The Urn
Chapter 17
4 rue du Tresor
August 17, 1942
by Elaine Troisi
The group turned from Moishe’s bunk in response to Hannah’s urgent whisper. They were so worried about Moishe they had forgotten there was a body. Now his rhythmic breathing assured them he was resting comfortably, his chest rising and falling in the dim light. The air was thick with the smell of ink and blood. Jacob’s eyes met Hannah’s, and she saw the weight of their situation settle upon him.
Jacob spoke, his voice weak and laced with exhaustion. “Please, sit at the table with me.” He coughed, the sound racking his body. “I need to tell you what happened.” He sat down with a thud, the wooden chair creaking beneath him. Hannah sat beside him, her arm across his shoulder, reassuring him.
Golde hesitated, her eyes fixed on Moishe. “No, no, I must stay with Moishe.”
Jacob’s gaze met hers, his eyes red-rimmed and haunted. “Please, Golde. You need to know.” His voice was firm but laced with a deep sadness. Golde nodded slowly and sat down beside Max, her eyes never leaving Moishe’s face.
The room fell silent, the only sound the creaking of the old building and the muffled hum of the city outside. Jacob’s eyes scanned the room, his gaze lingering on the body shrouded in shadows.
“Everything happened so fast,” he began, his voice barely above a whisper. “Moishe’s friend Ben arrived, knowing the week’s secret code. so, despite the late hour, Moishe let him in." Jacob’s eyes dropped, and he stared at the table, his fingers tracing the wood grain. “We were completely off guard when the Gendarme burst in. He struck Ben to the floor, and then he told us we were all under arrest.” His words rested heavily on the word 'All.'
Jacob’s voice cracked on the last word, and Hannah’s arm tightened around him. Max shifted uncomfortably, his eyes fixed on the body.
“He drew his gun,” Jacob continued, his voice growing stronger. “Moishe refused to go quietly, and… and the Gendarme became distracted when Ben crawled past him and out the hidey-hole.” Jacob’s eyes flashed with a mix of fear and adrenaline. “Moishe went for the gun, and they fought. I… I grabbed the heavy can of ink.” He held up his hand, and for a moment, the others visualized the glint of metal and ink. “I swung it with all my might, and… and the Gendarme screamed, then fell. After that, he never moved again. And I went to help Moishe.
The room was silent, the weight of Jacob’s words hanging in the air. He looked up, his eyes filled with tears. His face grew red. “I killed a man,” he whispered, the words echoing through the room. “I committed the sin of all sins.”
Hannah pulled him close, holding him as he broke down in sobs. Max sat frozen, his eyes fixed on Jacob, and then he slowly rose to his feet. “Jacob,” he said softly, his voice filled with a mix of shock and compassion, “You did what you had to do in the face of an enemy attack. You did what a soldier has to do to save a fallen comrade.” He paused, allowing time for Jacob to grasp his meaning. “You saved Papa from being murdered. Essentially, yousaved us all." Max’s words were like a balm to Jacob’s soul, but he could not shake the feeling of guilt.
Max's words hung in the air, and for a moment, no one spoke. Jacob's sobs slowly subsided, and he pulled away from Hannah, his eyes red and puffy.
"Here's the reality we face right now. How do we get rid of the body?" Max said finally, his voice low and practical.
Golde's eyes widened in horror. "Explain your plan. Surely we can't just leave a dead man here."
Moishe stirred in the bunk, his voice weak but clear. "We have to get out of here. The Gendarmes will be back, and next time ... there will be more than one."
Hannah nodded, her face set in determination. "Moishe's right. We can't stay in the bunker, for now anyway. But how do we get rid of the body?"
Max looked around the room, his eyes settling on the small hidden door that led to the alley. "We can wrap him in a blanket and carry him out. It's still dark enough outside. We can dump him in the Seine."
Golde's face turned pale. "You can't be serious. That's...that's not right."
Jacob's voice was firm. "We have no choice, Golde. We can't let them find him here. We'll be killed, and the Resistance will be compromised."
Golde's eyes flashed with anger. "And what about our souls? What about our humanity? We can't just dispose of a body like it's trash . Consider that he is someone's son. He may himself be a father. Who knows..." Her voice trailed off.
Hannah placed a calming hand on Golde's arm. "Golde, we understand what this means. But we have to think of the bigger picture. We have to protect the Resistance and each other. Remember, he's the one who tried to kill your husband!"
Moishe's voice cut through the tension. "I think I can help. There's a hidden compartment in the cellar. We can store the body there temporarily. At least until we figure out what to do next."
The group fell silent, weighing their options. Max's plan was reckless, but Moishe's suggestion offered a solution, albeit temporary.
Finally, after much debate, the group agreed upon a modified version of Golde's humanity-first solution. The Gendarme would get a proper Jewish burial.
The group worked in silence, their hands moving with reverence as they prepared the body for burial. They cleaned the blood from his body and wrapped him in a simple white shroud. Hannah recited the prayers for the dead, her voice barely above a whisper, while Golde lit candles.
As they finished, Moishe stirred in the bunk, trying to raise himself onto his uninjured side. He yelped in pain and fell back. His eyes were weak but filled with a deep understanding. "You must take him to the cemetery," he managed, wincing in pain. "The one on Rue de la Victoire. My cousin's family has a plot there."
Max and Jacob nodded, their faces set with determination. They wrapped the body in a tallit, and Max carefully placed a yarmulke on the deceased's head.
As they lifted the body, Golde handed Jacob a pouch. "Take this," she said. "It's some bread and wine. Rest at the cemetery. You will need to regain your strength.Wait,” she said. In a moment she returned with a small garden spade. “It's not full sized, but it should do the job.” That, too, she gave to Jacob.
Jacob nodded, his eyes welling up with tears. Max placed a hand on his shoulder, and together they carried the body out of the bunker, into the night.
The streets were dark and deserted, the only sound the soft rustling of leaves and the distant hum of the city. They walked in silence, their footsteps echoing off the buildings.
As they reached the cemetery, Max pushed open the gate, and they slipped inside unnoticed. The moon cast eerie shadows on the gravestones as they made their way to the plot. Jacob recited the Kaddish, his voice shaking with mixed emotions, as Max helped him lower the body into the grave.
As they filled in the dirt, Max placed a small stone on the grave, a traditional Jewish custom to show respect. Jacob looked up at him, his eyes red-rimmed. "We'll come back," he whispered. "We'll make sure you are not forgotten, though we don't even know your name."
The two men were exhausted and parched, so they paused for bread and wine. Then they stood there for another moment, the only sound the wind rustling through the trees. Then, with a final glance at the grave, they turned and walked away, leaving behind a piece of themselves.
The sun was rising, and the myriad of colors brilliant. Getting home at sunrise was even more dangerous, and they were so tired.
I'm listening! I'd like to know if you feel engaged in this story. I'll be back again on November 14th with Chapter 18. So, hang in there!
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