The Heart Of A Gypsy (2 page)

“Shhh, come here. I have food for you, and water also,” a sweet female voice said. It was a moonless night, so there had been no prior light from the porthole to attract him. Or perhaps he had been so disoriented that he just did not see it, for now, as he looked up, a small flicker of light from the stars was present in this dungeon. For a moment his heart leapt with hope. Even the slightest illumination in this blackest of cells brought a new perspective, and with his youth he found some promise in it.

It took a moment for his eyes to adjust, but when they did, he realized that it was her. In the shadows he could make out just enough to see that it was the gypsy girl who had been there at his arrest the previous afternoon.  Could he be hallucinating? Had all of their hammering at him addled his brain? His hearing was becoming more acute as listened more closely. Now that he began to focus on the world outside of the small window, he heard the rustling of a tree in the summer breeze. Crisp leaves chattered softly in the wind. An owl hooted in the distance, mingling with the quiet belching of a frog.  How could he have missed this before? Crawling slowly on his knees at first, he came to the window. Against the pain in his legs and back, he held on to the slimy wall and pulled himself upright to look out of the metal bars. Like a glimmering radiance in the shadows, she stood before him, holding a white woven basket in her feminine hand. Not trusting his sight, he rubbed his eyes in disbelief. If I am dreaming, he thought, then let this delusion never end.

“Come on…over here, and take this bread,” the gypsy girl said as she held a small loaf which she pushed through the bars. Obediently he took it. Since he had not been given any food since they’d apprehended him, he was very hungry, and he shoved a large piece into his mouth.

“Slow down; you’ll throw up if you eat too fast. You haven’t eaten anything and your stomach will not accept so much at once.” The moon cast a soft glow on her hair, and for a moment he thought she was an angel.

“You’re right; I wasn’t thinking,” he said, feeling embarrassed that he had made such a fool of himself. Then he took the bread out of his mouth and began breaking off tiny pieces with his soiled hands, and chewing them slowly.

“I brought you water too.” She passed a long thin container to him through the bars. “Listen to me,” she said firmly, staring directly at him to maintain his full attention. “It is important that you drink this now. I don’t want them to find this water vial here, and therefore I will take it back with me when I go. They must not know that you had a visitor or they will move you away from this cell, and maybe even from this prison, and then we will not be able to find you. I’ll bring more food and water tomorrow night, if we have not rescued you by then. Sip slowly, I’ll wait.”

He did as she asked, watching her and wondering where she had come from, and why.

When he had finished eating he attempted to speak, his voice coming out as a croak, “Who are you? And how did you find me?”

“To find you was easy. I knew where they took you. Did you not see me watching? My brother is part of the Resistance - a partisan, a freedom fighter. We know that you also oppose the Nazis, and we plan to get you out of here.”

“Who is your brother?”

“You need not know that right now; just trust that we know what we are doing, and all will be well.”

Handing her the water container, he watched as she turned and walked away.

Now that he had found the window, his eyes were drawn to it. He watched the stars as he sat on the cold cement floor of the prison and wondered who these partisans were, and who had sent them to help him. The passing of several hours made him begin to doubt that the visitor was real. He thought that perhaps his mind had, in all of its pain, created a mirage…a savior. Christian closed his eyes.

There was no doubt he was tired. His head bobbed with fatigue, and Christian fell into a deep sleep. It was not until the guards opened the steel-barred door that he awakened. The terror of what was to come immediately obliterated all traces of sleep, and he was brought to his feet roughly by a giant of a man, unshaven and sweating profusely, with a bald head, carrying a thick club.

The giant wheeled the club into Christian’s stomach. The blow took Christian’s breath away, causing him to double over. While he was incapacitated, trying to catch his breath, the guards  handcuffed and pushed  him along a corridor to a room with a large desk and several gray metal filing cabinets. He stumbled as he was pushed hard into a chair in the center of the room.  Glancing around the room, he saw the picture of Hitler behind the desk, with his comical little mustache covering his upper lip and his arms crossed over his chest; he looked smug. On the wall to his left was the large red flag with the black widow spider in the center: the swastika, the symbol of the death of civilization.

There was a loud clicking of heels against the floor. It broke the silence, striking terror in Christian’s heart.   Then the Reichsmarshall entered the room in a pressed black uniform and shiny boots. He was a tall, slender man with light brown hair and pale, washed-out blue eyes that betrayed no emotion. Over one eye he wore a thick eyeglass that hung from a chain attached to his shirt. Christian noticed his long, thin fingers and manicured nails. This man seemed different from the thugs who had arrested him, more dangerous.  He had a cool, maniacal viciousness that Christian sensed immediately. The others were drunk with newly-found power, while this man enjoyed the God-like status he believed to be his rightful place in the world.  Christian shivered at the reptilian eyes that stared at him, while the handcuffs worked their way into the flesh of his wrists.  An involuntary trembling, as if a cold, imaginary finger ran its nail up his spine, caused Christian to tremble, and he hoped the Reichsmarshall did not sense how vulnerable he felt.

“Good Afternoon, Herr Stearn. I hope that you have found your accommodations satisfactory. We like to make sure that our guests are comfortable,” the Nazi said as his face broke into a half smile. “You know, Herr Stearn, that it grieves me greatly that you are here at all. You should not be in prison. You should be out working for the cause.” With a quick flick of his wrist, the Reichsmarshall slammed his walking stick against the back of Christian’s chair, causing him to jump and breaking his façade of apparent calm. “After all, you are not a Jew. Why do you choose to champion a cause that is not your own? It is hard for me to believe that you did not realize the danger. I understand that it is a cruel process that we must employ, but remember, it is for the good of Germany and the world that we must rid the world of these sub-humans. Now you, Herr Stearn, are such a lovely specimen of Aryan male, with your blond hair and blue eyes. Why would you not want to see the world a better place for your children and your children’s children?” The SS officer paced behind Christian, mocking him, “Do you realize that the Third Reich will last for at least a thousand years, and we the Aryan people will be the rulers of the entire world? All others will bow down to us. That is as it should be. And of all of the other races, the Jews are the worst, the most dangerous. Do you think we want to do what we do? We do what we must.  If the Jews are allowed to live, then there will be trouble…always. The world must be rid of them…and we are the ones who have been chosen to carry out this highly unsavory chore. But sadly, it must be done.” The Reichsmarshall paused to allow his words to resonate to full effect. Then he walked to the front of the room and eased himself up until he was seated upon the top of the desk, where his boots were just a few feet away from Christian’s face. “ Perhaps you’ve been tricked by these unscrupulous Jews? After all they are very sneaky and clever, you know. I am sure that they conned you in some way.” The SS officer ran his hand over his chin in contemplation, then he continued, “However, you are young and strong, and if you will cooperate with us, we may just decide to give you a second chance. Tell us who their leaders are and where we can find them, and we may just have a place for you in the party.” He winked at Christian. “So, what do you think? Are you not better off with your own people?” For a few moments the Nazi stared at him, not speaking. The silence was unnerving to Christian.  Next, the officer got up and walked behind his desk. He pulled the chair out and sat down. Then picking up a pencil, he softly tapped it on his desk as he waited for Christian’s reply.

After several moments had passed, and the Reichsmarshal realized the Christian was not going to answer, he spoke again, more harshly now, “I suggest you take my offer… The consequences of refusal would be dire.”

Christian cleared his throat. “I don’t know what you are talking about. I don’t know of any leaders or of any movement that would have any leaders. I am just a man, and it’s true that I have shown some support of the Jewish cause, but that’s all. There is no one else involved, only me. If you must punish someone, then punish me.” Watching the SS officer, he felt as if the man’s tongue might dart out at any moment, like that of a serpent.

“Liar. You are a member of the Resistance, the underground. Do you think that we don’t know? Do you doubt the strength of the Nazi Party? We have spies everywhere. Do you not realize how powerful we are? We will control the world; make no mistake on this, Herr Stearn.” The Reichsmarshall stood up and slammed his stick upon the top of the desk. Christian jumped involuntarily. “Don’t make this worse for yourself. We will get our information, you can be sure of that. Now, tell me and let me help you, or don’t and suffer the consequences. And make no mistake, Herr Stearn, there will be consequences.”

A burst of heat boiled up through Christian’s blood. His body was hot with anger and fear, but his hands and feet were cold, and almost rigid. A bead of sweat trickled down the back of his neck. Knowing what was coming, and anticipating the agony, he swallowed hard, feeling his Adam’s apple rise and fall as he tried to remain calm. His mouth was dry, and his throat was aching and scratchy. Christian knew he faced certain death.

“I said I don’t know what you are talking about,” Christian said, surprised at his own strength. Perhaps it was divine guidance that gave him the power to fight, even now. Perhaps God walked beside him in this dark valley of death.

“Very well, Herr Stearn, you have made a choice. You have decided to make this difficult on yourself. So…we will see how long it will take for you to talk,” the Kommandant said.  “Guards, come now and take this man, who refuses to help…and see to it that he regrets his lack of love for our Fuerher and our cause. Show him how we treat traitors to the Fatherland.”

As the SS guards came into the room, Christian felt as if he might urinate on himself. “What a coward I am,” he thought. “I must remain strong. I will die either way; it is better to die with dignity.” Shaking as they grabbed his arms, he closed his eyes and said a silent prayer, asking for the courage to endure the coming ordeal without divulging any information. Christian saw himself, caught, like a wolf with his foot in a trap, and unable to escape, waiting helplessly for the hunter to come and end his life. As the guards pushed him through the shiny silver door of the torture chamber, he prayed that death would be swift and that he would have the strength to bear the pain.

Surrounded by four shiny steel walls, with a long, gleaming steel table bearing black leather restraining  straps in the center of the room, Christian’s eyes fixed upon a thick trickle of blood that ran from the metal slab, drying into a dark crimson puddle on the floor.  He swallowed hard, knowing that soon his own blood would run from his body and mingle with that which lay pooling beside the table. As his stomach lurched, he fought against the desire to be sick.  Observing the table more closely, he realized that there were two sets of straps to bind him: one for his feet, the other for his hands.  Three muscle-bound, heavyset guards surrounded him. They made it clear that they were planning to restrain him. And although he was a strong man, and he fought, kicking and punching with all the physical fortitude that remained in his body. They were healthy and strong, and the sheer power of their numbers subdued him.  He was finally tied to the table.  Struggling even now within the restraints, he wondered why he even bothered. It was strange, he thought, how the will to live takes over, and even against all odds the body will continue to fight.  He longed for the mercy of oblivion, and wished they would hit him in the head and bless him with unconsciousness.

Before the persecutors could begin their work in earnest, there was a knock at the door.  A stern and powerful voice told them to wait before they began working over the prisoner, “Let him be for now.  New orders have been issued. We must take him to the Reichsmarshall. Open the door!
Mach schnell!
We will take the prisoner from here.  Apparently there is some question as to his identity.”

Hearing this, Christian was shocked. What did they know? What had they discovered? This was even worse than any horror they had planned for him.

The henchmen were used to following orders that could change at any moment, so without question they opened the door. Five men in SS uniforms covered with bars that indicated that they were of higher ranks than the thugs whose only purpose was to torture a victim into speaking entered the room. Their heels clicked loudly on the floor as they approached, their heads held high. Christian felt relieved that at least for the moment he would not have to endure the pain. But he knew that this could turn ugly if they discovered his secret, a secret he kept hidden from everyone. He might be in a far worse predicament than the one he was presently in. Christian marveled at the human condition. How strange it is that if one can escape terrible discomfort even for just a few moments it is, in some small inexplicable way, a relief, even if it is only brief.