A Life Not Lived
by Grant Krinock
“There are two things in life I don't put up with.”
Lt. Schmidt circled the man hunched over in the chair. “Jews,” he hit the low-hanging lamp, the only light in the room, “and liars.” Lt. Schmidt leaned across the table. His face dancing in and out of the swaying light. “I think you are both. Or am I wrong to make such accusations?”
The man, at first, was silent. Wisps of breath escaped his cracked lips.
“My name is Christian Muller.”
Lt. Schmidt leaned far forward, half of his face bathed in light. He smiled and nodded. Four hands emerged behind Christian and dragged him out of his chair.
“No! I told you all I know! What are you doing with me? Let me go! Please, I have a family. Without me, they will starve! Show mercy. What did I do? I have done nothing wrong! Sir, I beg you!”
Christian's voice dissolved into the bitter cold evening. Lt. Schmidt stood outside the door and watched as the soldiers threw him onto a train. The train's whistle blew, piercing the cool night air. Creaking and groaning, it pulled from the dock as steam poured beneath the engine.
“That's the last of them.” A soldier saluted.
Lt. Schmidt lit a cigarette. “For now.”
***
Christian stood in the corner of the train’s crowded car. The sound the train made as it plowed ever deeper into the night consumed the otherwise silent evening. Every now and then, Christian heard someone whimper. Briefly, icy tears slid down his cheeks. What would happen to his family? His wife was probably awake right now, crying in bed. She didn't need to be informed. No one asked questions when someone suddenly disappeared. No one would dare speak of it. It was the silent truth that had become accepted. The train continued its endless rumble along the tracks. Christian tried to sleep, but he couldn't. He leaned against the wall and closed his eyes.
“My kids, my family, they're gone!” a man began sobbing. “Let me out! Let me see my kids! I want to hold my wife!” But his voice was drowned out by the endless drone of the engine.
Christian didn't look to see who it was. It didn't matter. Everyone was lamenting.
Hours passed, and still they continued the endless journey. Some people complained of cramped legs, and the few who had the space to do so began rubbing them. A fat man finally gave up and sat down
.
“Don't sit.”
Another man said, “If you do, you'll never get back up.”
“I can't. I need to rest for awhile.”
Christian had already lost feeling in his feet, and the numbing cold continued to progress further up his legs. He could no longer tell if he was standing. His lips would bleed and for a minute they would feel warm; the taste of his blood reminded him that this wasn’t a dream. Then, even his blood, exposed to the harsh elements, would begin to freeze and submit to the unrelenting cold.
Hours — what seemed like days — passed, and finally the metal wheels came to a grinding halt. The doors were thrown open. A flood of white blinded them. Christian's eyes adjusted as the soldiers pulled everyone from the train. Christian covered his eyes from the blinding wind and snow as he stepped out into the elements.
“I said stand up, you son of a bitch!” a soldier began to yell.
Christian looked over his shoulder and saw the fat man helplessly trying to scramble to his feet, but he couldn’t. His legs had fallen asleep from sitting.
“You lazy piece of shit, stand up!” the soldier yelled again and pointed the gun at him
.
“Stand up, damn it,” a man next to Christian muttered under his breath.
Again, the man tried to stand, but his legs would not obey. The soldier unloaded two, three shots, and all was silent. Another soldier walked over.
“Don't waste your ammo! Just one shot and leave ‘em. They’re not going anywhere.”
The soldiers began shouting orders, and everyone got in line. Christian looked back and saw the fat man being dragged off the train. His eyes lifeless, blood trickling from his mouth. He was pushed to the side of the tracks. The last trace of the man’s existence disappeared as the snow covered his blood-stained body. Christian crossed himself and quietly said a prayer.
“God won’t save you,” the man behind Christian said. “Not anymore then he’ll save the rest of us.”
***
Lt. Schmidt stood erect, a cigarette pressed to his thin lips.
“I’m sure it’s nothing, Hans,” Franz said, trying to comfort his friend. “The colonel respects you.”
Schmidt chuckled and put his cigarette out. “You’ve served with me a long time, Franz.”
“Since the beginning.”
Schmidt looked up and watched as the snow fell gently from the sky and melted on his face. “This shit gets old, Franz. I enlisted to help bring security to this nation. Instead, I get fucking nervous as a Jew when I’m suddenly called to meet with the colonel.”
Franz shrugged his shoulders and looked around. “It won’t last. After we win the war, things will get better.”
A door behind them suddenly slammed shut. They turned around to see two soldiers standing at attention.
“The colonel will see you now, Lt. Schmidt.”
Franz looked his friend in the eyes. Schmidt tried to crack a smile, but, instead, nodded, then turned toward the soldiers.
One held the door open for him, and Schmidt walked in alone.
“Sit down, lieutenant,” the colonel said.
The colonel's face was cold and harsh. The tone of his voice was so even-keeled that it was impossible to guess what he was feeling. The colonel leaned back in his chair, his eyes glued to the lieutenant.
“You've always served this army well, Hans.” This was the first time the colonel ever had addressed him by his first name. “You've done your duty admirably, and I've always liked you because of that.”
Schmidt said nothing. A feeling of dread started in his gut and traveled to his throat. He couldn't and he didn't want to speak. He'd seen people die right before his eyes, and he'd pulled the trigger on many innocent people, but this was the only time he'd ever felt nauseating fear.
The colonel stared long and hard into Schmidt's eyes. “I suppose you know why you're here?”
Schmidt didn't speak.
“The army, through one of its lineage crosschecking routines, came across certain paperwork of yours that was of particular interest. How it slipped through previous crosschecks I am unsure, but that does not erase the fact that you have certain unwanted blood running through your veins, lieutenant.” The colonel leaned forward, his hands on the desk. “Do you understand what I'm saying?”
Schmidt, feeling he was in the midst of his worst nightmare, nodded slowly.
The colonel sighed. “Well, Hans, there is some good news. I caught wind of your unfortunate family history before they arrested you. Through much persuading, I arranged this meeting.” The colonel leaned back in his chair. “I'm here to save you embarrassment. As I said, I admire what you've done for us.”
For a minute, impossible thoughts raced through Schmidt's head. Perhaps they could burn the paperwork, and maybe all of this could go away and his life would return to normal.
The colonel reached inside his coat and pulled out his pistol. He ran his fingers down the pistol's muzzle. He leaned across the desk and placed it in front of Schmidt.
“Think of it as saving your honor.”
Schmidt picked up the pistol. The metal was smooth and cold to touch. He ran his fingers over the trigger, then looked at the colonel.
“You're saving my honor,” he paused, “or the army's?”
The colonel straightened his posture and stared intensely at Schmidt through cold, merciless eyes. “Both.”
***
A week had passed, and because of his stocky build, Christian was among the prisoners picked for forced labor. At the crack of dawn, he and two dozen other prisoners would march a mile outside camp and dig long, deep trenches. The combination of weather and inadequate equipment made for slow progress.
“This weather’s a pain in the ass,” one guard said, adjusting his wool cap.
Another guard laughed and kicked a prisoner in the back. “Faster! Sooner you lazy bastards are done, sooner we can head back to camp and eat!”
The first guard laughed and rubbed his gloves together.
Christian's gloves had several holes in them, and the exposed skin was turning dark purple. The howling wind picked up. Ice and snow whipped into Christian's face. He could barely see as he used the pick to chip away at the icy ground. For hours, they worked. The weather only intensified, and by early evening, the guards had had enough.
“Get in line. We're headed back!” the guard called.
One by one, the prisoners crawled into line. After the guards counted them off, they began the slow march back to camp. Christian thought of the hot meals his wife used to make: steeping hot stew and fresh warm bread. Another gust of wind slammed Christian in the face, bringing him back to reality. His nose and eyes wouldn't stop watering. They marched into the mess hall, where they were given their rations: chilled water with maggots. It was the closest thing to soup they had. The two ounces of bread they received was rock solid. The prisoners though, beyond starvation, ate everything as if it were a feast.
Later that evening, Christian made his way to the barracks. He sat on his lower bunk as the rest of the prisoners poured in. Once everyone was in, the guards locked the doors. Unlike most nights, however, the guards stood at attention outside the door. A siren blared, and the spotlights shone down on the gate.
“An escape?” a tall man named Egon asked, pressing his nose to the only window.
“Nah. They're bringing us some company, boys!” another man said.
Christian looked up. Several of the prisoners were peering out the window as best they could.
“Shit,” Egon said. “Looks like we'll have at least one of those poor bastards rooming with us.”
Sure enough, a few moments later, the barrack door swung open. The guard pushed a strong, sturdy man inside.
“Find a bunk. This is your new home,” the guard sneered, then shut and locked the door.
Christian still sat on his bunk. He could only see the bottom half of the man's body as he came towards the last empty bunk. As the man drew closer, Christian stood up to greet him, but when he saw who it was, he stopped. His jaw dropped, and for a minute, he didn't know what to do. The other man had stopped, too, and stared at Christian. Suddenly, with clinched fists, Christian lunged at the man.
***
Schmidt had endured the same train car that he had sent countless others to. His uniform had been taken from him, and now he wore someone's old tattered clothes. They must have been shot, because there were several blood stains and holes in the shirt. He had been given a thin coat, identical to what two dozen other prisoners around him were wearing. The train had already been on its way for several hours. Schmidt stood, leaning against the wall. Several people were crying and, although he'd heard thousands of people cry, this was the first time he'd listened. Schmidt sighed and closed his eyes. The train rattled along, and Schmidt fell asleep. He woke up when the trains wheels screeched to a stop.
When the guards threw the doors open, it was almost dark. He stumbled outside and got in line. For about an hour, they marched. Schmidt glanced up and saw the tall guard towers. A siren began to blare. The search lights were turned on and glared down on the prisoners. They marched into the camp. A tall, sturdy soldier lined them all up and began inspecting them. Occasionally, he would point at one of the prisoners, and another soldier would drag him into another line. Finally, the soldier came to Schmidt. He raised his hand and pointed to him.
“This is the last one. Send the rest to Barrack J, and in the morning, send them to the chamber,” the soldier ordered.
Schmidt was dragged into the other line.
“Take the last one to Barrack D. I'll take the others to Barrack F,” one of the soldiers commanded
.
A soldier grabbed Schmidt and shoved him toward Barrack D. He unlocked the door and pushed him inside. The guard said something, but Schmidt didn't hear. He stumbled toward the last empty bunk. He stared at the gaunt faces, watching him from all sides. Schmidt approached his bunk, and one of the prisoners stood up. Schmidt looked at him. The man’s eyes were full of shock and fury. Normally a prepared man, Schmidt found himself caught off guard when the man suddenly punched him in the face. Schmidt spiraled to the ground. Before he realized what was happening, the man was on top of him. Cold, strong hands wrapped around his throat in a death grip. Schmidt struggled and tried to wring himself free. The room began to fade. Finally, the grip released. Schmidt gasped for air. He panted heavily and stared as several other prisoners restrained his attacker. Normally, Schmidt would have retaliated, but he was weak from the march and thought better of it. His attacker glared at him, rage in his eyes. Schmidt stood up and watched as his attacker lay down in bed and didn’t move.
***
Christian listened as the other prisoners began to whisper. Schmidt climbed into the bunk above him. All night, Christian listened to him breathe. The man who had ruined his life was right above him. He could hear every cursed breath that left his lips. Christian shuddered and shook with rage. He wanted to get up. He wanted to finish the job. For an hour, Christian fought to control himself. His conscience battled back and forth. He never slept, but he managed to restrain himself. He couldn't figure out how Schmidt had ended up in a camp, and in this camp! A part of him wanted to tell the rest of the prisoners who this man was. He closed his eyes and breathed slowly. He knew that no good circumstance would come from an act of revenge. Yet, death might actually be an act of mercy. Anything was better than living under these conditions. No, he would not show him mercy. He deserved to die in here with the rest of them.
***
Schmidt stared at the ceiling. His thoughts were scattered. He rolled over and listened to the howling wind outside. He could hear the quiet beating of his heart. For years, he had hid his Jewish heritage. He’d even carefully switched linage papers with non-Jews to ensure his and his family’s safety. He had done what was necessary to survive. He had saved his family by denying his faith. Pain shot through his stomach and he coiled up. He felt sick and thought he might throw up. Schmidt cried quietly to himself. He was a traitor. A traitor to his faith.
These thoughts raced through his mind. Finally, by pure exhaustion, he fell asleep. The blaring of the siren woke him up before dawn. For a second, he forgot where he was. He sat up and stumbled from his bunk. He followed the other prisoners outside into the freezing air. The guards lined the prisoners up, and they began their mile-long march to the trenches. Four hours, they labored. The bitter cold ate at any exposed skin. Exhausted, cold, and hungry, Schmidt kept digging. All the while, he tried to place his attacker’s face, but he couldn't.
***
The rest of the day, Christian kept an eye on Schmidt. Unlike the night before, the guards didn't end early. It wasn't snowing, and the guards were trying to take advantage of the weather.
Finally, hours after dark, the guards stopped the work. They counted everyone off and marched them back to camp. Later that evening, Christian lay on his bunk. He tossed and turned. His body ached. He closed his eyes and thought of his family. He imagined stocking the wood burner full of wood, then sitting in his chair with his wife's arms wrapped around his neck. Christian could see his kids, all tucked away in their beds. He could still smell the burning wood and feel its heat. He thought of his wife's gentle touch as she ran her fingers through his hair. He could smell her perfume. Christian sighed and smiled. It all seemed close enough to touch, and yet, a world away.
Suddenly, the voice, the last voice he had heard as a free man, interrupted his thoughts.
***
Schmidt waited for a long time, until he was sure everyone was asleep. Finally, he summed up his courage and broke the silence.
“Hey, down there. You awake?” he whispered.
Schmidt waited, but there was no response. He leaned over the side and peered down at the man beneath him. To his surprise, he found the man staring directly at him. His chest slowly breathed in and out. The full moon shone in through the small window and illuminated part of the man's face. In this light, Schmidt thought the man seemed vaguely familiar, and then it hit him. Schmidt's eyes grew to the size of the moon.
“So you do remember,” Christian said.
Schmidt didn't speak for a minute. When he did, he caught Christian off guard. “Why didn't you kill me?”
Christian hid his surprise as the moon slipped behind a cloud. Now, blanketed in darkness, he spoke. “Because you deserve to live through this. Killing you seemed too merciful.”
Schmidt closed his eyes, and a tear slid down his face. The moon came back out and illuminated both their faces. “You don't understand. It had nothing to do with you.” He opened his eyes. “I was saving my family.”
“Get to the point!”
Schmidt paused and let out a deep sigh. “My family is Jewish. I denied my faith and joined the army.” He hesitated briefly. “And because of my position, I was able to hide my linage papers by switching them with non-Jews.”
Christian felt dizzy and confused. “How? How did I get involved in all of this?”
“Your linage papers were one of hundreds I was assigned to crosscheck. It was just by chance that I chose you.”
Schmidt looked Christian in the eyes. “Your papers passed, and so I switched them with mine.”
Christian couldn't speak. He stared at Schmidt with disbelief.
“I'm sorry,” Schmidt said, feeling Christian's anguish.
There was no verbal response, only a bewildered look cemented on Christian's face.
“Forgive me,” was all Schmidt could say as tears streamed down his cheeks.
“What-what happened to my family? Are they OK? Please.” Christian searched Schmidt’s face for answers. “Tell me they're OK!”
A look of terror welled up in Schmidt's eyes. He didn't want to tell the truth.
“No! Not my wife! Not my innocent children! What have you done?! Tell me they're OK! Tell me they're still safe!”
Schmidt's eyes flooded with tears, and he rolled back in bed. He heard Christian break down and cry uncontrollably. Throughout the night, he listened to Christian lament for his family. He heard his prayers mixed with endless tears. Schmidt stayed up and wept too. For the first time in years, he prayed. Through his tears, he asked God to ease Christian's pain.
***
Schmidt lay still as the prisoners woke up. The guards opened the doors, and one by one, the prisoners made their way outside. Schmidt jumped out of the bunk and saw Christian lying motionless. His eyes were red and his face flushed. Schmidt heard the guards yelling outside when they realized they were missing two prisoners.
“Get up! Hurry!” Schmidt pleaded, pulling on Christian.
“Both of you, outside! What the hell do you think you're doing!?” the guard yelled.
Christian didn't move a muscle. The guard tried to hit Christian with the rifle's handle, but Schmidt jumped in front. He wrestled the guard to the ground. A second guard heard the commotion and came running in.
“Halt!” the guard yelled, pointing the gun at the two men wrestling.
Schmidt, by now, had gained the upper hand and had the guard pinned. The other guard aimed carefully and prepared to shoot. As the guard’s finger pulled the trigger, Christian tackled the second guard and began wrestling the gun from his hands. The shot missed Schmidt, but the noise attracted half a dozen guards. They poured in and dragged Schmidt and Christian outside. Immediately, the two guards who had been attacked began beating both of them. Using the blunt ends of their guns, they bruised and bloodied both to the point that they couldn't fight back. Satisfied, they dragged them both to their feet and shoved them against a wall.
Christian's nose was broken, and a large gash above his eye poured out blood. Schmidt, staggering and barely able to stand, looked at him.
“Please, forgive me.” Hot tears ran down his bloody face. He spat the bitter blood from this mouth. “I've led a horrible life. I betrayed my faith,” he began to sob. “And I've destroyed hundreds of lives.”
Christian, swaying back and forth, took Schmidt by the shoulders. He looked him in the eyes.
“I forgive you.”
For the first time, Schmidt looked relieved. Christian smiled and saw that he was at peace.
The guards fired simultaneously for several seconds. A cloud of smoke encircled them. Christian thought of his wife and his beautiful kids. He smelled the wood burner from his house. His wife and kids were smiling at him, and he smiled back. As he closed his eyes, he reached out and touched their soft, warm hands.
|