by JV Love
"You know she won't last long. This will be too much for her," muttered a pale man with wavy gray hair. "It's probably best to just move on now. Take what you got and get out."
"Death," an old woman sighed. "That's what will come of this in the end. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but mark my words, death will come."
It was getting to be too much for Felix. He wanted to scream. He made it through the crowd to the statue, but he couldn't escape the voices.
"With bayonets!" the man standing next to Felix shouted. "That's how we'll welcome them."
Since the word bayonet had never entered Felix's mind, this last statement made him stop and consider.
"Welcome who?" Felix asked the man.
"What are you talking about? You haven't heard?"
Felix shook his head.
"The Germans!" the man replied. "The damn Germans attacked us this morning. Molotov just announced it."
The significance was slow to sink in, but Felix finally understood that it meant war. He thought of his mother and father and how they would be out of their minds by now if they knew. He left the cathedral and quickly headed for home.
As he ran along Nevsky Prospekt, he saw people with wads of paper rubles in their hands running into grocery stores that were already packed to capacity. People leaving the stores had their arms full with sugar, flour, butter, groats, sausage, and canned goods. Felix recognized a Party official's rotund wife. She was balancing over a dozen cans of caviar and four bottles of vodka in her plump arms.
At the State Savings Bank, the line was around the corner and halfway down the block. Everyone in line was pushing and shouting and demanding their money "immediately!" A fight between two women broke out near the front of the line, and, for a moment, it looked like the whole block might erupt into a riot.
A dozen men stood together in a tight circle arguing amongst themselves, while small boys tried to squeeze between their legs to see what was happening. A group of teenagers - mostly boys, a few girls - started marching down the middle of the street singing the Internationale, their voices rising briefly above all the shouting and commotion. ". . . We peasants, artisans and others / Enrolled among the sons of toil / Let's change the earth henceforth for brothers . . . the last fight let us face / The Internationale / Unites the human race . . ."
On the corner, an old man with a long beard and black cap waved his cane wildly in the air. "Comrades," he roared at the top of his lungs, "we didn't ask to live through this, but by God we'll make it! They'll see how strong we are!"
~
-- Chapter Two
A Dream Incomplete
____________________________
The unhappy clock could tick and it could tock,
but missing from its life seemed the key to its lock.
High and low it searched in defeat,
for its logic and reason left it incomplete.
How to fill the void inside, it knew not,
but secured in that lock was the answer it sought.
The key it so yearned for really did exist,
but the time on its face could no longer twist.
There is truth in deception, success in defeat,
but a premature death is always a dream incomplete.
The pain in his ribs spread outward in all directions with each breath he took. The only remedy seemed to be not to breathe or not to think about the pain. Alfred chose the latter.
Although the Soviet interrogators let him sleep for just a few hours at a time and fed him day-old black bread and stale water, the only things that really bothered him were his bruised ribs and that he hadn't been able to bathe in so long. The bruises were courtesy of one of the guards after Alfred had turned his head away for the fifth time in a row just as they'd tried to take a photo of him. From the sheer number of people and the way they were fussing over how the picture was to be taken, he knew it was going to be used for propaganda purposes and wanted no part of it.
When they finished with the photo, his suspicions were quickly confirmed. They wanted him to issue a statement calling on German soldiers to overthrow Hitler and his government. They were prepared to inflict further physical punishment, but Alfred surprised them and cooperated on that. He was all in favor of banishing that madman from power.
All that had happened eighteen days ago, and now the pain in his ribs never left him. If he focused his attention and energy on something else, then he didn't notice it. And he went to extreme lengths not to think about the pain. He recalled boyhood memories, relived tragic episodes with his father, and speculated on what the world would be like in 50 years. He played incredible movies in his head where he was alternately the hero and then the villain. All these things occupied his mind relentlessly, and yet whenever the slightest pause occurred, he realized without a doubt that the pain was still there. So he started up his movies and his memories and his thoughts about the future once again.
The guards would be coming for him soon. They never went longer than four hours between interrogations. Let them come, Alfred thought. Let them spend his time however they wished.
He stretched his arms over his head and walked to the end of his cell. The window there was set unnaturally high and Alfred had to stand on his tiptoes to peer outside. In between the iron bars, he could see the guard standing in the wooden tower in the far corner. He was always there, either pacing back and forth with his rifle resting in his arms or standing stock still and looking down at the people walking below. Alfred watched a bee drop off the edge of one of the pink roses and then buzz out of sight over the high brick wall that surrounded the complex. He'd spent hours contemplating that rose bush. Why would anyone plant roses in a prison?
Outside his cell was a dark windowless hallway that led to two places - to the sun and the sky outside, and to a thick wooden door that opened into a tiny room with just enough space for a desk and three chairs. Alfred had walked down that hallway 20 times the past two weeks, but he had yet to see the blue sky.
He could hear them coming down the hallway now - the unmistakable jingling of the keys and the echo of a pair of heavy footsteps. Quickly, but carefully, he spread the green bed sheet over the edge of his bed so that it almost touched the floor. He pulled one side a little higher up from the floor than the other, and then rumpled the parts of the sheet that laid on top of the bed. He stepped over to the doorway and looked at the bed and wall behind it closely. It wasn't perfect, but it did the trick - the drooping sheet hid the loose bricks in the wall.
Alfred had started chipping away at it earlier that day after he discovered that the plaster practically crumbled with the slightest touch and the bricks behind were loose.
Stern Face appeared in the dirty oval window of the door to Alfred's cell. "Prisoner! Step away from the door," it instructed him in broken German. Stern Face said that each and every time he came for Alfred, whether Alfred was, in fact, near the door or at the other end of his twelve-foot cell.
The door swung open swiftly, smacking the wall behind it. Alfred watched as more plaster fell to the floor. That was what had given him the idea in the first place, but he didn't like that the door kept doing that now. He was afraid it was only a matter of time before the guards had the same thought.
Two men entered Alfred's cell: Stern Face, and a new face. New Face wore small oval glasses that rested on a short, thin nose. He had eyes the color of slate, thick dark hair that was combed impeccably straight back, and a thin mustache that barely reached the corners of his mouth. He was short, only coming to Alfred's chin, and his posture was perfect.
"Why does he stink so bad?" New Face asked Stern Face in Russian.
"He's a Nazi," Stern Face replied matter-of-factly.
"I want him bathed this evening," New Face said. "That smell makes me sick."
Though they had spoken in Russian, Alfred understood everything that was said, and quite involuntarily, a slight smile crept across his face. As soon as he realized it, he reverted back to h
is usual blank expression, but he was concerned that New Face had already caught his tiny blunder.
"Does he speak any Russian?" New Face asked Stern Face.
"None," Stern Face said. "He's an idiot."
"Hey German," New Face said slowly in Russian, "I've come to take you out back and shoot you." New Face watched Alfred closely, but Alfred simply stared back blankly.
If New Face had meant to scare Alfred with his statement and provoke a response or some sign of comprehension of Russian, then he had miscalculated. Alfred did not fear death. Telling him he was going to die that afternoon was no different than telling him it was going to rain that day. Alfred was a strong believer in fate, and if he was supposed to die that day, then so be it.
Alfred never let on to anyone that he understood some Russian. There had been a few close calls, like the time his first interrogator asked the translator if he wanted some water, and Alfred said yes and nodded his head because he thought he was the one being asked. He'd gotten out of that one - just barely - by turning his yes into a yawn, and his nod into a neck stretch. He had been much more careful since then. If a question or command was said in Russian, Alfred was careful not to answer it nor do as he was instructed. He did his best to look as uninterested as possible in what people were saying, and only responded when something was said in German.
New Face surveyed the plaster on the floor where the door had struck it. Then he looked at the bed.
"Were you sleeping?" he asked in impeccable German.
"No,"Alfred replied, then immediately thought he should have said yes.
"Then why is your bed sheet hanging over the edge like that? Why isn't your bed made?"
Alfred made no response. He was impressed with how well the man spoke German. He thought he might be a new translator, but decided he couldn't be because he had an air of authority about him, and besides, translators never visited him in his cell unless an interrogator was present.
"Get your shirt on and come with us," New Face said and led the way out of the cell and down the hall. Alfred put on his smelly brown t-shirt and followed. Stern Face, his pistol drawn, went last.
At the end of the hallway was an iron gate. New Face called out to the guard on the other side to unlock it so they could pass through. As they waited, Alfred smelled the freshly polished leather of Stern Face's gun holster and closed his eyes tightly in an attempt to hold on to the sensation.
When New Face turned right after he passed through the gate, Alfred's heart began to race. Could they be letting him go outside? But when Alfred reached the intersection, he was directed once again into the small stuffy room on the left.
Alfred went in and sat down. New Face sat across from him with his arms resting on the table and his hands clasped together, just like Alfred's previous two interrogators. The chair for the translator was empty.
"So, Private Liskof, can you explain to me why you surrendered yourself to the Soviet Border Guards?"
"I've explained that twenty times already."
"Well, perhaps twenty-one will be your lucky number, because quite frankly your answers to this question have been unsatisfactory so far."
"You mean the truth is not to your liking?" Alfred said with more than a hint of sarcasm. He wondered how long this interrogator would last before they sent yet another one.
New Face twisted in his chair and brought his right hand up to support his chin. "I'd prefer that we don't get off to a bad start. Both of our well being depend upon a successful outcome."
Alfred arched his eyebrows slightly, surprised at New Face's frankness. His comment about well being confirmed Alfred's fear that an inauspicious ending awaited him soon.
New Face took a cigarette out from a small tin case and offered it to Alfred. Alfred's first thought was that it might be laced with some sort of chemicals meant to inebriate or asphyxiate him, but he decided he'd take the risk. After all, they had more forceful means at their disposal for getting him to ingest something.
The tobacco was harsh, obviously Russian, but tasted good all the same. Alfred became a little light headed after a few inhalations. It was probably because he hadn't eaten anything in so long.
"When's the last time you had a cigarette?" New Face asked.
"The day I took my leave of the German army and came here."
"Yes? And what day was that?"
"June 21st of course."
"I'm curious. What prompted you to, as you put it, 'take leave of the German army'?"
"I left because I thought they were making a terrible mistake and I wanted to do something about it."
"How patriotic of you."
Alfred inhaled on his cigarette and meant to reply, but found himself subject to a coughing fit instead.
"You'll have to excuse our Soviet tobacco," New Face said. "I'm afraid it's not very high on our list of priorities. Probably your German tobacco is much more to your liking."
New Face reached into the desk drawer and retrieved a rolled-up poster. "I'd like to show you something," he said as he unrolled the poster and spread it out on the desk.
It was a picture of Alfred dressed in his German army fatigues. He knew which picture that was - the one taken right after he'd received the blow to the stomach. In the picture, Alfred had a dour expression on his face. At the bottom of the poster were the words: "A mood of depression rules among German soldiers."
"What do you think?" New Face asked.
Alfred shrugged his shoulders. "I don't think it's true."
"But you see, that's where you're wrong, Private Liskof. It is true. It is printed quite distinctly on the poster."
Alfred eyed New Face warily, and then blew smoke out his nose like he used to do when he was a teenager.
"We need to work together, you and I," New Face said. "We need to work together to ensure that the Soviet people clearly understand your story. And it's my job to help you."
Alfred was so damn tired of being in this tiny room with its stale air and greenish-gray walls. He examined New Face and calculated how quickly he could kill him. It wouldn't be difficult. He could just smash his nose up into his face and then jump over the desk and put him in a choke hold.
"You see," New Face continued, "if you were to get up in front of a crowd, we would want to be sure that your message was conveyed correctly. The people of the Soviet Union need to understand that you deserted. They need to know that you left because you were treated badly, and that you had no desire to take up arms against your brothers in labor. Soviet citizens must know how desperate the situation is in the German army. Are we beginning to understand one another?"
Alfred cracked his knuckles and then folded his arms in front of his chest. "I understand that I'm a prisoner here," he said, "that you're my interrogator, and that our two countries are at war."
New Face never took his gaze from Alfred, never moved or stretched. He was like a bronze statue situated in a perfectly erect position opposite Alfred. "That's precisely why I was sent here," he said calmly, "to help you with your understanding. You are a prisoner here only in the sense that we can't let you just walk away. I would like us to think of each other as partners, or allies, if you will. If we work together, we can each get something very important to us."
"The only thing I want is an end to this insidious war and to go home."
"There, you see, we have more in common than you think. I, too, want an end to the war and to go home. And I would like you to help me put an end to this war. Will you help me do that?"
Alfred thought he understood New Face well enough, he just hadn't expected this and didn't know how to react.
"That's okay, I didn't expect an answer just yet," New Face said. "We don't have to discuss this anymore right now. I just wanted us to meet and try to reach an agreement to work together. I want you to think about it for a while and be sure of your answer. Ok?"
Alfred nodded. He had a strange thought that everything was a dream, that nothing was real. He wasn't really in a Soviet p
rison. There wasn't really a war engulfing the entire world. Indeed, nothing was as it seemed. It brought Alfred a sense of relief and he tried to hold onto it. But it refused to be grasped and slipped away just as quickly as it had come.
New Face got up and opened the door. Alfred had taken his place to return to his cell when New Face turned to him suddenly and asked if he would like to go outside for a brief walk. Puzzled by the sudden generosity, Alfred couldn't answer. Before he knew it, he found himself outdoors in the slightly humid, yet thoroughly refreshing air of summer. Without a cloud in the sky, the sun was exceptionally bright and hot. Alfred, with his blue eyes, bald head, and fair skin, normally despised weather such as this. The sun was his enemy, he frequently said. But not today. Today, the sun was his childhood friend that he hadn't seen, nor thought about, in ages. Today, he was grateful just to be able to breathe the air and walk in the light of day.
* * *
Felix had been near the end of the line and when his turn finally came, he had a choice between a shovel, a hand axe, or a hunting knife. Though the shovel wasn't as lethal as the other two, it did have more length, so he could fight from a greater distance. He picked it up, and, gripping it with both hands, lunged it forward like a bayonet. Then he moved his hands closer together on the handle and swung it like an axe. He set it down and picked up the hand axe. It was short - no more than 18 inches long. He gripped it with his right hand and swung it up over his head and down in front of him. He set it down and picked up the hunting knife. It was even shorter - about ten inches long. It was old and rusty and hadn't been used in a long time, but he could easily sharpen it. He didn't know how to throw a knife and had no training in how to fight with one.
The ten men still behind Felix were getting restless and yelled for him to hurry up. He made a quick decision to go with the hand axe, picked it up and started walking away. After two steps, he had the thought that if they found themselves under attack - be it from bombs or bullets - the shovel would come in very handy to dig a quick trench. He turned around and put the hand axe back, and took the shovel instead.