Rolls-Royce or Cadillac?”
“A bike?”
“Not even. I can give you another sandwich.”
Jacob was too tired to be disappointed. He nodded and hunched forward, munching quietly,
looking at his feet, and at the legs of the chair. He thought, When did I last sit
on a chair? Or eat a cheese sandwich? Or drink water from a glass? I’m like a newborn
baby, everything is new.
As for news of family, friends, neighbors, any confirmation that he was not alone
in the world, this too he was denied.
“I’m sorry,” the man said. “It’s too soon, I suppose, maybe more will come back. I
can find you a place to sleep here in Frankfurt if you like, I’m afraid there’s nothing
else I can do. At least you can rest. We’re all staying in the hospital for the time
being.”
“Thank you. But I must get to Heidelberg.” He took four more sandwiches and put them
in his pockets.
He left the building and headed west, counting the steps, as he always did, each step
seventy-five centimeters. Each day he knew exactly his progress. Thirteen hundred
and thirty-three steps per kilometer. Eighteen hundred and ninety-eight steps later,
almost one and a half kilometers, he reached the river and turned south.
Gray light from the gathering clouds flashed on the dark flowing waters of the Rhine,
whose lush green banks exploded with white and purple magnolias and red and crimson
azaleas. Steep vineyards that cascaded to the water’s edge were heavy with grapes.
Spring was bursting forth in an explosion of color and light along one of Europe’s
mightiest rivers.
For all he saw of it, Jacob might as well have been in a box.
What he did see was people like himself, in rags, trudging alone or in groups, pulling
and pushing all they had in the world. And Americans. Jeeps, trailers, tanks, armored
personnel carriers, field guns, and truck after truck carrying doughboys and equipment
of the 10th Armored Division. Sometimes they forced him off the road, or he had to
wait until soldiers at roadblocks allowed him to continue, but mostly he plodded on,
head down, counting his steps, heedless of the river and its beauty, feeling he could
walk forever but wondering what was the point.
The closer he got to Heidelberg, the grimmer his thoughts. The total destruction he
had seen in Hanover and Frankfurt, Kassel, and the dozens of burned, gutted villages
at crossroads or bridges warned him over and over: Don’t be surprised. There’s nothing
left in Heidelberg. What is there to celebrate?
What caused most pain was that he was glad. Or at least, he thought he was. He wasn’t
sure. He didn’t know what to think. That town that had spat out his family and their
friends, led them to their slaughter, what right did the people there have to live?
He hoped they were bombed to bits. Yet what right did he have to live either? Why
hadn’t he died along with Maxie and everyone else? Anyway, he was dying inside.
As he walked, Maxie came to him, a blurred face behind his eyes, beckoning him. Teasing.
His image was hazy but his voice was clear. “I told you so,” Maxie was saying, in
his deep voice so at odds with his slight body. “You promised you’d look after me …
you promised…” Names repeated themselves in his head, like a loop, a tightening noose:
Gurs. Auschwitz. Maydanek. Belsen. All he knew was the names that had blotted out
the souls of his family. “Told you…” Maxie had the sweetest face, if you ignored the
bruising around the eyes and the open wound on the forehead that never healed but
became infested with crawling white things that Jacob pulled out one by one in the
narrow hut they shared with a hundred others. Maxie never complained. He didn’t dare.
One sign of weakness and he could be killed. Auschwitz. Dachau. Maxie again; now he’s
crying. Sobbing. “I told you…”
They hadn’t played together much at home—Jacob was three years older, they
“A bike?”
“Not even. I can give you another sandwich.”
Jacob was too tired to be disappointed. He nodded and hunched forward, munching quietly,
looking at his feet, and at the legs of the chair. He thought, When did I last sit
on a chair? Or eat a cheese sandwich? Or drink water from a glass? I’m like a newborn
baby, everything is new.
As for news of family, friends, neighbors, any confirmation that he was not alone
in the world, this too he was denied.
“I’m sorry,” the man said. “It’s too soon, I suppose, maybe more will come back. I
can find you a place to sleep here in Frankfurt if you like, I’m afraid there’s nothing
else I can do. At least you can rest. We’re all staying in the hospital for the time
being.”
“Thank you. But I must get to Heidelberg.” He took four more sandwiches and put them
in his pockets.
He left the building and headed west, counting the steps, as he always did, each step
seventy-five centimeters. Each day he knew exactly his progress. Thirteen hundred
and thirty-three steps per kilometer. Eighteen hundred and ninety-eight steps later,
almost one and a half kilometers, he reached the river and turned south.
Gray light from the gathering clouds flashed on the dark flowing waters of the Rhine,
whose lush green banks exploded with white and purple magnolias and red and crimson
azaleas. Steep vineyards that cascaded to the water’s edge were heavy with grapes.
Spring was bursting forth in an explosion of color and light along one of Europe’s
mightiest rivers.
For all he saw of it, Jacob might as well have been in a box.
What he did see was people like himself, in rags, trudging alone or in groups, pulling
and pushing all they had in the world. And Americans. Jeeps, trailers, tanks, armored
personnel carriers, field guns, and truck after truck carrying doughboys and equipment
of the 10th Armored Division. Sometimes they forced him off the road, or he had to
wait until soldiers at roadblocks allowed him to continue, but mostly he plodded on,
head down, counting his steps, heedless of the river and its beauty, feeling he could
walk forever but wondering what was the point.
The closer he got to Heidelberg, the grimmer his thoughts. The total destruction he
had seen in Hanover and Frankfurt, Kassel, and the dozens of burned, gutted villages
at crossroads or bridges warned him over and over: Don’t be surprised. There’s nothing
left in Heidelberg. What is there to celebrate?
What caused most pain was that he was glad. Or at least, he thought he was. He wasn’t
sure. He didn’t know what to think. That town that had spat out his family and their
friends, led them to their slaughter, what right did the people there have to live?
He hoped they were bombed to bits. Yet what right did he have to live either? Why
hadn’t he died along with Maxie and everyone else? Anyway, he was dying inside.
As he walked, Maxie came to him, a blurred face behind his eyes, beckoning him. Teasing.
His image was hazy but his voice was clear. “I told you so,” Maxie was saying, in
his deep voice so at odds with his slight body. “You promised you’d look after me …
you promised…” Names repeated themselves in his head, like a loop, a tightening noose:
Gurs. Auschwitz. Maydanek. Belsen. All he knew was the names that had blotted out
the souls of his family. “Told you…” Maxie had the sweetest face, if you ignored the
bruising around the eyes and the open wound on the forehead that never healed but
became infested with crawling white things that Jacob pulled out one by one in the
narrow hut they shared with a hundred others. Maxie never complained. He didn’t dare.
One sign of weakness and he could be killed. Auschwitz. Dachau. Maxie again; now he’s
crying. Sobbing. “I told you…”
They hadn’t played together much at home—Jacob was three years older, they
Similar Books
