What was Grandma talking about? Then Aunt Valentine said, “The Bible is a Protestant book.” Mother showed her the Catholic cardinal’s signature in the front of the Bible. Aunt Valentine replied, “Anyone can sign anything!”
Aunt Eugenie added: “We Catholics have the Gospel, not the Bible!” Mum tried to show them that the Gospels are in the Bible, but no one wanted to see.
“Get that Protestant book out of here.”
“But it’s accepted by the church.” I felt I had to step in.
“Grandma, the priest has the same Bible.”
“He has the right to have anything, to read everything.” Looking at us she insisted, “You are my daughter, and you had better stay Catholic if you want to keep up a good family relationship!”
The men had come back, still talking about that mysterious word Lebensraum[6] that had started the men’s verbal war around the table. When Dad overheard the women fighting about religion, he said, “I’d better take the next train and go back home. I don’t like the inquisition spirit.” And he left us in that “wasps’ nest,” as he would call any argument. Mum and I stayed a few days longer.
A few days before Easter, Mum and I went up to Bergenbach for spring cleaning. Grandma decided to get her yearly baby pig and to exchange some eggs to introduce new “blood” into her farm stock.
We climbed to the top of the mountain. The sun was shining brightly. Grandma called it “a biting sun” and, according to Grandma, the cloud formations foretold a change of weather. At the end of our two-hour walk, we ended up in a small, serene green valley with only a few big farmhouses. At the end of the valley was a mountain bluff named Felleringenkopf (after the village), our favorite place to search for blueberries. It was a great relief to finally reach the place called Langenbach.
During our journey Grandma insisted, “Bring your mother back to church; she will bring evil upon the whole family.”
“But the Bible is not a bad book.”
“The Devil wants you to go out of the church; he wants your soul! He will send you right down to hell.”
“There is no hell. And I don’t have a separate soul—I am a soul.”
“This is exactly what the Devil does. He takes away the fear of hell, and he will bring you right into it.” She told me some scary stories about how charming the Devil could appear and how he could even act as a lure.
Grandma’s cousin was happy to get some news from the other side of the valley. Some money and eggs exchanged hands, and we went to look for the baby pig. The nice little pink animals were running around. We chased a squirmy little thing and tied its legs despite its grunting protests. We put it in a sack that hung around Grandma’s neck. Her cousin pointed to a tiny cloud and said, “You’d better go.”
A small cloud above the mountain grew very fast. By the time we reached the top, we both were sweating. Grandma’s pace was so rapid that I had a hard time keeping up. As soon as we reached the Thalhorn, the promontory from which we could see both valleys, a terrible cold wind caught us. Grandma said, “Let’s run so we don’t catch a cold in the lungs!”
In front of us, a big brown cloud was coming straight toward us. Soon the entire valley was hidden, and hail started to fall. There was no place for protection on this barren mountain slope, so we had to go on. The poor little hog being beaten by the hail started to complain, adding its squeals to the sound of the howling wind. We couldn’t see our path anymore, but we had to keep going. At first I didn’t cry (I was a boy, wasn’t I?), but I was cold and soaking wet. My handknit woolen dress was torn and full of holes. I was tired and out of breath, barely able to resist the strength of the storm, and now caught in the dark cloud that covered the mountainside. It wasn’t long before tears came to my eyes. Grandmother told me to hang on to her apron, because she had to use both hands to hold the squirming animal in the sack around her neck.
As we came down the slope, we came underneath the cloud and could see Bergenbach. The smoke was slithering down the roof of the house like a big serpent.
“We made it! Thank God.” But I knew that Grandma believed it was God’s punishment. Whatever happened came from him, especially storms. We still had to walk for a while through a marshy area.
“Look, our path is over there.” We had deviated from the path quite a bit. Now, we were stumbling with great difficulty through the marsh grass. Every time we put our foot on a flat rock, the water would squeeze out of our drenched shoes with a squishing sound. Finally we made it home.
“My dear child, your dress has turned into a sieve.” Warm underwear, heated in the baking stove, awaited both of us. A warm footbath got my blood moving, and with excitement and pride, I recounted our adventure. Grandma looked at me. I could see in her eyes how disappointed she was. My enthusiastic report was not what she had expected. She kept silent while she worked to revive the poor stiff little hog.
The odor of fresh paint got me all excited. I ran upstairs as fast as I could to see what John had done. He was so proud to have had the opportunity to do his first room as a professional. He had even painted my wardrobe light green. Dad had moved my bed to a different location and put flowered material on the wall around the bed to match my bed cover. Above it, John had painted the Seven Dwarfs and put them under glass. I was delighted! What a wonderful room it was—if my door were kept open, everybody who would come into our apartment could see it.
Mother gave me realistic advice. “It’s your room. You keep it clean; you make your bed. The way you leave it in the morning, that’s the way you’ll find it at noon. If you want to have a good reputation, you know what you have to do.”
Mum and Dad had given John a Bible. Dad told us that John was very happy about getting it, but that his mother had become upset and had made a scene. She treated him like a schoolboy. “Maybe because she’s a widow, she wants to hold on to her authority,” Dad explained.
As usual, early one morning Dad had gone down to get the milk can and the bread hanging in the basket next to the basement door. When he came back, he was as white as chalk. He was breathless and sat down as beads of sweat dotted his forehead. Dad told us that he had been downstairs when suddenly the door swung open. There was Mr. Eguemann standing in front of him with an ax raised over his head.
“I ran outside and down the street with my milk can and spilled some of it. He ran after me screaming, ‘You traitor, you should be killed!’ He only gave up chasing me when he saw somebody coming.”
“Emma,” he continued, “you’ll have to buy milk and bread in the shop. I’m sorry for the extra work, but with an alcoholic like him, we have to be careful and smart. I’ll ask for a change in my work shift. That way I won’t meet him alone on the way to work. No use taking a chance.”
What a shock! A good Catholic man like Mr. Eguemann trying to kill my dad! My heart started burning against them. Trying to calm me down, Mother read to me the words of Jesus: “You will be objects of hatred by all the nations.” Then she said that the Apostle Paul said, “Return evil for evil to no one.” Dad would be very careful when he left the house, and we would too. We stopped talking to the Eguemanns to avoid a sudden violent reaction. Zita had to be taken out secretly. Whenever possible, we took her down in the daytime and stayed in the front of the house where passersby would serve as protection. I had never forgiven him for demanding to have me punished in front of him. Now I really hated him!
The last day of second grade was a hot summer day with pouring rain. After the usual admonition to “buy a vacation text and notebook and review one lesson as well as the catechism every day,” the time had come to say farewell to Mademoiselle, who was