The Wehrwolf

by Alma Katsu

A nation that put children in harm’s way while its leaders cowered in bunkers had already lost; it just wouldn’t admit it.

The illustration was just comical enough to keep from frightening children, but there was no mistaking the message, the implied threat. The wolf is no animal, but a type of man. And this man is dangerous.

Wolves were cunning; wolves were strong. Many Germans spoke lovingly of the wolf, even though it was the wolf that carried off their sheep and chickens and sometimes even killed the family dog when it tried to protect them. How could so many of his countrymen not see the wolf for what it was?

Wild things were beautiful; maybe their wildness was their beauty, the knowledge that you could never possess them.

Yet it had been fairy tales that led Germany into war, the Nazis wanting everyone to believe Aryans were descended from mythic god-men and that they could regain godlike powers if their blood were pure enough.

Uwe’s neighbors denied it was true, said it was Allied propaganda. They want us to be monsters, his neighbors cried. Then it’s easier to hurt us. To punish us. But what if they really were monsters?

Hans smiled, showing his canine teeth. Uwe had never noticed before how abnormally pronounced they were.

“Look, there are two kinds of men in the world. One kind takes responsibility for the things he’s done, both the good and—more importantly—the bad. The other kind always blames his misfortune on someone else. It’s never his fault when his crops fail or his wife leaves him.”

They’ll tell the world that Germans are the victims, that it was their leaders’ fault. But it’s dangerous to lie to yourself. Before long, you can’t tell lies from the truth.”

The wolf was strong, and the man was weak and ashamed of his weakness.

The Devil made Uwe feel strong and powerful and accepted by his fellow man, and there was a goodness there. When had God ever made Uwe feel good?