As long as she stayed on the narrow path meandering through the trees, the forest was safe from landmines. She could hear the new leaves unfurl from their winter buds. Wildflowers abounded in a display of rainbow colors. She followed the path to an opening in the rhododendrons in full bloom with their red, pink, and white flowers. There, as if she opened a curtain to the atrocities of the war, she laid her eyes on acres of disabled war vehicles and equipment collected from the region. German and Canadian cannons, tanks, and burned out jeeps sat side by side; she wondered if they had finally made peace. The sound of the loud booms of shells exploding around the Moerdijk Bridge resounded in her mind. Images of soldiers dying in the broken tanks before her lingered in her thoughts. In this same field, a landmine had killed the parish priest as he returned from his priestly duty of administering the last rites to a German soldier.
In the distance, she saw young boys playing war games, jumping on artillery guns, climbing in and out of tanks. They played the dangerous game of detonating bullets found in the fields with hammer and nail. She had a difficult time watching the youth of this nation playing with the toys of a war that had ended only a month ago.
As she readied herself to return to the castle, she spotted a motorcycle missing a front wheel. The license plate was still hanging from the handlebar: SIPO 241, Arie’s dog-tag number in the Gestapo. She wondered how his motorcycle had ended up in this field. What had happened to him? Had he survived? How could she forget the horrific condition she had found him in on the road?
A light fog fell over the wrecks of broken vehicles, pulling a curtain over the atrocities of war. The sun sank rapidly behind the big rhododendrons. When she turned away from the scene of carnage, a streak of sadness spread through her like dark fire. The baseness of the war overwhelmed her.
She heard a single hoot from an owl sitting on a low-hanging branch, eyes fixated on her. The same owl, who had spoken to her father in the woods a long time ago, was now with her. Was it a call from her little brother who had died before she was born? He would have been the only Mandraskit son, destined to be the patriarch of the family. Did he know what happened on the bridge? Was he trying to find out if she had lived up to the tradition of Circassia, delivering heroic feats? She stared back into the eyes of the owl.
“I did my best as a courier in the resistance,” she murmured. “I tried to live up to the expectations as a Circassian. Satanaya gave me the courage to follow my path of destiny.” The owl flew to the next tree and perched on the highest branch, curious to find out what was to come next.
It was eerily silent as dusk fell deeper over the woods. On the side of the path, she walked where young ferns were unfurling their fronds in light patterns. The temptation of the lilies-of-the-valley in full bloom was too much not to pluck a few. She rejoiced in the shape of each little bell-shaped flower dangling from the stem. The sweetly scented aroma comingled with the bouquet of fragrance from the Bottle of Enchantment. The stillness of the forest accentuated her feelings of loneliness.
Then she saw the shadow of a tall, lanky figure searching, feeling his way through a cloud of mist, hanging close to the forest floor. He spotted the figure of a beautiful young woman. He hastened his step. As he approached her, Danya saw the scar on his forehead. She remembered the wound over his eye. For sure, it was Arie.
He gently pulled her towards him. The shreds of doubt about how Danya would react to his tenderness started to unravel. The sky turned dark with long threads of mauves deepening the pink background. As he enveloped her in his arms, her head spun light and throbbing. The forest trees seemed to shake unsteadily around her. In the space of one day, her life’s saga had changed for good. She had waited this long to be in the arms of her prince. She was calm now and rested her head against his shoulder, as she shook off the remembrance of the baseness of war. She felt his fingers interlocking with hers.
Dazed by the beauty of her exotic looks, he admired her eyes, reminiscent of Cleopatra. His emotions let loose as he gently pulled her closer. She trembled as he kissed her gently on the lips. She lifted her eyes and locked in with his blue eyes shining ever so vibrantly and vigorously. The memories of the war slowly drained from their spirit.
The air cooled into a thick layer of fog, engulfing the young couple in a cocoon of intimacy. Arie took her hand, kissing her and breathing in the fragrance of her secret perfume. She rested against a tree and looked at him in admiration. Her hero had arrived.
“You are the one I have been waiting for,” she said, tilting her head and closing her eyes. He held her in his embrace, as thoughts of war atrocities slowly faded, making room for the ecstasy of love. Arie decided to unburden himself from a flashback to the days when she belonged to his brother.
“While you were with my brother, I held back my true feelings for you.” She unlocked her eyes and looked over his shoulder.
“I only married Manus to protect myself from deportation by the Nazis,” she told him.
“I remember all too well,” Arie answered. “I was the one who told you to marry him. I did not want to give you up, but you were his model. You belonged to him. At that time, I saw in his eyes how much he loved you.” He touched her cheek as she gazed in admiration at her hero, the double agent who had survived against all odds.
“When I was left to die on the bridge, you brought me back to life,” Arie told her. “When you touched me with your banner, I could breathe again. I saw the love in your eyes. The inner strength of the Circassian spirit is with us now forever.” He looked at the lilies-of-the-valley she had plucked earlier. “You are more beautiful than all the flowers in the world,” Arie said, kissing her lips. “Our love will last forever,” he whispered.
“Satanaya semper fiat!”
Madonna On the Bridge Page 24