The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is
for good men to do nothing
(Edmund Burke 1729-1797)
How did it happen? I am trying to make sense of it all.
I am a good soldier - oh yes, I have often been commended
on that! I love my country more than life. He says we must
do that, and I believed him...do believe him. A small man
he is. You would pass him by in the street, until he starts
to speak. His eyes burn you up, and his voice and the words
he says make you feel mighty, strong and proud. And yet...he
says this shambling, shuffling line of human misery, with
their sign displayed for all to see, is the greatest threat
to our country - them and their like. He spits the
words! It must be true if he says it...mustn't it?
He didn't go to school very much, left without a certificate
they said, - no more education than I have. Had an
ordinary job too, a house painter, and yet he knows, he
alone knows what's best...doesn't he?
We herded them along; there was a long way to go to their
final destination. 'Their last resting place,'
Fritz, my comrade in arms, always grinned as he said it.
He cursed them, spat on them, pushing them to make them
go faster. An old man stumbled, someone struck him with
a rifle barrel. The old man showed spirit and cursed him.
The soldier laughed and hit him on the face. He fell to
the ground and lay still. They all stopped and stared but
no one spoke. Fritz kicked the man to the side of the road.
Some one would pick him up later.
The old man left a gap in the line, and it was then that
I saw the boy and the woman with her arms around him. She
made a sudden movement, and I jerked the gun in their direction.
Her arms tightened round the boy, terror in her great dark
eyes. I knew that they were mother and son, both dark, with
their race stamped upon them. The boy was about the same
age as our son. Our blonde, blue-eyed laughing son. The
mother turned her head from the boy and looked at me again,
silently pleading. The little boy looked bewildered. He
looked at people he knew in the line, ready to smile, but
none smiled back. I dropped my eyes from the woman's
face, feeling suddenly sick and ashamed. What was I doing
there, helping with the murder of some other man's
much-loved son?
We tried to get them moving again, and then I felt, rather
than saw, the woman edge up beside me. I had not hit anyone,
so maybe she thought I looked kind. I do not know. 'Please
- oh please soldier.' Her voice was pleasant - not
cultured - a country voice. 'Help me, maybe
you have son too?'
I looked straight ahead. I gave her no answer, but perhaps
she read it in my face. She told me that a car was waiting
on the outskirts of the city. Friends would take her and
her son across the frontier to safety. They had been on
their way there when they were picked up. She did not care
about herself now, as her husband and family were already
taken, but the boy was too young...her voice trailed away.
We trudged along, making for the small station where a
train would be waiting to take them to the depot. I had
made up my mind, but was not sure how to do it. The woman
kept glancing at me anxiously, but I ignored her. I was
right at the top of the line now; Fritz and a few of the
officers were at the back. I thought of you, my wife, and
wondered if you would understand. Then I knew you would,
and would know why I did it. I hope our son will be proud
of me and never think me a fool.
I looked around, but Fritz and the officers were paying
no heed to the front of the line. Occasionally they would
push somebody along with a rifle butt.
The expressions on the faces around me were slowly changing
from despair to panic. A woman screamed - a high pitched
mad scream, and suddenly all was confusion. More women began
to scream and beat their fists against the soldiers. We
had reached a street corner; only two more streets to go
before we came to the station.
I felt the woman willing me to go. I now turned and looked
straight into her eyes. She smiled at me, and for a second,
some trick of the light perhaps, she looked just like you.
I seized the little boy and looking neither to the left
or right, I ran.
I thought that I heard shouts behind me, and even a shot.
I knew, however, that there were not enough soldiers left
to cope with the crowd, if any came after me. The boy was
brave, I thought his father would have been so proud of
him, if he had known. He was running alongside of me now,
his lip trembling, but he did not cry. The woman had told
me where the car was and I hoped I had heard her right.
We stopped for breath beneath an avenue of trees, and a
tram came along. We got on. I pulled the boy's cap
well over his hair and told him to keep his head down. No
one looked at us: we were just a soldier and his son, or
nephew - an ordinary sight perhaps.
I saw the car at the right corner, and we jumped off the
tram. It trundled on...its colours seemed sharper, heightened...harsh.
The car door was open, but as we ran up I saw the look of
horror on the faces of those within. I waved - shouting
at them not to go - that it was all right - to please wait!
The car started up with a violent revving of the engine.
There was a screech of tyres as it drove away. We chased
it down a long narrow street, and then we stopped running,
the boy and I. He looked up at me uncertainly. I watched
the tail lights of the car moving further and further away,
and I knew that this story could only have one possible
ending.
The car slowed down some distance away and stopped. I had
a feeling of pure joy. The boy looked up at me again, and
I smiled as I pushed him gently. His eyes held mine for
a second and then he began to run. The car reversed to meet
him; he was pulled in, and it screeched off round a bend
in the road and out of sight. Suddenly, I felt, completely
at peace with myself and what I had done.
I was picked up quite quickly. I know my fate. I can only
hope that I have changed the fate of the dark-eyed child.
I cannot be sure if you, my family, will ever read this.
I so want to explain what happened, and that you know, how
I think of you with all my love.
