To Give A Life

    My body aches with every move. My spirit is as young as I used to be, but it’s vessel is broken and battered with one hundred years of use come noon today. My hand trembles with age as my fingers wrap around a glass of water. 

    I can hear children playing outside, and I push myself up with feeble arms to see the young ones. Once, I had one visit me. Cassandra. She was the highlight of my week. She came in and danced for me, twirling and spinning in and intricate swirl of color and light. 

    I don’t often get visitors here. All I do is sleep, sit, eat, or watch television.  It gets boring, and I hate being trapped here. When I was young, the last days of a person’s life were purposely filled with joy, love, and beauty. Bac then, I did not dread being old, I almost looked forward to it. Now, it seems, locking people away until they die is proper protocol. The only people I see in this prison are the nurses. 

    As if on cue, a nurse comes in. I forget her name, as I forget so many other things daily. Simple things, I forget what, but I often forget, don’t I? I forget everything but what I long to forget. 

    “An interesting show is on that you might like.” The nurse says, taking the remote from my bedside table and turning on the television. The Death of Adolf Hitler flashes on the screen.

    “Turn it off, I have no desire to watch what I heard about fifty-five years ago.” I demand, panic blossoming. I used to be able to quickly shut the panic and fear down, but with and old body comes an old mind, one with which I cannot do the things I used to. The nurse says nothing and walks out of the room. A picture of the man in my nightmares flashes across the screen, and I shut my eyes as the panic sets in. 

­­­­­-----

Fifty-five years earlier…

    My feet hurt as I pull off my boots. We have been hiking for days towards wherever our destination is, they won’t tell me where. All they tell me is to do my job, which I’m well prepared for. 

    In all my twenty-six years I have ever seen a more horrific scene then what Adolf Hitler released upon the world. I should know, after all, I am one of the many Jews being hunted down. One reason why I was chosen. 

    The second is, although I am a Jew in blood, I am not one in religion. My father was in the German army, and trained me from an early age to fight. That’s why my family was one of the first to be killed. All put in front of a firing squad. I survived by hiding underneath their bodies, their blood slicking back my hair. 

    Ever since then, the blood of Nazi’s has trailed behind me, and I’m proud it does. 

    I’m not proud of the nightmares, however, that invade my peaceful sleep and make me kick and scream in terror. Adolf Hitler holding a knife to my throat, Adolf Hitler throwing me in a furnace, Adolf Hitler holding a gun to my right temple. My brain has invented hundreds of ways Adolf Hitler could kill me. However, it has recently scratched up something new. 

    Last night, instead of Hitler killing me, I saw thousands of Jews marched into a chamber, and a switch flipped. I heard screaming, as infants and mothers burned to their deaths. I saw shoes, thrown atop each other to create a mountain.

    “Agent David!” 

    I snap back to reality, quickly scampering to catch up with my group, who have already walked far ahead of me while I was daydreaming, lingering on the past. 

-----

    Once in Berlin, I quickly loose myself in the crowd. I know where we are, right where I want to be. I quickly navigate through the crowds, weaving in and out of German scum. As much as I want to light a grenade to throw at them, I stay my hand. I know that the citizens of Germany aren’t the ones who killed my family. Adolf Hitler is the one to blame, and kill.   

    With the Allies closing in, I can guess where Hitler would be. Where he has been for the past day. In his bunker, with his new wife. I finger the dagger strapped to my thigh readily. 

    The guards are hard to bribe at the front gates of Hitler’s compound. I finally get one into an empty alley by telling him I thought I saw an American. I kill him quietly in an alley, careful not to mar his uniform with blood. I quickly pull it on, my short hair coordinating well with the Nazi officer look. I exit the alley, walking back to the gate. 

    I stop and salute at the gate. The Nazi looks me up and down then opens the gate to let me in. I sigh with relief that I didn’t have to shout, “Hail Hitler,” and almost laugh under my cap. If they only knew that a “filthy Jew” was just let into Hitler’s grounds, what a start they would have.

    I easily cross over the garden to Hitler’s bunker. 

    “I have a message for the Fuhr.” I say at the entrance, making my voice deep and demanding.

    “He is to be left alone with his wife, Mrs. Eva Hitler.” The soldier says, blocking my path with a bayonet. 

    “It’s very urgent.” I say, using the best German accent I can muster. “American spies are believed to have been spotted in the city, heading here. I have to tell the Fuhr, immediately.” I feel a pang of regret at exposing the people who helped me here, even if they didn’t realize their important role in my mission. 

    The officer curtly nods at another Nazi who opens the bunker door for me, shutting it behind me with a dull, heavy clang. 

    I almost don’t see anything in the dim interior, then my eyes adjust to the light. I am in an entranceway, with five doors to choose from. I choose the closest one on my right. I investigate thoroughly, going through another room. Simply closets. I enter into the map room, retreating from there also. As I open the last door on the right side, I hear a voice say, demandingly, “I said we were to be left alone.” 

    My breath stops as I see the man who killed my family, burned my home, and destroyed everything I knew lying comfortably on a couch with his wife, not a care in the world. 

    He looks at me over his hideous mustache that drips with the blood of Jews in my dreams. I reach down under my waistband and pull out my knife. Hitler’s eyes go quickly from annoyance to fear. The great mastermind had not thought of this. I pull cyanide pills from my pocket. They had been given to me by my spy friends.   

    “Take the pills.” I say, tossing two at Hitler and his wife. Mrs. Hitler takes it without question, fear in her eyes. Hitler does nothing to stop her. He takes his pill and snaps it in half, letting the white powder fall to the floor. 

    “If you’re going to kill me,” he says in a smooth, serpentine voice, “don’t make it look like a suicide. I’m not that cowardly.” Eva, Hitler’s wife, coughs up white foam as her eyes go blank. Hitler draws his gun. He pulls back the hammer, aimed at my head.

    I lunge quickly and surely, disarming and firing before I can think. Hitler falls to the ground, a red, oozing hole in his right temple. I carefully place the gun in his fingers, wrapping them around the trigger. After removing any signs of a struggle, I walk out hastily, pounding on the exit door. A Nazi cracks open the door slightly.   

    “Why did I hear a shot fired?” The officer questions suspiciously. I take off my hat and play with it nervously. 

    “I’m afraid that the Fuhr is in a rage at the news I told him. He fired his pistol at a vase. If you don’t mind my saying so, you might consider leaving him alone for a while. Mrs. Hitler is calming him down.” 

    The officer nods, his face placid, and motions for me to exit Hitler’s bunker. I do so, and pretend to nervously walk across the garden. It doesn’t take much effort. As soon as I exit Hitler’s land I run into the alley where I dragged the Nazi whose uniform I took. I put him back in it best as I can, then I pull my clothes back on myself. 

    I wrap his fingers around his pistol, as I did with Hitler. I can only hope they assume both deaths were suicidal. 

    I trot out of the city, my breath coming in hot, short gasps as I make my way back to camp. If they ask me where I went, I will simply say I got lost in the crowd. With luck, whoever finds Hitler and his wife will simply assume they committed suicide. 

    I tell my lie that night around our small fire. The next morning, we hear the cries of “The Fuhr is dead!” echoing throughout the city. We leave hastily, for spies cannot survive in a suspicious city. 

­-----

Fifty-five years later…

    My hand trembles as I shut the television off. I’ll talk to that nurse later, whoever she is. Give her a piece of my mind. 

    I sit up slowly, looking out the window. I HATE being here. I have nothing to do, although I think I said that earlier. I forget. You would think that at least, every once in a while, somebody would come and take me somewhere, anywhere, like a park or zoo.   

    A smiling nurse comes in, a different one from before. She hands me a piece of paper. On it is a drawing of a beautiful horse, its mane reared up in majestic, lethal beauty. 

    “That’s from Cassandra, you met her once.” The nurse says. 

    “How nice of her. How is she?” I ask, moving my creaking neck up to look at the nurse’s face. It suddenly turns mournful. 

    “I’m afraid she’s not doing very well. She’s in the hospital currently.” 

    “Why?” I ask, my heart stopping. 

    “She is waiting for a heart transplant. So far there have been no matches. She’s running out of time.” 

    I speak without much thought, “How do you get tested to be a match?” 

    “You can’t be serious.” The nurse says, looking at me like I’m mad. “In your condition?” 

    “Of course, I’m serious. My life is nearly over anyway. I’d rather give it to a person who has something to live for. I have nothing but this dreary old person’s home to look forward to.” 

    The nurse looks at me with compassion in her eyes. 

    “I’ll see what I can do.” She says. 

    Two weeks later and I am in a hospital bed next to little Cassandra. While she flourishes, I slowly die. Every morning I’m greeted by her lovely face, smiling down on me from her bed. I never had any grandchildren; my only son having committed suicide at nineteen. Every day she dances for me, her skirts billowing in beautiful, intricate movements. 

    Instead of receiving a present for my one hundredth birthday, I gave one. I’m happy I did. Now I lie in my bed as the beeping machine beside me slows down. I still haven’t told anyone my secret; it dies with me. Cassandra lies on top of me, her curly auburn hair cascading down her back. Her arms are wrapped around my torso, and my arms are wrapped around her. 

    I’m glad that I lived to give another life. I close my eyes as a loud beeping echoes…

Thirty years later…

    Thirty years after being given my life I have discovered the identity of my father. My father was Zion Joseph David, the son of Elizabeth David, who gave me her heart. She had only met me once before she decided to save my life. I don’t know her past, and never will, but now I know a small portion of it. From what I can tell, she never knew I was her granddaughter, just as I never knew.

    In my journal I have written that, along with Elizabeth’s heart I inherited her desires. I have an overwhelming passion to help others, and a deep desire for children.  I also, although I don’t know if it comes with the heart or not, have a deep, newfound fear and hate for Adolf Hitler. Ironically, I married a man whose whole life is devoted to learning about the deceased murderer.   

    I am now a professional dancer, traveling the world. I dedicate all of my dances to Elizabeth David. I also do my best to draw attention to the bored life of most of our senior citizens. 

    Most seniors live in isolation, with no family to visit them or simply a family that doesn’t care about their old ancestors. They never go out, never get to do anything. The joys in their lives are things that we take for granted, such as getting a cookie with their lunch. 

    Anyway, I’m getting ahead of myself. I now have two children myself, a strong and beautiful little dancer and a knight in shining armor. Both of my girls bring me joy. Every weekend we travel to a nursing home where all three of us perform a ballet for the inhabitants. 

    My husband, as stated earlier, is a historian who is currently researching the death of Adolf Hitler. He has recently found out some interesting information…