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It was a nice, bright winter day in Krakow. The sky was clear and blue...Breathing out foggy air , I buried my one hand deep into the pocket of my worn out but almost warm winter coat, while the other arm less sleeve fluttered in the mercilessly cold Polish air, as we walked through the thick snow that covered the street. The little girl Danka with her dark maroon scarf was hopping along with her father singing,' Achrar kach loe nedah', her cheerfulness contagious. I couldn't help but join in . Ah! It was indeed a beautiful day! Just a regular bunch of people going for work. I was thankful to God. Thankful to Oskar Schindler. For giving me the opportunity to work. You see, I was essential for the war effort. The SS beat me up the other day . They would have killed me. But thanks to Oskar Schindler. He saved my life. God bless him, for he is a good man. God bless him !
As we were walking through, 2 cars with a hundred shovels and armed guards screeched to an ominous halt. Two of them jumped down swiftly and barked something that sounded like orders. "We'll be late for work" said someone from the crowd only to be pushed on to the snow by the neck.
It all happened so quickly. It seemed that the officials did not care about Oskar's production. For them it was a matter of national priority that the Jews be made to shovel snow. According to them it was a ritual significance.
Gathered around the street , we started shoveling snow from the streets. Almost three hundred of us Jews working our way through the cold sharp snow. And of course we had no choice but to obey their commands if we valued our lives. The air that just a few moments ago echoed of distinctive chatter, hurried footsteps and joyful whistles now echoed of lifeless metal scraping through snow, stone and cement followed by the barks of the officials.
Now, the thing about snow is that , it is hard to judge. At times it floats mischievously as sophisticated crystals, making a proud slow landing, making our skin tingle , other times it is solid , sharp and cold. It numbs . Tears through the skin and pierces through the very bones. The grey winters. The dull grey ones are the ones to watch out for. That , white slippery transparent thing is one of the most manipulative things in the world.
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He struggled. Even through the biting cold, I could see beads of sweat on his forehead. He struggled . The shovel that he held was too big and the ice that kept coming as he dug deeper was merciless. He wheezed and gasped, but never stopped. How strikingly determined was he ! Resembling a child who had been promised a candy if he finishes his lesson quickly, he dug it with such effort! In spite of all that effort , his old age and one missing hand seemed to slow him down . He was a squirrel compared to all the men along his side. He tried to scrape harder. His back stiff from all the bending. The determination to live strikingly visible, covering up the excruciating pain and cold. The white wisps on top of his head now flat with sweat . I wanted to give him my dark maroon scarf so he could wipe off his sweat but Mama wouldn't let me stray away from her. I couldn't stop staring at him.
Why did life have to be so cruel to him? He is old, tiny and harmless. Why is he so eager to exist in a world that was so cold and sad? How does he sing so joyfully when everyone else were muttering and hurling abuses against one another and the bad men? Why is he scraping so hard knowing that the next is going to be no better? Is he happy? Does he have a family that he loves and who loves him? How can he still have faith? In a life where people have to either burn in the furnace or freeze in the cold how does his eyes look so warm ? In a place where people would kill for a loaf of bread and some potatoes , how does he still love? I heard him speak highly of some "Oskar Schindler". Something about him being a good man. Is gratitude that powerful that it'd drive away eternal hunger and hatred?
Guard 1: Come with me
Mr.Lowenstein : I am an essential work (surprised by the sudden attention as he was being lead by two strong Nazi guards. Explains confidently in his feeble voice, his feet faltering as it was dragged by)
Guard 1: Essential worker? (sarcastically laughing)
Mr.Lowenstein: I work for Oskar Shindler.( His expression like a desperate 6 year old pleading for a little more of play time, before being dragged away for lessons. Proudly and firmly, at the same time. Hoping he would be taken seriously)
Guard 1 to Guard 2 : Essential worker for Oskar Schindler!!!! (Sarcastically, again)
Guard 2: Hahaha! A one armed Jew?
Mr.Lowenstein: Yes yes! (Now confused as to why he was being dragged away. Tries smiling along with the Nazi guards hoping that would please them. )
Guard 2: Twice as useless
Lowenstein's voice distant as he was dragged away : I work for Oskar Schindler!!!!!(still feeble. But this time visibly desperate and helpless)
"Danka look at the snow . Look at the snow. Look at the snow. " Mama said. Tension increasing with each sentence. I didn't . I couldn't . For somewhere in my mind I knew that this would be the last time I would see him alive .And Mr. Lowenstein after taken to a distance, looked down at the ground one last time. Shoulders slumped. The ultimate sign of a person giving up. I could only see the his back . I wondered how his eyes looked like. When death stood right behind him with its cold metal claw pressed against his aged nuchae. He gave up. He gave up. Was he afraid? Was he teary eyed? Or was he perhaps hoping for the universe to give him another chance to live in this sick world ??? He was an old child after all. I didn't know. I couldn't know.
The guard, tall and strong against one shrunken old man . What sort of a fair match was that ? He pointed the pistol . His body stiff. His arm stretched taut to his kill. What must have he thought? While pushing his index finger against the trigger ? How is this a brave act? Was he drunk with power? Was he angry ? Was he numb with hatred? I didn't know . I couldn't know.
Distant gunshot.
And there he fell. Mr. Lowenstein . In one swift fall. One bullet. Breaking through the back of his skull. One loud bang. Blood trickling effortlessly all over the snow. Painting it a rebellious red. As though he was its supreme commander now. And his body just lay there. Eyes wide open. Eyes still warm.
The soul just left the planet leaving behind no hint as to where it was going .
No one uttered a word after that . No one dared to turn heads towards the now cold body. A few minutes turned to hours and into days and eventually into months, of cold cold snow and frozen, forgetful hearts.
The above writing is based on a very small ,but a really intense scene from the movie , "The Schindler's List". The scene though had a very small contribution to the movie as a whole , robbed me of my sleep. So I had to let it out of my system.
Dear Mr.Lowensteins. We are sorry that your lives ended the way no life deserved to be ended. Hope you are at peace .
- Truly Sorry
DA
