Excerpts from The Adventures of Manfred and Anton

Dad’s knife

     He drew nearer, took stock of this wondrous tool from really close up. It had a gorgeous leather sheath nestled around its cold steel blade; only the wooden handle was left free. Manfred wanted to touch it, but he knew that wasn’t allowed. Dad had forbidden him. But it was so tempting! Dad was asleep, and Manfred wouldn’t even remove it from its sheath. No, he’d only pick it up to get a closer look. Manfred glanced about, then listened for the sound of movement in the house: footsteps or voices from his parents’ room. All was silent, except a dog barking in the distance.

     Dad is asleep; he’ll never know I touched his knife, thought Manfred. He lifted it off the counter slowly, cautiously. His heart began beating wildly as he felt the weight of it in his hand. The knife was big and foreboding. He was overcome with excitement as he clicked open the sheath. I just want to see how easily it comes out, he thought, and gave the knife a little pull. The blade slipped out just a bit, and Manfred saw a half inch of glinting steel. It looked smooth, sparkling, dangerous. Again, he glanced behind him toward his parents’ room. All was silent. Everyone was still asleep. He pulled the knife further out of the sheath , until finally there it was, in his right hand, every bit of it. It was pointed, like an icicle hanging from the roof. Carefully, Manfred touched the tip of the blade. He sensed that one false move would be enough to cut open his finger.

     I should test it out, thought Manfred.

The brook

     “Let’s go to the hay bales!” said Anton.

     “Those are on the other side of the stream, behind the hills,” replied Manfred. “And we can’t go over the brook just now. Let’s stay here and catch frogs.”

     “But I want to go across,” Anton demanded. “We’re in rubber boots, so our clothes won’t get wet.” No sooner had he said this than he’d stepped into the swollen brook.

     “No!” Manfred cried in alarm. But it was too late. Anton had stepped into the river, and immediately the water reached his thighs, though other times it had never even risen to his knees so close to shore. He lost his balance and fell into the water. Both of them were terrified.

     “Anton!” Manfred shouted. “Get out!”

     Anton stood up and tried to squirm his way to the bank. But he slipped on the muddy bottom and slid even deeper into the river. By now the water reached his neck, and he howled in despair. He turned toward the bank and began pulling himself out, except that his foot got stuck on something and he couldn’t get it loose.

     “Help me, Manfred! Help me!”

     From the water’s edge Manfred reached out with his hand.

     “Grab my hand—I’ll pull you out!” Anton grabbed it and Manfred pulled, but the root that was holding Anton’s foot at the bottom of the brook wouldn’t let go.

     “My foot is stuck!” Anton shouted and began to cry. A wave splashed over his head, spraying cold water into his face. This made him panic more, and now he spat and sneezed and cried even louder.

The beast

     Earlier—for they’d been here countless times before—they’d often scared up rabbits, squirrels, and pheasants and other colorful birds. Countless bugs had also crossed their path, from ladybugs to stag beetles. Sometimes a deer would bound past them down a game trail, and, on one occasion a mangy-tailed fox. But what came now, neither one of them could have anticipated. They had no idea that the most frightening and adventurous encounter of their lives was about to take place, deep in the woods.    

     Oblivious, Manfred and Anton walked deeper and deeper into the dense undergrowth, avoiding stinging nettles and thorny branches. It was much darker there than on the open meadow. The sun filtered through the  thick leafy canopy in only a few spots. They had just stopped for a breather when they heard a menacing growl. Their hearts skipped a beat. It came from very close by, and they looked toward the sound at the same time. Manfred saw it first.

     “There it is, by that bush with the red berries,” he whispered, pointing to his left. Anton’s eyes followed his brother’s hand, and a moment later he too saw it, hardly twenty yards away.

The big race

     Otto looked over and was surprised to see Manfred starting to pass him. With all his might, he tried to regain his lead, but his opponent was also pedaling as hard as he could. Otto’s legs began to sting, and panic took over. Manfred was about to pass him! That little seven-year-old shrimp would pass him! No, he couldn’t let that happen. He remembered Ronnie’s words: “If he gets up beside you and wants to pass you, push him over!” They turned onto the dirt road. Soon they would enter the final stretch. Manfred was right next to Otto and had, in fact, taken the lead. Otto pedaled closer, reached out with his right hand, and shoved Manfred’s shoulder as hard as he could.  

     Though his thighs were stinging almost unbearably, Manfred had been energized by a taste of victory as he began to pass Otto. He’d just caught a glimpse of the big oak tree in the distance, and the kids sitting around it, when Otto shoved him. It came so unexpectedly that he didn’t have a chance to turn the handlebars and adjust. He lost his balance and his bike began to wobble on the bumpy road. He tried his best to stay in the saddle, but his bike lurched under him as he barreled toward the trees and bushes along the road.

Battle

     “Anton!” came his horror-stricken cry. “Where are you?”

     “I’m here!” shouted Anton. Manfred began running toward the sound.

     “Shut your trap, wuss,” hissed Otto. “You’re not getting your radio back.” And Otto started off toward home, Christian behind him. Anton jumped up and charged after them.

     “Give it back!” he cried. “Give back my radio, you dirty scoundrel!” He’d learned this expression from a cartoon on TV, and figured this was the perfect chance to use it. Anton struck Otto on the back as hard as he could. The bigger boy cried out in pain and responded with a backhand punch to Anton’s face. Anton was knocked to the ground from the force of the blow, and began sobbing. Just then, Manfred stepped out from among  the trees and saw what Otto was doing to his little brother. He became so angry that he forgot that Otto—two years older and almost a head taller—was stronger than him. Manfred didn’t care about that now, didn’t even pause to think about it—the only thing running through his head was that his little brother had been attacked, and he had to defend him.