Chapter 3: Basterds and a Bear Jew

In this Chapter:

· An abandoned country house

· Introductions

· Donny

The house that the Basterds were squatting in was an abandoned country home a few miles from the Marigold place. It had felt like such a long walk to Elsie, whose diet for the past week had consisted solely of river water and apples. She never wanted to see another apple again. As she began to lag behind, Donny had taken it upon himself to offer to carry her, the small smile on his face showing he was only joking if she thought he was. She had declined, but hadn't been able to keep from returning the smile.

The men were now spread out in the living room and kitchen, some scouring the place for any food besides their rations, while Elsie scouted out the tiny bathroom and it's even smaller bathtub. The place still had running water at least. That was a miracle in itself.

While she quickly bathed in the tepid water, there was a knock at the door.

"Uh..." she began, not sure what to say.

"I found some clothes in the bedroom. Thought you might need some," Donny said, from the other side of the door.

"Oh. Thanks. Just, uh, pass them through."

He stuck his arm in the room and she saw that he was covering his eyes with his free hand.

"I ain't lookin', I swear," he told her.

"I can see that," she smiled. She stood up and grabbed the piece of cloth she had decided would work as a makeshift towel, wrapping it around herself. She took the clothes from Donny and pushed gently against the door to close it.

"Alright, I'm goin', I'm goin'," he told her, taking the hint.

"Oh wait," she said, recalling her borrowed jacket, "Can you give this back to Wilhelm? Tell him I said 'Danke'."

"Tell him you said 'donkey'?"

"Never mind."

Donny left her to get dressed while he moved back into living room. He threw the jacket to Wilhelm and attempted to relay Elsie's message.

"She said to say 'dunk-something'?"

"Danke," Wilhelm guessed as he took a swig from the bottle of wine he had discovered in the kitchen cupboard, "She knows German."

"Why the fuck would she need to know German for?" Donny asked as he sat down heavily in an armchair.

"It came in handy when I was yelling insults at the Nazis," a voice answered.

All of the men turned their heads to see Elsie standing in the doorway. She was dressed in the items Donny had passed through: a long-sleeved, cream-colored cotton shirt, dark brown pants and a light brown woolen coat; all of which were men's clothes. They were loose on her, but the leather belt helped some with that. Apparently the farmer who had owned the house had not been married, so the men's ensemble would have to make do. It was warm at least, and that's all that really mattered to her in the cool, evening air, though her wet and washed hair wasn't helping much. She was taken aback by the sudden amount attention, glancing from face to face until she spotted the open bottle of wine. She wasn't much of a drinker, as she had informed Colonel Landa, but she felt that considering the circumstances, she could allow herself a mouthful or two. Following her gaze, Wilhelm passed her the bottle before relaxing back into the sagging sofa and lighting up a cigarette. The other soldiers continued to watch as she drank, and only broke their gaze when Aldo walked into the room.

"A'right, let's eat," he said.

The Basterds rarely ever sat down to eat together; they either ate on the move, or wherever they happened to collapse at the time. But in light of their newest member, Aldo thought it might be best to ease her into things.

The lieutenant sat at the head of the table; Elsie to his left and Donny to his right. Elsie sat beside a man who had introduced himself as Smithson Utivich. He now looked incredibly uneasy in her presence. Glancing around the table, Elsie realized that nearly all the soldiers carried the same expression, with the exception of Aldo and Wilhelm, who was calmly smoking at the other end of the table. She also realized that if she didn't say something soon, this was how they would always be around her.

"Will someone please fucking say something?" she finally said, emphasizing the curse word to assure them that they didn't have to hold back in front of her; there really didn't seem any point in manners. It was as if the entire room let out a breath of relief and the tension seemed to dissipate.

"Oh, thank fuck!" Donny cried. Sitting in the unbearable silence, he had been hoping for someone to break it before he would have to. Silence wasn't the Bostonian's strong point.

Elsie knew that the others were trying to be gentlemen in her presence, but she couldn't stand it. This was a group of men; a group of soldiers for crying out loud! If they weren't swearing at each, reminiscing about Nazis they had killed, or even throwing her the occasional lecherous stare, they just weren't soldiers. These boys weren't in their element right now, but they could at least not feel like they were going to offend her by being themselves.

"Now, 'fore we start eatin'," Aldo began, a number of spoons clattering back down beside bowls, "I'd like to introduce ya 'round. These are the men yer gon' be fightin' alongside, it's best ya get ta know 'em. Ya already know Donny, here."

The Boston-born Basterd smiled, a playful glint in his eye.

"Next ta him ya got Privates Michael Zimmerman and Simon Sackowitz."

Zimmerman gave a polite nod, while Sackowitz gave a little wave.

"Then ya got Private Hirschberg on the end there."

"Gerold," the shortest Basterd told her, and she smiled.

Aldo shot him a look for interrupting then said, "And ya know Corporal Wicki down there."

Wilhelm gave a nod of acknowledgment, blowing smoke out the side of his mouth. Elsie watched, momentarily transfixed by the man's intense gaze.

"Next ta him's Private Omar Ulmar."

Elsie furrowed her brow as she tried to repeat the name, "Omar Ulmar?"

"It's a mouthful," the owner agreed with a shrug, "Just call me Omar."

"Then Private Andy Kagan," Aldo continued, "And you know Utivich, so that's about it. Questions?"

Elsie glanced around at each of the men once more, paused, then said, "What exactly are you boys, anyway?"

"We're all Jewish and we're all mad as fuck," Donny answered.

Elsie looked at Aldo. As far as she knew, he wasn't Jewish.

"I put this group together as a type o' guerrilla outfit. We basically just move from town to town, wipin' out all the krauts," Aldo explained.

"You don't work on orders?"

He cocked his head, "Not exactly."

The Basterds quickly began to look more relaxed, chatter gradually picking up in volume now that they could enjoy their meal (if that's what you'd call the stale portions of bread and questionable looking soup).

"Where're you from?" Utivich asked from beside her.

"Can't you tell?" she asked. He paused for a moment to attempt a guess, but gave up and shook his head.

"Louisiana," she replied.

"That's what it is!" Donny said, through a mouthful of bread

"What 'what' is?"

He swallowed what was in his mouth. "That weird fuckin' accent. It makes sense now."

"I'm half Cajun," she told them, "It's sort of why I ended up in France after my folks passed."

Aldo glanced at her as she said this, but remained silent, listening in to the conversations around him.

"I've never heard that accent before, either," Wilhelm admitted, "It threw me off a bit when you were calling down from the tree."

"Please never mention that tree again," Elsie groaned. She had pulled out a lot of splinters in the bathtub.

Wilhelm chuckled at her grimace, but his input into the conversation had jogged Donny's memory. He had a question he'd been meaning to ask her from earlier:

"Why do you know German, by the way?"

"I picked it up. It comes in handy nowadays."

Donny glared at her suspiciously for a moment, "You're not a kraut in disguise, are you?"

She stared at him. "If I was, why would I say 'yes'?"

"She's got a point," Utivich agreed.

"Ya'll have gone from thirteen goin' on fourteen, goin' on to Nazism?" Aldo asked, wiping his mouth on a napkin.

"I'd rather die," Elsie scowled, "Which I guess is the right answer if I'm going to take you up on your offer. So where do I sign up?"

"That's what I want to hear," Aldo said, slapping her proudly on the back, causing her to choke on her mouthful of bread. The boys laughed.

Though admittedly impressed by the girl's ability to wipe out several squads of German troops on her own, Donny still had his reservations.

"Whaddya know about guns?" he asked her.

"They kill people," Elsie answered.

Donny smiled and replied sarcastically, "Well, ain't you just a bucket o' laughs."

"You asked."

"You know how to fire one?"

She threw him a look. He had, after all, just walked through a field full of answers to that question.

"You know how to bludgeon a guy to death?" Donny asked with a dangerous glint in his eye and a small half-smile. Now he had her attention.

"That I don't know," she replied.

"Do you know how to scalp a guy?" Kagan asked from the other end of the table. The men had fallen silent as they listened in.

But Kagan's question had thrown her.

"No…but I'm a willing pupil. Now that I think of it, it can't be much harder than beheading a man. I just have to take a little less off the top."

There was another round of laughter and Donny looked to his lieutenant. Aldo gave him a brief nod as though he had just proven a point, and the sergeant smirked. He had been a little skeptical about bringing a woman on board, but this one continued to surprise him.

When it came time for them to hit the hay, everyone looked for a spot to call their own. Aldo had already sanctioned himself the small bed in the house, which he had first offered to Elsie. She refused, not wanting to be treated any better than the others, thus earning even more points with the men.

She moved around the house to find somewhere else. The floor would be fine; hell, anywhere was better than a damn tree. Donny had claimed the long couch, Wilhelm was on the armchair and the others were spread around on the floor, most of them already asleep. Despite feeling sore and exhausted, Elsie knew she would have trouble getting to sleep; the image of her dead grandparents burned into her memory, ready to be relived the second she closed her eyes. She sat down in front of the small, lit fireplace with her knees pulled up to her chest, careful not to wake Hirschberg, who lay nearby.

Deep in thought, she didn't hear Donny get up from the couch and sit down beside her. She was staring into the fire, watching the flames dance over the burning wood, reminded of the smoldering wreck that had once been her home. Donny waited quietly for her to speak; a rare gesture from the otherwise rowdy man. If it had been any of the men, he would've told them to 'lay the fuck down and sleep'.

When her eyes finally did flick up to meet his, she forced the corner of her mouth up into a lopsided smile, but she didn't look very happy.

"You weren't alone out there, were ya?" he asked.

"No. My grandparents...the Nazis executed them. But there were others," Elsie responded.

Donny frowned, but didn't need to ask for her to clarify.

"They were hiding a Jewish family in the wine cellar. That's why those fucking evil pricks came to my house. They were looking for them. I didn't even know that they were down there. My grandparents never told me."

In the light of the fire, he could see her eyes grow shiny with tears.

"What'd they do to 'em?"

Elsie went on to relay the story of the massacre. She told him about her escape; how she had tried to help the family, but had been too late, then finished with the destruction of the villa. All the meanwhile, Donny's eyes had grown darker and darker. He hadn't needed any more reasons to kill Nazis, but the family had been innocent. They'd had a baby with them, for fuck's sake. And Elsie's grandparents had been murdered; guilty of helping a fellow human in their time of need.

He stood up and walked away, returning moments later with something in his hand: a baseball bat. Donny sat down again and passed it to her. In the light of the fire, Elsie could see markings carved into the wood. They were names. She ran her finger over the indentations.

"They're the names of all the Jewish families from back home. I told them that if they got family over here, they should sign it. I use it to beat in the heads of any Nazis I come across. And it's seen a good share of beatings," he explained, his voice soft but edged with a deep-burning hatred. He paused, gazing at the bat in Elsie's hands, and then ran his fingers over it slowly, as though caressing it.

"You know how the Germans call you the Executioner? They call me The Bear Jew."

He smiled. He was quite fond of his title. Elsie could see why the Germans would call him that. He looked even more enormous from this proximity. He was built like a large, well-muscled bear; his arms, and what she could see of his chest, covered in thick, dark hair. He looked over at her and saw that she was admiring him. Realizing that she had been caught, she quickly looked away, her flushed cheeks only just visible in the firelight. He smirked.

"Here," he said. He passed her a pocket knife.

"Is there some sort of blood-initiation ceremony that I'm not aware of?" she joked.

"I thought you might wanna carve your grandparents names onto there."

"But they weren't Jewish."

"I'll make an exception for ya."

Holding the knife ever so delicately, she proceeded to carve a single name into the wood:

MARIGOLD

She took her time, thinking of her grandparents and the family they had been protecting for so long. When she was finally done, she passed the bat and the knife back to their owner, who waited patiently beside her. He looked down at the carving and nodded.

The following day he would break in the new addition, dirtying it up with the blood of a Nazi – paying tribute to the people who had lost their lives on the orders of Colonel Hans Landa.