Madonna On the Bridge
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Map of Circassia, Sochi Capital
PRAISE FOR MADONNA ON THE BRIDGE
This story was borne out of the author’s own family history, resulting in a passionate personal connection to the storyline. The character descriptions for Danya, Manus and Arie, along with the supporting cast were so visual, so descriptive and by book’s end they were like an older relative from 70 years ago. The 10-year story against the backdrop of World War II was suspenseful and captivating. The story plays out in the European countries of Belgium and the Netherlands (Holland), unfamiliar to most Americans. The history of the Circassian heritage was prideful and inspiring. The narrative delivery felt like a documentary account that anchored the story and gave it a deep realism. In a few spots the family sub-plot context vs. geographic location and timeframe in the chronological sequencing was unclear. All taken together, it was a great read and the highlight of this year’s holiday inspirations.
—Andy Wilrodt, Moorpark, California
Bert Wouters is a masterful writer! Madonna on the Bridge was a splendid read that will tug at one’s emotion by giving a clear and entertaining account of Circassian history, courage and romance all while describing what it was like living under the terror of a world war. The characters were real; the description of places and people clearly written and the drama of individual’s struggle for freedom during time of war riveting. This book is a must for those interested in historical fiction, intense drama and personal struggle in times of adversity.
—Dave McCormick, Saint Padre Serra Writers Club, Camarillo, California
Madonna on the Bridge is an unforgettable masterwork of love, espionage and survival, all woven into a very dangerous time in history during WWII. A gripping, historical novel depicting not-so-common personalities in their desperate struggle against a force bigger than themselves. Bert Wouters’ novel is a Five Star read, a classic page turner, and a true keeper.
—Georgette Hadvina, Author of By Dawn We’ll Be Free.
DEDICATED TO THE PEOPLE OF CIRCASSIA WHO LIVE IN THE DIASPORA
Driven from their homeland in 1860 by Russia, the Circassian people in the diaspora remain determined to regain their sovereign right to re-settle in the beautiful region of their ancient ancestors on the Black Sea. The story underlying this work underscores the resiliency of the Circassians to endure hardship, deeply engrained in their fighting spirit for freedom and independence. The novel is dedicated to the unwavering courage of the Circassians to regain their homeland on the Black Sea.
In Madonna on the Bridge, the author portrays a remarkable people, the Circassians, their customs and traditions. In the history books Circassians rarely make it beyond a footnote, despite the critical role they played in the early migrations into the European continent.
Madonna on the Bridge sketches a portrait of a Circassian family in Belgium and the Netherlands (Holland). Chosen by the Allied to play a vital role in the resistance movement of the German occupying forces in Holland during WWII, they succeeded beyond the ordinary in courage. The Allied understood that their courage ran deep in their DNA.
Today, as a people living far from their homeland they have become a mere member of the Unrepresented Nations and Peoples Organization. They hold their spirit of Adighe (Circassian) high in the hope that someday they can go home to the land where their ancestors played a critical role on the old Silk Road. While reading the novel, one will hear the unique Demoiselle cranes beckon the people to return home.
Madonna on the Bridge
Published 2018 by Bert C. Wouters
Camarillo, California
This is a work of fiction. All the characters, organizations, military information, genealogical information, and events are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilized in any form or by electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the Library of Congress. Cataloging-in-Publication has been applied for by publisher.
Date of publication: July 1, 2018
Copyright Registration Number TXu 2-038-075 – Effective Date January 08, 2017 – Year of Completion 2016 - Title of Work: Madonna on the Bridge
ISBN: 978-1-54393-849-4 (print)
ISBN: 978-1-54393-850-0 (ebook)
Tracy Marcynzsyn, editor
IN MEMORIAM
Dedicated to Amjad Jaimoukha
Author and publicist Amjad Jaimoukha (Jordan), a prominent specialist on the Circassians, passed away in October at the age of 53. Madonna on the Bridge could not have been created if it was not for the encouragement by Amjad Jaimoukha, who inspired me to write this novel.
Passed away in October 2017.
Dedicated to Harold, veteran of WWII
He fought in the Battle of the Bulge in Belgium. When Harold met the author before he wrote the first lines of this book, he urged: “You must write your remembrance of the war. Soon there will be few left of us … to tell our story.” Harold passed away three weeks after he spoke these words.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Estelle, for her patience and unwavering support; Tania, for her encouragement and technical advice on social media; Ton Pelkmans, family archivist for providing details about the characters; Amjad Jaimoukha, who offered insights into the fascinating world of the ancient Circassian beliefs, traditions and customs; Tracy Marcynzsyn, who provided superb editing service, transforming the manuscript into a novel. K. Van Loon, author of Verzet In En Om Dordt (Dutch), who provided in-depth information on the role of double agent Arie; Roger LaManna, for his continuing support as a fellow artist; Writers Group at Padre Serra Parish in Camarillo, for their weekly meetings with messages of inspiration; Dudley Jacobs, who inspired the author from day one to go forward with this project; the Men’s Club at Padre Serra for their individual as well as organizational support for this writing; Knights of Columbus, Moorpark Council for their pledge to help promote Madonna on the Bridge.
Contents
Prologue
The Mandraskit Family
A Family United by a Common Bond
A Rookie Policeman & Two Rabbits
Himmler’s Professor
Death of the Queen
The Death Mask
The Rembrandt Tulip
Madonna Danya
Intel Arie
Castle Lindendale
Invasion
Married by Force Majeure
The Resistance
Wewelsburg Castle
Murder in London
The Escape
A Train to Nowhere
Canadians in the Street
Reprisals
A Sculptor’s Dream in Ruins
Blood & Tulips
Epilogue
Prologue
Early in the morning, Kadir walked along the bridle path through a forest of Linden trees. He lived in the mansion located on a vast domain in an upscale suburb near Antwerp, Belgium. The surrounding woods, a large lily pond, manicured lawns, and flowerbeds blooming with roses and tulips reflected the social status of the Mandraskit family.
Every day, rain or shine, Kadir took a walk to meet with the owl, his friend, who was waiting for his step. When the wood owl swooped down in a full circle Kadir raised his ornate cane and tipped his bowler hat, greeting his friend. Making a large loop, the bird returned to the same branch where he had started and let out a loud hoot, his sign of acknowledgment. His big
eyes fixated on Kadir, following his every move. The beginning of another day.
For some reason, this day was going to be different. There was no mistaking it; there was no hoot. Instead, it was a gibber sound as if the bird was speaking directly to Kadir. Halting his walk and standing still, Kadir trained his gaze on the owl perched high in the tree. Did he hear the voice of Sergey, his little boy who had died in a terrible accident when he was only five months old? Suddenly, the owl took off, as he heard the name of his young daughter in the distance: “Danya … Danya.”
Kadir’s ancestors were from the ancient Circassian tribes, who lived on the shores of the Black Sea. They are the oldest people in the world and called themselves “Adyghas.” For millennia, history ignored these primordial inhabitants from the crossing of the European and Asian continents. They played a crucial role as the “nexus people” in the Caucasus Mountains, where civilizations of the Eastern and Western continents intersected, exchanged ideas, and traded products.
In the homeland of Circassia, these unique people developed an elaborate social structure. For thousands of years, they were known for their fierce courage on the battlefield, where women were often the leaders in the battle charges and excelled in heroic feats, as described in the writings of the Book of Sagas.
Circassian people are strikingly handsome, and historians often portray the women as exquisitely beautiful and elegant, in the likeness of Queen Nefertiti and Cleopatra.
As the patriarch of the Mandraskit family, Kadir followed the guiding principles and customs of his people, the Circassians, detailed in the Book of Sagas. The scribes created the characters with so much detail, they spring to life, despite being incredibly archaic. They embody a treasure trove of ancient mythology, little known by the literary community. Most revered are the sagas of heroes who shared a single mother, the ageless and beautiful Queen Satanaya.
For years, Kadir and his wife, Fatima, grieved over the death of their baby son. With their hopes of passing on their heritage to a son long gone, the couple sought consolation in the famous writings of their ancestors highlighting their heroic feats in the Book of Sagas.
One of the sagas gives an account of a mythological bird, an owl, described as the messenger between a dead child and the parents. A small child wandered unattended to a deep ravine and stumbled over the edge to his death in the Kuban River. At the funeral ceremony, people shouted in chorus: “If our lives are short, let our fame be great!” Every time they read this, Sergey’s parents paused to think about the broader significance of this mantra.
On the morning that he heard the owl speak to him during his walk, he recalled the sacred writings: “Your boy lived a short life without knowing battle or glory. Remember: ‘Let your fame be great.’ You are Circassian, and you are endowed with the courage to be the patriarch of a particular family.”
Parents continuously instilled courage in their children as part of the core values of the ancestors, to be a warrior to the death in defense of the homeland.
After a long walk in the woods, Kadir concluded that he needed to visit his homeland. He had never traveled to the Black Sea and planned to meet someone he could trust with his feelings, the Circassian way. He resolved to undertake his trip with a mission.
“I will visit Colonel Voroshilov, a relative in Sochi, capital of Circassia. There, in the shadow of the Caucasus Mountains, I will find my calling,” Kadir decided. A calm came over him, and he hoped to discuss his destiny soon. He looked forward to being in the forests of the Northern Caucasus, where the ancient people of Circassia held council thousands of years ago.
Commissar Boris Voroshilov was a high-ranking official of the former Circassia Nation, now part of the Soviet Union. He lived on the Black Sea in a dacha. The moss-covered wooden structure looked immense, with huge windows giving a spectacular view of the Northern Caucasus Mountains and the Black Sea.
On the day Kadir left his home in Belgium, he hugged Fatima with a sparkle of hope in his eyes. For him, visiting the land of his ancestors was a lifetime dream coming true. When he looked over Fatima’s shoulder, he saw his beautiful girl, his only child and wondered if he would learn about her destiny as a Circassian beauty.
When he arrived in Sochi, the weather was cloudy and drizzling. With its Black Sea location, Kadir had expected sunny weather. It was their first meeting. Voroshilov, dressed in military uniform, proudly displayed two rows of service ribbons on his chest. Heavyset, with dark hair and a Stalin-like mustache and bushy eyebrows, Voroshilov greeted him coolly.
“Welcome. Come in. Finally, I get to meet family from Belgium,” Voroshilov began. “In the Circassian tradition, there is nothing more important than to receive a member of the family, even though it has been decades since our families had contact with each other.” Kadir’s grandfather had escaped with his family to Belgium in 1860, at the height of the Russo-Circassian War. The Russians had systematically exterminated high-ranking aristocracy through execution or expulsion from the homeland.
Kadir, disappointed by his relative’s cold demeanor, reminded himself that he was in the presence of a Soviet Union state employee. What Kadir did not know about was Voroshilov’s strong allegiance to Circassia. In his heart, he remained a pure-blooded Circassian, despite the Russian occupation. Although he lived in the shadow world of Stalin’s Communists, he will always be a descendant of an aristocratic family who had resided in the region for hundreds of years.
Reaching for a bottle of vodka, the host filled two glasses to the rim. As they warmed up to one another, they raised their glasses.
“When Circassians get together it symbolizes the renewal of our bond of loyalty to our people. How is the family?” Voroshilov suddenly changed the conversation. Kadir gave him a brief account of Fatima and Danya.
“Fatima is always busy decorating the mansion with remembrances of the past. She convinced a local sculptor to create a statuette of Satanaya, which sits on the dresser in the foyer. As for myself, the king of Belgium has granted special status as a purveyor of fine jewelry to the royal court. In the process, I have gotten to know King Leopold III and Queen Astrid. They enjoy the elegance of the jewelry produced in Antwerp. My daughter, Danya, is turning sixteen, growing up to be a beautiful Circassian girl. She reminds me of the time when our son Sergey was born.” Voroshilov had not learned of the accident.
“What do you mean ‘back to when’ you had your son? What happened?” Kadir took out his handkerchief, wiping away a tear.
“We lost him in a terrible accident sixteen years ago. It has been hard on us.” Voroshilov expressed his condolences. Then, after a pause, he shifted the subject.
“We have some important matters to discuss. Do not let this dacha on the Black Sea mislead you. I live here, thanks to the Soviets. However, I could not care less. It does not belong to me. It is the property of the Soviets. Let us discuss matters of importance to both of us. You must keep our discussion top secret,” Voroshilov advised. Kadir reassured the Soviet:
“You have my word of total secrecy, as long as no harm comes to my family. How did you stay out of prison? Was your family also in danger?”
“Fifteen years ago, during a raid, the Soviets imprisoned me. However, something most fortunate happened.” He now had Kadir’s complete attention.
Leaning back in his chair, he created a big frown between his bushy eyebrows, clenched his fists, and looked Kadir straight in the eyes.
“Let me start from the beginning,” Voroshilov began. “Stalin was born and raised in Georgia, a neighboring state to the south of Circassia. One of Stalin’s nieces in Tbilisi married my uncle, Nathir. That night a state vehicle called a ‘Black Raven’ quietly rolled up the driveway of where my home stood. Dressed in dark trench coats, two men rushed to the front door. They were staff members of the Comintern, the inner circle of Stalin’s regime. When I opened the door, they signaled for me to come outside and follow them to
the automobile. Ordering me to get in, they drove directly to the federal jail facility.
“When Nathir found out that the Russians had thrown me in jail, he took it upon himself to contact Stalin. Within days, Stalin had issued an order to release me. The agent present immediately came to the point. Comrade Stalin had handpicked a few local aristocrats as trusted individuals, to become leaders of the new regime in this region. They announced: ‘You happen to be one of them,’ they informed me.” As his anger grew, Voroshilov took another swig of vodka. “Of course, I realized quickly that my family relation with Stalin had played a key role, but the agent did not mention this. He made it clear that I was to become Commissar of the Adyghe Autonomous Region,” Voroshilov revealed, looking worried about what he had said and staring at Kadir to see his reaction. Kadir just sat there listening with intense interest, waiting to find out how the story unfolded. Voroshilov needed to make sure that Kadir understood how devoted he was to the Circassian cause.
“Please understand I never renounced being a true full-blooded Circassian. It runs in our genes. Every day I live in fear that the Soviets will find out what I am telling you next. No matter where we make our home, Circassians never surrender their identity to any foreign government. Immediately after my appointment, I started to hate my responsibilities. However, it occurred to me that in my role of Commissar, I had a chance to advance the cause of Circassia becoming an independent nation. In secrecy, I decided to start an underground intelligence network as a countermeasure against future aggression from Germany. I have in mind to deal with the Russians after we settle our account with the hated Germans. Under no circumstances can we allow Hitler to invade and conquer Circassia. The German threat is real, and for now we need the Russians to stand with us in defending our homeland, but just for now. I know that Germany and Russia are in a political game of creating a Non-Aggression Pact, but Germany is our arch enemy.” Kadir straightened up and looked at Voroshilov.