Isabella sat with her mother at the table, relieved her mother was still silent. Perhaps some day she would want to hear her voice, ask her to speak to her, maybe even beg her to talk, but now her silence was a blessing, a great blessing…a great comfort. Since Marias death there had been questions…many questions and all somehow the same, over and over, from her children, other children, friends, neighbors, storekeepers…endless questions and agonizing replies…over and over, each one digging up the pain and twisting even wider the break in her heart…but no answers. Sometimes she wanted to scream but where could she go!? Where was there a door she could lock to keep out the world so she could scream away her agony? And would it help? Her begging, her prayers did not help. Her endless tears did not help. Maria is dead…and buried…and nothing will change that…no, nothing will ever change that. All she could do was pray to the Blessed Mother for comfort and ask for a time of peace where every breath, every word would not torture her…a little soothing silence that would somehow ease her pain and make it possible for her to sleep…to just sleep…no nightmares, no dreams, only sleep and help in getting up in the morning to face another day knowing the children would be running and yelling and screaming but Maria would not be heard, Maria would not be there. Another day of washing, cleaning, cooking, feeding, shopping, of going up and down the stairs…and crying, in her heart always crying but now her eyes are dry, no tears left to flow down her cheeks, but always the crying in her heart, the sadness that rolled and twisted around within her and choked at her throat so she could not eat, at times could not breath, but always there, her constant companion, and though there were times she wished she could go to sleep and not wake up, she knew that she would and that she would do everything necessary to take care of her family, the family without Maria, to keep doing what she had always been doing even though everything now seemed so hopeless, that maybe the old one was right and all the children would go the way of Maria, one by one, but she could not believe that, could not believe that all her children would be ripped from her bosom as was Maria. No. The Blessed Mother would not allow that to happen. She knows too well a mothers sorrow at the death of her child. So Isabella sat in the comforting silence, aware of the presence of her mother, but not looking at her, just grateful for the quietness and the tiredness growing in her body. Soon she would be able to sleep. Soon, another day after the death of her Maria will have passed.
Bobbys mother clung to the body on top of her as it moved, grunted, sweated, smelling of old wine and cigarettes, her own hot breath reflected into her face from his neck, vaguely aware of her voice, the groaning coming from her throat seeming distant and almost disconnected from her, clutching the warmth of a body that wanted to be with her, telling her things she had to hear, making her feel important, special, absorbing some of the loneliness and longing she lived with, filling the dark emptiness within her if only for a moment, yet the voice sounded distant, grunting through a haze, wondering will he really be gettin her tv fixed like he promise an how long it be takin, she wanted to see her game shows an the kids be yellin about their cartoons an all and anyways they always be yellen but the tv be keepinem quiet an she wonder what Bobby be doin about now, if he really okay like Jesse say an if he really be tryin to kill the spics and what might happen if he does; specially he be by his own self and how he goin to do somethin an maybe the poeleece be gettin him an what be happenin toim then, o lord, she just didnt know what was happenin to her boy—the guy stopped moving and just lay heavily on top of her, breathing hard and it seemed like he was saying, O baby, O baby, and she hugged him tighter and told him he was so good, You the bes man I ever had. He smiled in the dark, Yeah baby—and suppose he really killem what be happenen toim then? Suppose my boy be goin to prison what chance he got up there with all them bad mens??? they be hurtin my boy and he caint help hisself none with them, he jus a boy, he aint no man yet an they aint got no right sendin my boy to prison with them mens he aint did nothin wrong, he only protectin hisself, they aint got no right be hittin on him with no chain an be hurtin his gurl frien so she kill herself, what for they be wantin to do that? my Bobby caint be gettin no more hurt than he is, he need be goin to school an get hisself a good job he jus dont need no pain with them spics that whippedim an they got no business anyway doin that to my boy….
and her eyes slowly moistened and a couple of tears wet her cheeks, mixing with the warm wine-sour breath, the breath chuckling, You sure be admirin my big dick, dont you baby—and the breath chuckled some more—It be all for you baby, jus take as much as you want, hahaha….You be fixin my tv wont you baby? Huh? You be fixin my tv????
Bobby slept. Moishe sat in his chair. When Bobby had finally gotten up from the table and went to the bedroom, Moishe could still see the demons that haunted Bobby in his eyes. Moishe had started to get up, but something kept him in his chair so he just watched Bobby move to the bedroom seemingly inanimate in all areas except movement, a terrible lifelessness saturating Bobbys body yet Moishe painfully aware of the hatred flowing through and from him.
Moishe listened to Bobby getting undressed, then getting into bed, the sounds of settling into a comfortable position loudly missing, Moishe waiting many moments to hear those sounds, but the silence continued…and Moishe continued to sit at the table, unaware of time, feeling only the ache in his heart. Eventually he sought the comfort of his chair and all the happiness and contentment it had absorbed all those years, but still he could not get free of the horrors of the days before his chair, the years he wanted to forget, all the pain and fear Bobbys presence had brought back….Yes…true, he did come back. Am I glad? Is it a joy in my life to have here a boy with such pain? Werner stop. You should sleep. You sit here and torture yourself. You can see he is haunted by images…demons, thats enough for one house….Yes, true, this is one house and he is part of the house and his torment is enough, I dont need to add mine…mine from the past, which at least is real…but the future…why should I suffer today for something that hasnt happened yet? Isnt there enough pain today, do I need to borrow tomorrows? Ahhh…he is not my son…or my sons son. I accepted my loss…my many losses, and each time more of me died, yet I still live. Yes…I still remain with this flesh and bones…for what? To suffer? I bury my son…my wife, just to suffer longer? That cant be…no, cant be. I live because I live. Dont make a big mishagosh of this Werner. Lets not philosophize. Remember who you are. Yes, who I am. Im here, hes here, because we/re here. O, I weary myself with talk and angst. When I need to know I will know, as always…I will know. And now I know I should stop. Just relax so I can sleep. So Werner, let it go…let it all go and crumble into a little ball that just floats, a little speck of light that just is and doesnt think, just shines and smiles and laughs and moves on the air and through the air…just a little dot of light that doesnt know what darkness is…that has no dreams, no hopes, just all the light of the stars right here right now…no past no future, just bright and peaceful now…the eternal now….
and Moishe sat in his chair, barely breathing, looking as if the air was forcing itself into his body, his hands on his lap, sitting totally immobile, his eyes closed in a restful comfort….
eventually he slowly opened his eyes, blinked a few times, looked around for several minutes, then slowly stood and went to the bedroom. He looked at Bobby for a moment, hoping Bobby was having a dreamless sleep, then shrugged and got undressed and went to bed. He lay on his back for a moment feeling the soothing softness of the darkness, then closed his eyes and slept.
Bobby was still dazed the next morning, seeming to be trying to push himself into something but always being forced to be where he was and not liking it. He just nodded or grunted almost inaudibly when Moishe would ask him if he wanted a cup of coffee…some juice…eggs, toast, and remained silent as they ate breakfast, and when they finished Bobby sat with his hands around his coffee cup staring in front of him, eventually focusing on the tattoo on Moishes wrist. Moishe could feel Bobbys eyes staring at the
numbers and wanted to cover them with his other hand, but rather kept his wrist where it was, unmoving, uncovered, trying not to allow Bobby to know he was watching him. Eventually he heard Bobbys voice though he didnt notice Bobbys lips moving, but the words were clearly spoken, You aint no jew Mush how come you got jew numbers an a jew name?
Moishe looked down at his wrist for a moment, then at Bobby who still hadnt moved, Is funny how you are always asking questions I dont want to hear. Bobby blinked several times and slowly looked up at Moishe who tried to smile, finally succeeding as he looked into Bobbys eyes, The questions are simple, but the answers…the answers are taking time. Bobby blinked again and nodded, Spect so….Why are you wanting to know? Bobby looked at Moishe for a moment, then shrugged, Dont know. Jus seems like I got to be knowin. They looked at each other for a moment, then Moishe leaned forward and rested his arms on the table, consciously ignoring the tattoo.
When first we/re in the camp Im still in a rage, how can I be locked up with jews, Im a good German…how can Klaus do this just to steal the business…how can this be allowed to happen???? This just cant be happening to me….And all the time Im thinking already about my wife and son, about if theyre alive and in my heart afraid theyre dead…over and over, day and night Im thinking about my wife and son…I close my eyes and I see them, I open my eyes and I see them, no matter where I am Im seeing my wife and son…and then Im seeing them dead…I dont know how theyre dead, but dead…and even if Im not seeing Im knowing…theyre dead and I want to kill someone but I cant do anything. If Klaus is there Im for sure killing him, but theres no Klaus so who Im killing, the guards? Im taking from them their guns and shooting them? All I do is think of killing till Im sick from thinking but I still think, I/ll get him, I/ll kill him—Moishe leaned back in his chair—But then I thought of killing the jews…If the guards saw I hated the jews they would let me go home and if I killed the jews they would know I hated them, so I thought I/ll kill them, all of them in my barrack its their fault Im here, and I tell them every day I hate them, theyre scum, if it wasnt for them there would be no camps and I would be with my family. And every day we got weaker from hard work and so little food, now only thin potato soup with mostly skins…a little bread. And it kept getting colder and colder…winter winds, snow, ice and we had to march to work in the cold and march back to the camp every day and it, Ach…Moishe sighed and his body sagged, We/re walking back from work, the sky is heavy and ugly like dirty lead, the wind stabs like ice razors. I look around at these jews and they look so dirty, ragged…And they smell…and Im thinking, there must be something wrong with these people or this wouldnt happen to them…things like this just dont happen to decent people—and Moishes and Bobbys eyes looked into each others for many seconds—Ya—nodding his head—I was there with them…a good German…ya, a good German who loves his Fatherland and loves his wife and son and makes for them a good home…a good home…warm in the winter with plants and flowers in the window box and a garden. Good food. We were happy and laughed a lot and had a big tree at Christmas…good, decent people. So—still looking into Bobbys eyes and shrugging and turning his hands palm up—So…even sleeping Im having terrible pains in stomach, big knots in my gut and all the time screaming in my head to get them, to kill the jews, and more and more I think of killing Klaus and his cousin, of making them live in a camp, making them wear these uniforms, to smell the shit and death day and night—Ya, maybe the hating in the beginning is keeping me alive—Bobby peering, obviously agreeing as he nods his head—ya…in the beginning is maybe keeping me alive. But then it starts to kill me, the pain, the poison ya, poison, I can feel it flow through me, terrible poison, worse than the food or the cold…and inside all I hear is the screaming of the poison—looking piercingly at Bobby for a moment, then nodding his head and sighing—Ya, Im having only the hate and it gets all the time worse so I cant stand straight—Moishe suddenly relaxed and his body seemed to slump slightly in his chair and a sense of affection and tenderness seemed to flow from him as he held Bobbys hands in his for a moment—That was already the worst, the hate…it didnt go anywhere, it just stayed inside me and ate me up…like a cancer, I was being devoured by my own hate—Moishe looked at Bobby for another moment, then let go of his hands and leaned back in his chair….So…we/re walking back from work area, everything hangs like dirty lead…even the trees are looking like dirty lead…Ahhhccchh such a cold day, such cold…freezing…and this old man falls, no, it wasnt like he fell, its like he crumbled…I can still now see so clearly that day so long ago…Oh…so many lifetimes ago…and Im seeing so clearly we/re walking along and all of a sudden this old man is crumbling and hes on the ground and I know, somehow Im knowing he will not move, that even as the sergeant comes and tells him to get up he will say nothing and not move that he has nothing inside and the sergeant will shoot him in the head and yell at us to keep moving and we will walk and stumble and try to convince ourselves that nothing happened, that it is best, he was old and would soon anyway be dying and hes no more cold and hungry but something inside is not believing and suddenly Im picking up this old man—looking at Bobby with an expression of amazement and surprise—Im not thinking to do this, is just happening and I have an arm around him and am trying to drag him along and a guard comes up to me and hes whispering loud and scared in my ear, Quick, before the sergeant sees him, quick!!! and he stood just behind us to block the view and others made a circle and I somehow dragged/carried him, his one arm over my shoulder and Im hanging on it, my other arm around his waist and somehow Im breathing but not knowing how. Hes a thin, little old man, but he feels like so big a man but I keep holding him, keep us moving, my hands and arms so stiff, so cold, their pain screaming louder than the hate and somehow we/re getting back to the barracks and I drop him on his bunk and others are laying on him and warming him and hes breathing, his heart keeps beating, and Im unable to open my hands or move my arms, its like Im being sprayed with cement, Im all stiff and I just stand there and Im feeling my eyes stare at the old man and someone puts over me a blanket, and someone else is rubbing me and soon I start to feel my arms and hands and the pain is making me cry…the blood is rushing through my hands and arms and is making me cry so bad is the pain—Moishe looked up toward the ceiling, obviously involved with memories and thoughts, then lowered his gaze and once again looked at Bobby, but this time his expression was glowing, soft and overflowing with compassion—Bobby staring at Moishe, fascinated, overwhelmed and speechless, being able only to shake his head—And Im not even at the beginning knowing Im doing this. We/re walking and I realize I have already this old man so I just keep walking—Moishe throws up his arms and leans back and shakes his head—Im not understanding, but its happening. And he lives. He lives a year, then, like millions, dies—Moishe shrugs—But maybe Im living because I carried him, maybe my hate would kill me before the camp—Moishe shrugs again—So anyway, they rub my arms and Im almost screaming with pain, but its passing and too is passing the hate for them, O, not all, not for Klaus, but I see the other prisoners differently, something is happening to how Im seeing them. And theyre having in the barracks a meeting and one comes over to me after they whisper a long time in the corner and saying theyre making me a honorary jew and giving me the name Moishe, may I have the name and be blessed—Moishe spread his arms and smiled—Im cursing them, hating them, and now they make me one of them and so Im a part of the world around me and something is happening inside…like a new feeling—Moishe was obviously struggling to find the right words—a closeness to those men I never felt before, like I truly was one of them like if Im a jew or not is meaning nothing, but we are all, men, somehow together. If Klaus is there then Im still killing him, still strangling him with my bare hands, but…now something is different…like something inside moved. Before Im not talking to them, Im pleading with the guards to get me away from the jews, Im not a jew I shouldnt be here, and theyre laughing so Im stopping, but still Im not talking to these men and now Im one of th
em, Im one with them, like Im them and theyre me—Moishe leaned back and closed his eyes briefly, a look of joy and utter detachment on his face for a moment, then he opened his eyes, looked at Bobby and spread his arms—And thats how Im becoming Moishe. Bobby smiled and shook his head, That be some deep shit Mush—and they continued to smile at each other until Moishe got up, I think we/re needing some ice cream. Hey, dont be forgettin the chocolate sauce Mush—and Bobby laughed and Moishe nodded his head and chuckled.
The Willow Tree: A Novel Page 13