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- Herausgeber: Editora Vida e Consciência
- Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
- Sprache: Englisch
The power of feelings reveals the ultimate human truth - no matter the colors or the country's name, human beings just want to love, live in peace and find happiness.
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Seitenzahl: 439
Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022
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Table of Contents
COVER
CREDITS
TITLE PAGE
SUMMARY
PROLOGUE
1 ORGANIZING HELP
2 THE BATTLEFIELD ‘DENIZARTH’S DIARY’
3 LUDWIG’S HOME
4 THE FAKE KURT MILLER
5 THE WEDDING
6 THE PRISON
7 ABUSE AND FREEDOM
8 STARTING TO RETURN HOME
9 THE RESISTANCE
10 THE DISGUISE
11 HOME AT LAST
12 THE COMFORTING DOCTRINE
13 THE REVELATION
14 THE ATTACK
15 THE GERMANS SURRENDER IN PARIS
16 THE REWARD
17 THE DISAPPOINTMENT
18 THE ROAD TO DAMASCUS
19 TWO SOULS MEET
20 A RAY OF HOPE?
21 A PEACE MESSAGE
22 ON THE WAY
23 THE ADOPTION
24 NEW YEAR’S EVE GIFT
25 BLIND FANATICISM
26 FRAU EVA
27 THE TRAGEDY - END OF DENIZARTH’S DIARY
28 ASSISTANCE FROM THE SPIRITUAL REALM
29 SUBLIME FORGIVENESS
Landmarks
Cover
Credits
Title Page
Summary
Prologue
Start
© 1975, 2017 por Zibia Gasparetto
© 2021 por Zibia Gasparetto – formato digital
Capa e produção gráfica: Equipe Vida & Consciência
Conversão e-book: Equipe Vida & Consciência
Epub production: Cumbuca Studio
ISBN 978-65-88599-31-0 – formato digital
The partial or full reproduction of this book without proper authorization is prohibited.
Publishing, Distribution, Printing and Finishing:
Vida & Consciência Editora e Distribuidora Ltda.
Rua das Oiticicas, 75 — São Paulo — SP — Brasil
CEP 04346-090
www.vidaeconsciencia.com.br
SUMMARY
PROLOGUE
1 ORGANIZING HELP
2 THE BATTLEFIELD ‘DENIZARTH’S DIARY’
3 LUDWIG’S HOME
4 THE FAKE KURT MILLER
5 THE WEDDING
6 THE PRISON
7 ABUSE AND FREEDOM
8 STARTING TO RETURN HOME
9 THE RESISTANCE
10 THE DISGUISE
11 HOME AT LAST
12 THE COMFORTING DOCTRINE
13 THE REVELATION
14 THE ATTACK
15 THE GERMANS SURRENDER IN PARIS
16 THE REWARD
17 THE DISAPPOINTMENT
18 THE ROAD TO DAMASCUS
19 TWO SOULS MEET
20 A RAY OF HOPE?
21 A PEACE MESSAGE
22 ON THE WAY
23 THE ADOPTION
24 NEW YEAR’S EVE GIFT
25 BLIND FANATICISM
26 FRAU EVA
27 THE TRAGEDY - END OF DENIZARTH’S DIARY
28 ASSISTANCE FROM THE SPIRITUAL REALM
29 SUBLIME FORGIVENESS
FOREWORD
Notwithstanding God’s love and sanctified dedication and the enlightened spirits’ loving devotion to humanity’s spiritual progress, it has not been possible to avoid tragedy and pain in mankind’s inevitable need to grow through their own experiences, in order to succeed and secure life’s virtuous and real values.
For as long as we can remember, the Lord has bestowed blessings and consoling revelations to guide and educate mankind, ushering them to happiness and peace.
However, in the feud between selfishness and ambition, pride and vanity, man continues to ferociously wage wars. Wars, fights, social and political crimes set down all sorts of remedial consequences to reclaim equilibrium.
Blessed is the pain that wakens mankind! Blessed is the fight that creates the means for atonement and progress! Sublime ideal that makes us wish for a world with no pain or war, a place where we all help and love each other! Where respect and friendship, dedication and love sow the seeds of equal rights and all social classes can live together without fighting or hurting each other. Where we appreciate each other and the boundaries between races and countries don’t exist. Where politics is used for the benefit of all within the sanctified ministry of progress!
Utopia!..., many would say. I can just see the incredulous smiles, but I reply: this is the future’s imperative goal. The fate we were created for. Evolution!
Yet nothing seems further from this conquest than Earth’s present prospect. Earth is distraught and moans engulfed in crises and wars, outcries and terror, cataclysms and suffering. Morality seems to have vanished and materialism has gained ground, paving the way for conflicts, paying homage to addiction and compulsion.
Nonetheless, redemption carries on relentlessly. The immutable laws of divine justice give to each according to their deeds. And time, our inescapable friend, has the role of restoring truth in man’s intimate essence.
Humanity is divided in two big groups: those who know or have understood and those who don’t know or are still blind.
We wish to join paths with those who believe in the future of the spirit, in the progress of Earth’s humanity and labor to speed the process, aware that God empowers us with the joy to help with his work, even though we know of our inferiority and our debts to the Celestial Laws.
And it is exactly because we have been soldiers of violence so many times, that we decide to fight for peace.
Therefore, we spirits, in the name of righteousness, willing to do good things, join the selfless spiritual teachers in their work, each one in the area we are best suited for.
Thus, serving and fulfilling our task, we come together in the spiritual realm. Our weapon: love; our goal: enlightenment; our wish: the conquest of peace and man’s freedom.
May Jesus bless us all.
Lucius
São Paulo, March 30th, 1974.
CHAPTER 1
ORGANIZING HELP
It was a glorious night lit by stars. We gathered inside the spacious and welcoming room as we usually did these last days, in preparation to join our spiritual colony’s work group, a group wholly committed to helping mankind in the name of peace.
The Peace Camps, a spiritual colony that provides aid and shelters humanity, unwaveringly pledged a vast delegation of assistants and well-doers for this task, not only to reestablish peace on earth, but also to gather, assist and guide the victims of war and violence.
The Fraternity of International Nurses, headed by the selfless spirit of Florence Nightingale, diligently worked in this camp round-the-clock, providing care and solace in all the spheres with undeniable commitment and devotion.
Nurse Rose’s deeply touching prayer started the meeting, followed by Nurse Lee’s firm words, galvanizing and inspiring us to the task at hand.
She described what was going on with the world, the horror in everyone’s heart at the constant threat of a new war.
We knew the problems of those who died on the battlefields. We also knew in part what intense passions and extremisms can do to a man who has been stung by hatred and war.
Her words deeply moved us:
“Fellow workers! Let’s join forces to fight for peace! Ours is a fight of love and joy, of hope and light. We know that the treatment homes in our realm also shelter spirits bitterly demented by the bloody fights. We are aware of the painful redemption many must face to restore the peace they have destroyed. We know mankind needs to learn to love and feel Jesus with their hearts. More than ever humanity is in need of a spiritual life, faith in reincarnation and the power of Divine Justice, which no one has ever been able to cheat! Man has to know that every violation of peace represents arduous undertakings in order to restore eternal well-being.”
“Fellow workers! That is what we need to convey to men, to every heart, every home, and every spirit. That is why we are gathered here. Let us serve the Lord united and trustful, not fearing the troops of darkness that unceasingly prowl around mankind during difficult times. God is joy and peace. Jesus triumphs in virtuousness. Let us work and united we will achieve new seeds of love with joy and courage.”
I was touched. Overpowering enthusiasm had invigorated my heart’s readiness to participate in this fight.
After the modest and stirring prayer, the meeting was over and I waited for the instructor who would designate my task.
Nurse Lee approached me smiling:
“I’m delighted we can count on you.”
I held her hand tenderly.
“I’m so pleased to be here. I eagerly look forward to begin our task.”
“Yes. We have been following the group you help on Earth and we have been near them as compassionate friends. The time has come to go there. You want material and notes for a new book destined for our terrestrial brothers and I think we have a very special case.”
I was interested:
“Do you have it already?”
“Yes, come with me.”
I followed her. We walked across the beautiful and peaceful park that surrounded the meeting room and continued along some blocks. We reached a bright building with straight lines. We entered and went to a small room, in it a young couple was talking in low voice, they were standing next to a young boy of about nine years of age.
Though calm, they were somewhat pale, showing that they were convalescing. The boy, although in better spiritual conditions for his head was haloed by light, looked concerned and somewhat restless.
When he saw us he ran in our direction and hugging the nurse, he said:
“You came! I was waiting for you! We need to help him. I love him so much! We have to do something for him!”
“Yes, of course, my dear” she replied confidently “Let us trust in Jesus, who never abandons us.”
The couple stood up and came to greet us:
“We have done everything we can but all he does is talk about it.”
The boy looked anxiously at the nurse and said:
“I feel his thoughts of misery and pain. He thinks of me all the time and still hasn’t found peace. He needs to know I didn’t suffer. He doesn’t know this. He keeps on torturing himself remembering my death! He’s in so much pain. I have to help him. I owe him so much, but there is nothing I can do now. Only God and you can help me!”
The nurse stroked his blonde hair and asked serenely:
“Would you be calm enough to see him? Would you control yourself?”
“Sure,” he replied calmly, “I understand that my task on Earth was a short one in this life and I’m ok with that. But I just can’t think about myself as long as he is suffering.”
The young woman looked at us affectionately and asked:
“I would also like to do something for him. We have been praying, but his pain is enormous. We all owe him so much!”
“Of course. Gratitude is a noble and virtuous feeling. We appreciate your prayers for our friend and they are very much needed.”
Smiling, she turned to me as she introduced me:
“This is our friend Lucius, a member of the work group who will participate in our pupil’s treatment intervention.”
I smiled, deeply moved at the way they looked at me with hope in their eyes.
She continued:
“Very well then, tomorrow we will come for you to start the arrangements. There is a group that provides help on Earth and we will go with them.” Turning to the boy, she said: “You will come with us.”
The boy’s face lit up.
“As for the both of you, it’s still early to revisit earth. You can pray from here, sending us good and optimistic thoughts.”
They immediately agreed.
The boy’s eloquent face had attracted my empathy and his loving vibration conveyed immense peace.
We talked some more and when we left, I could not restrain my curiosity:
“Did this boy disembody recently?”
“Yes. Just over six months. I know what you are thinking. With so much light, why is he still in the treatment home? He is a good and selfless spirit. He could have gone to higher realms, develop his physical appearance, even taking the appearance of his previous incarnation, but refuses to do so as he wants to help the people he loves.”
“And the couple following him?”
“Yes. They were his parents on Earth. But they still don’t have his level of understanding, and having their son near them helps greatly. They disembodied violently during World War II, leaving behind the orphaned boy, and since then have spent long years suffering and in denial, unbalanced and immersed in distress. The boy’s presence brought them back joy, and he has lovingly and tenderly cultivated their hearts, preparing them for the sublime revelations of a higher life. Yet as you witnessed, there is someone on Earth he dearly loves and wishes to help.”
“Is it the case you mentioned?”
“Yes. But I don’t want to shape your impressions by giving you my opinion. Tomorrow we go there and you can see for yourself.”
Despite my curiosity, I refrained from asking anything else. We arrived at the building where Nurse Lee lived. We said farewell and smiling she said:
“Tomorrow night at eight.”
“All right,” I replied, “see you tomorrow.”
I waited impatiently for the next day. Finally we met at the time set the following night. The boy calmly waited for us, but the light in his eyes showed his happiness.
We joined the group of nurses that would accompany some doctors who anonymously offered their assistance to humanity in times of pain and suffering.
After a stirring yet gentle prayer, we left towards the terrestrial orb.
The sight of Paris always moves me.
The memories, despite the years and centuries gone by, bring back sweet and affectionate feelings that gently touch our spirits. We forget of our afflictions and tribulations, preserving only the sweet reminiscence of a place where we once lived, loved and learned.
It was a summer night. Our group had split up, with only the boy, Nurse Lee, an assistant and I remaining.
We made our way to a house not far from the city. It seemed very well kept. We walked in. Despite the nice looking house, the mood was sad and heavy. They sat together for dinner. There was an old couple, a young woman and a boy sitting around the table eating quietly and with no appetite. Their faces were eroded by gloomy sadness.
“Denizarth, come and sit with us, you need to eat. No supper again…”
I heard that from the old woman, but kept walking behind the group that seemed quite familiar with the house as they made their way to the bedroom.
A man, still young, was sitting in an armchair holding his head in his hands. He appeared downcast and immersed in sad thoughts. We surrounded him. He didn’t notice us. Following Miss Lee’s beckoning, I turned my attention to our friend’s brain and noticed it was covered by a thick layer of dark grayish fluid, it ran down his upper abdomen, reaching the solar plexus. No wonder he was not hungry, his biological functions were paralyzed and his taste glands unable to stimulate his stomach.
“Notice his mind,” said the nurse to me.
I focused on his frontal lobe and astonished I saw a brutal scene.
“That’s all he thinks about,” said the boy, tenderly stroking the man’s head.
“Yes. This is a case of mental crystallization. We have been watching him for some time and now our superiors have decided to intervene with direct and objective assistance. Our brother here is highly regarded in the spiritual realm.”
I looked at her with curiosity.
“Come here for a second. I will give you what you need.”
There was a desk at the far side of the room and inside the drawer, a handwritten book.
“It’s Denizarth’s diary. Read it. This is the story you are looking for.”
“Now?”
“Sure. You have time. Our friend’s treatment intervention will take some hours. Take your time.”
I walked over to the desk and concentrated my thoughts on the book’s pages, still inside the drawer. With all due respect and affection to the secrets of his heart, the story begins…
Chapter 2
THE BATTLEFIELD‘DENIZARTH’S DIARY’
Under an abominable siege, we crowded in the dark foxhole, a pack of starving and thirsty men.
The interminable night bellowed around us, conniving with the relentless enemy that deceitfully hid from our guns and from our bulging eyes, as we tried, in vain, to invade the frightful shadows.
We held our breath, all of our senses focused on smell and hearing. Our tense hands clutching our guns. A nauseating feeling of terror. We knew the end was near, we were lost. The enemy had surrounded us in a treacherous spot. We had dug a foxhole knowing it would be our grave. I felt a horrible taste of blood in my mouth.
There were more or less twenty of us – and we were not going to make it easy for them, our lives would be sacrificed, but at a very high price.
The minutes slowly went by. The silence, the waiting, the apprehension, it was horrifying.
“Why don’t those bastards come?” someone yelled, quickly halted by the Captain in charge.
“We’re all nervous. Be quiet. Why anticipate it.”
He held the soldier with firm hands, making him shut up. The young soldier was sobbing uncontrollably. The sense of chaos was more and more suffocating.
Where would they come from first? When would they attack? Attacked or not, our supplies had dwindled down to nothing. We had almost no food and barely any water.
Some of our men rested while we kept watch and still fatigued, they sluggishly awakened to keep watch as we now tried to get some rest at the bottom of the foxhole.
It was impossible to sleep. Though we had been in that hell hole for just a short time, and had faced countless dangerous situations before, this was the most appalling moment we had ever lived. The violence and the unexpected attack by the Germans, our beaten and battered lines, no idea what had happened to our soldiers up front, we were stunned.
I don’t remember how much time passed, or if I rested or slept, all I remember is that without warning the sound of machine guns firing away filled the air. Instinctively, I grabbed my rifle and pulled the trigger.
Grenades exploded nearby and some of us, hit by the explosion and covered in blood, screamed in painful agony.
We heard the order to climb out and engage in close combat, we immediately obeyed. The night was giving way to the first morning rays, and under that new light, under the ceaseless noise of battle, we confronted the enemies, only telling them apart by their uniforms, on which the dreadful swastika wickedly glowed.
It was then that the brightness of a blade came to sight. I quickly realized the great danger. I swerved and the bayonet cut my arm, blood gushing out. I grappled with the attacker with all my might to save my life.
We both rolled down a bank fighting for our lives.
Suddenly my opponent hit his head against a rock and lost consciousness, giving me time to finish him off, as I struck him repeatedly with my handgun.
A tremendous glaring light then engulfed us and feeling a sharp pain in my right shoulder, I passed out.
When I woke up, it was already morning. I thought I was dreaming. I was very weak. Lying next to me was the German soldier I had killed.
The ground was covered in blood and flies were swarming around the dead bodies. I saw many of our soldiers close by. All dead.
I could not stand up. I forced myself to sit up and felt dizzy. I could see we were down a steep slope.
No one had seen us because we were on low ground. I had fully recovered my senses when I heard the noise of an engine – and then voices speaking in German.
I panicked. They were still around. If they saw me they would surely kill me. They didn’t have the habit of gathering injured enemies. They would only take as prisoners those able walk to the concentration camps and hard labor.
As I said earlier, the Germans had not seen us because we were further down, much lower and the trees shielded us from their prying eyes.
But if I stayed there, wounded and without supplies, helpless and defenseless, I would condemn myself to a slow death.
That is when a bold idea crossed my mind. I hastily began to remove the dead soldier’s bloodied uniform. It was a strenuous task as I was hurt and had no strength left. The German’s body was heavy as it had started to stiffen.
I undressed him and then dressed him with my own clothes as I put on his uniform. My plan also required his underclothes.
A picture fell from one of the pockets, the innocent face of a teenager, I felt strangely frightened. It was like I was living in a different world, in a horrible nightmare. I put the picture back in his pocket, and when I felt I was ready, I started to moan loudly.
From the noise I heard, I realized they had made camp nearby, eating and looking after the injured.
After much groaning, pretending to be at death’s door, I saw a stretcher coming my way, they had seen me and were coming to help, gently placing me on the stretcher.
Though apprehensive, I kept my eyes shut, pretending to be unconscious. The plan had worked.
All I wanted was a chance to survive. If after I got better they found out who I was, maybe I would be a prisoner for a while, luckily until the war was over.
I needed to fool them a while longer. From my Slavic mother and my French father, I had inherited an Arian-like similarity.
It was only death hanging over me and an overwhelming instinct commanding me to survive that calmed me, especially as I knew this was my only way out, if I wanted to live.
They put me in a truck next to another stretcher. A male nurse, seeing me moan, gave me water and I voraciously drank it. I kept quiet. I could not speak with fear of revealing the truth. But the worst part was not understanding a word they said.
I decided to keep quiet. I was starving and extremely weak as I had lost so much blood.
The truck started to move. During our journey, I noticed that the male nurse, tired, had fallen asleep. The other three wounded soldiers were in worse conditions, possibly unconscious.
I lifted my head and saw a piece of bread inside a backpack on the stretcher beside me. It was hard and moldy but I grabbed it and ate it as if it was most delicious thing on earth. I felt relieved.
Where were we going? I had no clue. Despite the pain and my injured shoulder, the dangerous and incredible situation I was in, I fell asleep, drained and fatigued.
When I woke up I could not recall a thing. Startled, it all came back to me. I cast a brief look at the room and realized I was in an old house transformed into a hospital. The immense living room, which in the past must have seen many festive events, was now the setting for the nightmares of war.
The infirmary was basically some beds and stretchers spread out to make the most of the space.
Some of the men there were talking and seemed more energetic, while others moaned in pain.
A nurse was promptly at my side when she saw me open my eyes. She had a lovely face, although I was unable to understand her. Seeing her effort to get me to respond, I used that opportunity to display complete estrangement.
I decided to deliberately pretend psychological trauma and alienation.
She kindly tried to get some reaction from me. But I remained silent. Seeing her insistence, I feigned a panic attack, my eyes wide open, gazing fixedly at the ceiling, showing fear and pain. She gently tried to calm me down. Then she walked towards a man who had just come into the room, he was wearing a white apron and looked tired.
They talked and I could see it was about me. They approached my bed and he took my pulse, gently tapping the shoulder that was not hurt, and then turned to her and gave her instructions, leaving after that.
I sighed in relief. It didn’t seem I was in danger. The cruelest thing though was not understanding what they said. That is how the days passed.
How long would I be able to keep this up? Being so close to the enemy made me sick. They were the killers of my fellow soldiers, these creatures I had learned to fear and hate. Yet, it was my life that was at stake.
I had to constantly watch myself; I could not betray my real identity.
I knew the enemy was smart, but my will to live kept me quiet and secretive. At least I was safe from the battlefield, my wound was being treated and the food was reasonable.
Isolated, forced to remain silent, lonely because of the barrier of a foreign language, I would retreat deep inside my mind, remembering a happy past, the university studies I had not concluded, the tenderness of home, a dear sister, a loving mother and an elegant and austere yet gentle and good father.
I closed my eyes and the memories came so clear that when I opened them again, it took me a while to accept the harsh reality – the dismal nightmare we were all living in.
Many ask why we have wars. Some choose it, while others use it for their ambitious plans. However, I didn’t plan it, nor did I have political ambitions, in fact I had no choice. I saw my country threatened and the only thing I could do was to protect our homes.
I was never good with guns or killing, yet I found myself going against my nature to save my life and that of my compatriots. Friendship and teamwork were familiar to me, and this helped to bear the ferocity of war without losing my mind.
At first I had not felt hatred, but with time, seeing my fallen friends, villages and towns being conquered, women raped, dead children, my heart began to harden at the thought of the enemy’s ruthlessness, the cruel killing.
I don’t know what I would have done during my convalescing days had I not found solace in my memories, my loved ones, the happiness I had lost.
With the passing days my physical health quickly improved.
The wound on my shoulder was healing, almost painless now.
One day, I noticed the mood in the infirmary was cheerful. As I could not understand their words, I learned how to read their feelings by their facial expressions. I could tell when they were happy and assumed they were winning new battles.
The doctor came in, making notes on everyone’s chart, giving instructions while the nurse assisted him.
They stopped at my bed, clearly talking about me. They seemed to be deciding my fate, seeing that I was physically recovered I no longer needed to remain there. But as I was not mentally well, I could not go back to the front lines.
Controlling my anxiety, I feigned indifference and alienation.
As a matter of fact, some words had begun to sound familiar and I could intuitively understand them.
I clearly heard the word ‘return’. Not long after that, the nurse returned and started packing my few belongings.
From her benevolent look I could tell she didn’t suspect anything. It was obvious they were sending me somewhere else. Where to? The front lines?
Maybe I could escape and find my regiment.
Looking at me sadly, the nurse asked some questions. I smiled back despondently but remained speechless.
She sighed in resignation and said no more.
On many occasions, to keep up a convincing masquerade, I pretended erratic behavior, like other soldiers in the hospital. Standing straight, saluting and clicking my heels hard. I learned to laugh with them; I tried to imitate their mannerisms as much as possible.
She gave me a clean uniform and a cloak, for it was winter. Handing me a backpack and some provisions she led me to the lobby where some soldiers were busy organizing the lines.
She led me to one of the officers sitting behind a desk. He stared at me and his steely and penetrating eyes sent shivers running down my body. I looked at him and saluted him with the Nazi greeting. He seemed calmer. He scribbled some words on a piece of paper, signed it and the nurse put it in my hand, indicating I should safely put it away in my jacket’s inside pocket. I obeyed.
There were others also waiting for the call to leave and the nurse referred me to one of them, probably asking him to help me. He agreed.
Shortly after, a military vehicle drove to the front of the building and following orders, we got inside the back of the truck.
I was dying to get out, trying to see where I was. It was a small town and that morning it was deserted, I had no idea why, maybe it was because of the German soldiers or due to the lack of work.
It broke my heart to see the truck drive away. There were a few farm workers here and there, so I assumed I was still in French territory.
If I could just escape someone could hide me. But could I escape without arousing suspicions?
I thought of a plan. It might work.
As we passed by a tank, I feigned a severe nervous attack and tried to jump out of the truck as it slowed down. But I was grabbed by the strong arm of the soldier who was looking over me. He tried to calm me down with comforting words.
Now my terror was quite real. I didn’t know where they were taking me. I had to escape.
I eventually forced myself to calm down, hoping that at some point during the trip I would have other chances to escape.
We traveled for hours and at dawn we arrived at Putschyaden.
There were no other opportunities to escape during the trip. We drove through lands now under the control of the Germans and escape would now be too much of a risk.
Coming to terms with the situation, I tried to save my energy as I didn’t know when I would need it, but I wanted to be ready when the time came.
We disembarked at the train station in Putschyaden and waited on the platform for the train that would take us towards the unknown, at least to me.
The station was almost empty, and train whistles infrequent. We finally embarked. My heart beat terrified, watched by the enemy soldier who treated me with friendship. Overwhelmed by this terrible situation, I allowed myself to be led, pretending tranquility.
Where was I headed to? Death, prison, war? At that moment I had no idea what my fate would be.
Chapter 3
LUDWIG’SHOME
We traveled all night. It was very cold and though warmly dressed, our bodies were freezing. I knew I was in enemy territory and felt vulnerable, despite the enemy’s uniform I had on.
We traveled by train for two days, seldom stopping, our Captain only allowed us to get off a few times.
Living with them, I would often question myself if I was not betraying my dead friends, my dear kinsfolk and my distant homeland. But life is precious, and as long as we feel it pulsing, we fight for it. I felt like a traitor.
My anguish was noticed by others, but it seemed normal to them as they imagined I was mentally disturbed, so common after leaving the battlefield.
In spite of this, they were caring to me. To them, I was one of them and deep down feared that one day they could also end up like this, deprived of their memories.
It was this caring that prevented me from escaping during the trip.
In a cold gray morning we finally got off at the Dresden station. God only knows the cold shivers running down my spine when I realized we were in Germany.
My companions seemed happy and effusive. They laughed merrily, despite their weariness. The city had barely been affected by the war.
Many people ran to the station hoping to find friends, relatives or acquaintances amongst the newly arrived soldiers, and many found them. At every re-encounter we could hear anxious weeping and uncontrollable laughter.
There was such excitement with the arrival that, for a moment, I thought of escaping right there and then. But where would I go? I feared they would look for me and my cover would be blown.
I stood there not knowing what to do, but soon Ludwig, the soldier the nurse had assigned me to, took me by the arm.
We left the station and walked to some trucks waiting to take us to the lodgings.
I was unable to hide my nervousness and Ludwig spoke to me reassuringly, perhaps fearing I would cause him problems.
The city bustled with troops and weaponry, greatly worrying me that war would last much longer.
We went to our accommodation and my companion gave the Captain’s letter to the man in charge, certainly a report about my case.
Some words already sounded familiar to me, like ‘memory’ or ‘greetings’, ‘food’, ‘lunch’, ‘dinner’, ‘sick’.
I heard something about my case while the officer examined me with canny and penetrating eyes.
I was able to hold his gaze staring straight at my face, trying to show a dazed and dull expression. It worked and he believed it.
He gave us back the letter and dismissed us with the official salutation, which I followed without uttering a single word, imitating the soldier by my side.
He looked at me, both glad and undecided. He scratched his head pondering and then made up his mind. He took me by the arm and we walked out of the lodging. He spoke to me in high spirits, asking me to walk with him. I followed him somewhat relieved, happy to leave that place.
My companion, eyes shining, would hug me every now and then, saying words that to me sounded friendly.
He was young, and his fair face, though abraded by the cold, was good looking. His blonde curly hair made him seem younger than he was. For the first time I took a good look at his features, now transformed by the profound joy he felt.
Once out in the street I felt hungry but didn’t know how to use the money we had been given at the lodgings, or how to ask for food. I waited for him to be hungry. Yet all he felt was eagerness.
That was when I understood – he was returning home!
Although I hated all my enemies, I could not help but think how happy I would also be if I was returning home.
I put the lid on my inner feelings and followed him quietly, as I had learned to do.
We took a taxi and in about fifteen minutes we stopped in a small village on the outskirts of town.
Ludwig threw a coin to the driver and ran to the red wooden gate with a bell on top, which he rang frantically.
A woman screamed, dogs barked, there were hugs, cheering, kisses, weeping, tears.
Despite my hatred, my dead friends, my problems, I was touched.
There was so much happiness around me, so much tenderness and family love that some tears rolled down my cheeks.
That was when they noticed me standing there. Ludwig was hugging his mom, who looked young, her silky hair braided, clear blue eyes, wearing a long embroidered apron. He told her my story. Then, a young woman, eyes and hair just like her mother, also wearing similar clothes, and a young girl with freckles and two flying pigtails that swung with her childish gestures, sadly looked at me, as though feeling sorry for me.
I blushed, maybe embarrassed or maybe disgusted by the delicate situation I was in, at which time the older woman gave me two welcome kisses on the face.
It seemed natural. She was happy to see her son and felt sorry for me.
I awkwardly shook the hands held out to me and tried to smile at those flushed and excited faces.
They took me to a small bedroom at the back of the house and told me to make myself at home.
I was calm. For now danger seemed farther away.
The house was simple, spotless and well looked after. It had been a long time since I had had a room just for me and a clean bed to sleep in. I showered and went back to the living room to find something to eat. The smell of coffee, ham and warm bread made me forget my problems for a while, pushing back any thoughts that didn’t belong to that pleasurable moment.
The dinner table was set and Ludwig, already sitting, invited me to join them. At the head of the table an elderly man looked at us with his small penetrating eyes.
“My Grandpa.”
I understood what Ludwig had said. I turned to him and saluted him as I had learned.
The old man looked at me solemnly and to my surprise, didn’t respond to my salutation. Once again I heard Ludwig tell my story, this time to the old man, who calmly sipped his tea.
I felt awkward. He was not impressed. He looked straight into my eyes once, and went on sipping his tea.
I confess I was anxious to sit at that table so abundantly prepared, but I was delighted to eat such delicious homemade food.
I was overcome with baffling emotions, an adventure that only God knew where it would end. I felt a mixture of jealousy that my companion was home, but at the same time I had to recognize they treated me as if I were a son returning home after a long absence.
After the meal, which to me was magnificent, I went to the bedroom, closed the door and threw myself onto the bed. I slept as I had not done for ages.
I woke up the next morning frightened and surprised, hearing an infant’s happy voice calling my name.
“Kurt…Kurt…”
That was the name I was given at the hospital, because the inside pockets of my jacket had the initials K.M., and I was now used to answering to that name.
I opened the window, holding back my desire to speak, to talk to someone and break free from that horrible loneliness I was living. I waved and she replied something I could not understand.
I was amazed. I had slept the rest of the afternoon and the whole night without waking up.
I felt I needed to somehow show my gratitude for all they had they provided me.
I got dressed and walked into the kitchen where I was given hot chocolate and dark bread with jam.
I didn’t see Ludwig. I had decided I was going to pay for my stay. It was not a good idea to owe favors to the enemy, the people I hated for starting this war which had taken so many lives.
I tried to be nice and kind. If one day they stumbled onto the truth, they would at least remember how noble, courteous, grateful and polite a Frenchman is.
I knew that the vicious propaganda fabricated by the war leaders had propagated hateful things about the Allies and a secret impulse drove me to show them they were being deceived.
I felt the weight of the French people’s pride and honor over my shoulders.
Besides, I realized that because the young men were at the front lines, all the work left behind was now up to the women and the elderly, toiling hard to survive.
That is why I was not surprised to see the mother, daughters and also the grandpa, hard at work.
I walked down the ramp that led to the very big yard and looked for something to do.
Wearing coarse denim trousers, Ludwig’s young sister was chopping wood, handling the axe quite skillfully.
Unhesitating, I walked to her and, mute as always, continued the work for her. The young woman was surprised at first, but then smiled in relief. She showed the leather belt I should use to bundle up the wood and then take it to kitchen.
Although I was not used to doing that, exercise was good for my tired spirit.
I even felt like singing. I held back though, afraid of betraying my disguise. To everyone I was a war victim who had lost speech and memory. I had to pretend I was learning things, easy enough, since I had never chopped wood before.
I was so afraid of being discovered that I never forgot to feign estrangement, which was far from real.
That day I worked as much as I could, after chopping wood I fixed the back gate and then whitewashed the henhouse, which in those cruel days was a gold mine.
Ludwig seemed happy with my help. He was happy to see me doing what he could not. His time off was rather brief and he would soon go back to the battlefield. There were many things to take care of and, if I understood right, there was a young woman he loved and longed to be close to for as long as possible.
It was not easy always having to pretend. The simplicity of home, a family life, it all made me homesick and kept me from thinking about the war.
However, at night, sitting around the radio, the family would discuss politics and listen to the latest news.
I soon learned that every time they cheered represented a new defeat for us, the French. In fact, they were winning on every front. These were the hardest moments to be with them. Something inside me wanted to scream at them, shout that the intruders, the ambitious dictators could not win this war.
But, locked inside my usual silence, I often pretended not to hear the news, appearing to be distant and apathetic.
I would close my eyes and pretend I was asleep, fearing they could read my thoughts of disgust and anguish.
How long would I stay at Ludwig’s home? Would he take me along after his leave was over? I yearned to know, yet was unable to ask.
Over the next days I was able to become familiarized with the family’s habits and customs.
I saw they appreciated my help and especially having a man at home, making them feel safer.
Even the old man looked at me more tolerantly, though he never said a word to me.
My ears were getting used to German words and I realized that little by little I was becoming more accustomed to the language.
Ludwig’s eight days had expired, and as his departure neared, things got sadder. I didn’t know where I would go. On the eve of his departure, he summoned me, solemnly. I went to him. He raised his eyes and spoke slowly so I could understand. And I did, more by staring at his eyes than by understanding his words; I could see his trust, determination and faith.
He said goodbye to me as if I were a real friend and asked me, using mimics, to stay at the farm until I was better and could go back to the battlefront, I could also help out with the daily work.
I grasped everything he said, although I could only understand just a few words. To be honest, I saw no way to escape from the embarrassment this peculiar situation had brought on. In fact, I felt like a thief, he trusted me to do something I didn’t know if I would be able to do. I considered myself an enemy, an intruder, and, coming from the horrors of the battlefield, it was not easy to forget in such short time all my dead friends, the raped girls, the abandoned children, the smile being replaced by the terror of the swastika killing everyone, fulfilling the ambitions of a deranged leader.
Despite the warm and hospitable German home, I could not wish them luck or happiness without betraying my deepest feelings.
Overcoming the repulsive feeling of treason that Ludwig’s trust in me had generated, I tried to show my gratitude by agreeing to stay until I was better to return to the army.
I didn’t know if I could outwit them much longer. They had photographed and fingerprinted me for identification. I knew that one day they would figure out I was not in their records.
Nevertheless, I was being honest about one thing. I had no intention of hurting Ludwig’s family. My hatred for the enemy didn’t blind me from knowing I had to be grateful to the people who had so readily sheltered me.
Ludwig’s departure was a sad day for his family. His mother’s eyes were sadder than usual and she barely touched her meal. The two sisters did their best to cheer up the mood, but nothing could change the hardness in the mother’s eyes nor grandpa’s scolding silence.
The household and its routine went back to normal the following day, although Frau Eva’s red eyes revealed a long and sleepless night. Still, she didn’t complain once.
That day, reflecting on every mother’s anguish and pain due to war’s brutality, recalling my mother’s kind blue eyes, I imagined she was probably thinking about her son too, I felt I should give her especial attention.
However, Frau Eva looked at me with some spite, maybe asking herself why fate had taken her son and left me there, protected, in peace.
I felt her thoughts and understood the maternal selfishness that always puts ‘her’ son first.
We worked hard that day. It looked as though Frau Eva wanted to feel so exhausted she would not think about her son’s departure.
Everyone was tired. Elga, the young girl weary and sleepy went to bed early, and the grandpa, smoking his pipe, was quieter than usual. Young Ana also retired. Only Frau Eva stayed up, sewing nonstop, as though darning was a matter of life or death.
I went to bed. It was a cold night. I started reading a book I found in the living room, but could barely understand a word. I could not see well with the flickering light from the lamp. I turned it off.
I was drowned in deep thoughts for quite awhile. Suddenly, I heard painful weeping. I listened to it.
Someone was crying sorrowfully. After the awful stress in the foxhole I had developed great hearing and a sense of direction. I soon realized that the weeping was coming from the room next door, where Ana slept.
I felt uncomfortably affected. I didn’t like to see women crying. Poor girl. Perhaps she had hidden her feelings not to hurt her mother, but now, alone in her room, she let out the pain at seeing her beloved brother leave.
But I couldn’t do a thing. In the delicate situation I was in, there was little I could do to comfort anyone. I remained there in the dark, eyes open, hearing her painful lamentation, thinking of how war can demolish a nation’s young generation, making many mothers, sisters and wives mourn their loved ones.
And, unable to hold back, I cried. I cried in anger, feeling impotent in the face of the destructive insolence of human ambition that drags down humanity to fight each other to the death.
I woke up later the following morning. The night had been harsh and the nightmares had come back to torment me with the viciousness of so many battles fought. The next morning I found the women working quietly, their eyes red and weary.
I saw Ana cleaning the yard, she held a broom and quickly went about her chore. How old could she be? Maybe eighteen. Her grayish eyes were deeply sad. Although her hands were rough and calloused due to the hard work, her face was delicate, as was her fine hair braided and falling over the left shoulder. Even though she wore simple baggy clothes, her body was delicate, not strong like I had imagined German girls were.
Thinking of her poignant weeping, I walked over to help her and I confess I would have liked to somehow comfort her in her pain.
Ana seemed to have perceived this because her eyes softened when she looked at me.
It might have started that day. I can’t explain it, but Ana’s presence began to attract my attention in a special sort of way.
I felt her near when she was in the living room, and my heart felt warm when I heard her sweet voice.
I am still not able to explain how it happened, or what impenetrable mysteries dictate one’s heart. Maybe my young heart, now forced to abstinence from a woman’s love had made me feel those unexpected and overwhelming feelings, especially since in my homeland I was used to feeling free to love.
Sometimes, our hands would touch and I imagined her in my arms, loving her with all the energy of my youth.
Ana also felt something when we touched. She would blush and her body trembled like a leaf blown by the wind. I knew that if I kissed her, she would be mine. But a sort of decency held me back. After all, she was German! An enemy!
Where was my patriotism? Would I not be cheating on my compatriots by loving her? Trampling all over my conscience?
But then I also thought of the German invasion, dishonoring our women, affronting our purest feelings. Why should I have any qualms? Did I not have the right to do the same?
War corrupts our logical thinking and morality disappears before the tragedies and cruelty of warfare, where the darkest instincts come to life.
One afternoon, I was coming back from gathering some wood for the fireplace. Frau Eva and Elga were having tea with some neighbors. As I walked in the storeroom I collided with Ana, who was leaving. Our collision was terrific. I dropped the wood and with an overpowering feeling, I took her into my arms, violently kissing her and holding her tight against me. Unrestrained emotion took control. I kissed her repeatedly as she melted in my arms. Against my will I let her go.
As she left the storage room agitated and trying to recompose herself, I fought against the emotion that took hold of my soul. I felt I needed Ana, I would give anything to have her back in my arms. Yet, I could not put everything at risk.
I was safe in that house and if possible, I wanted to remain there. What would I do in a foreign country in those difficult days, not being able to talk, understanding close to nothing, unable to work? I would scramble about and would probably be unmasked.
But still, the excitement aroused by Ana was so great that I longed to be alone with her again. It didn’t happen on that day, therefore, I had to accept it despite my anxiety and desire.
I retired to the small bedroom. I lay down but could not sleep.
Late at night, someone knocked on the door ever so lightly. Trembling with anxiety, I opened the door, barely believing my dream was coming true.
Ana walked in wrapped in a blanket. My hands trembled as I closed the door. She waited for me to hold her in my arms and take her to my bed. At that moment everything else was forgotten.
The beast of war, our fights, our problems, our disappointments, everything disappeared while we held each other.
I didn’t think of my dead friends, the dishonored girls, my distant France, nor did I think about Germany, that hateful country.
At that moment, I could only feel my heart throbbing and struggled mightily to not let out words of love, affection, gratitude and understanding. How long it had been since I had felt a woman’s love.
Time, when we live inside the hell of war, stretches out and becomes endless. It felt like we were living another life, within an insane and never ending nightmare.
That is why we forgot it all while we were together. We knew that tomorrow was unpredictable and transient. If Ana had come to me given all these circumstances, I knew that at any moment everything could go terribly wrong.
It made sense to me that she came and what she did touched me deeply, although I didn’t dare admit it.
Tomorrow would certainly separate us, but tonight was ours and we would live it.
I tried to erase from my mind anything that could dim our happiness and we gave in to bliss. Close to dawn Ana left, I was sleepless and quite agitated, but my heart was possessed by a new flame.
