by Susan Finlay
He and Tawny had talked about one day flying to South Africa, where she’d lived as a little girl. At the time, he hadn’t been all that enthusiastic. Now that he was researching his family tree, Tawny told him a couple days ago that she wanted to research hers, too, and wanted to go to South Africa and do some of that research in person, the way he was doing.
He’d found himself getting excited about the prospect. Not bouncing off the walls excited, but intrigued. Why? He wasn’t sure, but he suspected the whole task of researching his history had morphed into something exciting for them both. It had developed into something that they could share with each other and their children, something that would stay with them forever.
On the airplane, he found his seat, stuffed his carry-on bag and laptop bag into the overhead compartment, and sat down. When the flight attendant came around and told him to fasten his seat belt because the plane would be departing soon, he felt a bit lightheaded.
A short time later, the plane began to taxi and the pilot greeted the passengers and told them about the flight.
Oh God! This is really happening. Lucas’s palms started sweating and his heart was pounding. Was this fear-of-flying? He’d heard about it, but since he’d never flown before, how could he have known he had it?
Soon after the pilot told the attendants to prepare for take-off, Lucas was pushed back into his seat and the plane accelerated down the runway. When the plane tilted upward and the engine noise escalated, he gripped both arm rests so tightly that the middle-aged woman seated next to him said, “It’s okay. Once we get up to cruising altitude it won’t be bad. This your first time flying?”
“Yeah.”
“My advice, have a couple drinks and sleep through as much of it as you can. That’s what I do.”
“Thanks.” Somehow, the woman’s words had distracted him long enough that the plane was now flying more level and the noise had quieted. His heart rate returned to normal, and he attempted to relax.
Soon he decided that the flight was a piece of cake—except that it became way too long and his legs cramped from sitting squeezed into matchbox-sized chair spacing. Because he’d gotten a good deal on the airfare, he accepted the punishment. But he already dreaded the return flight and the take-off. That part he didn’t like one little bit.
Finally bored enough to doze midway through the flight, his dreams were filled with childhood memories, in particular, two family road trips, one to Carlsbad Caverns and another to Yellowstone. Those had been great times. In his dreams the two separate trips had morphed into one another, clear and in living color, as if the trip was happening now, and not ten or fifteen years ago. Yet waking now, he realized he’d somehow forgotten about, or pushed to the back of his mind, those good times they’d shared.
He figured the memories had surfaced now because he was on another big trip. Different from those childhood trips, but all were major adventures for him.
He wiped the sleep from his eyes and tried finding something to watch on the personal media screen in front of him.
He tried watching a comedy movie, but instead of laughing, somehow it made him sad. It was about a family with two young boys. Why was he missing his parents now? After all this time. That made him wonder how much his fight with his father five years ago had colored his current views of his father, turning his father into some kind of monster that didn’t actually exist.
But Seth had told Lucas he didn’t like their father either, that he had negative memories, too. Seth had also had a big fight with Dad. Anger again might also have discolored his views. Lucas decided to think on that another time. Now was the time for his adventure to start.
After disembarking the plane, he followed the crowd—it wasn’t like there was any choice to be made. Packed in the middle of a throng of passengers from various flights, he walked along until there were signs ahead, and booths. Ah. This was where he had to show his passport and visa.
After having his passport checked, he followed everyone down to baggage claim and retrieved his suitcase. At the exit, standing near the door, a young man was holding up a sign: Lucas Landry.
Lucas strode over to the man, uncertain whether he should trust a stranger holding a sign with his name on it. Before deciding, the young man looked at him and inquired in German, “Are you Lucas Landry? I’m Milo Jaroslav.”
“Uh . . . ” Lucas stumbled. With the long flight, time change, and sporadic sleep, he was having trouble thinking of the German words to respond. After a few seconds, his mind cleared and the German words came back to him.
“Uh, yes, I’m Lucas. Nice to meet you. Thank you for doing this, uh, meeting me and helping me out, I mean.”
“I’m happy to help.” The man smiled. “Are you ready?”
“Yes.”
Milo lifted Lucas’s suitcase and hurried out the automatic doors, Lucas struggling to keep up his pace.
Milo looked over his shoulder and said, “The next train leaves in fifteen minutes. If we hurry, we can catch it. That train will take us to the main station where we’ll board another train to Biberach. The first ride is short. The second is long.”
They arrived at the gate for the train, Lucas out of breath, and Milo said, pointing, “Ah, here it comes.”
Lucas shuffled onto the train a few minutes later and plopped onto a seat. Ah, relief. Who would have thought that after sitting on an airplane for more than a dozen hours, he’d be happy to sit again? Let’s chalk it up to jet lag, he thought.
He gazed around the train compartment. Impressive. Rather luxurious for a train. Nice seats. Clean. Restrooms at the end of each section. Wow. The train left the station, accelerating at a good clip, but it didn’t set his body into turmoil the way the airplane had initially. The gentle sway as the train marched actually lulled him half to sleep.
The rest of the journey went by in a blur, literally. Disembark one train. Take escalators. Slog up or down multiple staircases. He felt disoriented, not able to keep track. Good thing Milo knew where to go. Board another train. Hunt for seats. This train was too crowded. People were actually speaking German all around him. All the train billboards and information were in German. Looks like I’m in Germany. Wow!
Scenery he’d longed to see, whizzed by blurry, sleep-deprived eyes. He’d expected to talk with Milo while on the train, but they weren’t able to find seats together on the crowded train. That was okay. It gave him a chance to sleep a little. It wasn’t until they were almost to Biberach, according to the electronic screen inside the train, that Milo was able to sit next to Lucas, people having left at earlier stops.
By the time they arrived at their destination, Lucas’s legs were really stiff and sore.
“My father is picking us up here at the station and taking us to my great-grandmother’s house,” Milo said. “She invited you to stay there. Change of plans. I hope you don’t mind.”
“No, that’s okay.” He tried to remember what Milo had told him about his family. “Wait, who is your great-grandmother? Did you tell me her name? Sorry, I’m not altogether with it. Jet lag.”
Milo chuckled. “I know all about jet lag. You’re not an experienced traveler, are you?”
“Definitely not.”
Tawny Landry, Sacramento, California, September 2017—
“MOMMY, WHAT’S WRONG?” Bianca asked, looking up at Tawny, concern in her eyes. She leaned in toward her mother and patted her cheek. “Are you sick, Mommy?”
They were sitting together on the sofa, watching cartoons and snacking on popcorn. Tawny had been trying to remain still and not make a big deal out of pain that was probably nothing more than Braxton-Hicks contractions. Normal pains. They had to be, right? It was too early for the baby. Besides, her water hadn’t broken and she wasn’t having any spotting or any severe pains.
“Oh, it’s nothing, sweetie. Mommy’s just having a few little . . . twinges. The baby is probably adjusting himself and trying to get comfortable. You know, how you and I wiggle around and bump ea
ch other when we fall asleep here on the sofa.” She tickled Bianca, making her giggle.
“Maybe we should lay down and see if he gets more comfortable,” Bianca said after she stopped giggling.
“You know, that’s a good idea. Let’s try it.”
Bianca stood up to allow Tawny to lie down. After Tawny was comfortable, Bianca shook her head. “Mommy, that’s not going to work. Your tummy is too fat. I’ll lay down on the other end.”
Tawny laughed. “Are you calling me fat?”
Bianca gave her a big grin, showing her baby teeth were filling in nicely.
“Okay, just for that, you better watch out. My feet are bigger than yours and they can kick.”
Bianca pulled her legs up close to her chin, and said, “Hey, where’s my popcorn?”
Tawny handed her the bowl.
After putting Bianca to bed two hours later, she laid back down on the sofa, stretching out, then picked up the phone and called her mother, Lindelani. They talked for a couple minutes about what they’d each done during the day.
“Is something bothering, sweetie? You sound tired. Are you missing Luke?” Lani asked.
“Well, yes, I’m missing him. He’s only been gone a couple days, but I already miss him a lot. I didn’t think it would be this hard.”
“The time will fly by. And you know, they always say that absence makes the heart grow fonder. Or . . . I don’t know. Something like that.”
Tawny chuckled. “You’re right. It’s just that I’ve been . . . well, I don’t want to alarm you. Please tell me you’ll stay calm.”
“All right. I’ll try. What’s going on?”
Tawny squirmed and bit her lip for a second as another pain came. When it had passed, she said, “I’ve been having pain and cramps off and on all day. Nothing terrible. And before you ask, no, the cramps aren’t spaced evenly and don’t seem like labor pains.”
“Did you call your obstetrician?”
“No. It’s Sunday.”
“Medical clinics have doctors who are on-call. All medical clinics do. Especially obstetricians.”
“I know that. It’s just that I don’t want to make a big deal out of it. It’s probably nothing.”
“Well, it was worrying you enough that you called me.”
Tawny closed her eyes. “That’s different. You’re my mother. I can tell you anything, can’t I?”
“Of course. And I will tell you to call your obstetrician and your husband.”
“Oh, no, no,” she spouted, eyes wide open, feeling like a dragon spitting fire. “I’m not calling Lucas unless I absolutely must. This trip is too important. I’m not going to ruin it for him.”
“Fine. I do get that. But at least call your doctor. Most likely she’ll have you go in for a quick exam to make sure everything is okay, then send you home and tell you to rest and stay off your feet as much as possible.”
“Okay. I call her in the morning if the symptoms are still there.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
Christa Nagel, April-May 1945, Sudetenland—
WHEN THE GUARDS yelled out for everyone to stop, Christa looked around and listened for what could be happening, but she saw nothing special. No gun shots. No other column joining them. No bombed out vehicles blocking the road. Nothing. They never stopped without a reason. That hadn’t happened before, not once in the last four or five weeks they’d been walking. Of course, she wasn’t counting the first few days, before the prisoners had learned what happened to anyone who created a scene or disrupted the walk in any way. Those first days, a young child had cried and cried, getting on everyone’s nerves. The girl’s mother had desperately tried to console her daughter, but nothing worked. The mother told the guards that she needed to change the baby’s diaper. A nasty guard, one already hated by everyone, Christa felt sure, walked over and shot the girl in the head and dumped her limp body on the side of the road. The message being that anyone who kept the procession from moving would be either beaten or killed. Sometimes both. If they didn’t hate him before, they sure did after that. Something was about to happen. She set Andreas down on the ground and shook her arms to get the circulation going better. Whenever she’d carried him or Giselle for any length of time, she’d felt guilty for being thankful they were so thin and underweight for their ages. Would she go to hell for her bad thoughts?
While they were stopped, people used the opportunity to relieve themselves in the bushes alongside the road instead of out in the open, but the guards stood by, watching them like vultures. Christa wondered if she would ever get used to prying eyes.
People sat down on the street or alongside it in the dirt, closing their eyes and trying to catch a few moments of sleep. Mothers changed their babies’ diapers or tried to breastfeed them. Children didn’t run and play as they would have back at home. Their energy had long since evaporated.
After a while, the sound of heavy vehicles approaching made everyone jump. The guards held their weapons up, pointing toward the sound, but when the trucks arrived and they saw who was driving, they lowered their weapons. The engines stopped, the drivers got out, and the guards and drivers greeted each other in Czech.
Christa remembered some of the Czech language she’d learned in school. Their guards had been expecting the trucks. This was a pre-arranged rendezvous.
“On the trucks. Schnell! No dawdling,” the guard in charge said in German, mispronouncing words, whether deliberately or not, she couldn’t tell. His name was Ivan. Every time she heard someone say his name, she thought of Ivan the Terrible from her history lessons, although this particular Ivan wasn’t Russian. He was Czech.
Directly in front of Christa and her family, a young woman—undoubtedly the prettiest in the column—asked one of the guards with whom she’d become somewhat chummy, at least as far as anyone could under the circumstances, “Where are they taking us?”
“To an internment camp,” he said. “Theresienstadt.”
Christa gasped. She’d heard of the place. A concentration camp.
The woman said, “We’re going to be in there with the Jews?”
“No. They’ve been released. Those that survived, anyway. Move along.” He shoved her forward and walked down the line, barking orders at them all.
Once he was out of earshot, Christa whispered to Mutti, “Did you hear what he said about where they’re taking us.”
“Ja. I do not want to walk anymore, but that place . . . it is too horrible to image what they will do to us there.”
“Move it,” another guard said. “Get up into the truck. Now.”
Mutti, Christa, and Ernst lifted the younger kids up and then climbed up, themselves. The truck was nearly full. Three more people were shoved up into the truck and then boards were put in place to keep anyone from getting out. The guards routed other people onto the next truck.
They were all crowded together in the truck and no one could move. Julia held baby Dirk. The rest of the kids had to stand. No choice. Christa, Mutti, and Ernst couldn’t pick them up in the tight space. Everyone stunk. Fortunately, the fresh air coming in around them as the vehicle moved toward their final destination made some of the stink fly away.
Finally, the truck jerked to a stop. Christa couldn’t see the camp and wasn’t sure if they’d reached the camp or not.
After several minutes, guards came and opened up the back of the truck, yelling for them to get out and line up.
Line up. Oh Gott, were they going to execute them? She’d seen them do that once when a small group of prisoners had tried to escape. They’d captured them, first, then lined them up and fired.
Petr Jaroslav, June-July 1945, Sudetenland—
SO THIS WAS the famous Theresienstadt. Earlier in the war the gestapo or the Wehrmacht, Petr wasn’t sure which, had evacuated the whole population of this small walled town in North Bohemia, along the Ohře River. They’d converted the once peaceful town into a ghetto, as they called it, for some forty thousand Jews, if Petr could believe what he�
�d been told. He didn’t have a reason to not believe it. Theresienstadt had been the concentration camp where Antonin and Rebeka had been killed by Nazis. The horrendous place where tens of thousands of Jews had been held and treated like dirt. Worse than dirt. It might not have been an extermination camp. He didn’t know for sure. But he knew that many thousands had died here—of starvation, appalling conditions, or diseases. Thousands of others had been transferred from here to Auschwitz and other extermination camps. Theresienstadt had, from all accounts he’d heard, been a holding tank. It was also the place that the Nazis had tried to tell the world was a good place, because they’d come under scrutiny when rumors of death camps had circulated. In an effort to stop the rumors, the Nazis had allowed British reporters inside, once, to see how wonderful it was. All fake. They’d only shown the reporters a small section of the ‘town’ with dressed up prisoners, simulating a regular town life. The photos printed in the newspaper article were meant to deceive the public. Petr had no doubt the reporters had believed what they saw and what they’d written, but Petr and everyone else in his inner circle certainly didn’t.
He followed the column of ragged, and some almost skeletal, Germans and the rest of the guards inside the gate and then through another gate—an archway with a sign that read ‘Arbeit Macht Frei’, which he translated in his head as ‘Work makes (one) free’.
He stopped inside and waited with the other guards from his unit. The newly arrived guards, he’d been told prior to taking this assignment, would live here in guards’ quarters and work wherever they were assigned. For how long, he didn’t know.
Rows and rows of buildings—barracks, he assumed— sat to one side. In one area, he could actually see the remnants of the original town.
“You,” the officer in charge said to Petr, “you’ll be working in the children’s section. Find yourself a bunk in the guards’ quarters while the prisoners are being processed. After you’re changed into your new uniform and settled in, report to me and I’ll take you to the children’s section.”