A thump hits the back of my right calf, then the left. I panic. He’s kicking me. Over and over, the man’s boot strikes me, nearly causing me to fall. Snickers come from around me; some people point, and others look away. It’s like I’m the main attraction in a sickening parade.
“Jewish garbage!” he yells.
I recognize his voice; it’s the same soldier who attacked me at school. I don’t dare speak. To do so would surely mean death.
“Look at you in your fancy clothes, carrying your books as if it makes you worth something,” he squawks. “You are nothing but filth!”
I fight the urge to run away. If I do, he will chase and kill me, the same as Nazis have done to others who try and flee. He continues his abuse as I make my way through town. He taunts me with mean comments and kicks to the back of my legs. Outside town, our farmhouse comes into view.
The journey to my house seems endless, and the soldier doesn’t let up, as I make my way to the front gate. Stopping at the fence, his footfalls scuff the dirt behind me. Will he kill me now? Will he kill me in front of my home with my parents watching? I didn’t do anything to cause such hatred.
Unlatching the gate, I make my way through, placing my foot on the first cobblestone on the path to my home. Catching a glimpse of my tormentor, he stands silent, watching every move I make. Two more steps, then one more. I’m almost there. My hand grasps the doorknob, and I scurry inside.
Once in the house, I find my mother and Oma in the kitchen. Oma busies herself chopping turnips, her dark-brown bouncy hair kept in place by a scarf. A ringlet hangs near her eye, and it draws my attention to the dark circles under her eyes. While she has deep-set eyes that are normally shadowed, the shade is more prominent now. Even though I’m told I resemble her, I’ve always been jealous of my sister’s beauty. Oma smiles, but her grin fades when she sizes me up.
“Mame,” Oma says.
My mother, whom my sisters and I resemble, is at the sink filling a pot with water when her attention turns to me.
“Estherly! My sweet girl. What happened to you?” she exclaims, as she rushes out of the kitchen, into the hall, and to my side.
I can’t speak, I can barely inhale. Tears stream down my face as I grab for my mother. I melt into her warm, loving arms and gasp as the sobs overcome me.
“Simon, come here!” my mother yells for my father.
Gavi follows as my father makes his way from the living room to where my mother and I hold each other in an embrace. Standing next to each other, I’m reminded of how similar their looks are. Both my father and Gavi stand over six feet tall. They both have long, narrow faces and dark features. While Gavi is thin and lanky, father is broad and wider like the rest of us.
“What is it, Ruth?” my father asks.
A loud knock at the door sends shivers down my spine. Letting go of my mother, I look around to see the terror in my family’s eyes. For several years now, a knock at the door is abnormal and usually means trouble with the Nazis.
“Girls, go to the kitchen, now,” my father insists.
We do as we are told but linger in the doorway to watch what will happen. My father hesitates as he reaches for the door, his hand shaking ever-so-slightly. As the soldier makes his way into our home, he brushes past my father and stands in our entry way, stomping his muddy boots on the floor. He must’ve trampled through Oma’s freshly watered garden for his boots to be in that condition. “Der Typ is irrel!” I think, struggling to keep my mouth closed and bringing more chance of horror upon my family. But, he is a lunatic! Who smashes living, beautiful plants, flowers, and vegetables?
“Your papers!” he yells to my father but keeps his gaze towards the kitchen.
“Yes, sir, one moment.” My father rushes to the living room to fetch the paperwork and quickly returns it to him.
Looking the papers over, the soldier scowls.
“There are six sets of papers here. I only see five of you. Where is the other?” he shouts, as he taps one finger on the handle of the pistol fastened to his side.
“Our youngest daughter is ill and upstairs in her room.” My father’s shaky voice sounds meek and defeated. Never would I describe my father as weak, but under the pressure of it all, my father caves to keep his family safe.
The soldier glares at me and throws our papers down to the muddy floor where he casually cleaned his boots. Making his way towards the kitchen, I freeze. Gavi lunges forwards in the entryway, but his movements are stifled by my father’s hand gesture for him to stay as he is.
The soldier stops inches in front of me and lowers his eyes. I glance up before keeping my head down. His alcohol-scented breath blows in my hair. Moving away from me, I tremble as he makes his way to our kitchen cupboards. He opens each one of them, knocking its contents to the ground. Glass shatters around me, and a big stew container hits my ankle. The sound of the pots and pans hitting the floor deafens me. The pot of water my mother was filling is slammed to the floor, and the cool fluid splashes my legs. Without another word, the soldier saunters past me. He turns back towards the kitchen right as he reaches the front door and gives me a malicious smile. In an instant, he opens the door and is gone.
Bursting into tears, I grab Oma’s hand, and we make our way to the kitchen table. My legs are sore from the events of today and feel as if they can barely hold my body up anymore. My father and brother rush into the kitchen, making their way through broken cups and plates. Sitting down at the table, we all realize how close to death we were.
At dinner, I recount the events that took place today, and they listen to me with a look of horror on their faces. My mother’s eyes fill with tears as I describe how the soldier had kicked the backs of my legs the whole way home.
“I’m sorry, Mame, I shouldn’t have led him to our home,” I said, as I lay my hand on my mother’s.
“Silly Estherly, where would you have gone?” She smiles. “You always come home if something bad happens, no matter what.”
I tiptoe down the stairs, careful not to make any sounds. Waiting for Oma to fall asleep seemed like it took longer than usual tonight. With her being so upset about what happened today, I understand why. I’m also still shaken by what happened to me– to us –today. I reach the last step, the noisiest one of them all, and scarcely touch it as my other foot hits the floor. Going through the kitchen, I think of the mess the soldier made earlier today. It took three good sweeps to get the glass off the floor. I grab a piece of cheese and a flashlight, then make my way to the back door. I unlock it and slip outside.
The moon is full and bright. The autumn breeze dances on my skin. Running through the damp grass, I make my way to our old wooden barn. What once held half a dozen horses is now empty and void of happiness, but it’s our place. I get inside and try to warm myself up by rubbing my hands on my arms and legs, careful not to touch my scrapes. Sitting on the dry hay, I wait. It is so quiet in here now, no horses whinnying and no hooves rustling, not like it used to be before the horses were taken by the soldiers. Now, it’s silence, except for the wind hitting the barn.
Something touches the tip of my finger and then slinks around my arm, purring and meowing.
“I brought you some cheese, my friend,” I say to the little cat that has found refuge inside our barn. When we first met, she feared me. She wouldn’t let me get too close, but now we have an understanding, and she trusts me.