Silver Flute

    I’m being chased. 

    The wind whips through my hair as I pound down streets and around corners. The sound of my feet thumping on the cobblestones repeats itself in my head. 

    Thump. Thwump. Thump. Thwump. 

    In my head it turns into a melody, and, before I know it, my footsteps are singing to me.

    I dodge into the doorway of a building, opening and shutting the door quickly behind me. I pant for a little while. I calm myself, breathing in through my nose and out through my mouth. I hear booted footsteps pound behind me, behind the door. To my relief, they pass. I close my eyes and exhale. Then I take a moment to observe my surroundings. 

    I stand in the hallway of an elegant townhouse, one of the many left abandoned since the Nazi occupation of Paris. This one has been left for many years. I uncover a painting hanging on the wall. The face of Christ smiles down at me. Jews. This house was owned by Jews.

    An unexpected tear slides down my cheek. Tortured, beaten, burned and killed all because of ancestry they didn’t choose and they have no power to change. 

    I pull my silver flute out of my pocket. I hear the music start in my head, and I position my fingers to play the words. It’s in moments like these that my heart and mind become one. All my passion and sorrow flow out of me like a stream. I play softly, to soothe myself.

     I’ll look into your eyes and hold your hand,

    I’ll walk beside you through this golden land.

    A loud thumping coming from the stairs behind me brings me back to reality with a start. Before I can move a hand clamps itself over my mouth. Its owner breathes down my neck, and I smell smoke. Something slimy grips my arm. Then I’m released. 

    “I’m sorry, but I couldn’t have you screamn’ and alertin’ all them Nazis to my bein’ ‘ere.” 

    I turn around. A blaze of red hair peeks out from under a trench helmet. A soldier. I glance warily at the rifle strung across the man’s back. 

    He looks at my face, my eyes surveying every inch of the rifle, then shakes himself and takes it off, throwing it across the room where it lands with a loud clatter. 

    “Wo’ld you play ag’in?” he asks.

    “Who are you?”

    “David. David Greenman. There’s no need to be alarmed. I’m an Allie spy hidin’ from ‘em Nazis. I ‘erd ya playin and hoped you would do a tune for me.”

    His green eyes hold a hunger and desperation that I can’t refuse. War has deprived us of many things, one of which being music. The same hunger in his eyes is reflected in my soul. I pull out my flute and play the rest of the song for him, hoping he’ll leave afterwards. He claps loudly when I finish. I run over and grab his hands tightly, mushing them together in fear of the noise. 

    “Please, if the Nazi’s find me, I’m done for,” I say. 

   “Same ‘ere. No worries, lass. I’ll keep ‘em murderers from findin’ ya.” 

    “If it’s the same with you then you have to go. If you’re found with me then you as good as dead.” 

    He searches my face for a second. 

   “What could ‘em Nazis want wit’ a lass like you? You ain’t a spy, are ya?” 

    “No,” I say hastily, throwing a glance out the shattered window behind David’s head. “I’m just wanted, that’s all. They wanted me to play for them until they learned I was a Jew. The Gestapo have their eyes all over the streets looking for me.” 

    “Well, then. I’ll protect ya. ‘Em Nazis won’t be able to get through me, they ain’t smart enough.”

    “No, but the Gestapo is,” I protest, stuffing my flute back in my pocket. “I just need to find a job and earn some money, enough to bribe someone to get me out of here. However, nobody seems to want a musician to hire during this war.” 

    The soldier starts laughing. 

    “What?” 

    “Notin’, notin’ ‘cept that I’ve got a way out, that all.”

    “How?” I ask in disbelief.

    “I was just scoutin’ out the city, see, when the Nazis shot me,” he moves aside one hand to reveal a hole in his arm, one I hadn’t noticed. 

    “I just need somebody to ‘elp me, then I’ll get right back to my captin’. ‘E said that we might just take the city back soon.”

    My heart stops. I knew that the Allies were close, but I didn’t know they were that close. 

    My people are almost free. 

    Without hesitation, I agree to help him out of the city. The hesitation comes when I open the door and see a whole troop of guards standing, guns pointed at my head. Before I can stop him, David walks out the door. I scream too late, there’s already a bullet in his head. I watch the merry light die from his eyes and stare at the hole in his head uncomprehendingly. 

    “I see that we’ve found you, miss Da’vid. Ludendorff has been wondering why his little musician fled so quickly.”

    “You know why,” I spit on his polished boots. 

    “Is the pay not enough? Ah, yes, I remember now. You’re a Jew. A filthy mistake blotting out the Aryan race. A blot that the Fuher has been trying to wipe away. A blot that you will help wipe away with your death.” 

    “You’re trying to kill millions. It’ll never happen.”

    “My dear, we’ve already killed millions.”

    My pounding, scared, skittering heart stops. Millions. That word means so much. It means friends, family, acquaintances, teachers, students, mothers, daughters, fathers, and sons. 

    Dead. 

    I count how many people I know. I count them, as I’ve done every night since I lost them. I count how many I know are alive. One. One. One. Me. 

    “What do you gain from this? What do you gain from the murder of innocents?” 

    “A pure race.” 

    A pure race. All this for a pure race. 

    The hammer of a pistol clicks into place next to my head. 

    “Play for us and we might forget we saw you. We might let you run, with a little extra cash.” 

    Coins clatter to the sidewalk at my feet. 

    I have no choice. I pull my flute from my pocket. I play a tune that I haven’t dared to since before the war. Since they took Mama away. 

Alone, yet not alone

God’s the light that will guide me home

With his love, and tenderness,

Leading through the wilderness

In any land I roam, I’m alone

Yet not alone.

    I hear the sound of gunfire and shouting in the distance. Some of the men look down the street and start fidgeting nervously. 

    The Allies.

    “One more song, but make it short. I ignore the forbidden tune you just played.”   

    I feel the cold pressure of the pistol against my throat and suddenly, with a tight, twisted feeling in my chest, I know that they won’t let me go. They’ll kill me, and leave my bodies for the Allies to find. I picture a bloody flute on the pavement. I look at David, the hole in his head, and I decide, at that moment, that if the Nazis take me down, they’re going with me. 

    Off-tune and shrilly, I play the American anthem. It pierces the sounds of gunfire and death like a knife stabbed through butter. 

     Click.

    I fall to the cobblestones. I smile despite the pain in my neck. I don’t even try to breathe. I give in, knowing that the men who killed me don’t stand a chance. 

    They’re already dead.

Note by Author:

    The tone of this book is unpolished, intended to seem that way to help better portray the character’s personality. Likewise, David’s speech may seem odd due to his Scottish accent which I tried to portray in the spelling of the words he uses. I intended the story to be short and brief, and to happen fast, just as if you were Adelina Dav’id herself. 

    If you read and enjoyed this book, please leave a helpful comment! If you noticed something off, then leave a comment about that too. People don’t get better at writing by being told good things about their work.

    Thanks!- A E Blass