by MaeEadie
*
Oh, the power of words.
The most powerful weapon one can own.
The Führer had chosen well.
*
In a country neighbouring Hitler's own, there was a family pouring over a second hand newspaper.
"Papa, I don't get it. Papa. Papa!" a little boy demanded attention from his Papa, pulling on his sleeve.
"Ollie! Florence and I are trying to read. Please! Keep quiet for just one minute!" A chilling bead of sweat trickled down Florence's spine. It didn't take a genius to realise that this speech wouldn't go unnoticed.
Florence wasn't Jewish. Florence wasn't a Communist either. But just like her uncle, she certainly wasn't a Nazi either.
Florence had heard and read about Hitler. To his credit, he was very convincing. Sometimes Florence even found herself agreeing with him. But then she would remember Lisette.
How many others had been affected by him?
How many other's lives had changed because of him?
How many other's lives would change because of him?
*
Another unthought question Florence would much later ask:
How many would he murder?
Too many.
*
The last fish
26th February 1939
The snow was beginning to melt, leaving greyish sludge everywhere. The days got longer, the air was warming. Coats were hung back on their pegs to be left alone until the next winter came. The sun began to show itself again, a freshly baked cake in the sky, straight from the oven and still with a golden glow.
Spring was only a few days away and Switzerland was more than ready for it. It had been a long and hungry winter. Not enough food. Not enough money. Gabriel worked with fervour. He worked harder and he worked longer. Slowly, his pockets and pantry were refilling.
Lisette's family was much the same. Since life in Switzerland had begun for them, the old and forgotten luxuries became more frequent. With all hands on deck, they could afford food and other necessities once more. Salomon, too, worked long and hard.
*
Would he ever be able to gain his family's respect again?
Yes.
He already had.
At least from Lisette.
*
Lisette couldn't imagine what she would have done if she hadn't left France. Switzerland had become her home. Florence was her sister. Ben was her brother. She had discovered the place that made her happiest in the world.
There was a hammering at the door. Lisette swung it open and stood facing her new siblings. She turned and shouted back into her house.
"Maman! Je vais aller à la pêche avec Florence et Ben maintenant, d'accord?" Without waiting for an answer, she closed the front door behind her. The day was cool but the sun warmed her face. A grin swept over her face as the trio walked side by side along the deserted road.
They had a long conversation in silence. Spoken words weren't necessary, they knew each other too well for that.
They were headed for Dreiheimne, the small lake near their homes. The awaited appearance of the sun had raised spirits, not a moment of this precious sun was to be wasted. Ben carried a rusty metal lunchbox. It held all the necessities.
Some bent nails for hooks.
Three lengths of string.
A handful of food scraps for bait.
The sun reflected off the water, shining through a gap in the trees. No matter what, Lisette could never get over the beauty of nature. Having lived in a city of absolute greyscale her whole life, Switzerland was like a gold mine, natural treasures every way she turned.
The lunchbox was set down on the grass. The nails were tied to the string, the bait to the nails.
Ben cast his line first, watching the hook plop and sink below the water.
It was half an hour before anything happened. It took them all by surprise when Florence's string began whipping around and around, loosening her grip on the line. Ben jumped up and began yanking too. A blur of golden brown flew through the air and landed at Florence's feet. Ben picked it up, cupping the still squirming fish in his hands.
"Too small." he declared and threw it back into the water.
They were on a roll. From then on, the fish kept on coming and coming, getting bigger and better. With each tug of the line, the lake would ripple with the triumphant cheers of the three friends.
"Hey Lisette, if you can flick your next fish onto Florence you can keep all of mine." Ben grinned at her, whispering in her ear.
"You're on."
As the hours ticked by and the pile of fish grew, Lisette noticed it. It was so nearly invisible, but there was nothing that could stop the quiet riot entirely. The way Ben looked at Florence. Lisette knew that Florence was like a sister to Ben, but now she sensed that Ben wished it weren't so. It was in the way he looked at her, subtle longing behind his dark eyes. It was how he touched her, tenderly and unsure. It was in how he spoke to her, a level of respect Lisette had never known before.
He loved her so much.
He hated himself for it.
As the cake sun rose overhead and began descending behind the trees, the pile of fish grew to five. "Oh God!" Florence looked up at the darkening sky. "We were meant to leave an hour ago!" With their feet striking the grass and the scraggly shrubs, Florence, Ben and Lisette fought their way back to the road. They had a box full of fish and shoes full of water. The afternoon of carefree smiles and laughter was still etched on their bright faces.
When Lisette went to bed that night, sleep wouldn't come. For over three hours, she lay on her back, surrounded by a mess of blond hair. The day had revealed a great secret to her. It was unexpected, but not unlikely.
She now knew. Ben was in love with Florence.
He must be longing to taste her lips.
Longing for the kiss that would never be his.
A book of destructive words
27th February 1939
Unknowingly, Lisette had just lived her last day standing.
*
Whenever I think about Lisette,
I feel a little pang of regret.
Her life had only just begun,
she had barely lived.
Lisette Mele surely deserved better.
She was one of those humans that you rarely come across.
So strong.
So just.
In fact,
she was rather like her cousin.
Let me tell you that her fate was more than unfair.
But then again,
life rarely is fair.
The best people seem to nearly always be worse off.
Why?
Because I make it so.
*
When the clock struck one, no, the mouse didn't run down, but a shelf full of books did.
Her Maman had fallen out of bed, searching for the light. The ground had shaken. Ever so slightly. Almost un-noticeably.
Almost.
The floorboards had quivered. Barely, but they did quiver. Tiny shocks were sent up the walls, into the rusty nails, into the rickety bookshelf.
There were two books. One was red. One was green. The pages shivered, the words screamed at the girl below.
"Move!"
"Get out of the way!"
But there was no sound.
Only a falling wooden shelf. Only falling books.
It was the red book that finished it off. As if in slow motion, the shelf struck Lisette at the top of her spine.
Then the green book. Then the red.
It bounced off and landed heavily on the floor beside her bed. A few pages floated down, ripped and torn.
Served it right.
Lisette didn't wake. Not until the sun rose again, hiding behind formidable grey clouds.
Her eyes flickered open. Her eyes squeezed shut.
She moved her hand to her throbbing back, but it didn't come. Her arm remained by her side, limp and lif
eless.
What?
Lisette tried her other arm too.
Nothing.
Her legs flopped too, lame and useless.
"Maman!" she cried, the word muffled by her pillow. Her back. How it ached.
Édith Mele didn't hear. "Maman!" The was no answer. Lisette screamed out in agony as a speck of feeling surged down her spine.
Édith heard that time. She heard the urgency in her child's voice.
"What's wrong Lisette?!"
"Maman, mes bras. Ma dos. Mes jambes!" Édith strode over to her Lisette's bed, heart in her mouth. The covers were flipped back. Lisette couldn't move.
"Maman! I can't feel them. I can't move." Édith's blood ran cold. She looked at the two books, the the shelf on the floor, the bare wall, the growing bruise on the top of her daughter's spine.
The connections were made.
She scooped up her child, Lisette hung limp in her arms. Édith fled from the room, flying over the red book. She ran with Lisette down to her brother in law's house, tears running down her face, panic gripping her heart with two hands. Édith later realised she shouldn't have moved her. But that realisation had been too late. The damage was done and it had been on impulse. Panic had overrun her thinking and sometimes there is nothing a person can do to stop it.
Lisette felt lighter than a feather, fear does that to a person. All senses are shut down until there is only fear and your racing heart.
Florence sat beside her cousin as the little ambulance came. No tears formed, they were shocked away. Ben shuffled in, his face white and his breathing rugged. He sank down into an empty chair and held their hands. Flory's in the right, Lisette's in the left.
Florence returned the squeeze, Lisette stayed limp. The Mele kitchen could't have been quieter. The air was un-breathable, thick with distress.
Three children held hands. Each with a dead heart. Torn out of their aching chests. Shattered into a million pieces. Stuffed back in.
The room was flooded with unshed tears, all three were drowning, choking on their useless words.
That red book.
Again, it's those words.
They create and they destroy.
That day, the words destroyed.
A pile of bones
4th March 1939
Out of the hospital window, Lisette could see as far as she wanted. Below, her new home town lay, neat and tidy, like a child's play set. The sky was a miserable blue, the kind when the clouds were unsure whether to stay or not. The mountain, her mountain, stretched out in front of her, like a pile of dirty washing. Lisette wondered what her family would be doing. Would her baby brother be sleeping in his cot? Would her grandmère be re-knitting an old cardigan? Would her mother be tutting at the mess around the house? Would her father be fiddling with the uncooperative stove top? Would Florence be with Ben, fishing in Dreiheimne pond?
Envy bubbled up inside her like a boiling kettle. Her desire to stand in the shallows of the water just once more never went away. Just to run down the mountain side with her brother and sister one more time.
To feel the wind in her hair.
To stumble and nearly fall with each step.
The feel the tired ache in her legs.
To smile.
But it was impossible. That stupid book.
Never again would her feet pound the earth. That stupid book.
Never again would she write her beloved words. That stupid book.
Never again would she taste the beauty of the forest's depths. That stupid book.
Never again would she get her childhood back. That stupid book.
How many times did she curse it? Nobody knows exactly, she never stopped.
Nearly every day, Florence would visit frescreet village. Distractions were her only consolation. Once again, she shut herself out. But this time, she stayed with Ben. He was the only one who loved Lisette like she did. The three of them had been closer than siblings.
They visited Lisette, together, every day they could. They would sit in silence. Sometimes holding hands. Often just thinking. Always waiting. Waiting to wake up and get out of this wretched nightmare.
Words were not needed. What could they say? Hey, how's life?!
On this particular day, their silence was especially loud. The blood pounding in Florence's ears was magnified, sounding like a thousand human footsteps. Her thin breaths were like a marching band. Her beating heart like thunder claps. The quiet was unbearable.
Florence jumped to her feet, startling the other two.
"Come on Ben, help me." she said, beginning to lift her cousin. Ben's help was not needed, Lisette's body was just a pile of bones. Slowly, they eased Lisette into her wheelchair, hardly making a dent in the seat. Taking the handles, Florence steered Lisette out of the near empty ward, passing a slight smile to Ben.
As smoothly as she could, Florence pushed Lisette around the small hospital. Ben following anxiously behind.
As Florence and Ben were lifting Lisette back into her bed, she spoke for the first time in several days.
"Danke schön." Finally, the first tears were shed. Since the accident, every eye had been dry. Up until that miserable blue day in March. The tears came slowly at first, then all at once.
Hugging on a rock hard hospital bed were three best friends. They were soaked to the skin with tears. Some were their own, some were each other's. They stayed, arms around Lisette, holding tight.
"I love you."
The forgotten smile
15th March 1939
Life continued on. But it was empty.
Each day Florence would make the trip, to and from school. She had never felt lonelier. She felt guilty every time a smile would crack her mouth as she ran down the mountain.
'Sorry Lisette.'
Florence and Ben didn't go back to Dreiheimne pond. It would never feel right without Lisette. Nothing did.
Florence would often look up from her school desk to see several pairs of eyes on her. She saw the pity in their stares. She saw the sympathy. She saw the charity. But no matter who it was, she saw no empathy. Nobody wanted to feel her pain. Nobody wanted to get hurt.
"Idioten." under her breath she would curse them. Pity was the last thing she wanted.
She would avoid everyone, especially Greta. She only had to get through a couple more months and she could leave. Just like Ben. Florence had already agreed with him that they would work in the hospital together. Hopefully they'd be assigned to Lisette's ward. They would clean, prepare food, assist. Anything. All three would be together all day, they wouldn't care if they were told to wash every toilet in the building.
Ben and Flory's visits to Lisette became much of an adventure. Each time, Lisette would be lifted into her wheelchair and Florence would guide her around the hospital, Ben chatting beside her. There wasn't a single room they hadn't visited or a resident they hadn't met.
Their favourite person to visit was Herr Schendrich. His fluffy beard would wave around as he told them tales from the Great War. His endless bank of stories would bore them to tears. But they liked him all the same.
Whenever Herr Schendrich told his stories, the ward would have their own war. In the bed across from the storyteller, was Frau Hendlauke. She never moved from beneath her blankets, forever tucked under the covers. Her sour face, framed with a halo of thin and fuzzy hair would be the only visible part of her. And how thankful they all were that nothing else was showing. Her mouth was work enough. She would shout in her cranky, screechy voice across the room, cutting in and correcting every word said. The other patients would shout back at her.
"Halt den mund!"
"Ruhig sein!"
"Sie alte hexe! Ließ ihn reden!"
Her sour face would pucker up, the insults pouring from her toothless mouth.
Florence, Ben and Lisette quite enjoyed these little wars. They were so petty yet amusing that they would find themselves coming back again and again to hear them.
*
No one came back for more after the next war.
*
The nurses would rush in each time. They even had a 'Hendlauke hushing' duty roster. They would stride in and gather around her bed. They used to have patience with her, taking time to calm her down and coax her back into her shell. But after a while, the weary nurses gave up, often striding over and commencing the force feeding ritual. That would always shut her up.
Lisette lived in the children's ward and it was nearly empty. Only three others were in there with her, two girls and a boy. The older of the girls was called Anika, and she loved her nose and ears. They were her world and were sacred to her. The only thing she ever saw was the middle of the night. Pitch black. Always. Yes, Anika was blind. But she didn't mind, her nose and ears were in tip top condition. But a few weeks later her bed would be empty, infection invading her brain. Lisette would watch her get carried away. Lisette would never see Anika again.
The younger girl was about seven years old. Lisette knew nothing about her, what her name was, why she was there, when she got there. She never talked, she only read. And read. And read.
That left the boy, Markus. He considered himself quite the ladies’ man, never missing an opportunity to sneak in a flirtatious comment. He kept Lisette entertained enough. His odd yet funny chatter would make her smile inside. He would tell her stories of his most daring adventures, saving wild goats from avalanches and winning every race at his school carnival.
Each story usually ended with a snort from Lisette. His story telling was sufficiently painful.
"What?! Don't you believe me?”
"Nope. Not at all."
Even so, Lisette enjoyed listening to his stories, exaggerations and all.
Another of his highly exercised hobbies was trying out his jokes. By the time Lisette met him, his supply was running out and so he began to create his own.
"So there were these two guys, right, and one day one of them said hey, wanna go out for some chips? Then the other would say, sure, let's go on Fry day." Usually the nurse would raise her eyebrows and attempt a laugh. It would always sound like she was choking. Markus would grin like a goof as soon as the nurse left. That was the best part. Embarrassing the nurses.
Other than telling stories, Markus was often asleep. His legless body tired so quickly.