamefully felt relief. Now he wouldn’t have to tell her that the last remaining of her four sons had been killed on one of the infamous death marches.

In the afternoon Tadzio’s mother offered him a ride into town on a cow-drawn carriage, where he visited the Red Cross station and filed missing persons reports on his sister Katrina, his Jewish sister-in-law Agnieska and a couple of old friends. He also registered with the Russian administration, biting his tongue at the sharp remarks he wanted to say.

Back at the farm, he decided to mold his own future and began, with the help of neighbors, to repair the house and prepare the fields for cultivation. It was slow and tedious work, but every day he managed to do a little bit more.

With every effort at improvement, he still anticipated that one day soon, some of his displaced family and friends would show up at the farm. Every morning he awoke full of hope and every night, despair and grief crept into his heart. Maybe he should have stayed with Peter and Anna in Berlin?