The Castle in the Forest (39 page)

3

A
dolf liked the new school in Leonding. It was a short walk from the Garden House, and less strict than the monastery. While he was, once more, an excellent student, he could hardly wait each day for school to end. The Kumberger Forest outside Leonding was full of wooded draws and small caves where one could prepare an ambush. He began to recruit schoolmates to join the battles, and they had a few encounters in the late afternoon, although the major event every week was reserved for Saturday morning, when there would be wars between white settlers and Indians.

Not all of his recruits wanted to be white settlers. That was because a redskin could steal up on a settler from behind, get an arm around the other boy's neck, and declare, “You are scalped.” Then they could run back to their dens in the forest. Adolf was even scalped once, but he declared it illegal. “You do not attack leaders,” he said. “Indians believe in the vengeance of the war gods. So they do not attack high officers like myself. They do not dare. A terrible vengeance would fall on them.”

He even took Edmund along, Edmund, who was now five years old and certainly the youngest to participate. Nonetheless, the older kids liked him, even if Edmund could hardly be of service when attacks began. Still, Adolf liked having him alone in the forest. He could command Edmund then, which, of course, he was not able to do at home, where Klara would protect Edmund, Angela would protect him, and Alois certainly did.

Adi could remember that they had once used to safeguard him from Alois Junior, but that had been justifiable. Alois Junior had even planted a turd on the end of his nose, whereas he didn't do such things to Edmund. But he did giggle at the thought that if he could do it, what a joy it would be to hear Edmund scream. Once, out in the forest, he even poked Edmund in the back with a stick and told him it was a hornet, which, of course, Edmund mentioned to Klara. He knew it was not a hornet.

The story worried her. Was Adi's animosity worse than Alois Junior's had been? Yes, she decided, worse. Adolf and Edmund were blood brothers.

By now, Adi was having trouble with one kid who gave promise that it might end in a fight. He had never had a fistfight, he had always known how to avoid them, but now he took a vow that he would not allow anyone to humiliate him. He would do what was necessary, even if that meant he had to do it with a rock in his hand. Visions came to him on the edge of sleep. He saw this boy he truly feared staring at him with a blood-spattered head. Could that happen?

Then an episode occurred which ended these wars for the rest of the winter. On a day when no one felt warm enough to hide motionless in ambush, a trooper declared that he was able to start a fire by rubbing twigs together. The others jeered, but Adolf said, “If you can make a real fire, then I give you the order to proceed.”

The boy did. Once the fire was lit, all went off to find fallen branches dry enough to burn. Soon the fire was not only blazing but ready to advance into the surrounding brush. Since there was no water handy, they tried to stomp it out, but smoke kept rising into the sky.

They quit the fire. One by one, they ran until they were a quarter of a mile away. Adolf began to explain to the others, all twenty-odd, that they must not tell anyone.

“Yes,” said Adolf, “if any one of you tells about this fire, we will all have to pay for it. And then we will look to find out who was the one who told. And there will be consequences. A brave soldier does not betray his comrades.”

One by one, two by two, they left the forest. By now, the fire had grown to a size visible enough to bring firemen, water wagons, and teams of horses out from Leonding.

On the way home, Edmund said that he had to tell one person, their father. “If you do,” said Adolf, “I will be severely punished. And you, too, will have to pay for it.”

“I do not believe that,” said Edmund. “Our father would never permit that. So don't you try to hit me.”

“It is not me you have to fear. It is everybody else who was there. They will be punished, and then they will be waiting for you. All of them. If necessary, I will be the one to let them know that you can't keep your mouth shut.”

“I have to tell our father.”

“What did you promise?”

“I have to tell him about anything that bothers me.”

“All right. That is all right for all other matters. But not this. I tell you, the other boys will beat you up. I will not be able to protect you. In fact, I won't even want to!”

“I feel sick.”

“You are nothing but a snot-nose. Go throw up.”

Alois, however, had his own suspicions about the fire. Once they reached home, Alois held Edmund on his lap and looked tenderly into his eyes. Before he could ask a question, however, Edmund threw up again. Alois decided to let it go. He was convinced that Adolf had had something to do with the blaze, but Edmund's life could become a misery if he forced him to talk about it.

Moreover, there might be repercussions. If he knew for certain that Adolf was one of the malefactors, it would be expected of him, as a father and a good citizen, to inform the authorities. Once he did, however, they could hold him responsible for the costs of bringing out the fire wagon. So Alois wiped Edmund's spew off his own shirt and hugged him tenderly. He also made a point over the next few days of not looking Adolf in the eye.

4

I
n school that winter, Adolf's class read a book by Friedrich Ludwig Jahn that spoke of a force powerful enough to shape history. That cetainly did remind him of the blacksmith. This force would depend on the presence of a “Führer cast of Iron and Fire.” Then came a sentence that brought tears to Adolf's eyes: “The people will honor him as a savior and forgive all his sins.”

Of course, the class had also been offered Kant and Goethe and Schleiermacher, but Adolf felt these authors showed too much respect for reason. That bored him. His father, for one, was always speaking of the virtues of reason. “Human nature is undependable,” he would tell his family. “What enables stable societies to work is the power of the law. It is the law, not the people.” He looked around at the supper table and decided this should be of interest to Adolf. “It is legal constitutions that are needed, Adolf, constitutions that are constructed by the finest people. Then reason can do its work with the respect it deserves.”

Adolf preferred Friedrich Ludwig Jahn. He had decided that reason could be treacherous. It was like the sirens that swim in the Rhine and lead you to your death. Even while you drown, they sing sweet songs. Personal strength was of more importance. That would take care of your sins. Such small flaws would be incinerated by the heat of your effort.

He certainly rejected Goethe and Schiller. Their humor annoyed him. It was too personal—as if they were much too pleased with what they were saying. Not serious enough, Adolf decided. The other two, Kant and Schleiermacher, he simply could not read. After Jahn, his highest pleasure came from the fairy tales of the Grimm brothers. That had also been assigned to his class. Those were good stories, and deep! He delighted in acting them out for Edmund, who might be too young to read but was always ready to listen. He explained to Edmund that the Grimm brothers had written these tales so children would know how important it was to obey their parents and their older brother and sister. Then he spoke of one story called “The Girl Without Hands”: “This is about a father who has been ordered by the Devil to cut off the hands of his young daughter.” When Edmund shrieked at the thought, Adolf spoke in the voice of the father, explaining it to his daughter. “I don't want to do this, dear daughter. But I must. These are orders. It is not for me to question orders that have come down to me from a very high authority. So I must obey.”

“What does the daughter say?” Edmund asked.

“Oh, she is obedient. Very obedient. She says, ‘Father, do with me what you will. For I am your child.' Then she puts her hands right up on the chopping block. Her father picks up a big cleaver and he does it.”

“That is so awful,” said Edmund. “He chops off her hands?”

“With one whack! But she lives happily ever after.”

“How?” asked Edmund.

“Her father takes care of everything.” Adolf nodded. “I could tell you a worse story, but I won't.”

“Tell me.”

“It is about a girl who was so disobedient that she died.”

“What did she do?” asked Edmund.

“It doesn't matter,” said Adolf. “She was disobedient. That is enough. They bury this disobedient girl, and what do you think? It is hard to believe, but she remains disobedient even after she is dead. One of her arms keeps poking up out of her grave right into the air.”

“Is she so strong?” asked Edmund.

“The Devil is helping her. What else—that is the way it happens. So when her relatives see that arm up in the air, they come out to her grave and try to push it down again. They can't. You are right. The arm is too strong. So they start to cover it with a mound of dirt. But her arm knocks the dirt away. Then her mother goes back to the house and picks up a heavy poker from the fireplace. When she gets back to her daughter's grave, she starts beating on that disobedient arm until it is broken. That way, it can be folded back under the dirt. So the girl is able to find some rest.”

Edmund was shivering. He was crying and laughing at once. “Would you do something like that to me?” he asked Adolf.

“Only if you should die and I would see your arm popping out from your grave. Then I would have to do it to you. I certainly would.”

“Oh,” said Edmund, “I don't like that.”

“It does not matter what you would like. It would have to be done.”

“Tell me one more story.”

“It would take too long. I'll just give you the end: It's about a queen who boils a child to death. Afterward, she eats the body.”

“Do you have to be a queen to be able to do something like that?” asked Edmund. “Isn't this so?”

“Yes, probably. Especially if it is your own child that you are boiling.” Adolf nodded profoundly. “But nobody can take these matters for granted.”

“My mother would never do that to me.”

“Maybe not our mother, but I cannot say what Angela would do.”

“Oh, no,” said Edmund, “Angela would never do something like that to Paula or to me.”

“Don't be so certain.”

Edmund shook his head. “I know you are wrong.”

“Do you want another story?”

“Maybe not.”

“This one is the best,” said Adolf.

“Is it truly the best?”

“Yes.”

“Then maybe I don't want to hear it.”

“It's about a young man who is ordered to sleep with a corpse. In time to come you, too, may have to sleep next to a dead man.”

At this point, Edmund shrieked. Then he fainted.

Unfortunately for Adolf, this last conversation was overheard by Angela. She was standing in the doorway shaking her head. Adolf had time to think that his luck was foul.

Angela patted Edmund's face until he could sit up. Then she went to tell Klara.

His mother no longer called him Adi, certainly not on any occasion when she had to scold him. “Adolf, this was dreadful. You are going to be punished.”

“For what? Edmund loves the stories. He kept asking me for more.”

“You knew what you were doing. So I am going to tell your father. I have to. He will decide on your punishment.”

“Mother, this is not something to bring Father into.”

“If I don't tell him, then I will be the one who must look for a real punishment. And maybe I will. Maybe I will buy you no present at Christmas.”

“This is so unfair,” said Adolf. “I try to entertain my kid brother. But he is a brat.”

“Do you accept what I say? No gift for Christmas?”

“Yes. If you think that is fair, I have to accept. But, Mother, please, look into your heart when the time comes. See if you will still see me as guilty then.”

Klara was furious. This was even worse. He was so certain that she would change her mind and buy him a good present after all.

That evening, therefore, she did tell Alois.

His father had no doubts. He gave Adolf a severe whipping. It was the worst since they moved into the house in Leonding. But this time, Adolf was determined to make no sound at all. He thought of Preisinger all the while. He stiffened his body.

Alois was beginning to feel as if he had Junior back on his hands. Another criminal to deal with! That excited more rage.

Between each blow, Adolf thought of how Alois Junior had run away. It was the one memory he could use to make no sound. He could be and must be as strong as Alois Junior. If he did not cry, then his own strength might become great enough to justify whatever he might yet want to do next. Strength created its own kind of justice. He called upon the force of command that had been near to him after the fire in the forest. He had ordered them all then never to speak of it, and they had obeyed. Yes, he had been full of fear then, but he had called on his force of command. Then he had lived for days in the fear that someone would talk. He could hardly know it, but I had been with him through that turmoil, and I was with him now. Adolf's confidence was so fragile that, metaphorically speaking, I had to maintain his ego at full erection. (Egos are prey to the same weakness that erections exhibit when unsure of what comes next.)

So, yes, I was there to monitor the whipping of Adolf, and fortify his resolve. If it was most important to him that he not weep, I had to be ready to diminish the intensity of Alois' blows whenever the boy might break. Equally, I was ready to increase his father's force, whenever it flagged. There were moments when Alois' fear of overstraining his heart was in direct opposition to my desire to salt Adolf's will. Let his hatred for Alois become intense enough to serve many an uncommon purpose ahead.

Nonetheless, balance is crucial to our activities. Equally, I could not allow antipathy to his father to become excessive. Immense hatreds in childhood that find no dependable outlet have to make a client unstable. While high imbalance was acceptable in Luigi Lucheni, that would not do for Adolf. We had put in too much effort on the boy. We did not care to have to deal with a future too full of errant impulses and blind rages. Indeed, one product of this heavy whipping was bound to be detestation of Edmund. That made me uneasy. Edmund had remained in such a sorry state after hearing the tales of the Grimm brothers that Klara tried to lull him to sleep with lullabies. Adolf, lying in the next cot, felt as bruised thereby as if he had fallen out of a tree. Indeed, his feelings became so outraged by Klara's apparent indifference to him that he decided to run away. Right there, lying on his cot, he so decided—aching bones and all. He even made a point of telling this to Edmund after Klara left the room.

“It is all your doing,” said Adolf. “So I must go.”

Immediately, Edmund leaped out of bed and ran to tell his father. Yet, when Alois came up the stairs to collar the potential runaway, Adolf said, “It's a lie! My brother is always telling lies. This one I will not forgive him for. This lie is atrocious! I'll get him for this!”

“You'll get him, will you?”

Alois was not ready to give another beating. His arms were aching more than Adolf's back. Still, he was sufficiently concerned to lock the boy in a room on the ground floor whose only window had bars. Alone, Adolf tried to squeeze his way through. It was too tight. He soon discovered that his pajamas seemed to make the difference. Their buttons kept getting caught on the bars. So he took them off, rolled them up, put them outside the bars, and, stark naked, attempted to wriggle through once more. He was so overheated with the fury of his righteousness that he did not feel the chill of the open casement window nor hear the sound of his father's boots returning to the room. Only at the sound of the door unlocking did he pull away from the bars, seize a tablecloth, and wrap it around himself. Alois, entering, the brass key still in his hand, took in the situation, and roared with laughter. He yelled for Klara until she came through the door. Then Alois pointed to Adolf and said, “Look at the toga boy, our Toga Boy!” Klara shook her head and left the room. That roused Alois to a full harangue: “So you were trying to run away. I tell you, it would not be such a loss. All the same, I forbid it. Not because I would miss you, Toga Boy. I would not. I forbid it because I would have to call in the police to tell them you are missing, and they might put me in jail.” Alois knew this was an outright exaggeration, but he was full of masterly scorn. “How your mother would weep! Her son is lost and her husband is in prison. Shame has come upon the Hitler family! All because of Toga Boy!”

Adolf had stood up to the whipping, but now he was in tears. My work on his ego had suffered a loss.

What soon made it worse is that Alois came back into the room, roared with laughter, and said, “I have just stepped outside. It is so cold tonight that you would have been back in two minutes knocking on the door. It is not so good to have a bad temper, but it is worse to be a fool.”