A Survivor's Guide to Eternity

by Pete Lockett

  “One day my mother came home with a torn dress, spattered in blood, limping and moaning. She slumped into the chair as my father and I rushed over to comfort her. We were in total shock. I hurried to the bathroom to get her plasters, towels, and antiseptic. She was distraught and pushed us away as we tried to help, sobbing with a pain I never knew could be possible. It transpired that she had been cornered by a small group of thugs who taunted and abused her, beat her and raped her over and over in a dirty alley, leaving her for dead, bleeding and crying.

  “It was a tragedy from which she would never recover. She was completely ruined and finally killed herself less than a month later. Before she did though, she told me all about her time in America and how my grandfather and great grandfather had both been slaves and the suffering that entailed. She didn’t want me to know about all that negativity previously. Were it not for the fact that this devastating attack had happened, I doubt I would have ever known. She hated persecution and bullying so much and after her stories I really got to understand why.”

  “That’s terrible,” replied Ed with concern as they continued along the long tunnels, a faint breeze brushing over their faces soothingly.

  “I was mortified by the whole situation, the prejudice, the hatred. How could people be so incredibly violent and brutal to an innocent person just because they’re different? It just didn’t make sense to me at all. My father and I both responded in completely different ways. He became terrified, a shell of the man he previously was. Everything that happened was a cause for concern and scared him more until one day he went off and without ever really understanding what he was doing, joined the Nazi party. I remember so clearly that day he came home in the uniform, starched collars and perfectly shining boots as if clean boots cleaned a soul. His eyes were glazed over and he went straight upstairs without a word. By the next morning I had left, along with a small suitcase with a few clothes and basics in it. I had no idea which way to turn. The whole environment was getting more and more radical by the week and I knew I had to get off the street as quickly as I could.”

  “It must have been so painful? Why on earth would he have done that?” interjected Ed sympathetically.

  “I don’t know. I’ll never understand that. Anyway, I had the idea of going down to the local Synagogue. I was shocked to find it covered in abusive graffiti and swastikas. The walls were charred with the signs of failed petrol bomb attacks and the broken windows were barely visible from the protective boards nailed in place haphazardly. I knocked and knocked at the door but there was no reply. I waited there for absolutely ages until by chance a young girl of about fifteen came past and ushered me along the side path, through some boxes and barriers and into a side door.

  “Once inside I could see the main prayer room was barely a quarter full, maybe thirty or forty people. They called me over and gave me a hot drink, sat me down and continued their debate about escaping the city and leaving their possessions and properties to be ransacked. The debate went on and on, trying to unravel the impossible and unbelievable situation that was enveloping them. Round and round in circles they went, what will they do to us? How could that be humanly possible? Surely the human beings we have been living side by side with for generations could not even think of letting that happen? Sadly it was a grim reality and when bricks and bottles once again started to rain down on the building, logic took control and they agreed they needed to get out and find ways to hide people until it all died down.”

  “It must have been such a shocking realisation. Had you ever imagined that could have happened?”

  “Never in a million years. My mother had preached understanding and love. Accept and tolerate, never react and aggress. She was a fine teacher and even in these extreme circumstances, I felt strong.”

  “You’re such an inspiring person,” replied Ed respectfully.

  “Thanks. Necessity is the mother of pain management, eh! Anyway, I converted to Judaism right there and then. I begged them to let me in. They were reluctant and said it wasn’t a simple ceremony but I pleaded that I wanted to share their plight religiously, not just because I was black but because I supported them with all my heart. After some while, the Rabbi conceded and did some sort of very quick ceremony whilst the bricks thudded on the building. Then they sewed a yellow star on my jacket, and I was united with them in their suffering. The missiles continued to fall until we heard a loud noise at the front door of the synagogue. All of a sudden it just caved in and a tatty open-top car burst through. Two middle aged men leapt from the car and opened fire with some sort of rapid firing rifle.

  “We fled in every direction. The people directly to my left and right got hit and blood spattered out in front of them as they fell down face first into their own path. I just kept on running, out the side door and over a small wall with the fifteen year old girl I had met at the beginning of the evening. She had an idea where we could hide and took us through the dark myriad of small cobbled streets and alleys until we got to a small baker’s. We darted through a tiny door at the side of the building and were greeted by a small, fat, balding German man in pyjamas who ushered us inside and locked the door behind. We heard the cobbled boots run past in the alleyway, stopping momentarily outside the shop before continuing on their way. It was terrifying.”

  “I don’t think I would have trusted anyone at that point,” commented Ed, noticing that the faint breeze had given way to a total stillness.

  “I had to. I trusted Ellie, the young girl and I had to go with the flow. Anyway, it turned out well for a while. The baker, Fritz, looked after us, fed us, got us new clothes and made sure we were comfortable. We never went out at all though and stayed confined to his little back room. Then as the situation worsened he built a secret section behind a book case where we could hide safely, even if they came to search, which they did a few times. We were pin-drop silent, not even a flutter of hair to give the game away. Ellie was an amazingly strong girl, going through all that at such a young age.”

  “Both of you for that matter, Yedida,” observed Ed.

  “Yes, I suppose so. She was very philosophical and realistic though. When she was very young, she told me how she was attracted to the BDM just like all her German girl friends.”

  “What’s the BDM?” replied Ed, as they came to a small junction of tunnels. He followed her lead as she took the second on the left, equally enchanting with the back lit vines casting delicate shadows across the smooth sandy floor.

  “The League of German Girls, another one of Hitler’s ideas to go along with the Hitler youth boys organisation, which dated back as far as the mid-twenties. Every little girl wanted to join it and go on their weekend excursions and camps with their plaited hair, singing songs and learning all the requirements of being a good German woman.”

  “Must have been like the girl guides for psychopaths?” replied Ed.

  “Yes, that’s one way of putting it.”

  “But you said she was Jewish? How can she have wanted to join those un-travelled, uneducated and uncouth racist bigots?”

  “I guess she was just caught up in the hype and fashion of the whole thing. Virtually everyone joined and those that didn’t were sometimes kicked out of their school. Ellie didn’t realise she was classed as ‘different’ until she tried to join and was rejected. Then the school bullying started and that was the beginning of a very nasty few years for her. I remember her saying that it was as though everyone in her school had been hypnotised. Girls that had previously been her friends turned on her. Everyone apparently got possessed with idolising the Fuhrer and demonising Jews, Gypsies, Blacks and anyone else that didn’t fit into their strange illusion of a perfect world.”

  “It’s strange that people didn’t feel guilty enough en masse to just stand up and say ‘Look! This isn’t right, we have had enough,’ don’t you think?”

  “Listen, Ed, in a room of mad people the sane one is the odd one out. People wanted to believe the hype just like they believe o
ver-inflated religious doctrines. They wanted to join, belong and obey, to not stand out or be the black sheep. Of course, as time moved on, their decisions were more based on fear than anything else,” replied Yedida.

  “It must have been a hellish thing to live through and see developing in front of your very eyes.”

  “It was indeed, corroding everything civilised, like water slowly eroding rock. It was so subtle that people didn’t even realise it was happening. I guess their need for security and belonging was greater than their need for freedom.”

  “Someone else said that to me recently. Can’t remember who.”

  “Age old wisdom.”

  “What’s enlightening about speaking to you is how I get to see it all from a personal perspective rather than a chronologically watermarked historical analysis.”

  “It’s just my personal experience.”

  “Yes, I know but it’s very powerful. Terrifying to see how normality can drift into chaos and hatred in no time at all.”

  “Yes, a slow painful process leading to me hiding in that cramped space with Ellie,” replied Yedida, as the duo came to an intersection in the tunnels. Ed followed Yedida’s lead as she steered them onto the right fork and they continued without a pause.

  “How long were you there for?” queried Ed.

  “I lost track of time. It was definitely years. It was strange because it got more intense as time went on. Fritz, the baker, got more and more uptight about the whole situation and in the end it started to get really difficult. We thought he was going to throw us out but then figured he wouldn’t risk it in case we told the Germans who had hidden us. It carried on incessantly until one day we heard the allied bombers overhead. The bombs got closer and closer and Ellie and I huddled together in the corner, terrified. Then there was a deafening explosion right next to the house and it blew the wall clean off, exposing us and our secret little lair. As we got up and dusted ourselves down we were exposed for all to see.

  “I could see the smoking bomb crater with bits of wood, brick, plaster and pottery mixed up in a confused and nasty mess all around. I could see the bloodied severed arm of a German soldier lying neatly on top of a small pile of random rubble, balanced delicately as if by design. Then as the smoke cleared further, to our amazement we were suddenly face to face with two young German soldiers, also dusting themselves down and staring in disbelief at what had been uncovered. Ellie was still half-asleep. She panicked and freed herself from my clasp and then started to run around the crater. One soldier clumsily tried to pull his rifle from over his shoulder as if he had never had to do it before and started vomiting the word HALT over and over again with guttural disgust, waving his gun angrily in the direction of the tiny girl.

  “She continued to run and stumble in panic and then BANG! She was gone with a single shot in the middle of the back, ripping right through to the front and dropping her on the spot in a pool of blood. It was total horror for me. This sweet little girl who had been such a close friend for that period suddenly vaporised in a moment of mindless impurity. I was devastated and resigned. The tears ripped out my lungs and heart as I stood up, put my hands behind my head and walked out towards the soldiers. They grabbed me, shook me back and forth and shouted abuse in my face.”

  “We’ve got a black one here, my first black Jew. Might get a promotion for this one.”

  “It was just a joke to them. They tied my hands behind my back and marched me through the rubble of the streets like a wild animal on display. I could see though from the tatty look of the soldiers and the rubble everywhere, this was a war they definitely were not winning. It filled me with joy, even though I knew I likely had only a very short time to live.”

  “Do you know when this was?”

  “Not exactly, but I do know that the fighting ended a few weeks after my capture, at least in the area that I was finally taken to.”

  “What happened next?”

  “They were very disorganised. I thought I would be interrogated or taken to a nasty police station but there was none of that. They kept me locked up for one night and then bundled me on a train, a wooden cattle train absolutely jam-packed with people, all with their little yellow stars. I wore mine proudly. I would have chosen being one of the persecuted every day of the week over and above becoming a mindless animal destroying human souls like disposable crockery.”

  “That’s so incredibly brave.”

  “It’s just standing up for what you believe in. If you honestly believe it then you have no choice anyway because you couldn’t suddenly start believing the opposite.”

  “Well your father did,” replied Ed, wondering if he had pushed the boat out a bit too far, nervously aware of the sound of their feet squelching along in the sand. There was a brief silence before she replied.

  “You’re right. In fact that became incredibly clear to me when, after two days of agonising discomfort in the train, we arrived at our destination and started to be unpacked like a delivery of coal bags. We jumped down from the train in little clumps of people, some falling and getting crushed by the next group that jumped down. Then we were funnelled like sheep into lines, all facing the train. Inside the carriages you could see the corpses lying motionless, the faeces and urine running between their pained bodies, dripping across the slats and out from the open doors onto those lucky enough to be trampled to death. That was our dignity and pride draining from those carriages right there.

  “All around the vicious dogs barked on their strained leads and the guards shouted with terrifying violence. Then I saw my father in his Nazi uniform, rifle in hand. I cried out to him,

  “VATER! VATER! It’s me, Yedida, Yedida.”

  “He looked away instantly, focussing on another part of the line, whilst another guard came over and started laughing.

  “Father? He’s your father is he, you fucking piece of shit. I’ve heard it all now. SHUT THE FUCK UP,” he yelled as he smacked me in the kidney as hard as he could with the butt of his rifle. It crippled me, doubling me up in two but luckily the people either side caught my arms and held me upright. One whispered in my ear in German mixed with Hungarian. ‘Don’t fall over, you’ll be dead. I managed to keep hold of myself with their help and by the time they had marched us over for selection, I was able to stand on my own. I had to walk past my father in the array of guards. I just looked ahead and ignored him.”

  “I really have no idea how you survived this, Yedida.”

  “It wasn’t easy. Anyway, soon I was in a big wooden hut and dressed in a revolting itchy, stripy uniform. It was disgusting. Every day we got up at the crack of dawn, marched for two hours, worked until dusk and then marched back. People were dying everywhere, all around at every point during the day. It was simply terrifying. These people had been stripped of every ounce of dignity. Everything eroded away at them, from the cold and cramped discomfort of the hut, the agonisingly humiliating open-plan toilets, the slave labour and the cruelty. It chipped away at one’s deepest psyche leaving only a shell, a zombie of death.”

  “I cannot imagine all that, on such a grand scale as well,” replied Ed, looking down at his feet as they indented the fine grained red sand, one after the other. He glanced behind him to see them disappear into a perfectly smooth surface, just like he remembered from one of his previous communities. Yedida continued,

  “It might have been on a grand scale but we all experienced it as individuals. People who I’ve met since tend to refer to the macro rather than the micro view. They refer to it like it was a school of fish or something. It’s much more horrific if you start to think about every single individual story. Everybody had their own very personal tale and they were all as heartbreaking as the next,” said Yedida emotionally.

  “There was one middle-aged woman I met early on. She was quieter than the rest, very solitary and defensive. I never knew her name but she told me her story one day in the strictest confidence. She used to sit alone outside the hut on the uncomfortable ground for ho
urs, staring into space like someone in a trance. Winter was coming in and it was starting to get much colder. One day I went over and sat beside her.

  “It’s cold out here, you’re not helping yourself. Come inside, at least there’s a tiny bit of warmth from the stove and the other people.”

  “She sat motionless, not even turning her head. I put my arm on her shoulder and reassuringly tried to lure her inside. She turned to look at me, her piercing eyes looking even more pronounced with her prominent malnourished cheek bones and shaved head.

  “I don’t even deserve that. The hut is more than I am worth. You people are at least noble victims. Maybe you’ll get gassed finally, but at least you would be able to do that with innocence and pride.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked, “We’re all equal now - we stand together in the face of this adversity. Come inside.”

  “I can’t, really. I should be alone. If I told you my story you would agree,” she replied.

  “What story?”

  “I’ll tell you but you must promise that you’ll tell no one else. Please?” begged the frail individual.

  “Okay, but only if you feel it’ll help you. I don’t want to know for knowing’s sake. I just want to help you.”

  “Up until a few months ago I was a regular German woman. My husband was a war hero, killed at Stalingrad and my son, my beloved son, Jürgen was living his dream.”

  “Your husband was a soldier, a German soldier?”

  “Yes. Worse though, was my son. He was doing very well in the Hitler-Jugend and I was supporting his dream. I believed in the whole thing, his training and development as someone who could be a servant of the Fuhrer. I was as fanatical as him and Hitler was my hero, even though I was covering up the basic fact that I had a Jewish grandparent. We had framed photos of Hitler in every room and went to all the rallies and events. We were devout to the religion, seduced by the powerful illusion. Then Jürgen came home one day and told me he had been funnelled off into the Wafen SS. He told me how the authorities had identified him as a ‘big, tall, strong Aryan boy’ and complimented him on how ruthless he had been in his training. He was to report for duty at the end of the month. In the meantime he’d been given some time off to be with his family.