Read The Major's Daughter for Free Online Page B

right, back to work,” one of the guards, Private Mitchell, said when Gerhard returned with the horse. “We’ll be here until nightfall at this rate.”
    Gerhard turned the horse in the clearing they had forged at the base of the small rise. Flies swarmed all over the poor animal, and the horse flicked his tail and lifted his hind leg to brush them away. The horse’s name was Bob. Gerhard, the only farmer among them, had immediately taken charge of the animal. Gerhard was a solid, doleful character, who happened to be one of three Austrians among the prisoners. August felt a natural affection for him. He had known many men like him back in his home country—good, honest souls with square heads, men whose hands worked the soil and woodlands. Often Gerhard spoke longingly of the dogs he left behind, a breed he had fashioned himself by crossing wolfhounds and spaniels. He called them
bread-dogs
,
kruh
-hounds, and he outlined the animal’s family tree as though they were human relatives.
    â€œAsk them if we work on Easter, too,” William said.
    William was tall and skinny, with bad skin and a long nose above teeth too prominent for his narrow face.
    August called the question up to the guards. The guards did not seem to know the answer. They discussed it for a moment before the second guard, Private Ouellette, responded that he didn’t think so.
    â€œAgainst the Geneva Conventions,” Hans said, picking up the saw and extending the other end to Howard, the last member of their crew. Howard and Hans had similar builds, short and blocky, and they had both been meatcutters in civilian life. They went everywhere together, and talked about their trade before the war, and how, in time, the meat had grown rarer and coarser. Their discussion of meat seemed to be endlessly fascinating to them; they seemed determined to ride out the internment together.
    â€œThey must observe holidays. It’s mandatory,” Howard said.
    â€œYou put too much faith in the Geneva Conventions,” Hans said. “They can bloody well do what they like with us.”
    â€œNot if they want their own boys looked after.”
    â€œThere’s a lot of ocean between here and there.”
    Listening, August wondered if anyone knew what the Geneva Conventions permitted or disallowed. Everyone talked about them as if they knew them to the last letter, but he doubted anyone in the barracks had ever read them. He certainly hadn’t. Nevertheless, it was a magic wand that entered every conversation, used however it was needed for the moment. The Nazis in the camp laughed at the mention of the Geneva Conventions. They claimed such covenants were for weaklings.
    August began limbing the next tree, a thick spruce with a sharply braided trunk. He used a broadax, chopping the smaller branches easily. Once he had the tree cleared of obstacles, Hans and Howard would saw it into five-meter lengths. Finally they would attach a chain to the trees and drag them down to the landing. From there a truck would eventually come and transport them to the mills in Berlin. But the truck would not come until they had a sufficient load, and so the day went round and round, not unpleasantly, but not easily, either. The work satisfied August, at least to some degree. It was straightforward and uncomplicated; it required none of the moral philosophizing that the war had carried with it day to day.
    They worked until four o’clock. It was only their fourth day on the job, and August felt his legs tremble as he joined the crew for the walk back to camp. He felt hot and sweaty, and his hands stung horribly from blisters. In time, perhaps, they would grow accustomed to the work, but for the time being he marveled at the exhaustion that poured through his body. The guards, fortunately, behaved sensibly: they did not force the Germans to move faster than necessary.
    In fact, the guards gave them permission to wash in Mill Stream, the