Last week I celebrated Shabbes in Berlin with my family. Today in a stuffy cattle car and the middle of nowhere.
No one would have heard the words "Shabbat Shalom" that I had uttered for years as a matter of course, and the words suddenly seemed a bit more foreign to me. The memories of the remaining peacefulness that had withstood every jolt until seven days ago seemed a bit more distant. Even those of maminke's fragrant cholent, which despite all its shortcomings had lost nothing of its deliciousness since the war, I could not revive in the stench of sweat, fear, and other bodily excretions.
It was better that way, I knew because otherwise, it would have reminded me too much of the painful emptiness in my stomach. And if I had succeeded in transferring myself back to the table with my parents, I would have left much of the courage to live there when I returned.
"I see buildings!" exclaimed a young woman whom I thought I recognized as Miriam from our train ride from Berlin. Heads jerked in her direction, people pushed towards the windows. This time not to escape the oppressive air in the wagon, but to get a glimpse as well.
Only the old man showed no reaction. Not even an opening of the eyes or twitching of the corners of his mouth. In the pit of my stomach, the desire to check on him stirred, but the dark foreboding that struck me kept me firmly in my place.
An image of ashes, shards, blood, and dead eyes flashed through my mind – shadows of a night I had long wanted to forget.
With them, fear crept back into my thoughts. All these people brought, carrying their stolen cross over their heads and hearts and its message on their lips was destruction. And never did it seem enough for them. They had stopped at nothing even then. How far were they willing to go now?
I forced the pictures out of my head and banished that memory back into the depths of my mind, from where it had just erupted. It refused to succeed.
The train braked abruptly, causing those who were standing on tiptoes trying to make out as much of the new surroundings as possible to stagger and tumble to the ground for lack of grip. Finally, it stopped, emitting the hiss of a beast.
Someone stumbled backward, trampling ungently on my feet, and regained his balance at the last moment before he could have fallen on top of me. Immediately I bent over Leah to protect her. A woman did the same with her child.
The jerking made the seated man fall over to the side. But he immediately disappeared from my view. In front of him, the others, helping each other back to their feet, shifted in a flurry of coats, hats, headscarves, and disheveled hairstyles. I thought I heard the dull thud of his head on the wood.
"Have we arrived already?" murmured Leah softly, still blinking the sleep out of her eyes, unable to dispel the fatigue with it.
"I think so," I croaked harshly.
She frowned in concern.
"The cold," I answered her silent question, coughed as if in confirmation, and twisted away.
In front of whom are you ashamed of your lie? In front of me or in front of you?, my mother's words came to my mind without me remembering the circumstances. I could not recall what I had lied about and why. Only this question remained in my memory. Back then, I could face it.
As if in answer, the doors opened, allowing the cold air that hit us to now entirely fill the room.
"Out! Out!"
My legs ached as I rose, but dizziness immediately swallowed the feeling. Payback for the hasty movement. The interior of the cattle car swayed precariously and finally became riddled with black dots that pushed in front of my vision like crawling ants.
YOU ARE READING
A TALE OF BLOOD AND INK
Historical Fiction❝ IN THE CLUTCHES OF HELL, HER LAST HOPE IS THE DEVIL HIMSELF ❞ When separated from their family, Hanna Cohen does everything to protect her little sister. In the concentration camp, the Jewess is just one of many deprived of their identity. Chance...
