The Journey Home
Written by Lemuel Tan
Date: March 2005
The heavy raindrops battered rapidly down his back as he hurriedly walked past the last house on the block. The smoldering fire from an overturned car made his shadow flicker mysteriously in the night. Looking franticly across the scarred land, he swiftly jumped across another fence. He was weak and weary. The worn out shoes that were stolen from an old abandoned hut was covered with mud and sand from the long run. The once handsome youth now looked like dirt wiped off from the sole of an army boot.
“Did I make the right choice?” His mind raced between the past and present hoping to find some assurance that the choice he made was rational enough to carry him through the night. His racing thoughts came to a sudden halt as his eyes focused on an abandoned shelter. With a quick glance round his back, he sprinted to the dilapidated structure. He walked cautiously around the house trying to make as little noise as possible, examining and studying it as best as he could in the dimly lit midnight sky.. He went inside the hall. Exhausted, he slowly leaned his tired back at the corner of the wall. Sliding down slowly into a squatting position, he quietly drifted into deep sleep. He did not seem to mind the darkness nor the rats that were his only companions in the night. All he needed was a good night’s sleep.
The morning sun could not penetrate the hazy mist in the old building. He lay lazily among the shattered glass that once were parts of a beautiful sunroof. His stomach growled and his body ached. The long run had weakened his body. Reaching down towards his knees he slowly unbound the bandage that was wrapped around his right knee. His injured knee was swollen and filled with dried yellow pus wedged between the bandage stuck on his knee and his skin. He slowly examined the wound with both hands, feeling for any signs of pain. With a long sigh, he carefully bound the leg up again.
He was very weak but he was glad to be alive. He got up slowly to his feet, clutching the side of a table for support. He was not sure where he was. He slipped his hands into the side of his old jacket and produced a stained yellow journal, covered with sweat and blood. He quickly flipped through the pages, as if looking for some inspiring words to comfort his poor soul, after looking at what seemed like some schoolboy’s scribbles, he put it back into the side pocket of the jacket again. He walked clumsily around the room. Peeping around the corner into the next room he suddenly came face to face with another man who stared straight at him.
Frozen stiff, he could only stare back. His legs wanted to carry him away from the predicament but somehow they glued themselves to the floor. The other man was just as astonished to see him. It seemed like an eternity before the other man finally broke the silence.
“Who are you? Êtes vous un Français?”
Looking hard at the rifle slung on the man’s back, he carefully chose his words.
“No…I used to live here,” he answered tentatively.
Suddenly the man took up his rifle and pointed it at him. He motioned him to kneel down on the floor. Fear rushed through his veins. The door was not very far away from him. He could race out of the room and hope that the other man had a bad aim. But as if he could read his mind, the armed man took a few more steps closer with the rifle still pointing straight at his face. Slowly using his rifle as a baton he pushed away the jacket that he was wearing. The Star of David was shown strapped on his right arm.
He knew his escape was over and he shut his eyes tightly waiting for the sound of the gunshot that would end his life. Clutching both his hands he knelt in front of the armed man. It seemed like another eternity before the armed man reacted. He slowly put down his rifle. Turning his body to the side, he rolled up his sleeve. There on his right arm was a tightly strapped yellow Star of David.
Great relief swept over him as he stood up and embraced his fellow countryman. The last time he saw a fellow Jew was a week ago and that was when he escaped from Buchenwald, Germany’s worse concentration camp. There, thousands of Jews like him was tortured and humiliated. Some were skinned alive and their skins used to make book covers. Others were killed on the spot if their looks irritated the SS officers. Gas chambers worked 24 hours killing tens of thousands of prisoners. It was a brutal way to die.
Wiping tear-filled eyes, both men exchanged the latest information on the war. To see a fellow Jew at the border of Germany and Poland was a sight to behold. The well built man asked him to follow him back to the smaller room from which he came. The hunger in his stomach and the pain on his knee seemed to vanish and a spark of hope lighted up in his heart.
The smaller room was filled with broken roof tiles. In the corner was a big empty cupboard. The man walked towards it and slowly began to push the cupboard to the side of the war. Amazingly it took very little effort to move it. He then squatted down and pointed at the floor where the cupboard once stood. Jarek looked towards it. There, was a handle between the cracks on the floor. He cautiously placed his hand over it and gave it a slight tug. It flung open. It was a hidden trap door.
The secret door opened and a flight of steps led downwards. The entrance was very well hidden and no one would ever have thought that there was a secret basement in this small shattered room. The stairs seemed to go down forever, like some old-gothic dungeon. After a slow climb downwards, they finally reached the bottom. Below, stretches of tunnel networks ran seemingly without an end.. Without a word, they started to walk through one of them.
Right at the end of it, was a big bright room covered with planks on both sides of the war. On the wall was a poster of Hitler with a hand-drawn mustache and a pair of horns poking out from his head. The anti German stench was strong here. It seemed like he had stumbled upon one of those secret hidden Jewish resistance hideouts that he heard of in the concentration camp. The anti-Nazi Jews were well heard of in the camps. They would ambush German patrols in street corners using stolen German weapons and handmade weapons. They were the heroes of the Jewish race. He did not expect to see the resistance group so near the border of Germany and Poland, yet somehow luck and fate managed to bring him to one. He was given some new clothes to change and a bowl of potato stew. The aroma of the stew caught his nostrils and he hungrily pushed the food down his dry and thirsty throat.
A few minutes later, another man came to his side and stood beside him as he sat there eating his meal. The stout man introduced himself as Halden Sheridan, the leader of the resistance group at the German-Polish border. In his left hand was a canteen of water which he offered to him and then he asked him to introduce himself.
“I’m…I’m… Górski……Jarek Górski., I’ve just escaped from Germany and am trying to go back to my home…..home…..which is near the Polish border,” he stammered.
His statement caused the other man to look at him, stunned and amazed. Looking around he pointed to the right of the room and asked, “Which camp? Loborgrad? Dakovo? Jadovno?”
“No…… Buchenwald,” came the quiet reply.
“Buchenwald!!!” repeated the leader with surprise. No one had ever escaped from Germany’s top detention camp and yet there was one standing right before his very eyes. His astonishment was greeted by the chomping sounds from the mouth of the hungry man as he bit on the pieces of hardened potatoes. He stopped eating and took another gulp of water.
Speechless, the soldier took another long good look at him. Turning around, he muttered to himself, “He can never be a spy, he is too weak and fragile. Look at him! Sticks and bones to the feet!” Quietly he walked away from the room, allowing him to finish his meal in peace.
The man who found him stood on the other side, silently digesting all that was heard. He had found a fellow Jew who escaped from Germany’s top detention camp. No wonder he looked so thin and weary. After finishing the meal, he brought him to the sleeping quarters, there he was given some blankets and told to rest and that he would be questioned more about the condition of the detention camp and how he managed to get here. He quietly nodded his head and clasped the other man’s hands. It seemed that things were getting better. He was safe among his own people. Cuddling himself in the blankets he drifted into sleep once again.
All of the sudden, the room began to shake. Loud bombings were heard from above and they shook him from his sleep. It was as though the place would fall apart any second as sand and dust descended down towards where he was sleeping. Looking around for a familiar face, he found none. Then he remembered where he was and relief soothed his fear-stricken spirit. He was going to be all right. The allied bombings had begun and he was safely underground. Only the Germans were left on the streets and now they had to retreat back to Germany. After an hour, the bombings ceased and stillness dwelled in the underground caves once more. He slept again.
“Górski, wake up!! The commander wants to see you. He wants to hear the whole story of your escape,” Udenkwor the soldier who found him, shook him from his sleep.
Clumsily he stood up on his feet. Still unsure what was going on, he followed Udenkwor down the long tunnels again. Without the man’s help he would never be able to move around in the long winding tunnels which were only dimly lighted by kerosene lamps placed a few meters apart along the corridors.
“You want to see me Sir?” he asked the leader.
“Yes…yes…sit down.” He motioned Udenkwor to leave the room. Taking a rickety chair he passed it to Górski. “Tell me what made you decide to make your escape. Don’t you know that escape is almost impossible and if you were caught you would be killed on the spot?”
Taking a deep breath, Jarek began his story. “I’ve been in the camp for 4 years now. I was brought there by the SS during one of the winter raids at my house. My wife, daughter and I were dragged apart. My daughter was only 6 months old then. I’ve never seen them since. I decided to escape with a group of other POWs. We dug a hole with our bare hands over the months. The camp was so crowded that the guards could not keep count on the number of prisoners so that was how we managed to escape. There were 46 of us but I was the only one that made it. Most of them were caught by the Nazi brutes and were shot on the spot. I..I….I saw….my friend’s or..organs splat..splat..splatter on my bo..bod..dy on the ffi..rri.irst..first n..night of our escape……” his voice shook as dark memories flooded his mind.
Silently he sat there looking at his hands with his head bowed low. Tears rolled down his eyes as he recalled the incident. It only seemed like yesterday when it happened; the body of Johansson was flung straight at him as the Germans began to fire volleys of shots at the fleeing prisoners. The sufferings they endured could never be forgotten. The roughened skin and sores on his hands would always remind him of their daring escape from which only he survived.
“I…I….escaped because I wanted to go back to see my family. I…I…wa..want to see my dear Karen and my daughter. She should be 5 years old now. I wonder what she looks like.” He slowly raised his head and quickly took out the journal that was kept in the jacket and showed it to the commander. Written on the journal was a street address and some yellow stained pictures of his wife and daughter which were properly secured inside in the book.
“It says you live in Point Street. Isn’t that near the border of Poland?”
He nodded calmly.
“The last few reports that I received from my people told me that the place had been overrun by the Germans as they were retreating. As you may have heard, the Russians are advancing from the East and the Germans are falling back closer to their homeland. They have practically used the town as their last stronghold during the last few weeks but I’m not too sure now. If you’re lucky, the Russians might already have freed the territory. There could have been some resistance from the Germans, but then….” He left the sentence unfinished.
Górski’s head slid back to the bowed position. He heart felt a fearful jerk. “Could his family have been killed by the raids? No it can’t be. They must be alive.”
The commander broke his trail of thoughts with an authoritative voice.
“Look, I can spare you a guide back to your home as it isn’t very far from here. I’ll give you some food and water for your journey back. It would only take a day or two if we use the underground sewer which passes the old Polish grave yard.”
His heartbeat started to quicken as the thought of going back to see his family resurfaced. The fluctuation of hopes this few days had made him confused. At times he had given up hope of ever reuniting with his family. From the horrors of the concentration camp to the night of the escape and the deaths of his friends, then to be found by a group of resistance fighters, he was so near to his dream and now to find that his home could probably be burnt to ashes. It was all too much for him. The wound on his right knee suddenly began to throb again.
Early the next morning, they prepared themselves to leave the place. Udenkwor was his guide. Between the two, they carried some pieces of bread, a canteen of water, a kerosene lamp and 2 hand made rifles. It was only a two day journey so they took only what was necessary. They traveled underground most of the time and only rested whenever they felt tired. The first few hours of the journey were tiring but as they got on, things began to fall into rhythm and they made good progress as they walked quickly down the sewers.
“Until now, the Germans have yet to discover this sewer. Only a few of us, the resistance folks know about it,” Udenkwor told him.
As the two of them walked further, they found out that they had many similarities, more than they had imagined. In fact the real reason Udenkwor followed him back was because he had a fiancée staying in the same apartment, two floors below him.. She was a widow with a young daughter.. Her husband was killed by the Nazis a few years ago.
“I met her during one of the ambushes we set up for the Germans at the border. She was a passerby and we had to hide her as she was in the crossfire between the Germans and us. She told me her story of how she was searching for her husband and got the news of his death. We brought her back to her apartment at Point Street. Since it was dangerous for us to meet we could only write letters to each other and our relationship grew from there. I do wish to see her again. Her beautiful eyes…” sighed Udenkwor. Before he could finish his sentence the sound of distant footsteps echoed through the tunnel.
”Schneller! Schneller! Schauen Sie durch den Abwasserkanal sorgfältig!!”
Terror filled his eyes. “The Germans are searching the sewer,” he translated in a scared tone. “They’ve managed to find the way in!”
“Schneller! Scheneller!” The thunder of another voice boomed behind them.
Sensing that they would soon be cornered like rats by angry pest exterminators, they looked hysterically around the sewer for a means of escape. Udenkwor had been to these parts of the sewer many times; he had been chased by German patrols on the roads countless of times and had used the sewer as an escape route but never had he been chased right under the sewer. It was horrifying situation. The only escape route he had was being used by his own enemies. His eyes scouted for an escape hatch or a manhole cover, anything that could get them out. They had to get outside.
The sound of the German footsteps got nearer to them but they still could not find a way to escape. It was the end for them. Udenkwor knew that the Germans would outnumber them and there was no way they could fight back. He threw his gun to the side, crouched down and lifted his hands in the air. Górski quietly followed his actions.
The Germans seemed astonished to find two men with their hands up in the air in apparent surrender. One of the soldiers lifted his machine gun ready to take down his prisoners. The trigger was pulled but the captain managed to intervene and the bullets ricocheted off the wall. Catching the private’s wrist, he slapped him hard on the face and spoke in harsh German He motioned the two men to get up and told them to march down the sewer. They approached the next manhole cover and quickly motioned them to climb up.
The sunlight blinded their eyes as they climbed up. A cold afternoon breeze caught them unsuspectingly and made them shiver. The halftrack motor made sure that any thought of escape was wiped off from their minds. They were prisoners of the enemy whether they liked it or not. As they were about to climb up the halftracks, a whirring sound could be heard from the sky.
“Mörtel!”
“Motar!”
Run and they would be shot, stand and they would be hit by the impact of the mortars. They shut their eyes and prayed. The Germans were already running for shelter in the nearby bombed shop houses. The first mortar missed them but the second landed just a few feet in front of them. A retreating German soldier flew upwards into the sky and landed beside them with his arm torn off. The sound of pounding mortars rang through their ears as they crawled under the German vehicle. Small potholes in the ground began to multiply quickly as time slowly crept by. Each impact seemed to get closer to them.
Finally the bombings stopped. They kept still in their shelter, unsure whether the raining of lead and explosives was a blessing or a curse. Slowly, the Germans crept out one by one. Two German soldiers bent downwards and began to poke the 2 hidden captives under the halftrack with their rifle butts. The bombings had irritated and tested their patience and they started to kick the two men. To the Germans it seemed that they were the cause of the bombing but to Udenkwor and Jarek, it seemed that the Germans were the cause of them fleeing. Paradoxically, both were right.
After a few dozen punches, the German patrol stood back and lifted their rifles towards them. The German officer did not really bother about their existence now and happily allowed his company of trigger-happy soldiers to carry out the execution. As they were about to pull their triggers, a gunshot rang out between the two men and the group. Looking around their backs they saw no one but the buildings on both sides of the roads. Sensing something wrong, one German solider turned back to his captain, hoping to receive an assurance that nothing was wrong but to his horror, he saw a bullet buried right in the commander’s head. Snipers! He started to run but was halted by another loud bang and he dropped dead on the road. The rest of the Germans began to retreat slowly, holding their rifles tightly in their hands.
A small head popped out from one of the street house windows and with a burst of fire, sprayed a cluster of bullets across the Germans. Three fell like rocks. The remaining nine began to shoot back at the empty window as the head slipped back in. Silence filled the air. It was as though the Germans were being hunted. Suddenly, a group of soldiers appeared in the corner of the street and began to open fire at the Germans. The 2 men were trapped between the gunfight. The Germans ran back behind the halftrack as they returned fire.
It was a stalemate. Both sides were causality free except the four who had died earlier. Sensing a chance of escape Udenkwor nudged Jarek as they slowly crept backwards. Passing the last German who was shooting frantically at their attackers, they ran for their lives. Their heavy footsteps abruptly reminded the German soldier that they had 2 captives and they were escaping from them. He turned his back and started to fire. The spray of bullets completely missed them. As he stood up to chase them, the allied sniper gave the 2 fleeing men a helping hand and the German soldier dropped dead on his tracks.
Udenkwor and Jarek couldn’t stop their feet. Another fight had just broken out in another block. As gunfire and grenades exploded all around them, they ran into a side shop and ran straight upstairs. Feeling more secure in the building, they peeped through the windows of the upper floor. It looked like the resistance forces were in another fight with the German border petrol. A stout fellow suddenly tapped their backs. Caught by surprise, Udenkwor tripped over Jarek’s foot and fell. The hand of a grinning civilian thrust out and helped him to his feet. On his right hand was a long rifle which had a long yet small magnifying glass scope on top of it. It was the sniper who had saved them a few moments ago.
“Sorry I couldn’t shoot those entire pathetic creatures down there just now. Had to conserve my ammo,” he said sheepishly. After that he quickly left the room and ran down the stairs into the streets. They were not even given a chance to thank the Good Samaritan who had saved their lives.
They stayed in the abandoned building till the firings below stopped. As they quietly walked down the creaky stairs, a German solider suddenly appeared before them. Before they could retreat upstairs the soldier opened fire. Udenkwor had taken the impact of the bullets and fell headlong down the stairs. Blood spattered the staircase. Jarek could not do anything except to jump straight towards the German who was caught off his guard and fell tumbling down the stairs with him. The rifle fell out of reach from the German’s hand. It was a struggle of the fittest and Jarek was no match. In a few seconds, the German’s far superior body mass overpowered Jarek pining him down on the floor. Both his hands latched on to Jarek’s throat, suffocating him by his tight grip. A tired figure suddenly appeared behind them. The German shouted with a cry of anguish and fell heavily down on Jarek. Jarek looked up in surprise Udenkwor had stabbed the German soldier on his back with his own dagger. The jagged dagger had pierced through his heart and he died instantaneously.
With the German’s blood stains on his shoulders he crawled towards Udenkwor. His heavy breathing affirmed that the bullets did hit him and that he was dying. He tried to utter a few words but blood oozed out from his mouth and nose.. With a final and valiant afford he reached into his pocket and produced a letter. Pressing it towards Jarek he motioned him to come closer to him.
“Pas..sss this to m..my..my fiancée, te..te..tell her I..I..I shall see her soooon on..one day an..an….” With his last breathe he ended his unfinished sentence.
Jarek only knew that she stayed two floors below him. He quickly searched the body of his dead friend but found no other information Saddened by the death of his new friend who had also saved his life, he stood up and began a steady run back home which was only 3 blocks away!
As he approached the familiar streets, his heart began to beat harder. He finally arrived at a sign which said ‘Point Street’. He quickly raced up to his once familiar home. The torn down door stopped his tracks as his heart sank lower. Looking past the torn hinges he saw a desolated apartment. The magnificent antique cupboard which once stood in the hall was torn down. The kitchen was in a mess and the bedroom was in a similar state. The mattress and cushions were all on the floor. Broken pieces of wood and glass were scattered all over the place. There was no sign of his family.
After surveying the rooms and finding nothing but destruction, he walked dejectedly down to find his friend’s fiancée. He had a duty to do even though his heart was heavy from his own loss. He wondered how he would explain the death of his friend. He tried to form sentences in his brain but none seemed to fit. He stood outside the door. “At least there’s still a door intact perhaps she is still in there,” he thought. Still unsure of what to say, he knocked on the door. He gazed downwards at his feet, afraid of looking in the eyes of the woman to whom he would be the bearer of sorrow and grief.
The door opened and without looking up he said, “I’m your neighbor from upstairs.” Then he looked up and in wonder asked, “Kaa…Karen is really you? I…th..thought…I…I….found the house empty upstairs an..nd….how could this be?”
His stammer was greeted by a warm touch on his chest as tears fell down both their eyes. He could not understand anything. It was as though he was in a dream. A dream which made no sense, but if it was a dream, he wished he never ever had to wake up. The warm hand brought him in. Still in shock and taken aback by the sudden change of events he stood there silently. Karen broke the silence with a soft cry of disbelief and amazement in her blue eyes.
“I thought you were dead. I…I…”
“I’m still alive. I..I escaped fr..from the prr…prrii…prison and was brought here by a felloo..fellow Jew who was in the resistance a..a..army,” he replied bluntly.
A long pause filled the room. Then Karen slowly explained to him.
“Since you were captured by the Germans, Louisa, the original owner of this house, fled to Portugal. She is a German and she feared that she would be accidentally mistaken as a Jew and be captured since most of the residents of these apartments are Jews.”
“Why are you living here then?” asked Jarek as he slowly wandered around looking at the interior of the flat. Realization sipped in and he did not know how to react to this new found knowledge.
“She was a kind soul and graciously gave us her home and some fake ID and passport which state that we are local Germans. So I’ve been going under the name Louisa ever since she left. Our daughter’s name has also been changed to Elise. I..I..I hope you don’t mind. It..it was for our own safety.” She began to weep as Jarek approached her to give her a long embrace.
The Journey Home ©
