Seraphin

What happens to a person when she or he, has no way to beat an intolerable system and there´s no way to escape? How does one break free from shame, and pride indistinguishable from fear?

I would like to start with a preface but let´s be honest: that´s always written afterward. Just like history…one can only write it when history has already been made and is finished.

That’s just the thing with history, isn´t it? it´s always in the making and never really over. Never…

Why tell this story? The people who have lived through it have hardly ever spoken about it. few know the story that hides behind the silence.

Did I just sense a little hesitation here? Please, read a few more lines. Give your hesitation a chance to turn into fervidness. And who knows? Maybe you´ll feel the heartbeat of the people I´m talking about here. Especially Seraphin….

He was thirteen when they came for him. An age where he was no longer really a child, but nothing else either. An age when he didn´t understand much and saw the good in everything.

The village where he lived lay in a valley by a large river and was occupied like the rest of the country. Over the years, the village had known many tribulations: plague, famine, and war.

At first, Seraphin thought it all exciting; the soldiers marching in the street in their uniforms and shiny boots stamping on the cobblestones. He wanted a pair of boots like that. Later, that is, when he would be grown up. His mother had no money for boots now, but when he had his own bakery, he would buy himself a pair of boots like that, and he would polish them every day until they shone like a mirror. Footwear is important, his grandmother had always said: “You have to take diligent care of it, that way you can always go out in the street in a neat fashion.”

Much had changed in the village since the soldiers had arrived. They spoke a language Seraphin did not understand. He had never heard a foreign language before.

It started to become strangely quiet in the village. Most of the man had been rounded up, collected, and taken away to be deployed for the war effort. Seraphin wasn´t quite sure what that meant, but he had a hunch that this was serious business. The men´s families were left sad behind in the village. Seraphin didn´t quite understand why the men couldn´t take their families along to wherever it was they were going by on the train.

Under military escort, the men walked reluctantly to the station. Seraphin stood on the sidewalk and waved them off. No one ever waved back.

Leave those poor people alone, his mother had said. She didn´t give a reason or an explanation. Seraphin´s mother was a hardworking peace-loving pious person, but she was not a learned woman. Maybe she didn´t know the answer herself. She didn´t like to touch on subjects she considered utter madness. Seraphin knew better than to insist.

The village was spared from devastating bombardments, but there was great unrest among the people. Everyday life became very hard. 

The mayor appealed to the people to keep calm and stay at home as much as possible. People were randomly picked up and thrown in jail or deported, God only knew where to perform slave labor in the war industry. 

Seraphin had to go to church more than usual, with his mother, to attend funerals. There never was a coffin. His mother had explained that this was because they were only funeral services. And afterward, there never was a gathering where people would drink coffee together and comfort each other, as was the custom after a burial. Seraphin thought it all very strange and couldn´t make sense of it.

Things are different, his mother had said. We must be brave. One day all this madness will be over. Seraphin took comfort in that. he dutifully helped his mother and assisted her as much as he could.

He was no longer allowed to go to school. He missed that very much. The little classroom was now a shelter for homeless people, and the tiny playground, with the two giant trees on it, now served as a storage place.

He missed Miss Marie very much. From an early age, she had taught him the first concepts of right and wrong. If anyone would have been able to explain the situation, it would have been miss Marie. Seraphin was in love with her. Just a little bit. If he ever got married, it would have to be a girl like Miss Marie. And together they would work hard in his bakery.

One evening Seraphin sat beside his mother, playing with some old marbles, while she was absorbed in deep prayer.

Out of nowhere, there came a deafening noise. The whole house shook. Three raucous soldiers forced their way in, rifles in hand. They roared and barked things that Seraphin did not understand. The soldiers grabbed him by the arm and dragged him out the door, where more soldiers stood waiting. Neither Seraphin nor his mother understood what befell them. The poor woman grabbed the arm of one of the soldiers, but he knocked her to the ground with the butt of his rifle, while Seraphin was dragged into the street. Every time he asked something he was barked at.

They took him to the town hall, where Seraphin was locked up in the cellar. There were a lot of other men there. He cried bitterly: what had he done wrong? And what was going to happen now? Why did those foreign soldiers hurt his mother?

Sander, a basket maker Seraphin knew well, was locked up in that cellar too. He sat himself next to Seraphin and handed him a clean handkerchief to wipe his tears.

-“Don´t cry, boy. Not now. You must be brave like never before.” Sander told the terrified boy.

Seraphin wept even more at the thought that his mother would worry deeply. His mother had run to the priest´s house, only to find out soldiers now lived in the rectory. The priest now lived in a shabby house.

-“They took my boy, Father. He is only thirteen years old.”

The old priest didn´t know what to say and told Seraphin´s mother that he would take her to townhall the next morning.

-“Now go home quickly, before they arrest you too!” he warned her as he sent her off.

-“He doesn´t have his coat.” Seraphin´s mother lamented as she walked back home. 

The next morning the parish priest came to pick up Seraphin´s mother, as he had promised, and walked with her to the occupation quarters. She hadn´t slept all night.

Seraphin´s mother had made a bundle in a large handkerchief, with two sandwiches and an apple. She had her son´s coat on her arm. She had tucked a rosary into one of the pockets.

The soldiers at the occupation were not friendly and shouted that the kid had been taken as a hostage to replace another man who had run off. Seraphin would be put on the first train that day. They didn´t know what time or where Seraphin would be taken. A soldier took the bundle and the coat. Another soldier opened the handkerchief and began to eat everything in it. 

-“In these grim times, so many people ran away, to avoid capture.” The priest explained to Seraphin´s mother, “Or they had to run for their lives.”

The poor woman stood waiting next to the train tracks all morning. Soldiers came out with a group of men and pushed them onto cattle cars. Seraphin’s mother's heart broke to see her son driven like an animal. She ran to him but was stopped by two large soldiers. Other women were there too to say goodbye to their sons and husbands claimed by the enemy army.

-“This is the most terrifying thing that ever happened in my life.” Seraphin´s mother cried. “My poor boy, what did he ever do to anyone? He is only thirteen years old.”

The priest helped her walk back to her house.

-“Thank God they gave him his coat.” She sobbed, “I´m sure he will find his rosary.”

Seraphin did not know where he was being taken, or where he was when he got off the train.

From the moment of his arrival, he was subjected to humiliations no thirteen-year-old could have ever imagined.

He was forced to work in the construction and maintenance of railways. He escaped the labor camp three times but disappearing into the crowd was impossible. He was arrested again and again. As punishment, he was locked up in a dark prison, at the mercy of the enemy. Seraphin was molested, beaten, and suffered great hunger.

Two days before Christmas Seraphin was found frozen to death, after a guard kicked him into a snow-covered ditch.

There was no coffin at his funeral service. His mother attended and walked straight up to the front of the church and spoke even before the priest could begin the ritual.

-“I am not a learned woman. I am Seraphin’s mother, and I can´t even write his name. My son was only thirteen years old when they came for him. An age where one is still supposed to be a child. They say the light shines brighter after the darkest days. But the darkness is everywhere and it doesn´t seem to end. I don´t know fancy words and I can´t read from the Bible. My heart has been broken and I doubt it will ever mend. I cleared the weeds from my garden this morning before I came here, hoping to find my soul there.

I named my son after the highest-ranking angels of God. I am not crying for my boy. I cannot do that. Rest has just begun for him. His toil and sufferings are over. I know that God is now giving him his reward by including him among all the other heavenly angels.

A soldier is killed, and he becomes a war hero. He who languishes from hard labor in appalling conditions is forgotten.

What happens to a person when she or he has no way to beat or escape an oppressive system? What happens to those left behind, when their hearts break from shame and pride indistinguishable from fear? From the burden of loss?

We make sure, the fallen never become a blind spot in our memory!”

Seraphin and thousands like him should never be forgotten!