Running on Empty Read Free

stood back from the stone steps which led up to the door, a German shepherd sitting obediently by his side. He watched the situation being played out on those steps, but he did not hear the conversation unfold, for his mind was elsewhere.
    What was he doing here? He hadn’t chosen to become a soldier of the Reich, a servant of his country, only to find himself performing such a distasteful chore. He had no love for the Jews, but he didn’t despise them the way so many of his comrades did either.
    He came from a rural background, a small village on the edge of the Black Forest in Bavaria. He was a proficient huntsman, having been trained by his father, and he by his father before him. It ran in the blood. He was an excellent rifleman, something which he was sure would be exploited by the army of the Fatherland when he had enlisted. But it was another area of his expertise which the army had sought to nurture, his ability to work with and train dogs.
    Yes he had been a hunter. It put food on the table back home in his village. It had a purpose, an end product.
    But this? What was he now? A hunter of people? Why was he doing this? Because he was told to, following orders, obeying commands?
    It was not right. He knew it. He felt it. But, what was he to do? Disobey orders? He knew the consequence of that. Still, it was wrong. He hated what he was doing. He wished he could just return to his village. He didn’t want to be a part of this mayhem any longer.
    A heavy pounding knock echoed in the street as the butt of an infantryman’s rifle made contact with the front door, wood on polished wood. Albert removed a crisp white handkerchief from his breast pocket and dappled his brow lightly, as the index finger of his other hand ran a loop round the inside of his starched shirt collar in a vain attempt to relieve the pressure he was feeling. He opened the door slowly, as his wife Marie stood alongside, to be faced by a smartly dressed German officer, flanked by a number of foot soldiers.
    ‘This is the Stein household, yes?’ he asked abruptly.
    ‘That is correct’
    ‘So, you must be Albert Stein, and you I take it, are Marie?’ he asked, gesturing to his wife.
    They both nodded agreement.
    ‘Marie, not a Jewish name I would have thought’, the officer continued, curious.
    ‘My wife is French’ offered Albert. ‘She was born a Roman Catholic’.
    ‘Interesting. So you did not have the misfortune to be born a Jew, yet you opted to marry into this group. A choice which you may come to regret I should think’.
    He checked his clipboard, then returned to look at Albert.
    ‘You have a daughter called Ella, yes?’
    ‘Yes’ began Albert hesitatingly, ‘but she’s not here. She’s gone to stay with my wife’s sister, in Lyon, France’.
    ‘Hmm…how very convenient’.
    The officer took a long drag on the cigarette he held in his right hand, appearing to become engrossed in a slight altercation a couple of doors away, before turning back to the issue at hand.
    ‘I would dearly love to take you at your word Herr Stein, but unfortunately circumstances do not permit me to do that. You’ll forgive me if I instruct my troops to search your house?’
    He gestured to the troops, who briskly pushed past the Steins, into the hallway and began searching the rooms. In spite of the cold December air, tiny beads of perspiration dappled the forehead and upper lip of Albert Stein as he waited in the doorway. The officer studied him curiously.
    ‘You seem to be perspiring, Herr Stein?’
    ‘Oh yes, I think I’m coming down with something. I haven’t been myself the last couple of days’ he answered in a quiet voice.
    The minutes ticked by slowly, agonisingly, until finally the soldiers returned to the hallway.
    ‘We’ve searched the house and could find no-one sir’ the trooper reported.
    ‘Indeed’.
    He turned back to the street.
    ‘Matteus, bring that canine of yours and check the building’ he ordered.
    Otto Matteus