Stories from War (Chapter 2 of 3)

As bad as the bombs and fear of our town being hit were, they were nothing compared to what happened in the next week.  One early morning I woke up to the sound of soldier’s footsteps on the kitchen floor.  Father came in with a distressed look on his face that told me this was not to be another routine morning.1

“Doris, it’s going to be okay,” he said, “We have to leave.  The Czechs have come and they’re taking us to the camps.  Gerhard will look after you now.  Remember the sacks we packed for you and be a good girl.”  His words hit me one after the other and I struggled to comprehend their meaning.  What did he mean, “have to leave”?  They didn’t have to leave.  No, they couldn’t.  I wouldn’t let them leave me and my brother alone.  Gerhard had come home from the war, after being wounded by a bullet, and was able to look after me now, but this thought did little to comfort me now as soldiers ushered themselves into my house, taking whatever they thought was of any value.  Cameras, books, food, money, but most importantly, my parents.  I tore off the bed sheet and raced down the hall where I saw soldiers in grey uniforms loading our stuff into a cart.  Then they grabbed my father and mother and roughly started to bring them outside.2

“No!” I screamed, “You can’t take them away.  I, I… I won’t let you,” the words came stammering out as tears blurred my vision.  I wiped them away, quickly and ran to my mother pulling her sleeve in a feeble attempt to save her from these cruel men with guns.  She bent down and took my face into her hands.3

“I’m sorry Doris, you can’t stop them.  I have to go.  It will all work out.”  Her voice was decidedly calm but her deep brown eyes betrayed her fear.  A single tear had traveled down her cheek as she spoke; I traced its wet trail up into her fair brown eyes and looked into them.  Those eyes made me recall all my favorite memories and I momentarily forgot the present as images of planting in the garden and the sweet aromas of Christmas dinner filled my head.  The sharp words of a Czech soldier quickly brought me back to this harsh, present reality though.4

“But mother...” I started again.  This time however, I was cut off by sharp blow of a Czech gun across my chest.  My hands shot into the air, flailing for something the grab onto.  I hit the hard, dusty street with a thud and knocked my head against something hard.  My father’s shout was the last thing I remember as the world went blank and my mind sailed gently into the waves of unconsciousness.5

I awoke for the second time today with someone shaking me awake.6

“Get up Doris.  Wake up.  Come on,” a familiar voice whispered.7

“Father?  Is that you?” I replied, struggling to open my eyes, “Why aren’t you at the factory?”8

“No.  Father and mother are gone.  It’s Walter.  What happened to you?  Your dress is torn and your head is bloody,” he said, looking more than a little concerned.9

“What?  Bloody?  How?”  I touched the back of my head and felt a large, crusted bump.  The blood was crusty and dry; I must have been laying there for quite a while.  I looked to the right and saw the shadows from a nearby house creeping ever nearer to where I lay as the golden sun dipped slowly to the earth.10

“What?  You don’t know?  Come on, Doris, how did you get out here, where did they take father and mother?” Walter’s words echoed in my head as those same questions filled my mind with confusion.  I tried, without success, to recall what devastating event had left me lying in the street alone, with blood-stained hair and a pounding headache.11

“I… I don’t know,” I paused, “I can’t remember anything since… Well, since last night.”12

“Well come in and lets try to get you cleaned up, then we’ll see what we can save from the house,” he replied, gently lifting me up, “we can’t stay here anymore; we’ll have to find somewhere to live.”  I got up gingerly and walked back into the house.  Walter led the way to the sink and I splashed the cool, water on my face.  I looked up into the mirror, which had been cracked somehow and now hung at angle, and stared at my disheveled face and hair.  “What happened today?” I thought as I watched a single drop of water trickled down my cheek and plunge into the sink.  I stood there a moment, staring at the place where the tiny drop had landed, “It looked like a teardrop” I thought to myself.  Teardrop!  Wait, I remember now.  The image of the tiny drop plunging into the sink replayed over and over in my mind.  “Where had I seen that?” I thought.  Then suddenly, it all came back to me.  I rushed to the kitchen to tell Walter.13