Spirit of the Nation ★ Female America

12. Krummes Holz

March 24, 2003

Undisclosed Residence

Bavarian Alps

"Scheisse," Germany breathed.

I sat up in the passenger's seat and looked around. The picturesque cabin in the woods was piled high with snow, with a mountain stream quietly gurgling nearby. Old spruce trees climbed the hill behind it, between which lay glimpses of snow-capped mountain peaks.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"No wood."

My eyes darted to the empty log sled on the porch. It was only then that I noticed the power lines from the highway had stopped following us a while back. I glanced at the cooler full of groceries in the back seat, suddenly realizing how much work was ahead of us.

Inside was freezing. The small cabin was sparsely decorated, but there wasn't a spec of dust to be seen. A large brick hearth sat in the living room along with an upright piano. Though there was no oven in the kitchen, I was relieved to see a sink with running well water.

"Old school," I said over my shoulder, drying my hand on my jeans.

His breath clouded in front of him as he set down a heavy luggage. "Ja," he said, slightly embarrassed.

"I don't mind."

Then began the hunt for the ax. I meandered into the bedroom as he double-checked the more likely locations. My eyes scanned the corners of the room and behind the furniture. I finally found it in a dusty corner of the dim closet. It was an old, sturdy thing with a long handle. Suddenly distracted, I stood at the bottom of the bed and folded my hands on the cold ax head.

The slightly rumpled sheets were the only sign of life in the pristine room. I pictured who might have used the room last. Perhaps a previous rendezvous. Perhaps with Austria.

I tapped on Germany's shoulder as he searched the coat closet again. He sighed in relief at the sight of the ax.

I held it out to him. "I'll have hot coffee waiting."

He took it with a nod.

The thud of the ax outside mirrored the chop of my knife on the cutting board. In the fireplace, small flames from newspapers licked at an old, charred pile of logs. Performing such wholesome tasks would usually put a smile on my face, but today, I felt nothing at all.

By twilight, the kitchen and living room were mostly shadows. We ate soup on the couch by the light of the fire, now roaring with freshly cut logs. Perhaps out of nervousness, Germany continued to ramble about the goings-on in Europe I had missed to fill my long silences. Or perhaps he sensed that I longed for diversion of any kind.

On his way to the kitchen, he took my half-eaten bowl of soup. "Finished...?"

"Yeah. Thanks."

"Would you like a drink?"

"Please."

He rinsed our dishes and then searched through the cupboards with a flashlight. "Beer okay?"

"Sure."

As I waited, my unoccupied mind began to fill with dark thoughts. I pushed them away, blinking rapidly to fight off the tears that accompanied every sunset. I accepted the glass of beer gratefully when it came. Though it wasn't exactly ice cold, it was thankfully strong enough to take my breath away.

Before he sat down, I gestured to the piano left of the fireplace. "Do you play?"

In response, he set his drink on top of the instrument. Taking a seat, he tested the keys for dust and then settled his fingers in place. A soft, bittersweet tune filled the room.