It's too late

I thought he would be my savior. In the end, he was my destruction.1

Eliana Levinowsky2

I walk down the street slowly, my feet heavy with pain. My whole body droops towards the ground, as if I don't want to go on. Which I don't. But I know I must. No real reason why I have to, just a feeling, like a flame inside of me, keeping me going.3

This neighborhood is almost like a ghost town now. Probably because all of it's inhabitants are dead or in hiding. Ahh if streets could talk. Ours would probably remember the children running down it laughing, the young women gossiping, mothers calling their young and then men, talking about the coming war. The road would remember the feel of the heavy tanks and booted feet, heavy on it's cobblestones. And it would weep tears of blood at all the innocent lives taken on it. All streets would moan that way if they could speak. 4

"Eliana!" A voice calls my name and I turn instinctively. No one has called my name in so long. I didn't think anyone would recognize here, not with how I have changed, what I have become. And it all started...with him. 5

I met him when I was sixteen years old, before the war had really begun. He saved my brother from getting crushed by a motor car. It seems ironic considering what happened later....6

I took my brother and ran, afraid of the young man in the soldier's uniform. I had been taught to fear the uniform and for good reason. People who stood up to it died or disappeared. He followed me though, not realizing what I was. I escaped but he found me a few days later, on the same street. 7

His name was Hans. Should have been the give-away, nu? But I couldn't stop myself. I was sixteen and longing for romance, something that, with the war, I had been sure I would never have. When he found me again, said that he had been looking for me for two days, I was flattered. Even then though, I kept my caution. He asked my name and I only told him my first one. He didn't even notice. It seemed that Hans really was...entranced? I tried to say no, but he almost begged me to go get coffee with him. He didn't realize that as a Jew I was not allowed in most coffee shops. But with him, no one stopped me. 8

We sat, talking for maybe an hour and I was surprised that I was having a good time with him. He told me that he lived in Germany and had signed up to serve in the army as soon as he was old enough. His parents were a rich and influential family in Germany and when he had been sent to Denmark, his parents came also. He was eighteen and filled with boyish fancy. He didn't seem to realize that what Hitler was doing was wrong. To Hans, the Jews weren't people. Or at least he didn't think of them as such. He didn't think of them at all really. He was like a robot he said, obeying orders. I was frightened. I wanted to tell him a million times that I had to leave, and every time the door opened to reveal more soldiers, I couldn't help but be afraid that they were there for me. Finally, I told Hans that I had to leave. He didn't want me to and swore that he would follow me home if I didn't agree to see him again. I agreed. How could I not?9

Over the next few months, my life got steadily worse. More restrictions were placed on the Jews until there was an almost tangible oppressiveness in the air. I was still seeing Hans. It was the only bright spot in my otherwise bleak existence. Maman and Papa still had no idea. I told them that I was going to a friend's and they didn't argue because I always came home happy. They wanted me to be happy. My younger brother, Ben was easy to keep happy but my parents had been worried about what the effect the war would have on me. Little did they know that I was doing all the things I shouldn't be. I was dancing and sitting on different park benches and going into cafes; all with Hans. I know on some level I knew that what I was doing was dangerous, but at the time, I didn't care. I loved Hans and I believed that he loved me. I was confident that he would protect me and my family if he had to.10

It was our one year anniversary and Hans was taking me dancing. Jews weren't allowed there, but as of yet, Hans still didn't know I was a Jew. He found out that night. A few of his Gestapo buddies came in, looking for me. Imagine their horror in seeing a filthy Jewess in their comrade's arms. They pulled me away from him, exposing me to everyone's eyes. "What is a Jewess doing here?" they asked. "Trying to fit in a gentile world? Where's your star girlie. You're going to be punished for this." 11

That night was awful. All those faces, staring judgmentally at me, disgust in their every move. They thought me dirty, contaminated, and I couldn't turn anywhere to find a sympathetic face. Even Hans was disgusted with me. He turned, spitting on the dance floor, revulsion on his face. I tried to run to him, to his protective arms where a minute ago I felt so safe. He pushed me away and his comrades grabbed me, pulling me away. They were young and seemed amused at the Jewess' desperate 'bid to rise above herself'. It's probably the only thing that kept me from being shot on the spot. They dragged me out the dance club and the whole time I didn't take my eyes of Hans'. His blue eyes that were both vulnerable and hard at the same time. He felt betrayed but it was nothing to the way I felt as the men dragged me outside. They grabbed my hair, pulling me along, grabbing at my clothes and face. They weren't too high and mighty to grope a Jewess. I pleaded with them, pleaded with Hans, begging him not to let me go. He spat at my feet and turned away. "Take her." 12

The life went out of me after that. I went limply along, dragging my feet. The men gave me sharp jabs with the butts of their guns but I didn't care. I was too distraught from Hans' complete rejection. He turned his back on me, on the year we spent together in one swoop and practically condemned me to death. 13

I was thrown in a truck with other people, all shivering with cold and fear, all crying. Except for me. I sat in a corner, arms around myself, unfeeling, like stone. I didn't care. I didn't care where they were taking me or what they wanted. I didn't care. We were in the truck for hours and soon enough, it was filled with a horrible stench. People were so frightened....14

To those of you who have never been in such a situation, you can never know. The smell of fear is strong in the air and the whole truck seemed to shake with everyone's frightened shivers. Hours and hours in a truck and nowhere to go to the washroom also led to a nauseating stench. By then I had begun to care. I had dropped my shell and was afraid and angry. Angry that they could do this to us and afraid of where I was going. My parents had no idea where I was. What would they do when I didn't come home? I started to cry then, thinking of my poor gentle mother, who worried when I went to get milk from the store. I worried for my father who was gruff but caring and I worried most for Benjamin, my little brother. He wouldn't even understand why it was I didn't come home. He would just keep looking at the door, waiting for me to come in and I never would.15

An older woman held me as I cried, her tears dropping on my head as well. She too had no one. 16

When the truck finally stopped, we all got up with stiff legs. I stumbled along as best I could, also trying to support the older woman who had comforted me. We dropped out into the sunlight, meaning a whole night had passed. I hadn't slept at all. As soon as our feet hit the ground, there were men everywhere and dogs. Everyone was shouting, screaming and barking. It was confusion and panic and I couldn't help panicking along with everyone else. People pushed against me as we were all herded forwards. A man stood atop a wooden platform, high above our dirty Jewish bodies. As each person came to him, he pointed either right or left. The old woman he pointed to the left. Me he pointed to the right. I never saw that old woman again.17

I don't much like to speak or even think about life in that camp. It was a labor camp Thank the Lord instead of one of the death ones. So as long as you could work, they were mostly happy. There were still beatings and random shootings, but we tried not to think about it. Or at least I tried. Instead, I just focused on putting one foot in front of the other, step by step making it through the day. There was always the fear that today would be the last, that today the Germans would take offense to the way you ate your breakfast or the way you stood in line for roll call. Then BANG you're dead. It happened often enough. I was standing in roll call once and my neighbor fainted. We tried to get her up, but she wouldn't move. An officer came and shot her once in the head and then shot the person on her right for not holding her up. Just like when I first arrived, it was a random choice of right or left and once again I had survived. It was all basically chance. No one knew what would happen from one day to the next, and personally, I didn't want to. I kept myself happy thinking of childhood or my family. I never thought of Hans. Or at least I told myself not to. It was no use though. Of course I day dreamed about the handsome blonde with the beautiful blue eyes that made my knees melt. I couldn't help it. But I hated him. It was because he was too weak to save me that I was in this Hell. 18

I was in the camp for two years; an eternity. I saw people die. I saw people lose fingers and toes to frostbite when we stood out for roll call for hours in the winter and rats bigger than my fist. I saw people so hungry they tried to catch the rats to eat and I saw people so desperate for escape that they basically committed suicide. They made a run for it and were shot. I saw rebellions crushed and bodies and souls destroyed. If there is a Hell, it could not be worse than the camp. If there are angels, they are the poor souls who died at the hands of the Nazis. 19

Sometimes I thought I would die. In those conditions, how could I not? But then I would think of my parents and I knew that I had to live so I could find out what happened to them. 20

I did live. Our camp was liberated two year after I arrived, when I was eighteen. It may seem like I had my whole life ahead of me, but I felt already like an old woman. I was a walking skeleton, closer to death than life and who knows why I was still alive. My skin was just covering my bones, my eyes appeared wide in my empty face. My fingers had almost no flesh on them and my feet were twisted. I was not myself anymore. I was no one. 21

When they freed us, I left of my own accord. Many of us walked, although we knew not where for miles and miles. I stopped at a kind farmhouse because I was too sick to go on. They kept me there, nursing me back to health. It took a year before I stopped having to go to the washroom every few minutes. It was a year before I could walk again on my poor feet, after moving around the room on them every day. I worked so hard in that year, and the kind widow living there took such good care of me. I didn't want to leave, but when I was well--in body anyway and as well as I could be--I knew I had to go. She took me to the train station, paid for my ticket and kissed me good-bye. A righteous Gentile.22

I returned home on the train, back to my city, my street, my apartment. A Gentile family was living there then. The woman who owned the building was the same though. She told me that my parents had gathered that I had been taken when i didn't come home that night. When they heard that others had been rounded up, they were sure of it. Trying to buy themselves time, they ran for it. They were caught in the forest with a group of Partisans and were killed. I didn't ask how my landlady knew this because it didn't matter. All that mattered was that my family was dead.23

So here I am, home again, full circle. But there is no home and this is no circle. I am completely alone, except for the person calling my name. Him. Hans. I don't know how he recognizes me but he does. I don't know what he wants and I don't care. The air is cold and for one as skinny as me, the wind cuts through my body like a knife. Besides, I don't want to listen to what he has to say. My only love, he betrayed me and forced me into Hell. He tries to talk to me but I refuse to listen. Finally, he grabs me, turns me, makes me look at him. I see the shock and pity in his eyes, but he doesn't look away. I lean into his hands not because I still love him but because I am so tired and weak. I still have not recovered from my ordeal and I probably never will. 24

"What do you want Hans?" I ask and even my voice is different.25

His blue eyes, the same ones I dreamed about every night, widen. "I can't believe it's you," he whispers. His fingers bite into my shoulders. "I can't believe your alive." 26

I left my manners two years ago in the dance bar. "No thanks to you," I snap.27

Hans winces. "No thanks to me," he agrees. "I'm so sorry." 28

I pull away from him, suddenly not wanting to hear his apologies. After I had dreamed for this moment for years--dreamed of his apology and how he would propose to me on bended knee and tell me he still loved me--I didn't want to hear it. "It's over Hans. You let me go." 29

"It was the biggest mistake I could have made," he whispers, plainly in pain.30

"You put me through Hell!" I say. 31

He winces again. "I know. I-I quit the army. I saw what they were doing to people and I realized that the same things would be happening to you...I couldn't bear it. I couldn't bear thinking of them cutting off your curly black hair or your rosy cheeks losing their color. I couldn't imagine you in the prison clothes, stripped bare first and forced to shower before the officers. It made me almost murderous to think of that. I-I killed an officer who tried to rape a Jewish girl. They would have shot me were it not for my parents' intervention. My rich parents who bought my life," Hans gave a short barking laugh.32

I listen, amazed that he is saying this to me. Can it be true? Possibly?33

"I thought about you every night Raphael. Every night. I saw you in my mind's eye and realized that I didn't even know your last name. I searched for you every camp I went to. I never found you and it almost broke my heart. I saw what you went through El. Maybe not you personally, but I saw what they did to your people. I'm so sorry I let you go."34

Tears are running down my cheeks as I listen to his confession. I can't stop them. All this time I thought he hated me.... I shake my head. "It's too late," I whisper, almost talking to myself.35

"You let me go Hans. My family is dead and you had a hand in it. It's too late." 36

I realize as I say it that it's true. I need to start afresh and being with Hans would just remind me of happier times when they were alive. I would never be able to be with him since every time I looked at him I would see my murdered parents and friends. 37

"Eliana," he pleads, holding my hand.38

I pull away, my face as grey as the cobblestones under my feet. My brown skirt swishes against the tops of my too-big shoes as I move. My eyes are agonized and I know from looking at myself before that their blueness jumps from my pale, skinny face. I don't know how he loves the skeleton I have become. But it doesn't matter. 39

"I'm sorry," I whisper. "It's too late."