Surviving Darkness

  The sun is warm on my back. I can feel its rays penetrate my old down jacket, and ease the goose pimples. I turn my small body, wanting to feel its radiation on my face. My eyes are closed and I’m smiling. It’s been so long since I’ve felt like this; since I’ve felt warm. I will my body to absorb all the light and warmth it can, as I know this wont last.

  Before I am ready, it’s gone, and I feel the cold encompass me once again.

 I open my eyes to the bleak, grey world I’ve only ever known. Across the small fire burning between us, my grandmother is watching me. Wrapped in a cocoon of old moth eaten blankets and sheets, she shifts in her newly acquired wheel chair, making room for me. “Come” she beckons. I know I’m getting too old for this, but I can’t bear to reject the invite. So, I go to her, and I sit in her lap, one arm around her shoulders, and lean into her. She embraces me, holding me closer.

 “How’s your ankle Nana?” I ask. She hurt it recently, while we were searching an old windowless gas station for anything we could salvage. She hurt it bad, I know she did, but she won’t admit it, or let it show. I undid the makeshift dressing and peaked at it the other night while she was fast asleep. Even though the fire was only glowing embers, I could tell it was severely swollen and various shades of dark blue and purple.

 “It will be alright hunny, I’ve endured worse.” she answers. Nana always says this. Like a common phrase. And every time she does, she absently runs a finger over an old tattoo on her inner wrist. It’s a tattoo of numbers. A single, uneven, black line of numbers. They aren’t written like a name on lined paper. It looks more like a name carved into a tree. Harsh and jagged. She knows it’s not appealing I suppose, and keeps it covered best she can.

  When I was younger I used to ask about it. Nana always avoided answering it truthfully, either brushing off the inquisition, or making up a small lie that was different every time I asked. Over the years she would get cross when I asked, so I stopped. Which is why I was so surprised when she offered to finally reveal the big secret.

  “I never told you about this,” she said gesturing to her tattoo, “because I couldn’t handle adding anymore darkness to your world”.

  I didn’t dare say anything, not wanting her to stop.

  “But maybe, I’ll tell you anyway.” She continued. “For there’s one good thing that came from this ugly brand of mine”

 I risked a peak at her face, but I’m sure she didn’t even notice. For those emerald eyes of hers weren’t seeing the deserted, dead landscape ahead of us. They were seeing a past life.

***

  Sitting with our backs against the most eastern barrack, watching the sun rise, Emanuel loops his fingers through mine. We only have minutes, but we make every one count.

 “I love you” I tell him, as I rest my head on his shoulder. They’re becoming more pronounced, his shoulder bones. He’s loosing too much body weight.

But then again, everyone was.

  “I love you more” he replies. He’s said it so many times over the past year, but even so, each time those words pass his thin lips, my body aches with longing. 

“How much longer?” I ask, as I nestle in closer.

“Very soon, Mira” he kisses my forehead. “I promise”.

  Emanuel was able to gather a trinket of desire for one of the guards. In exchange for the burgled item, he would be allowed one hour alone with me in his barrack. One hour of bliss without having to hide amongst blind spots of guard towers. One hour without the constant risk of being caught. He wouldn’t divulge much more than that to me, an act of protection. If I truly didn’t know, then maybe I’d be spared if the plan failed and we were discovered.

  A loud siren ripped us out of our moment of intimacy. We immediately obeyed, we couldn’t afford not too. Emanuel held my bony hand a second longer and then we parted, making our way to roll call without a backward glance.

  I joined the queue of women making their way towards the main courtyard. Disappearing into the crowd of skeletons wearing shabby clothes and yellow stars.

  During the long, and gruesome days of work, I wasn’t Miriam. I left her back with Emanuel, or with the women too sick to rise from their bunks. I left her any place the Nazi guards couldn’t spoil her soul with their wickedness. It was my way of surviving. During the day I was a nameless inmate, a labourer.

I was number.

I was a nasty Jew.

  When we returned to our bunks for the evening is when I would allow myself to be Miriam, or Mira to my many friends. Us women would come together, embrace, console, and share stories of better times. After bringing each other back to life after a grim day, we’d pray for the strength to survive another day. Then sleep would take us away to a world without barbed wire, yellow stars, or war.

  I remember the day perfectly. The day my life changed forever. It was both the worst and best day of my entire life. A day of great contradiction.

  I walked behind the guard as he led me across the yard. I was instructed to keep my head down and follow close. It was hard to keep up with his stride due to our state and constant exhaustion, but I didn’t dare fall behind. He collected me before roll call, telling my bunk guard that I was required for duty else where for a short while. I knew this had to be it, that Emanuel’s efforts paid off, that we were being granted our single hour.

 I was breathless when he allowed me inside and shut the door with haste. I heard the distinct lock behind me. I bent over to catch my breath when Emanuel came to me worried.

“Mira, sit down, please” be begged. 

  I didn’t want to waste a single moment. I took his face between my hands, and I kissed him. It was a passionate kiss, the kind you read about in books as a young girl, dreaming of being whisked off your feet by prince charming. His arms wrapped around me, holding as close as he could. The feeling engulfed us, each nerve ending felt like a live wire. The passion grew, and we couldn’t get enough of each other.

  We were both breathless when I broke free. I took a step back, and he reached forward, a flicker of fear in his eyes.

“What’s wrong my love?” he asked.

Instead of words, I smiled in response. Then slowly I removed my shirt.

“Oh”, he blushed. “Are you sure Mira?”

  Again, words wouldn’t suffice. I took a step forward, closing the gap between us, and pulled his shirt over his head.

  We made love that morning. Again and again. We were drunk on love, until three loud knocks on the locked door sobered us.

  I left the bunk house as Miriam. I returned to work as Miriam. I didn’t care today, my spirit was so bright nothing could dim it. I could hardly contain myself, and my friends took notice. I shared what had happened earlier that morning in whispers, and between girlish, hushed giggles.

  Before the end of the day, before being sent to the barracks for the evening, a siren blared. Guards were shouting and shoving inmates with their rifles, ordering everyone to gather in the main square. We were all in a sate of fear, paranoia, and panic, as we gathered. Hushes whispers made guesses as to what was happening. But once thing was certain among us all, this couldn’t be good.

  A German in a pristine black SS uniform climbed the stairs of the wooden gallows in front of us all. With a speaker phone, he welcomed us. He was smiling. But it didn’t reach his eyes. The expression made my stomach turn in knots.

  “A wee little birdy flew into my office not long ago.” He bellowed in his thick accent. Eyes scanning the crowd, enjoying the suspense.

 “Would you like to know the little song it sang to me?” he asked, raising a cupped hand to his ear, in mockery. The guards, clearing enjoying the taunt, laughed. A few yelled out song names.

“Ah, no my friends, I’m afraid you haven’t heard this one before” he answered using the speaker.

“This one is about two little Jews who thought it wise to make love here in our camp!” the SS continued, causing the watching guards to playfully gag and pretend to vomit in response.

 Suddenly, I couldn’t breathe. I was only partially aware that my friend Hannah grabbed my hand, holding it tight. She meant to comfort me, but also warn me not to react.

 Then, I saw a guard dragging a man up onto to the gallows deck. He was fighting but it was no use, in his emancipated state he was no match to the large Nazi.

“No” I pleaded, no more than a whisper. My knees gave out. Hannah caught me, and begged me to stand.

“We will keep this short as I am a busy man, and deserve a stiff night cap” the SS continued, immune to all the faces of horror looking back at him.

“May this serve as a reminder to you all” he put down the speaker phone, pulled out his pistol, and put it to Emanuel’s temple.

Emanuel’s frantic eyes found mine at the last moment, he mouthed “I love you”.

I heard the shot as everything went black.

***

A single tear rolled down Nana’s cheek as she stared at someone I couldn’t see off in the distance.

I took her tattooed wrist gently in my hands and kissed it, then kissed her wet cheek, “Oh Nana” I whispered. “I didn’t know”.

“We were liberated by the Americans a few months later. The war ended and us prisoners returned home, or what was left of home and family. Everyone except the dead. And Miriam.” She continued, “I left Mira there. She died there in the mud when Emanuel did. I changed my name, I changed my identity. I came here to Canada with the only thing tethering me to my past. A secret blessing…Emanuel’s seed in my womb. Your father”

I couldn’t speak. I just held her closer, “I love you Nana”

  “So, now you know. I don’t talk about this tattoo because it’s part of another’s life. It’s an echo of a past soul. It’s not mine, its Miriam’s.”

 We never imagined a World War Three. We never imagined devastation like holocaust could cripple us again. But it came, and humanity will never be the same.

 WW3 was not about religion, or race. It was about power and control. True domination, and no country would retreat. It became a nuclear wipe out.

A great cleanse of the wicked.

 Nana took my hands in hers, and looked me in the eyes now, “You must always find light in the darkness, it isn’t always only bad. Life and love always persevere. Even now, we sit here in a wasteland, starving and cold, but we have each other for a while longer. My dear, please always find the good.”

“Always Nana, I promise”

***

Nana passed a few days later.

As I had suspected, her ankle was far worse than she let me know. It was broke, and caused an infection.

I dug a grave the best I could with makeshift shovels I found and made. They were crude, but managed to do the job. Using chucks of dry wall from the gas station’s walls, I made a head stone. Ash from our fire worked well enough to write out the following:

R.I.P

Louise May Williamson,

Grandmother, mother, daughter, and friend.

&

Miriam,

Survivor, lover, and free at last