Blue as a Fedora

Chapter 13: Escape

There were no words to describe the feeling. Everything had been lost in that one moment. Every nerve in his body seemed to have imploded, something had snapped in his mind and his body refused to function normally, because something had been seriously altered. Something that would never return back to normal.

Zamir was sitting by the window seat of the warm, brown train, his head resting upon the vibrating, clear window. It was a sunny and beautiful day; the train rattled past grass fields and forests and flora; the outside world had never looked so peaceful. So, horribly contrast to his mind, which had never seen a darker horizon before.

Zamir didn't want to think of what had happened, but his mind refused to allow space for anything else. With every second, he re-lived those moments, and for every second, a huge pang of sadness entwined around his body like elastic bands...

Elise's face, while she was being taken. Her expression and fear. Just like that of Malvina's, when she'd been taken. It was the same thing all over again, only this time he had no family left. He was all alone.

He remembered how he had reacted after Elise had been taken. He had fallen to the ground, his hands on his head, a desperate man. He had leaned into the floor, wishing for nothing more but for the ground to open up beneath him so that he could fall and never see day again. Never see anything again. It had taken a will-power that he had never used before, a new kind of will-power, to force himself up and board the train to Landsberg. The only reason why he'd managed to leave the ground and continue on with his mission; his aim; his reason, was the thought of his three little daughters, trapped and scared in some nightmare camp. He couldn't have just sat there, trapped in his own mind, while his daughters were in mortal danger. He had to stand up like a man and find them. He was so close. He wasn't going to give up now. He wasn't going to give up ever. Not only for his daughters, but for Elise, who, he knew, would want him to keep going. To keep fighting, and to do what they were meant to do. They both knew the consequences of what they were doing. They both knew that they were being put in grave danger. Now, the cold, harsh reality was in front of him, clearer than a sheet of ice.

So, he had bought his ticket and collapsed upon the train seat he was still sitting in at this moment, travelling to Landsberg, where his daughters were. If only, if only, he could find out where Elise was. Then he could save her, like he was going to save his daughters. But that was out of the question. No way could he possibly interpret an important figure again, and get away with it, again.

Ever since boarding the train, Zamir hadn't spoken a word. Not to anyone, not to himself. He'd refused all the food the polite waiters offered him, and ignored the puzzled stares he was receiving from strangers all along the train, wondering why the motionless man across from them was acting so distant, why he was acting like a ghost.

"Herr..." said a voice. Zamir looked away from the window and its sights and turned to see a waiter in black, who was studying Zamir with concern. He looked no older than nineteen-years-old, and he appeared awkward and confused as to what to say next. "Herr, haben Sie nicht Hunger?"

Although Zamir definitely wasn't fluent in German, he understood quite perfectly what the boy was trying to say.

"I'm fine, thank you," Zamir responded colourlessly. The boy quickly switched languages.

"But, Sir," he said, sounding a little exasperated now, "you haven't had food for hours. Are you – quite sure you don't want any food?"

"I'm not hungry, but thanks," Zamir said, looking back out the window.

It was true that he was not hungry; the grief that had bobbled up inside him seemed to destabilise his senses, so that he felt numb to pain or hunger. He could only feel grief. The only thing he had touched that any of the waiters had given him was the glass of water on his table, which sat half-filled and glistening in the bright sunlight.

The waiter seemed indecisive on what to do, but ultimately shrugged and left to attend to more people. Zamir just continued to stare out the window, not really seeing what was outside, but seeing what had happened only hours previously, and re-living those moments, time and time again on some sort of torturous repeated cycle.

Hours went by, which Zamir could tell only because of the position of the sun outside. Gradually, the sky turned from blue to red, then to orange, and finally the sun fell over the horizon, pledging the world into the darkness of the night. Stars were blinking from above, light and alive, for there was no light pollution or clouds to cover their twinkling presence.

Drinking his water and watching as others began enjoying a fine dinner, Zamir couldn't have felt more apart from everyone if he tried. His will to live, which had always been so strong, had been quavering for weeks, and now... now he wasn't sure if it was still there.

He felt tainted and contaminated, his soul a murky brown. Losing everything, right when he thought he was going to get everything... it was as if his soul had been smashed with a hammer, leaving him incapable of anything. The only thought that would now pass through his mind was 'find them. Save them. For her.'

As the hours continued to slowly tick by, the passengers aboard the train started to rest upon their seats and fall into deep slumber. Although his mind was buzzing, and he was feeling emotions he never even knew existed, Zamir did feel tired and needed sleep. Lying his head carefully onto his seat, Zamir took one last look outside the window to the brilliant, nocturnal world; a full moon glistening in the blue tinged, dark sky; grass fields and what looked like owls swooping through the night. Then he closed his eyes, and all was darkness...

He awoke almost immediately. Or at least, it felt as if it were immediately; the sun was blazing into the train by the windows, and all was a buzz of chat and laughter upon the awake, happy inhabitants of the train. Zamir didn't remember any dreams from the previous night. He remembered a lot of darkness, but not much else besides that.

In front of him, wafting a delicious, tantalising scent towards his face, was a stack of pancakes covered in golden syrup, steaming and looking fresh and delicious. Next to this was a re-filled glass of water, next to the pancakes a glass of milk.

Zamir really had to admire that waiter's resilience. Finally giving in, Zamir picked up a pancake and bit into it, its delicious taste rafting round his mouth and giving his empty stomach something to digest. He then took a sip of his milk and took to gazing outside the window as per usual.

It didn't look like morning at all to Zamir. He turned behind him to check the clock pinned on the wall, to see that it was 11:30 in the morning. How long had he been asleep? It didn't really matter, because they weren't going to reach Landsberg until a few more hours, but it still gave Zamir a funny feeling. He rarely ever slept in.

Zamir finished his breakfast, and still the train rattled on south, passing old, rural German towns and stopping at whatever train stations they reached, passengers hurrying outside or jumping aboard. The coming and going of people was almost a pattern to Zamir's unfeeling brain.

In fact, patterned things, such as time, didn't seem to have a pattern any longer. One moment, Zamir would stare out the window for what felt like five minutes, only to see that two hours had passed. Or the vice-versa would apply, where he'd watch the passengers up and down the train chatting in whatever language they were speaking in for hours, then look up at the clock to find that ten minutes had passed. It was as if time was broken.

One o'clock passed; the waiter asked if Zamir desired lunch. Zamir refused. Two o'clock; Zamir noted that the sky looked more overcast than yesterday. Three o'clock, Zamir asked for a refill for his glass of water. Four o'clock, he asked again when they would arrive in Landsberg. The man said in a few hours' time.

Five o'clock, six o'clock, the hours seeped by like sand in an hour glass. Almost everyone that had been on the train in the morning had been replaced by somebody else; he seemed to be the only far-traveler onboard. It was finally, at 6:30, when it was announced that the next stop was Landsberg. Another fifteen minutes of waiting, and finally the train began screeching its brakes, slowing to a halt in front of the most murky, rusty train stations Zamir had ever seen in his life.

Once the train halted and the doors opened by themselves, Zamir and two other people got up from their seats and exited the train, falling upon a cob-webbed, miserable and small station. The smoke from the train made everything seem foggy, so that the sky from above couldn't be seen. The depressed blue from the station was reflected off the train's strong, ruby surface; it was like Zamir was in a picture book.

The train fired up again and started chugging away from the murky station, leaving Landsberg behind and hurrying on south, carrying the hundred or so passengers that were still onboard.
The station wasn't very busy at all; it was an outdoor station, and three or so people were sitting on chairs or else waiting for somebody. Zamir closed his eyes and took a deep breath, his heart beating rapidly. This was the closest he had ever been to his daughters since they were taken away from him. He was almost there. He had made it to Landsberg.

He opened his eyes again, just as the steam from the train was dissolving into the air, so that he could finally look up into the sky and see it clearly. The dense clouds were covering any blue that may have existed above, though he could tell that it was almost dusk.

Where to go now? Well, he already knew that. Working close with many Nazis for all those years, he knew that Jews were being sent to the camps via trains. He'd have to follow the train tracks until he reached the camp. No, not the tracks here, in the train station; he knew these just led far away from this murky town. He was going to have to venture, and find them himself.

So, he led himself away from the train station and started venturing through the town. There were a decent amount of people going by their day and Nazi guards patrolling in many areas, which was of course predictable. All the buildings, churches, footpaths and even roads had a medieval feel to them, as if this were a town that had been plucked out of the past and dropped into the present.

If it hadn't been for the horrible murkiness of the place and the blank, dark overcast sky, Landsberg would've been a place of beauty, except there didn't seem to be any colour. It was just a drawing in a picture book.

The town was rather small and, in about ten minutes, Zamir spotted a train track that cut through the middle of the town. He gazed at it with interest and, as he did so, the clouds began to slowly part. From above, harsh, bright colours of yellow and red mashed together to create a sunset. Night was arriving, and fast.

Feeling that there wasn't much else to it, Zamir began walking by the train tracks, which led west of the town. No-one paid him the slightest bit of attention. He was simply a man in the crowd, continuing his day like the rest of the people.

The train tracks led him past many sights and gardens, but eventually, after snaking past a large church, Zamir found himself outside the small town. In front of him, streaking through giant grass fields, the tracks continued, only small houses or stores on either side of it now.

Zamir continued to walk. It felt nice, walking, and having an aim. He was actually doing something. He knew he was going the right way, because he could just feel it. Or rather, he could sense it. Somewhere – maybe close, maybe far – directly ahead of him, was a horrid, horrid place. The horrid, horrid place, where his daughters were currently trapped. Not for much longer, though. He was going to save them.

Looking up above, the world seemed to have recovered a bit of its colour. The sky was blazing with hues of yellow and red, the sun setting in the west in front of him, a yellow balloon, millions of kilometres away.

The floor beneath Zamir's feet turned from cob-stone and pavement to dirt and grass. He breathed in the fresh air and felt more alive than ever before. Less homes were here now and up ahead was a giant farm. With the grass, the sunset and the train tracks, it sat almost perfectly in its spot.

Zamir was passing this grand farm, when suddenly a voice broke into his thoughts, coming from right behind him.

"Wohin gehst du?"

Zamir smiled to himself a little bit; it had been quite some time since he had heard the voice of a child. That curious tone in the voice that they always had. The innocence that seemed to radiate from them. It was the voice of a young boy, so Zamir turned around, quite unafraid.

The little boy stood there, carrying a little stick in his hand, looking no older than eleven. He had bright, German blue eyes, but there was something in his face that told of another nationality.

"My German's not very great," Zamir told the boy. The boy's expression grew more curious still.

"French?" he said, speaking with a perfect accent. "What is a French man doing here on the Landsberg train tracks?"

"What's a French child doing on the Landsberg train tracks?"

"Well, I live in that farm. I live by these tracks every day."

"I see."

The sun sank deeper into the sky, and the colours blazed brighter than ever. It looked as though someone had spilled paint all over the sky, tinting the clouds with sockets of it. It was so strange how, one moment, the world seemed to hold no colour, and in the next, it was all that he could see.

"Well, I asked you where you were going," the boy added, ruffling his long blonde hair out of his face to get a better look at Zamir. "Why are you following the tracks?"

"Something I need is at the end of them," Zamir said patiently. "I must follow them. Just a question, have you seen any trains pass by these tracks before?"

"A couple of times," shrugged the boy. "They're always closed though. The soldiers steer them, father told me. He said they're carrying cargo."

"Right," Zamir said quietly. From above his head, he could hear a swarm of birds twittering to one another like they were in an argument.

"So, you're just... going to walk to where you want to go?" the boy asked confusedly. "Oh – well, I guess you're not allowed on the cargo train? So that's why you're walking?"

"That is the reason, yes," Zamir said gently. The boy looked deeply into Zamir's face.

"You look awful," the boy decided. "You look really depressed. If you want, I can ask father if you can stay the night. Father doesn't really like visitors, but he might let you."

"I don't have much time," said Zamir. "I'm sorry, but I can't stay."

"So why are we still talking?"

Zamir gave the boy a small smile.

"I suppose you're right," said Zamir. "I best be off."

He turned to walk away.

"But where are you going?" the boy called a little exasperatedly.

Zamir turned back to the little boy, the colours in the sky beginning to grow darker, as the sun sank deeper into the sky.

"I'm going to see my daughters," Zamir said finally. "I am aware I may need to walk for a long time, but I need to see them."

"Oh," the boy said, looking confused, but preparing to leave. "Well, I guess... good luck."

"Yeah," Zamir said, watching as the boy turned away, "yeah, you too."

And with that, both of them went their own way, the boy back to his farm-house, and Zamir, to the almost-set sun, and down the train tracks that would lead him to his daughters.