In the Land of Armadillos by Helen Maryles Shankman Read Free Book Online Page B

Despite his fury, Max could still admire the attention paid to detail in the little portrait of himself.
    He gave the artist a good swift kick, then headed down the stairs to get Adela.
    From Max Haas’s diary, November 12, 1942
    . . . a dreadful night, up until dawn selecting Jews for transport, another thousand, and I’m expected to replace them and have the businesses up and running again by the next day. What are they thinking?
    There are rumors flying, something bizarre happened in the forest. Either no one knows, or no one wants to say. Many good men lost their lives, Krause and Hanfling from my team among them. It was brutal, barbaric. A man disemboweled and hung in a tree, another found without skin . . . of others, they are finding only body parts. There isn’t even anything left to send home to their families. Some say it was the Communists. I’m sure it was the partizans. These people are animals.
    From a letter to his wife, posted on the same date.
    . . . a firm date for when you are coming. No more excuses! You can’t imagine how urgently I need you. The murals in Peter’s room are almost finished. After our artist is done with the nursery, I think I’ll put him to work in the dining room.
    P.S. Please discontinue Peter’s riding instruction. I’m anxious for his health. He can resume his lessons when he gets here.
    *  *  *
    A Siberian wind was blowing down from the steppes. Max’s handsome overcoat was made of the finest fabrics, from the finest German mills, by the smartest designers, but it was small comfort against the eastern cold.
    Earlier in the day, he had taken Lilo out for a ride. This time of year the landscape was flat and dead, frost lying between the furrows. Lilo snorted, dipping her head up and down, happy to be freed from her stall. Patting the side of her neck, Max urged her into the forest.
    Leaves and small branches snapped beneath her hooves, and the pleasantly astringent smell of pine needles rose into the air. Unexpectedly, they came upon a big operation, hundreds of Jews patiently waiting to take their place in front of the pit. Rohlfe was there with Hackendahl, Reinhart, too, looking pinched and serious. Reinhart had visited Max’s office a number of times in the past month, always congenial, always with gifts: a gold watch or a diamond bracelet in exchange for one Jewish craftsman or another whom he would whisk away to his labor camp. Max was rather sorry he’d let him have Soroka, he would have liked to keep the saddlemaker in town. He himself had recently ordered a new saddle from him; he was the best in the region.
    Gruber called and waved. But Max couldn’t stay and socialize, he had a full desk of work waiting for him, so he turned Lilo around and headed back for town.
    Near the edge of the woods, he came upon a cadre of ragged, starved-looking Jews. When Max ordered them to put their hands in the air, they turned instead and fled, forcing him to give chase. He’d shot three of them, two men and a girl, when Lilo stumbled on the uneven ground and fell.
    The long bone of her right front leg was fractured. He couldn’t even coax her to her feet. It was obvious he would have to put her down. As if to break his heart, she put her velvety nose into his hand, snuffling around for the treat that he always carried for her. Running his fingers across the smooth hard hide, he looked for the last time into the liquid brown eyes and almost cried. He was grateful for only one thing—that she didn’t know what was coming.
    Capping off a perfect day, just as he returned to his villa, Soroka arrived, bringing with him the new saddle. Max almost lost it right then and there. By the time he reached his office, he was practically bawling. After signing a few papers, he picked up his files and went home.
    Before he was halfway through the door, his senses were captivated by the smells of plums and