The Watcher (3 page)

Adrie shifted gears and stepped hard on the accelerator. “Hang on to your hat!”

I held my breath as we zoomed off, passing all the other speeding cars on the Autobahn.

W
e had been driving for an hour or so, and I wondered where we were going. After several minutes Adrie glanced at her watch and said, “I do have to see someone up the road here—about work.”

“Oh, do you have to?” I complained, and then fearing she would be angry, I added, “I was hoping we could do something—just the two of us—like yesterday.”

“It's essential that I deal with some important things while we are here.” She turned a corner and came to a stop outside a large facility. “I have an idea. You might be interested in seeing how SS police dogs are trained for service. It will give you something to do while you're waiting for me.”

Adrie took me into a building and spoke to an officer behind the desk. Then she said to me, “You are invited to watch while those uniformed men work with the dogs.” As she turned to go she added, “Oh, I told them you don't
speak German. They'll have someone speak to you in English.”

The man behind the desk motioned for me to come with him. We walked out onto a pathway that wound among the buildings in the complex and where armed men in SS uniforms patrolled with their dogs.

In the field beyond the compound, a dog crouched by its trainer, waiting for a signal. Then, upon command, the animal, its teeth bared, darted toward a humanlike dummy that stood on the other side of the field. In an instant the dog leaped, knocked the dummy to the ground, and began tearing it to shreds. I cringed at the sound of gnashing teeth and snarls.

Why are these dogs being taught to kill? Did Adrie really think I would find this fun to watch? I winced as, on command, the dogs, fur bristled, bodies tensed, sprang on men who wore protective clothing and played the parts of the prisoner or enemy.

The officer who was with me stopped and spoke to me in English. “Perhaps you'd like to see the puppies we are training.”

I followed him to a long narrow building where various-size dogs peered out from kennels. The officer opened a cage where the smallest puppies squealed, scurried out to me, and licked my hands as I stooped to pet them.

“They're adorable,” I murmured. “I hate to think they'll be vicious police dogs soon.”

One shy black-brown-and-white puppy stood off, eyeing
us. “What are you doing there all by yourself? Just watching?” I called. “Come see me, little guy.”

The guard snickered. “He won't come. He's stupid—not good for anything.”

“Come on, little pup,” I crooned. “You want to play, don't you?” This time, I could see the puppy's eyes brighten—and he pounced over to me.

“Ha!” said the officer. “He likes you.”

When I knelt to pet him, the little dog rubbed against me as if looking for affection, his tail wagging madly. I put my arms around him, and he jumped up immediately and lapped my face. “I love this one!”

“Oh, that dog is worthless,” the officer scoffed. “Look at him. He doesn't lift his ears upright like a pure-blooded noble German shepherd.”

Sure enough. Instead of straight perked-up ears, one of this dog's ears folded over comically.

“Why do you say he's worthless? Surely, it has nothing to do with his ears.”

“He's a clown. He doesn't obey, and he's six months old. I expect he'll be put down sometime soon.”

“What do you mean ‘put down'?”

“He'll probably be shot,” the man replied. “We can't afford to train and feed a dog that is of no use. If a dog can't be trained, he's shot. That's it.”

I took ahold of the dog's collar and pulled him closer to me. The dog's cold nose tickled my neck as he climbed back into my arms. “No, he can't be shot,” I objected loudly. “He's a wonderful dog. Someone would want him.”

“Do you want him?” the officer asked. “You can have him, but you need to remember we are at war and a pet takes many of your rations. You may be sorry.”

“I'll speak to my mother when she returns,” I said, holding the puppy close.

I won't let them shoot this dog! I have to convince Adrie to let me keep him.

W
hen Adrie walked through the door, the dog was sleeping in my lap. “Are you ready to leave?”

“I don't know.”

Adrie frowned. “What do you mean, you don't know?”

“Oh, Adrie, I can't leave this dog here. They're going to shoot him.”

“Why are they going to shoot him?”

“Because he's not vicious enough to be a police dog, that's why.” I waited for a response, but Adrie looked befuddled, so I pressed on. “He's a beautiful, lovable puppy, and they're going to kill him. Can we take him with us?”

“No, we can't. We absolutely cannot!”

“Please . . .”

“It is selfish to take on a dog during wartime. The dog has to be fed, and that takes food away from our soldiers.” She gestured for me to go to the door.

“Adrie, I'd willingly go without food myself to feed him. Just look at him.” I pointed to him cuddled so sweetly in my lap. “He doesn't want to be vicious or to kill. He only wants to be loved.”

“It's impossible. Where would we keep him? Who would take care of him?”

“I would, of course! Oh, please, please, Adrie.”

“No. Absolutely not.” She headed for the door, expecting me to follow.

I didn't move. “I found a puppy who needs a friend, just like I do. I don't know anyone here in Germany. I have no friends. I can't speak German. I would be so happy if I could have this dog.” The pup looked up at Adrie and yawned sleepily. “The officer said I could have him. So please, please let me take him home. We can't leave him here to be shot.”

Adrie sighed and rolled her eyes. “I never should have let you wait for me here with these puppies. I thought you'd find it interesting, but I never expected . . .” She took ahold of my arm and pulled me up. “Come on. We're leaving—without that dog!”

The puppy, who had slipped off my lap onto the floor, sat and watched us with the saddest expression. “No, I'm not going.” I dropped to my knees and threw both arms around the dog. “I won't leave him to be shot.”

“So you're telling me that you are going to stay here, by yourself, if I don't let you have that dog. Is that what you're saying?” Adrie's anger was about to erupt.

“Adrie,” I pleaded. “I've come here to Germany to be
with you. I gave up my family and friends to be with you. I crossed the ocean in a U-boat that was torpedoed, because I wanted to be with you. I'm asking only that you will let me have this dog. I will take care of him, I promise! I'll clean up after him, walk him, train him, and do everything. You won't even know he's around. Oh, don't you see? I . . . I need him. And he needs me, too.”

Surprisingly, the SS Officer who had taken me on the tour of the facility spoke up. “This dog would make a good pet,” he said to Adrie. “He's not vicious and it looks like they've taken to each other.”

Adrie replied angrily in German and shook her finger in his face.

The officer put his hand up for her to stop and barked at her in English, “For the love of God, shut up and let her have the dog!”

Adrie looked stunned. Then as if conceding defeat, she shrugged. “Oh, all right. I guess we can take him.”

“Thank you, thank you!” I jumped to my feet and reached out to Adrie, who allowed herself to be hugged. “I promise I'll take him for walks and feed him and brush him . . . and . . .”

“Yes, you will,” Adrie agreed, shoving me away. “And without one single complaint.”

“I promise! I promise!”

I
sat in the backseat of the car with the puppy on my lap. He was sweet, and every so often he looked up happily and lapped my hands or my face. I thought of my daddy back home, and how he always wanted a German shepherd.

Adrie was silent, and I was worried about her attitude toward me—and my puppy—once we got home. I hoped she was so happy with the car, she would forget about being angry with me.

Adrie finally looked at me through the rearview mirror. “We have an invitation to tea at three o'clock, and I have made a reservation. Ironically, it is a mother-and-daughter affair, and the first time ever you and I could go to something like this as mother and daughter. But now you have this dog. So what will we do with him while we attend the tea?”

I didn't care about a tea party at all, but I could tell it was important to Adrie. “Can't we just leave him in the car with the windows open a bit?”

“I don't want him clawing the upholstery, or messing in the car!”

“I'll come out and take him for walks,” I said. “We won't be gone long, will we?”

“I don't know how long we'll be gone, and I don't want to hurry. There are girls there your age who are daughters of my friends. You said you had no friends, so this is your chance—and the girls are waiting to meet you.”

We pulled in to the driveway of a large restaurant and drove to the back, where several other cars were parked. Adrie pulled off the pavement and stopped near a grove of trees. Then we opened the windows just enough for my puppy to get a sniff of air.

Adrie locked the car, and we headed into the restaurant. I looked back and could see my pup watching me from the window. His eyes were sad, and I could hear him whining.

Inside, a waitress dressed in a
dirndl
dress and apron led us into a private banquet room where a group of women and girls were mingling and talking. There were only women there, and most of the daughters were younger than I was—under ten, I was sure. There were only a few girls my age.

I felt ill at ease and awkward. I knew Adrie would have to explain that I spoke only English since I was brought up in the United States. I was sure that fact would immediately make enemies for me.

Adrie put her arm around me and introduced me to various women she knew. I just curtsied and smiled as Adrie had advised earlier. I could tell many women were surprised to learn that Adrie had a daughter at all. Then she had to explain that I was her daughter from America and that I did not speak German.

Adrie wasn't intimidated by questions. I knew she was telling them about our trip across the Atlantic in a submarine when she used the word
Unterseeboot
.

When they heard this and asked many questions, Adrie translated for me.

How exciting that I had had a trip in the
Unterseeboot
. Had I been afraid? Did I get seasick?

When would I join the girls' youth group?

One of the women, Frau Himmelman, asked another question, and when Adrie answered
“vierzehn,”
I recognized, from the few German courses I'd taken in school, the word
fourteen
.

She must have asked my age, because Adrie answered, “Fourteen.”

I tapped Adrie's arm. “You forgot. I'll be fifteen next week.”

“That's right.” Adrie laughed and corrected herself.
“Fünfzehn heute. Geburtstag.”

This brought a chorus of congratulations and a few kisses on my cheek.

“Alles Gute zum Geburtstag.”

Immediately the woman beckoned two teenage girls who were watching from across the room.
“Kommt hier her.”

The two girls looked at each other, raised their eyebrows, and sauntered over to the group.

Adrie whispered, “She wants to introduce you since they're your age.”

Once again, the German words flew around. The girls quickly smirked, and I nodded, not knowing what was being said other than an introduction.

Adrie then explained in English. “This is Rikka, Frau Himmelman's daughter. She belongs to the young German girls' group.” Rikka was tall and slim as a rake handle, and her tight curly brown hair looked as if she just had gotten a permanent wave. She smiled at me and stepped back. Both girls wore the
dirndl
dresses so popular in Germany. I wished that I had worn mine.

“This is Gertrude Ernst,” Adrie said, gesturing to the other girl whose thick braids wound around her head and framed her perfectly round face. “And this is Frau Ernst, her mother. She is a pediatric doctor.”

Frau Ernst smiled and nodded, then reached out to bring her daughter closer to our group.

I almost laughed when I saw the resemblance between Gertrude and her mother. Both wore braids circling their heads, and their round faces both reminded me of gingerbread men—same smile, same raisin eyes.

Almost immediately Gertrude burst into a string of loud, fast sentences. Frau Ernst poked her daughter, but the girl kept talking.

When Gertrude stopped for a breath, Adrie spoke rapidly in German, and I noticed a tone of annoyance in her
voice. The grown-ups looked at one another with raised eyebrows as the two girls turned abruptly and went back to their former place at the end of the room.

Frau Ernst, looking embarrassed, spoke softly to Adrie. I recognized a familiar German word:
Entschuldigung
. I remembered that word only too well. It meant, apologize. I was sure Gertrude had said something rude to me, and now her mother was apologizing to Adrie.

These girls are mean and catty—just like that group of girls in Maine.
I hoped never have to see them again.

Still, I wondered what Gertrude had said.

I
was relieved when Adrie finally suggested we go home. I prayed there would be no more tea parties for me to attend, especially any with Rikka and Gertrude.