Roman Candle

Night had fallen over the sleepy town of Dachau. A wicked biting frost overtook the street and the glossy cobblestone mirrored the majesty of the stars above. Lamps twinkled on and windows were slammed shut just as the Hommerbrau Inn opened its doors.

A procession of townsfolk shuffled in from the storm outside. In no time at all the room was filled with golden clinking glasses and idle conversation. Against the crisp night sky, the smoke of that days work filled the street window. The people sat under auburn halogen lamps and drank from perspiring goblets of temporary bliss, simply merry as the work bell approached at the crack of dawn. The whole town rested on the axis of time here, frozen in between the mundane afternoon and the blinding light of the morning. It was at this moment that the rumbling began.

The entire bar shook with a mighty roar. Priceless spiced rum and aged wine shattered on the glistening hardwood floor and patrons covered their glasses as dust cascaded from the rafters. Six matte grey leviathans stalked past, casting a monolithic shadow over the innocent snow. Every joyful smile was lost in its wake as heads turned to catch just a glimpse of its malevolent beauty. The canopy covered beasts carried lumber, fresh ashphalt concrete, polished steel, a battalion of landscape tools, a parade of blueprints, and finally, two dozen hardy young men resplendent in gorgeous uniforms soaked in the will of God. On the side of this sinister caravan blazed a monolithic red swastika that hung suspended over the cool winter night. As soon as it had arrived, the earthquake stopped and the trucks rolled off into the darkness.

There was a strong impression left on the Inn. All idle chatter had evaporated and was replaced with a chorus of hushed gasps and sideward glances. You could hear the howling wind blowing against the place.

“What was that?”, a patron asked finally. 

“The SS is building something outside of town from what I hear.”, replied the bartender. “Something big. They’ve had shipments coming in all month to that old munitions factory northeast of town. Must be close to done if they’re bringing in soldiers.”

“But to what end?”, another patron insisted.

“Not sure, really. I’ve heard barracks, new training grounds, maybe a command center? You know how they are, shrouded in mystery, cloaked in righteousness yada yada.", the bartender said meekly. 

“Just what we need... MORE soldiers!”, a fair-haired woman exclaimed. 

“Why would they need more barracks?", a seasoned man with time around his eyes wondered. "Don’t we have enough eyes around here as it is? This is peacetime for Christsake! What is there to protect us from anyhow?” He was drinking a tall draft of beer and under his thick sweater collar, his face was turning beet red. “They’ve already confiscated a quarter of the city for their needs, cut into our crop harvest, and stolen our best lager. What more could they take from us?” 

An older veteran cleared his throat. He spoke clearly with a voice rough like gravel and gasoline: “We have nothing to worry about. These boys are our countrymen, practically our kin. We should consider ourselves lucky that we have these boys here to stand up for us.” He looked around the room with a stern gaze. “Some of you do not remember when this nation had the world turn its back on us, cut us from their fold, and threw us to the wolves. Have some pride and take comfort in the fact that these are not British or American troops outside your window. Now that would be a sight.” He chuckled heartily and took a sip from his whiskey glass.

The seasoned man spoke up again: 

“Have some pride you say? I’ll gladly wave the flag along with you, sing the anthem, arm in arm with my fellow man. But you haven’t been thrown out of your house and your family forced to beg for food on the basis of national pride, have you? How can you sit there and tell me to admire the very person that threw me out of my home? How would you know how I feel?” 

The veteran replied smiling and spoke with a wistful air. "I wouldn’t. For you see, when I was your age, my house was bombed.”

Another silence spilled through the room. The ornate clock on the wall pounded like thunder and people were reminded why they were there in the first place. Glasses were refilled and quiet conversation continued on as scheduled. Topics included sports in the paper, new couples, new babies being born, dresses seen in storefront windows, new things bought or old things sold, and other such trivialities most common after a long day and which pair best with a tall drink. As the snow gathered on their rooftops, and the cold whipped at their doorstep, the townsfolk were content and tried to forget about the dark and indifferent world for one night. 

A young man suddenly cut through the fog:

“ I heard it's going to be a labor camp.”

He said this without a hint of insincerity in his voice. In fact, he was quite fearful of this reality after only having heard the rumor a few days ago. His words were like crashing dishes or the sound of a large gong as the whole room stood on end. Slowly, every face turned to his: a bright unblemished portrait of hard angles and dark shadows with a mess of sandy blond on top. He was dressed in workman’s overalls and sitting before a steaming cup of tea. 

“Where’d you hear that?” inquired the bartender. 

The young man shrugged his shoulders casually and tousled his hair. 

“Same place as you, I guess.” 

He'd meant no harm by this remark. But this was the truth of whispered secrets and exchanged gossip, you never knew where you’d heard them from. They had sprung up somewhere out of thin air, an assembled piece of fact and conjecture passed around until it inexplicably found itself on the tip of your tongue. 

A plump woman sipping crystal white wine was becoming hysterical. 

“Labor camp? Why in the world would they need a labor camp?”

The veteran nodded fondly and raised his glass. He was almost giddy at this moment as the truth became clear only to him. 

“Isn't it obvious? Political prisoners, fräulein! Labor unionists, homesexuals, rotten Communists, the evil Jew, even the wayward gyspy shall not be turned away! Traitors to the Fatherland one and all! You really must listen to the radio, darling. Oh, isn't this splendid?" He face was overflowing with pride and there was a glint of country in his eyes. He smiled and his deep baritone voice bellowed throughout the room. "Germany will reclaim its honor, take back what the world has stolen and kept for themselves. Our swords will shine in the sun once more and the night shall turn to screams and run red with their blood! Heil Hitler!”

He shot up like a knife, promptly saluted, laughed like a man on the edge of history, and took a long drink of his glass. 

Time was suspended again. The old man looked around and realized he was alone in his convictions. He grew serious again and finished his drink. 

“Remember, dear friends, and make no mistake. Germany is at war. An invisible war where our enemies are around every corner, peeking out at us from familiar faces. These enemy is your neighbors, your friends, maybe even family but no more! These scoundrels would cut your hand off just as soon you offered it to them, steal you pearls after slitting your throat. They steal our work, they spend our money, and spit in our faces to thank us. They are an affront to German hospitality and must be dealt with. You all have memories of bare dinner tables and empty pockets. You know what I am talking about! Now I am telling you who is responsible! You should rejoice now that the enemy is out in the open!”

He stared out at a sea of blank faces and sighed deeply. 

“We will cleanse our shores one way or another. But your choice is clear! Which side will you be on? Who will you fear when you look into your children’s eyes?”

He sat down and sulked with his memories, softly humming the Horst-Wessel-Lied under his breath. 

It was evident after this outburst that the night was over, there was simply nothing left to talk about. One by one, the townsfolk gradually topped off their drinks, paid their tabs, and stumbled out the door headed home. The young man in work overalls stepped gingerly out into the wind, his golden hair billowing in the breeze. He carried a funny look with him, the angles of his face hardened into complete confusion. The cold stung his face and his eyes watered as he finally made it to his door.

Once inside, he slipped out of his clothes and took a deep breath. He exhaled and touched the mezuzah affixed to the inside of the door. The rumor was true and Jews were not safe here anymore. He passed his bedroom where his wife was sound asleep and entered the door at the end of the hall. His son was resting peacefully in his hickory crib, dreaming fantastic far-away dreams of milk and honey. His father smiled weakly and tears streamed down his sunken cheeks. As he looked at his beautiful boy, the came to an earth-shattering realization. The old man in the bar had only been half-right. His mad ramblings had overshot the landing by a mile, but he had been spot on about one thing. His stomach was growling; his pockets were empty and even more, he was afraid. He was afraid of losing his wife, this house, his son with the stars just starting to glimmer in his eyes. He was afraid of tomorrow morning, of not hearing the work bell, but deep down, he was afraid of the man who could take all this away. This point crystallized in in the young man's mind and hardened into a terrible resolve. The enemy was exposed indeed and if not struck down now, all might be lost. The young man turned his gaze to the window just as it beginning to snow. Ice was spreading on the corners of the glass and he focused his eyes in the direction of the camp on the other side of town where, unknown to him, the wheels of atrocity were being built.

There was a strong pounding in his chest. As time unfurled, it seemed his heart was in perfect rhythm with each fleeting moment. As he stared into the wintry abyss, his native language escaped his lips, the sacred tongue of Judea screaming at a whisper:

"The wolf shall dwell with the lamb, and the leopard shall lie down with the young goat, and the calf and the lion and the fattened calf together; and a little child shall lead them."

As his head hit the pillow and the desolate world was tucked away, the young man would dream of escape.