World's Largest Rubber Band Ball - Trixine

TWILIGHT REMEMBRANCES
I have never seen the shores of France so peaceful. Yes, there
are tourists now, but they all want to be here. Not like before; not
like us. The waves of the English Channel lap gently against the
shore as they always have. The anger, hatred and fear of our time
are gone. Or at least thinly disguised. Forgotten. What happened
on these shores is only remembered by those of us who survived.
Oh so few of us.
"It is time to go, Mr. Lubinski."
Karl, my nurse/driver, has come to take me back to the hotel,
but I have not yet had my fill of this evil place.
"A few more moments, Karl. Please?" I can hear the pleading
in my voice. It shames me.
Karl checks the brakes on my wheelchair and retreats up the
beach a respectful distance. He will never understand. I do not
understand and I lived through it.
I see a piece of driftwood near me. I cannot reach it. I do not
try. Was it once part of the Ardennes as so much of the wood here
was or just a stray piece of flotsam and jetsam, the history I attribute
to it.
I feel the tears well up in me as I stare at that damned piece of
wood. Now is no longer now. Now is . . .
"Mama, Why must we leave?' I am packing my valise, preparing
for a trip in the middle of the night.
I want to take my toy soldiers. Mama says we can only take
clothes. I fold, kiss and place my Sabot Yarmulke on top and wait
for Mama's inspection.
"Because it is our turn to go. We will ride the train far from
here. We will go to a place we are welcome."
Mama is scared but tries not to show me. She bends down and
makes sure my armband is secure then kisses me on the forehead.
She closes my suitcase and locks it. She picks me up and sets me
on the bed with my valise.
She says "You rest a while, My Sweet, we will leave soon."
She goes to her room to finish packing. Soon I hear her carrying
her bag to the front door. I cannot rest. I am too excited about
leaving.
I hear a knock at the door and slide down off the bed. I hold on
to the bed to steady myself. My leg braces keep me upright and I
try to drag my valise off the bed but it is too heavy.
Mama comes into the room and picks up my valise. She clucks
at me for trying to help. She takes my hand and slowly we walk to
the front door. The knocking becomes more insistent.
I hear as we approach the bottom of the stairs. "Fraulein, you
will open the door now."
Mama motions me to stay where I am and rushes to open the
door. She reaches the door as something slams hard into it, echoing
hollowly in the entranceway.
Mama opens the door to reveal a soldier ready to slam his
shoulder against it. He stands aside to let an officer enter our
home.
"It is time to go, Fraulein. You will go now." He says in broken
Polish. The words sound foul in his mouth.
I stay where Mama tells me, on the stairs, my braces and the
banister keep me upright. I want only to run and hide from these
men, these monsters. Even the children of Poland have learned to
hate the Germans. Especially Jewish children.
Mama tells them I cannot walk and the Officer motions to one
of his men. He walks to the stairs and he easily takes me in his
arms. He smiles at me, an attempt to reassure me. I hate him.
He carries me easily through the door and into the empty
streets.
(short WWII fiction)
BY: GREG SCHAUER
We begin to walk toward the train station. Mama struggles
with our bags, no help from the soldiers. As we approach, we see
other groups of people and soldiers. All are struggling under the
weight of their possessions. The soldiers greet each other as they
meet and then fall silent. When he catches my eye, the soldier carrying
me smiles. I only want to cry trapped in his arms.
Soon we are in line to board the only train in the station.
Different soldiers take our bags from us. The soldier carrying me
smiles one last time and sets me down next to Mama. I am glad to
be out of his arms and away from him.
Mama holds my hands as I lean against her. When the line
moves I would stand on her feet and step with her. The line moves
slowly. Mama chats with the other women. The few men traveling
with us are sick or crippled.
Soon we are on the train. The cars are rough cattle cars. They
still smell of cows and men. Men like I have only smelled in old
outhouses and chamber pots.
We ride on the train for many days. The rumor is we are being
taken to the town of Lusene on the coast of France. No one had
ever heard of such a town but we believe their lies.
The cattle car is uncomfortable. We sit huddled together on
beds of straw. Every few hours the train stops to take on fuel and
water. Sometimes the train jolts unexpectedly as new cars are
added.
Once a day, bread is thrown into us. Never enough, never
enough. Mama scrambles for our share, usually just a crust, day
old or moldy. Mama tries to hide it, but she gives me the larger
pieces to me. Even with her kindness I have never been so hungry.
I know Mama is hungrier still.
Water, we have even less. The soldiers pass jars through the
slats in the car. More often than not, they shove the jars through
and let them drop. Each time a jar breaks we get less water the
next time. We have no water at all for the last few days of our
journey.
Some of the elders die on the train. At first, we mourn, then as
the bodies pile up at the end of the car, we no longer have anything
left in us to grieve. We have no Rabbi or place to bury them. No
honors for the dead do they leave us, only their memory and cold
bodies.
When the train finally stops, we sit in the cattle car for another
full day, forgotten. Outside we hear movement. When we look we
see only soldiers.
Finally the doors open. The soldiers yell "Roust!", expecting us
to move immediately. They reach inside and roughly pull the closest
out of the car.
Mama helps me to rise; my legs are stiff from sitting too long.
I cannot stand and Mama looks tired. When we are outside, the
soldiers take a few of the stronger women and keep them to one
side. We stand there waiting not knowing where to go.
Again the soldiers shout "Roust" and point down the street. We
walk slowly, as fast as we can. There is no help from the soldiers.
Two soldiers follow us talking in German, strolling casually as we
struggle.
At the edge of town the others from the train wait under guard.
We wait as the rest of the train is unloaded. I curl up next to
Mama and sleep.
******************************************************
The sun is beginning to set over the ocean. The clouds are turning
red as the sand once was. Such a waste, but others had it worse.
At least we had a chance, slim as it was. At least we had a chance.
******************************************************
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