THE URN, part 7
Written and illustrated
by Elaine
They awoke in the morning covered in hay. Jacob laughed, “You look like a scarecrow with all that hay in your hair!” Hannah smiled as he brushed it away.
Jacob gathered enough eggs for the final leg of their journey to Paris while Hannah braided her hair.
The directions given to them were quite clear. This day, they would travel five miles by foot.
Conditions must have worsened for Jews in Paris. Soldiers were everywhere, in increasing numbers as they approached Paris. Oddly, Jews were exiting along with Parisians in large numbers. Hannah and Jacob felt out of place, heading in the wrong direction. But they were hopeful that Germans, even phony ones, were safe entering Paris.
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| Jacob and Hannah, hearing Paris watercolor by Elaine |
They strolled country lanes at first then merged onto a paved road to the city of light. This was risky, they knew, but they were playing a role and had to see it through. They wore new clothing and shoes. Just like any young German couple, returning from a honeymoon in the French countryside.
The sun disappeared and it began to rain. Then there was a roar overhead, like a tidal wave about to swalow everything in its wake. But it was a plane firing upon them, with machine guns. Startled, they joined the other travelers, running, seeking cover in a frenzy of panic.
The ratta-tat-tat of machine gunfire from above was bone-rattling. Instinctively, Jacob grabbed Hannah and pulled her to the ground. He whispered, “Do not move a muscle. We are under attack!”
The strafing continued for what seemed forever, amidst the screams of the wounded and the dying. Then the plane was gone.
They lay there in shock. Hannah sat up first. Jacob was not moving. His hands covered his ears. All around her were overturned carts with blood-stained hay. The contents of lives tossed about Ike leaves from a tree caught in a whirlwind.
Beside them, a mule gave its final breath. Jacob sat up and brushed a man’s shoes from his back. A baby buggy was overturned. Jacob looked inside, hoping for life. Two infants and too much blood. “Hannah, don’t look.” He cautioned. “Please don’t.” His voice was harder.
There was blood, a river of blood. And bodies were everywhere. Those that were able began to help others, friends, and strangers as well.
Hannah pulled a moaning woman from the debris. She buried herself into Hannah’s shoulder, sobbing. Then she stopped. She straightened her shoulders. “Thank you for your kindness.” My name is Reba.” She returned to her husband’s lifeless body and dragged him into the cart. Refusing Hannah’s assistance, she pulled the cart herself, heading south, away from Paris.
Close by was a little boy. He stood motionless, screaming, a tattered stuffed rabbit in his hand. A woman ran to him and gathered him into her arms, whispering his name, over and over. Survival!
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| Survival in war watercolor by Elaine Troisi |
Hannah slumped to the ground. She was sobbing when Jacob found her. He knelt beside her. “That woman’s name was Reba.” She paused to catch her breath. “Your parents! Pray HaShem protects them on their journey!”
Jacob replied, “Perhaps when we reach Paris, we will hear news of them from the Jewish underground there. I worry, Hannah. I worry too,” he repeated and pulled her close.
After a few hours when the rain had washed away the tears and cries of terror, Hannah and Jacob left the ugliness behind them and returned to the road. Heads hung low, they continued, each burdened by ever-present pain and guilt.
They walked together in silence for several miles. Jacob noticed a stream overflowing its banks, in a hurry to get to Paris, too. “We need to clean up a bit, don’t youthink?” Jacob asked, realizing they carried the awful stuff of war on their bodies. It was sundown already and they had about three more miles to travel.
There was a room at an inn awaiting them at the end of the day. Exhausted and battle- weary, they sat at a table near a window and dined by candlelight. They ordered their meal in French but spoke to one another in German, like ordinary German travelers in France.
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| a respite from war watercolor by Elaine Troisi |
They had not enjoyed a real meal in an extraordinarily long time. Hannah was so hungry, she wolfed her dinner of lamb and potatoes. Jacob wanted to tell her to slow down before their charade was revealed.
Too late. A Wehrmacht soldier approached them. “Er est vi a ferd!”
(She eats like a horse)
Hannah froze. She nearly choked on a mouthful of lamb stew. She was unable to speak. It was a good thing, too.
Jacob knew this was a taunt to see if they would reply angrily in Yiddish, thus revealing they were Jews. He fumed at the insult, yet he managed to slow his heartbeat and his breathing by remembering his mother’s words, “We are not less. We are resilient. We will always maintain our humanity.”
Instead, Jacob replied in educated German, “Wie meinst du das?”
(What do you mean?)
But the Nazi was not done toying with them just yet. “Ik zol dir shisen! du shmendrik yehudi ,” he laughed with a smirk.
(I should shoot you, you stupid Jew)
Jacob replied, “I’m very sorry, but we speak only German and French.” He smiled at the soldier, “How can we help you?”
The German soldier hesitated, not sure of his next move. He lied, “Sorry, I thought you are from Bavaria, my home. But I see you are not. Enjoy your meal.”
How Jacob wished he could grab the soldier’s uniform and knock him out with one powerful blow, not so much for the insults, but for all the violence they had been witness to on their journey. In that moment he decided he would join the Jewish Underground when they settled in Paris.
Later, in their bedroom, Hannah said apologetically, “That was too close. I nearly got us caught again.”
“Come, let’s try to forget the horrors of the day. Tonight, we bathe in a real tub and sleep in a real bed.
“Let’s be thankful.” He pulled her into his arms and kissed her. Then he dropped down on one knee. Tears flowed as he kissed his unborn. “You have survived so much already, baby. Just a little further, and you will be born in your own home.” Hannah sang a sweet lullaby, softly … in Polish.
The next morning, they reached the outskirts of Paris where they met Francois, a member of the French Resistance. He would be their primary contact in Paris, willing to sacrifice his life to save theirs. He was small in stature. To the young couple he was a giant among men. Before the war, he was a milkman, so he knew the streets of Paris well. While they waited for nightfall, they learned that Francois now worked as a courier for the Nazis to gather secrets for the Resistance movement.
Jacob asked Francois about joining the Jewish Underground. Francois, like a poet explained, “Think of the various movements as a giant octopus. It has tentacles spreading throughout occupied Europe. It rescued you from Warsaw, for instance. Eventually it will use its tentacles to squeeze the breath from our enemy. Believe me,” he added with conviction. Jacob was more than interested now.
Nightfall came. It was moonless, which made it easier to maneuver the backstreets of Paris to their new home in La Marais.
There Francois introduced them to their new neighbor, Moishe Soneberg, also a Jew. Then Francois bade a hasty farewell.
Moishe stood smiling at them as if he had always known them. He unlocked the door of the house next to his and welcomed them into the house. Jacob wondered what had happened to the family who had lived there, but he said nothing. “Be grateful,” he thought.
Moishe explained, “There are no lights in this area. We are in the Jewish district of Paris, La Marais. Lights out at sundown, and we must be incredibly quiet. I have left food for you. Lucky for us, our homes still have running water. One last thing for now, even though it is warm tonight, do not open your windows, or it will alert the Germans on their nightly rounds. So far, they think rue du Tresor is mostly unoccupied, except for the boulangerie and bistro, both favor curry with the Nazis. I wish you a good night.” Again, he shook Jacob’s hand. Then he was gone.
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| Jacob and Hannah have a home, before the baby arrives watercolor by Elaine Troisi |
That night, they bathed in a large tub and slept again in a real bed. In the morning, they explored the house. Up and down the stairs they ran, like little children, looking for hidden birthday gifts. Hannah held her swollen belly as they went, grateful that their child would be born in a house, not by the roadside.
The house was sparsely furnished. There was an old desk and chair on the third floor. On the second floor there was a bathroom with worn but clean towels and a bar of lavender soap. It was heaven to them. They would remember to thank Moishe when they saw him later. One bedroom on that floor had only a bed stripped bare. The other was their bedroom, with a bed with sheets and pillows. Also, a dresser … such luxury. All this for two people.
They looked at one another sharing the same thought. Two families living in one room. The ghetto. They longed for their parents. He looked into her eyes, feeling her pain, like a steel tip piercing two hearts.
Eventually hunger overtook them, so they raced down the stairs to the kitchen. They stopped, surprised.
“You two sound like a whole herd of elephants,” Moishe laughed, his back to them at the sink. He turned, holding a plate with fresh fruit, cheese, and a baguette.
The three sat to eat. Jacob began, “How did you … I mean the door was locked …”
“Not to worry. I will explain everything to you in a bit. Now we eat.” He paused, “I have a surprise for you.”
I hope you enjoyed this chapter of The Urn. More chapters will follow. Next up, part 8, will be available on June 6! See you then!
I’m listening! Are you enjoying this short novel?
Etlainie92@gmail.com
They strolled country lanes at first then merged onto a paved road to the city of light. This was risky, they knew, but they were playing a role and had to see it through. They wore new clothing and shoes. Just like any young German couple, returning from a honeymoon in the French countryside.
The sun disappeared and it began to rain. Then there was a roar overhead, like a tidal wave about to swalow everything in its wake. But it was a plane firing upon them, with machine guns. Startled, they joined the other travelers, running, seeking cover in a frenzy of panic.
The ratta-tat-tat of machine gunfire from above was bone-rattling. Instinctively, Jacob grabbed Hannah and pulled her to the ground. He whispered, “Do not move a muscle. We are under attack!”
The strafing continued for what seemed forever, amidst the screams of the wounded and the dying. Then the plane was gone.
They lay there in shock. Hannah sat up first. Jacob was not moving. His hands covered his ears. All around her were overturned carts with blood-stained hay. The contents of lives tossed about Ike leaves from a tree caught in a whirlwind.
Beside them, a mule gave its final breath. Jacob sat up and brushed a man’s shoes from his back. A baby buggy was overturned. Jacob looked inside, hoping for life. Two infants and too much blood. “Hannah, don’t look.” He cautioned. “Please don’t.” His voice was harder.
There was blood, a river of blood. And bodies were everywhere. Those that were able began to help others, friends, and strangers as well.
Hannah pulled a moaning woman into her arms. She buried herself into Hannah’s shoulder, sobbing. Then she stopped. She straightened her shoulders. “Thank you for your kindness.” My name is Reba.” She returned to her husband’s lifeless body and dragged him into the cart. Refusing Hannah’s assistance, she pulled the cart herself, heading south, away from Paris. Close by was a little boy. He stood motionless, screaming, a tattered stuffed rabbit in his hand. A woman ran to him and gathered him into her arms, whispering his name, over and over. Survival!
Hannah slumped to the ground. She was sobbing when Jacob found her. He knelt beside her. “That woman’s name was Reba.” She paused to catch her breath. “Your parents! Pray HaShem protects them on their journey!”
Jacob replied, “Perhaps when we reach Paris, we will hear news of them from the Jewish underground there. I worry, Hannah. I worry too,” he repeated and pulled her close.
After a few hours when the rain had washed away the tears and cries of terror, Hannah and Jacob left the ugliness behind them and returned to the road. Heads hung low, they continued, each burdened by ever-present pain and guilt.
They walked together in silence for several miles. Jacob noticed a stream overflowing its banks, in a hurry to get to Paris, too. “We need to clean up a bit, don’t you
think?” Jacob asked, realizing they carried the awful stuff of war on their bodies. It was sundown already and they had about three more miles to travel.
There was a room at an inn awaiting them at the end of the day. Exhausted and battle- weary, they sat at a table near a window and dined by candlelight. They ordered their meal in French but spoke to one another in German, like ordinary German travelers in France.
They had not enjoyed a real meal in an extraordinarily long time. Hannah was so hungry, she wolfed her dinner of lamb and potatoes. Jacob wanted to tell her to slow down before their charade was revealed.
Too late. A Wehrmacht soldier approached them. “Er est vi a ferd!”
(She eats like a horse)
Hannah froze. She nearly choked on a mouthful of lamb stew. She was unable to speak. It was a good thing, too.
Jacob knew this was a taunt to see if they would reply angrily in Yiddish, thus revealing they were Jews. He fumed at the insult, yet he managed to slow his heartbeat and his breathing by remembering his mother’s words, “We are not less. We are resilient. We will always maintain our humanity.”
Instead, Jacob replied in educated German, “Wie meinst du das?”
(What do you mean?)
But the Nazi was not done toying with them just yet. “Ik zol dir shisen! du shmendrik yehudi ,” he laughed with a smirk.
(I should shoot you, you stupid Jew)
Jacob replied, “I’m very sorry, but we speak only German and French.” He smiled at the soldier, “How can we help you?”
The German soldier hesitated, not sure of his next move. He lied, “Sorry, I thought you are from Bavaria, my home. But I see you are not. Enjoy your meal.”
How Jacob wished he could grab the soldier’s uniform and knock him out with one powerful blow, not so much for the insults, but for all the violence they had been witness to on their journey. In that moment he decided he would join the Jewish Underground when they settled in Paris.
Later, in their bedroom, Hannah said apologetically, “That was too close. I nearly got us caught again.”
“Come, let’s try to forget the horrors of the day. Tonight, we bathe in a real tub and sleep in a real bed. Let’s be thankful.” He pulled her into his arms and unzipped her dress.
The next morning, they reached the outskirts of Paris where they met Francois, a member of the French Resistance. He would be their primary contact in Paris, willing to sacrifice his life to save theirs. He was small in stature. To the young couple he was a giant among men. Before the war, he was a milkman, so he knew the streets of Paris well. While they waited for nightfall, they learned that Francois now worked as a courier for the Nazis to gather secrets for the Resistance movement.
Jacob asked Francois about joining the Jewish Underground. Francois, like a poet explained, “Think of the various movements as a giant octopus. It has tentacles spreading throughout occupied Europe. It rescued you from Warsaw. Eventually it will use its tentacles to squeeze the breath from our enemy. Believe me,” he added with conviction. Jacob was convinced.
Nightfall came. It was moonless, which made it easier to maneuver the backstreets of Paris to their new home.
There Francois introduced them to their new neighbor, Moishe Soneberg, also a Jew. Then Francois bade a hasty farewell.
Moishe stood smiling at them as if he had always known them. He unlocked the door of the house next to his and welcomed them into the house. Jacob wondered what had happened to the family who had lived there, but he said nothing. “Be grateful,” he thought.
Moishe explained, “There are no lights in this area. We are in the Jewish district of Paris, La Marais or the 4e arrondissement. Lights out at sundown, and we must be incredibly quiet. I have left food for you. Lucky for us, our homes have running water. One last thing for now, even though it is warm tonight, do not open your windows, or it will alert the Germans on their nightly rounds. So far, they think rue du Tresor is unoccupied. I wish you a good night.” Again, he shook Jacob’s hand. Then he was gone.
That night, they slept again in a real bed. In the morning, they explored the house. Up and down the stairs they ran, like little children, looking for hidden birthday gifts. Hannah held her swollen belly as they went, grateful that their child would be born in a house, not by the roadside.
The house was sparsely furnished. There was an old desk and chair on the third floor. On the second floor there was a bathroom with worn but clean towels and a bar of lavender soap. It was heaven to them. They would remember to thank Moishe when they saw him later. One bedroom on that floor had only a bed stripped bare. The other was their bedroom, with a bed with sheets and pillows. Also, a dresser … such luxury. All this for two people.
They looked at one another sharing the same thought. Two families living in one room. The ghetto. They longed for their parents. He looked into her eyes, feeling her pain, like a steel tip piercing two hearts.
Eventually hunger overtook them, so they raced down the stairs to the kitchen. They stopped, surprised.
“You two sound like a whole herd of elephants,” Moishe laughed, his back to them at the sink. He turned, holding a plate with fresh fruit, cheese, and a baguette.
The three sat to eat. Jacob began, “How did you … I mean the door was locked …”
“Not to worry. I will explain everything to you in a bit. Now we eat.” He paused, “I have a surprise for you.”
I hope you enjoyed this chapter of The Urn. More chapters will follow. Next up, part 8, will be available on June 6! See you then!
I’m listening! Are you enjoying this short novel?
Etlainie92@gmail.com