VI
After the Belgian soldier had marched away with Pierrot, hard times fell upon the little dairy farm of the Van Huyks. Soon the Germans came and drove off their one heifer, and there was no more milk or butter for them. They also took all of the wheat and most of the rye that was in the barn. There was still a little wheat in the field that Gran’père had not had time to bring in. They all turned out and gleaned every grain of this and Mère Marie hid it under the floor of the house together with what little had been left in the barn. All of their chickens were taken, too, and there was not much left for them to eat. The Germans were not rough with them and gave them a paper in payment for the things they had taken, but this would not buy food.
Mère Marie, fearing the German soldiers, kept Henri and Lisa closely indoors, and she herself seldom went far from home. Only old Gran’père went out and got the news and came back walking very proudly but with never anything good to tell. The Germans were still pressing on, but Gran’père did not despair. The Belgians had fought bravely, as Belgians should, and they would be delivered out of the hands of the despoiler. But Mère Marie was less hopeful. She very seldom got any sort of news of Père Jean, and so many women were mourning their dead that she became very sad and frightened, especially after she learned that Joseph Verbeeck had been killed by a bursting shell. She also heard other things from the lips of her panic-stricken neighbours which made her shudder and draw wee Lisa very close.
Again the Germans came a few weeks later and searched the house and outbuildings for anything they might find useful. They did not discover Mère Marie’s little hoard, and one of the soldiers, who seemed to be an officer, became very angry and talked very loud, though they could not understand him. When he went out to the barn he broke down the door with his foot, though Henri would have shown him how to open it.
But one of the soldiers was not so unkind. He stood apart, seeming to be standing guard at the door, and when the officer swore he appeared not to approve, though he said nothing. He was a young Bavarian, with a round, smooth-shaven face and eyes very far apart, and with the heavy red hands of a peasant. Something about him attracted little Lisa, and when Mère Marie was occupied with the other soldiers the child slipped out unnoticed and went up to him.
Nobody had ever had occasion to instruct wee Lisa as to the iniquity of staring, and she stood now with frankly curious eyes gazing full on the soldier’s broad face. He looked almost like an overgrown toy as he stood there so straight with his heels close together and his round red face appearing so abruptly above his gray coat with its shiny rows of brass buttons. She hesitated to break the spell that seemed to have turned this ruddy man into a wooden image, but the soldier could not long withstand her intent scrutiny and gradually his face relaxed into a smile.
It was a very pleasant smile and it gave Lisa a warm feeling inside. It suddenly occurred to her that this was the first genuine, unforced smile she had seen for some time. Surely these German soldiers weren’t such terrible monsters, after all. Indeed, one could easily learn to like this one.
Of course wee Lisa was not old enough to know that if all Germans were Bavarian peasants, and all Russians were Polish moujiks, there would be no war at all.