(COLD/Posting #12). Surviving with unexpected 'wolf' help from tribesman, Ewald reads another Nanra prediction and uses her a special drug-root to get relief.

(COLD/Posting #12)

(Ewald receives food from a tribesman, before he’s back in the wilds again…)

Breakfast was served up – goat’s milk and oats. Then he gave me a hot drink of coffee-like substance, which gave me some instant energy to gather up my gear and travel rails. What was in that drink?

After that meal, the man knew I would begin to leave. Being 'soft,’ taking one night off was fine, I determined, but spending much more time than that away from my jaunt in sub-zero weather would start to strip me of all the body’s defenses, everything it had developed against such powerful elements.

Dressing myself in multiple layers, and my packing, required that I place myself in the cold doorway – door open a crack, no more – because the process itself was causing me to sweat. The man understood and helped me complete the tasks quicker than I might have accomplished them on my own. Before I left we shook hands hastily, and he moved in close to kiss the sides of my face. I felt love for this man and it seemed he cared for me also. Once he understood my intimate connection with Nanra, I had been fully accepted as his friend, maybe even a family member. He had appreciated the wolf meat we shared for dinner and had, in return, given me a bag of grains and nuts. So I departed with a good new supply of food, plus my sixth remaining dumpling still semi-defrosted and ready for use sometime up the path.

We both waved again when I’d walked a hundred feet or so. I watched him turn and head back to his cabin door, to shut it against the cold wind. His final gift to me had been a paper map showing another settlement about fifty kilometers further northeast. He had carefully made a series of marks, with a symbol next to a certain cabin. He seemed to be passing me along to another friend, giving me a sense that I could get more food and lodging when I arrived there. Nanra's outreach of love and friendship spread out many more kilometers than I could have imagined.

By noon I had covered a good deal of distance, and that felt good. I was back into my pace of moving toward home via the port of Murmansk. And while I hadn't completely dropped my guard against wolves, I had discarded a certain level of fear that had invaded my mind before the night spent inside. That had been an important break in my journey. Shedding fear was as crucial as getting food. So I mentally thanked the man and also gave verbal thanks to Nanra. I actually shouted out her name to the treetops for being such a good, long-distance wife. There was no echo to my shout, but it was reassuring to hear my own voice radiate out for a second, before the snowy landscape froze it into silence. Again, as had happened in the last few days, snow started falling around midday. I knew it was coming because I had felt the warming of air before the sky opened up. Warmer temperatures were welcome, but the new, white groundcover turning wet would make it harder to walk. I slowed myself down so as not to spend unnecessary energy . And I devoured pelmeni number six. So 18/5 it was! Even though my schedule of days-versus-pelmeni had slipped, I still believed I could hit the magic number 21.

But if not, who cared? Trying was as good as succeeding, I told myself. A person needed to feel good about themselves to survive! Survival was mental, Nanra had communicated repeatedly, using drawings and her expressive sign language (holding her head as if sick, then smiling brightly after pointing to her skull). And I heeded her advice once again.

Stay in tune with the white world, she had explained. Singing and wrapping herself in a white cloth, mimicking snow falling with cut up confetti, using the words I learned meant snow, all gave me the education I needed. When color-of- ground becomes green, you can run all you like!

I slowed down my walk and made more observations, the kind one can make only when moving hesitantly. I tried to appreciate the littlest things. As I inched along I tried to determine exactly the depth of my footprints. Maybe five centimeters? Maybe seven? I didn't plan to stop to measure the depressions, but it helped to alter my consciousness.

During this slowed pace I suddenly became more aware of the old bullet wounds in various parts of my body. My knee was aching where the Russian doctors had set my shot leg (I didn’t know until many years later that they’d failed to set my bones end-to-end, making me one inch shorter on my right leg). And my arm’s wound hurt a little more than the other more vital areas I'd been shot. My butt had a pretty nasty hole where a Gatlin gun bullet had ripped through, and my side ached a bit from the bullet hole in my side. That shot had come close to important organs, so it had been my ‘luckiest’ miss. And even the slug that had shaved part of my nose off while I ducked down in a trench earlier in battle was acting up. Maybe I was feeling the bullet wounds because I had stopped at the man's cabin and enjoyed the extreme warmth. The difference between a mild temperature enclosure and the frigid outside might have affected some residual metal missed by the surgeons. Had they taken out all the fragments of bullets when they operated on me? Probably not. Russian doctors operating on a German soldier might not have been the most diligent. Doctoring a deadly enemy? Some surgeons could certainly be at odds with helping an enemy soldier live to fight and kill another day. I have vague memories of the faces of the doctors and they certainly hadn't given off any warmth toward me as I slipped in and out of consciousness. The ride inside the Russian commander's ambulance had been fairly excruciating, jarring me over and over as it hit potholes on the way back to their main camp. Of course, I had been very thankful to receive treatment, as opposed to being left for dead in the mud. My mother would have been so sad, I suspected, to lose her youngest son.

The snowfall ceased again and I decided to cover a little more ground before nightfall. So I stopped admiring the white-weighted branches, checking the subtleties of snow buildups against tree trunks, hypnotized by the way snow floated through the air. I stopped being a spectator and sped up. And as soon as I reached a certain fast pace I heard my wife. Fast but not too fast, Nanra had warned.

Then suddenly I heard wolves. They were howling somewhere close to where I was standing. It was probably an hour before nightfall. I immediately threw off my pack and grabbed the brace and bit out of its pocket. I spun the drill bit around as fast as I could, then jammed my walking stick into the hole. With a quick tug I freed the tarp and spun it into the air, covering the stick with one motion.

The ‘yaps’ were getting closer.

I did my best to pound in pegs all around the tarp-tent edges, as I looked right and left for the animals rushing toward me. I was done in seconds, just before I spotted the first of the running pack. I dove into the tarp, dragging my supplies in after me. They were almost on me.

I grabbed the laces and cinched them up, then spun off the lid of the stink jar. I didn’t bother with nose plugs.

I heard the animals all around me, barking and howling.

They must have smelled me and were in a very excitable mood, expecting a big meal out of me. Nanra's advice about slowing my heart rate down and trying not to sweat weren't doing much good. But when I thought of never seeing her again, not seeing my family, it immediately made me sad. I rushed to get the fire going, but couldn’t......barely had time to grab my hammer and pistol.

Bam, bam. I hit two paws trying to get at me under the tarp. My attention darted around. I tried to keep my back to the stick. They were attacking from all sides. I was afraid the tarp material would tear with all the paws straining toward me. I tried not to just strike out indiscriminately. My gun was ready and cocked.

Suddenly the tarp caved in.

A wolf dove toward it. I shot my gun right through the material and then spun around to see other animals through the exposed edges. I shot twice more and got one of them. With my shoulders I pushed off the dead wolf and straightened up the stick. As I was preparing for a final fight to the death I heard several other gunshots and watched as one wolf fell, others turning their heads and then scurrying away.

I was shaken, and just lay there, exhausted. Then I heard my new friend’s voice. The man at whose shelter I’d just stayed had been tagging along – maybe he’d been out hunting – and it was he who had rescued me. Never was I happier than to see him approaching.

He put another bullet into the still-alive wolf near my tent and then gave a salutation, Halooo! He had saved me from being killed!

As I rose I nodded with appreciation, weakly waving my hand toward him. He was smiling and proud of his accomplishment, saving a friend of Nanra's. Questions flooded in. How had I missed him as he followed me from the cabin? Why had he decided to protect me so far from his home? How did he know I needed protection? Maybe he knew I was entering wolf country and decided to test his rifle. In any case, I was honored and grateful that a person in this frozen land would risk a long, cold walk to help someone else. Before he left, he helped me gather up my camping items, including rolling up the torn tarp. As he was assisting, I noticed his rifle was an old one. It had a bolt action on the stock, like a 30.06. And he carried two pistols as well. The man knew these woods, that much was certain.

Before departing he gave me one of his pistols and ten extra bullets. I tried to refuse the gift, but he insisted. The present of that gun was like him saying, Although I can't continue with you, I want to make sure you live through any new attacks. More Nanra magic.

It was sad to see my best new friend and savior head back toward his cabin. I watched until he disappeared completely from sight. The wind kicked up around that time, as if to erase any sounds he might have made beyond my view. I kept walking into the twilight, moving slower than usual, then set up my tarp tent again. Even though I had only walked maybe two kilometers farther, I had made a little more progress toward home.

I did some stitching with thick, Nanra- supplied sinew thread, and got the tarp patched up pretty well. After I secured myself inside, with a small fire burning, I gave some more thoughts to the man who had come to my aid. Had he ever suspected that I was German? Did I look German to him? Did my accent or posture, nuance of facial features betray my heritage? Probably. The man's insight was obviously deep, as deep as hers. How, then, could he not know? And if so, why did he still help me? Were not Germans considered deadly enemies of Russia and Russians? Yes. But since the man, along with other tribesmen in the upper reaches of Siberia, considered themselves separate from Russia, maybe they just measured the man. In any case, I had been lucky twice.

The temperature dropped considerably during the night and I ended up piling all my clothes on my legs to try to avoid the severe freeze. Without my small fire I would have been in a very difficult situation. Before I fell asleep I removed another prediction (#3). I needed a diversion. It showed me kissing a woman while Nanra (her trademark scarf drawn over her hair) stood to the side. Garlands of flowers were held over this woman and my head. It could only have meant, You will marry again.

NO!

The exclamation ‘No’ repeatedly shot from my lips, loud even to my own ears. No other wife but you!

It felt like I was being tossed from the hearth into the arms of others, and that hurt me. NO! I will always be faithful to the mother of my child!

But later that night, thinking it over, I saw what Nanra was up to. Her prediction meant that I must survive Siberia, must exist beyond this place, beyond her, beyond the war. She was giving me a life, not taking it away.

I understood.

And thanked her again, bidding her a fond ‘Goodnight.”

***

When morning finally arrived I felt exhausted, and didn't know how much progress I could achieve. I knew I had to walk it off, though, because just sitting around would begin my freezing to death. As I walked I could generate some heat and that would lead to some level of added comfort. So I got myself going by eating a dumpling that I'd defrosted overnight and had warmed somewhat over the fire.

What day was it? 18 or 19? And what dumpling? I looked at the three frozen dumplings I had left and decided to stop counting. I couldn’t be bothered any more with my counting games. From now on a day would just be a day, a dumpling just what was left. Before I emerged from my tent, I had the first bowel movement since having the luxury of shelter a week back. It was a chilly procedure, but I finally got it done and wiped up. The ground was too hard to bury anything, so I just covered it up in the snow to disguise the results. Of course I looked out for any sign of more wolves, but saw none.

I admit that I was now in fear of another attack. I decided to smear some of the stink from the jar on my outer coat. The last attack had pushed me almost to hand-to-paw combat. I shuddered to think about it. Thank you again, my tribal friend. As I began the new day I moved decidedly slower, spinning my tarp off the pole, wrapping it all up and packing things away. Off and walking, I tried to enjoy everything about the morning. The brightness of the sun, rays intermittently popping out through the branches, and the solitariness of being alone, seemed natural at this point. But where were all the other soldiers I had lived with at the camp? Had they all run off in some other direction? Had they all died? I admit I was confused. Why was I the only human, alive or dead, in this particular region of the forest?

The day progressed quickly, as I added a few more kilometers under my belt. I tried to repress my dread of another wolf attack, but wasn’t completely successful. So I diverted my mind by recounting past victories. I hoped reviewing my past would buoy up my resolve. After all, I'd managed to surmount the previous obstacles: trench warfare, serious wounds, Russian hospital treatment, march to Siberia, four years incarceration, not to mention the wolf attacks. It certainly wasn't time to capitulate. But after the attack of wild animals it seemed I was more sensitive to the effects of frigid weather. Why was that? Was I dragging myself into a mental pit as a response to my near death experience with wolves? That was certainly possible. I'd been profoundly shaken. If it was exactly the same temperature as always (-20 to -30), then why did it hurt more, suddenly bother me more?

If the tribal man hadn't shown up when he did, the wolves would have reached me with their sharp teeth and started biting. That much was fact. And once wounded, I would have had little chance to complete my journey. I imagined just lying there defenseless, getting more infected...and weaker. A sure meal for the next wolf pack. All that – the fear, fighting, and relief of just barely eking through – had probably jarred my mental faculties. But for even this I had a Nanra- prescription.

Nanra had supplied a special root for my journey. At the time, back when I existed in the womb of her cabin, I had examined the bulbous plant, a white-and-grey lump about the size of a small billiard ball. She had explained in half language (I was getting better at understanding her dialect) and half drawings that my brain would be adversely affected by the monotony of being alone. She drew an oval – my head! – with arrows pointing against the skull from every direction. So Nanra had supplied me with the magic root, urging me to take a small bite when my gusto for living or over-sensitivity to cold came upon me. She specified that I only take it inside my tent, so I could sleep afterwards (her stick-figure drawing had a man flat to the ground inside a triangle tent, the root-ball in his mouth). As always, I followed her instructions.

I set my tent pole into the drilled-out hole, threw up the tent, pegged the edges, crawled in with my pack, started a fire, opened the stink-jar and then took a bite of the root. She said that I might feel a little dizzy, even a little giddy, and for a while I did. When the full strength of the root took hold, it seemed that the cold weather was just a funny aspect of my world. In fact, everything was suddenly funny.

Funny wolves, funny man helping me, funny frozen world. What the root did was to instantly force serious thoughts out of my head. As things became funnier, almost hilarious, I felt like laughing out loud. So what if it was getting dark (ha, ha!)? And who cared about wolves (HA!)? Let them come (HA, HA!). And I experienced warmth. A coziness encircled me and suddenly I didn’t feel so alone. At some point, I passed out into a solid sleep.

Fortunately wolves didn't ruin my dream time, for if they had, I believe the journal would have ended here.

***

I awoke with all the good feelings I had experienced still intact. As I packed up, I greatly enjoyed the bright sun glaring off the snow and trees, the fresh air swirling around me. All now seemed to exist just to make me happy (a selfish thought, I know). I had a renewed sense of self, thanks to Nanra's magic plant. Once again I headed eastward, but now with a lighter step. Because I was still a little drunk I knew I should hold off before using the powerful plant again. Because of the fresh layer of snow, I decided it was time to make use of Nanra’s addition to my supplies – snow shoes. She had inserted this important gear almost invisibly into my pulling sled, incorporating the 20” oblong, leather tethered shoes as sides for holding in the contents that rode above the rails. With some undoing of cords they came loose, and I fitted them over my boots. Everything made such perfect sense on this particularly bright morning.

After what probably amounted to two hours I suddenly came upon many mounds in the snow. Upon first seeing them from about two hundred feet away I didn't figure on them being human. At closer inspection, though, it was clear that they held human remains, men who had succumbed to the frigid temperatures. I prodded a few of them with my walking stick and, though I couldn't be sure, it seemed these men could be from my prison group. The clothes were similar– rag-like shirts and layers of cloth in the same blue fabric that was prevalent for our enlisted men. My compatriots and I, the officers section of the facilities, had more recognizable coats. But the enlisted men had to barter for layers of cloth in an attempt to build up protection against the cold. The frozen corpses I encountered this day had those defining characteristics. So what to conclude?

Ten dead prisoners, all in the same small enclosure of the woods, made me think that they were either attacked by wolves or felled by other men. Or, perhaps, as a less dramatic scenario, they could have just frozen where they slept, surrounded by their friends. If these were some of the enlisted men from my camp, they had lasted fairly long; six weeks. My two-month stay with Nanra, plus three more weeks (how long had I been walking?), equaled eleven weeks of surviving unpredictable weather before their weakened state. No food or real shelter had gotten the best of them. I felt a sadness that this had been their demise, but also acknowledged silently that they were now out of reach of further pain and suffering. No more nights of wondering when wolves would attack. No more nights of intolerable cold.

Before nightfall, I discovered many more mounds along my path. Maybe fifty or seventy- five. The snowfall from the previous two days had given all the men a somewhat uniform size and shape, though, upon closer examination some corpses were more contorted than others. And I did get frightened when I found a few bodies half- eaten. That reminded me to remain vigilant. It was certainly no time to get sloppy with my lookout skills. Seeing more and more mounds of my fallen comrades, frozen probably where they fell, it made me wonder why so many had collectively died there. I mentally retraced my initial steps from the camp. I had walked due South, just to see if I could reach warmer temperatures. Most of the men I had seen running through the gates had headed due east, toward the sunrise. I guessed, in their hysterical state, unprepared as they were, they just ran toward the glow like moths to a flame. Because I had walked south a few days later than the big exodus, their two-day head start had given them time to not only suffer cold nights, but also correct their direction to a more southerly route. And because the soldiers had traveled in packs, that social order had propelled them much beyond normal levels of endurance. If it had been a contest of survival, to see who could travel the farthest, then these men were among the final victors. Winners unto death.

I didn't bother to search their remains for tools, weapons, or other things. Thanks to Nanra I neither needed such things, nor wanted to waste energy in such a haphazard endeavor. The entombed men would remain accompanied by their final possessions, however scant. I took a last look at the surrounding monuments to my fellow Germans’ perseverance, and gave them a silent prayer. After pounding in the tent pegs, I crawled in, dragging my supplies behind me. Once warmed with my fire (I made a note to acquire more dry grass for fire-starting), I gave more thought to all the soldiers killed in action. So Many. What a horrible waste.

The fire flickered and I added more fuel. Wind buffeted the tarp and made me aware of the changing weather patterns. I looked out through the peepholes and spotted the swaying branches of nearby trees. Even though the peepholes were barely a half-inch wide, freezing air struck hard against my face. I pulled back, returning to the flames. As wind increased, smoke sped toward the laces. I hadn't opened the stink jar yet. Didn’t the wind disperse my human scent satisfactorily? So widely that wolves couldn’t determine my location? The question lingered.

Flames danced. I thought awhile. I reconsidered. Suddenly. my faulty thinking was apparent. NO! They can still find me! I spun the lid off and, as if that weren’t enough, proceed to smear some directly on my jacket. I felt the need to be overly cautious.

As the wind buffeted the tent fabric it brought me more paranoia. People were dead on all sides and nature was finishing up. I guessed I was last on the list of nature’s jobs. Once I was killed off and eaten then the work would be done. No more lost Germans wandering around in the pure white snow, littering the place. No more mess. Oh, wasn’t I the obstinate one, the odd soul who refused to behave? How long could I refuse the blanket of freezing death, go ahead with the long sleep?

15.

Morning again. I was still here. How to get a hold on time? How to understand and digest my journey when I was in the middle of it? Maybe it was time to become less thoughtful. Maybe I was being too hard on myself with so many memories. I might be losing energy by such ruminating. I tried to remember if Nanra had communicated anything about “thinking to much.” Probably.

I packed up (it seemed like it took longer...) and started back on my impossibly-long hike. Curious. Here I was, walking again in -20 degree weather, which hurt any exposed flesh. I touched my nose occasionally, worried about frostbite. And I remembered caution just in time to slow my steps. Again I had been speeding along, moving much too fast. And I’d been double-thinking too. Was the ‘dizzy root’ still affecting me? Did I care? Since I had thought myself in a circle anyway, I decided to take another bite of the drug root. Soon I was again reeling with humor at my deadly situation. Hilarious. I was side-stepping mounds of dead bodies, looking out for wolves, eating the last one of my dumplings, walking through frozen snow, and it all was funny.

Ha, ha, ha.

Easier than usual, I could put one foot in front of another and withstand the bitter cold. All the mounds of dead soldiers trying to get home, now asleep in their eternal beds. HA! No funeral expenses, nor coffins to be fashioned out of wood by careful carpenters. Better off for everyone.

Things seemed less funny again as I approached a sun-bleached noontime. The cold was making my toes hurt. Not funny at all. What was left of my toes after the surgeon removed the tips wasn't much, but the small stumps still had some sensitivity . Nanra had packed specially treated cloth, to jam into the front of my shoes to keep the pain and pressure at a minimum. That had helped quite a bit. But there were times, like this, when all my attention went to the missing parts. As the drug-root continued to wear off, my hike reverted to its usual monotonous activity. More trees, more snow, more mounds – nothing like the hundreds of dead a few kilometers back, but some. Just like the previous time I took the root drug, I had problem readjusting to ‘normal.’ It had been hard to find my bearings, which told me to back off. I made a pledge to save it for something much more serious, much more important.

By late afternoon clouds and overcast were back and I felt sad that I hadn't fully appreciated the earlier sunshine. I’d been using my slit glasses and that was an uncomfortable aspect of traveling (the constant weight of glasses sliding around on my nose was an annoyance). But no wolves, so I tried to appreciate that crucial fact. I stopped early, before the sky completely closed down, and set up my tent near a very tall birch. After dragging my pack inside I re-emerged, taking a short survey of the neighborhood.

Look at that pinecone, I said to myself. Isn't it intricate? I tried to look at small things, the smallest, in fact, to see if I could calm my scrambled mental state. Does this snow look thicker? I asked myself various stupid questions for maybe twenty minutes before total darkness made it imperative to return to the tent. Inside, I unscrewed the stink jar. It was time to follow my informal list-for-survival, doing everything necessary to protect myself. The stink smelled more hideous than before. I lit a fire, made a mental note again to get more dry grass, and watched as smoke drifted toward the entrance. Good. Everything was going well. It was still freezing, but I was getting back in control.

Though I felt like taking another bite from the drug-root, I fought off that urge. I wanted to be silly, not serious, but silly would ultimately get me killed. Did I want my own six-foot mound? Was it time to die? After so much surviving was it fair to just quit now, before I could arrive home and shout, HERE I AM! What a pleasure that would be, to show up as a living son and witness mother's acknowledgement. Yes, I did turn out credibly, I was a worthy member of the family. And wouldn't my brothers be proud of me. I would show them that the runt of the family could also be a good soldier. It certainly was worth all the trouble of staying alive. And to do that I had to stay alert, and avoid taking the root. Its effects were that strong and desirable.

(To be continued…)

—————

(COLD/Posting #13 next)

https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/cold-the-1918-19-siberian-escape-of-captain-ewald-loeffler-rick-schmidt/1125870566

https://imusic.br.com/books/9781366437877/rick-schmidt-2024-cold-the-1918-19-siberian-escape-of-captain-ewald-loeffler-paperback-book