Stories

FROM SOUL DINER CHAPTER 1

It would be hard to sleep on the floor of the malodorous cattle car under the best conditions. For Jacob, now 13, on this dark and chilly night, it seems impossible. He is pinned against the rough wooden planks by the mass of humanity and the cold air numbs his backside. There is nothing for it; no room to move for any of the men, women, and children packed into the railcar like stacked wood, but if he was in the center, he would at least share the warmth of others on all sides.

He doesn’t resent them. He is young, and better able to cope with the conditions than the elderly. Besides, it could be worse. Many are forced to sleep standing, as there is little alternative. The floor is two deep, three in some places. Arms and legs stick out at odd angles. It looks almost as if the bodies have simply been thrown in the car, a heaving mass that desperately desires comfort and warmth. Only their heads stay consistently above the surface of the human massif.

Somehow, Jacob does sleep. He wakes with the rising sun cutting a narrow band across his face, through the slats of the railway car. It feels deliciously warm, and he lies savoring it, the clickety clack of the wheels along the rails singing sweet lies to obfuscate the frightening reality.

He slowly realizes the chorus includes the moans and prayers of his fellow travelers, and he struggles to his feet. The morning light snakes through the alternating wooden planks and illuminates the weary and frightened cargo. Young cling to old. Jacob, an oddity in the weary looking group, with his fair hair and bright blue eyes, is buffeted by older bearded men at his side. The yellow Star of David on their shabby coats stands in stark contrast to the grey despair in their eyes.

One painful plea rises above the others and Jacob is drawn to it. He worms his way through the intertwined bodies to its source. A pregnant woman, blood beginning to pool between her legs on the filthy wooden floorboards where she sits sobbing, wracks with painful spasms. Those nearest, as if touched by an unseen force, press away as Jacob approaches.

He kneels beside the young woman and draws her eyes to his. He appears to her much older than his scant years. He takes her hand in one of his, and places his other gently upon her swollen belly. The Woman gasps in surprise and relief. Her cries stop. Jacob, his breath rapidly laboring, grits his teeth in silent suffering.

The young woman stares at him, eyes wide with wonder. She raises her hands to Jacob’s face and caresses his cheek as if he is an angel she needs to touch. To prove.

The train abruptly slows, and Jacob shields her as the crowd shifts. Coming quickly to a halt, there is at once an increased babble of voices, inside and out; those within in tremulous anticipation, outside, the confident and authoritative commands of the German SS.
High pressure water hoses suddenly pummel the car, the blast against the wooden planks a deafening roar. Water sprays through the two small glassless windows cut near the roofline, and crashes through the cracks with the sunlight, creating innumerable tiny rainbows. Some recoil in frightened surprise, while most open their mouths, extend their hands, and scramble to capture what little water they can claim.

Gone as suddenly as it began, the involuntary passengers jostle for position as the car picks up speed. Later, in the darkness of another night, the plaintive cries of a newborn rent the silence.