The Wall Crossers

August 1961 - Waughtown NC - My Life Depends on This

The neighborhood is quiet. It is just after midnight and the little girl steps up onto the front porch of the house. She stands still on the porch, looks around. Her Oma (Grandma) is in this house, but Oma is only nine years old op deze plaats, op dit moment ("in this place, at this time" in Flemish), turning ten next month, just like the little girl will be also, in one month, in her place and in her time. She is so excited. She sees a red fiets (bicycle) on the porch. It belongs to Oma, she thinks. It is a boy's fiets—Oma's father does not understand.

She sees a small driewieler (tricycle) too—red. This belongs to the little girl's geweldige tante (great aunt) Nancy. She is five years old, op deze plaats, op dit moment.

The little girl looks back toward the hazy billowing fog in the patchy nearness of the street from which she came. She looks up to the sky—a storm is coming, and soon. She has so little time.

She knows: in this house too sleep her overgrootmoeder (great-grandmother) and her overgrootvader (great-grandfather). But she will not be able to see them... not this time... not ever. This is so sad to consider that a tear falls from her eye.

The little girl knows also: at this time, in Berlin, the Wall has just gone up. West Berlin is now isolated. She knows that two children who love each other, Anja and Horst, are now being separated. Anja's father has just taken her to cross the nearly-complete Wall, to the west, just in time before closure. She knows her history: the East Germans, backed by the Soviet Union, closed in the East and closed out the West, and sealed apart the two young friends. They are central to her story too.

She knows her other Oma, Leida, also a child in this time, is at home in Stuttgart. She is eleven, and will be twelve next month.

She knows all of this from her overgrootmoeder Elisa. That one who has trained the girl's mind, from the beginning, and made her strong to be the one she is destined to be. Elisa, she who gave to the girl... the stone.

The Little Girl's perspective

I feel the need to hurry. I reach into my outer dress pocket and touch the stone—the blue stone. Geweldige oma (great granny) Elisa told me: Do not lose it! Do not stoop over, or lie down! She said I may use this, do this, only once... just this once, without her, op deze plaats, op dit moment.

Mamá bought me this pretty gown-dress at Kat En Muis in downtown just this week for my tenth birthday next month, September 2007. I begged her to let me wear it today. There are so many nice children's shops and only a short train ride from my home in Halle, near Brussels. I wish I could show my tante this pretty dress. I do so wish it!

I look again back to the coiling patch of fog. I look at the door of the house. I know the door will be unlocked. Op deze plaats, op dit moment, there is still trust.

I step up and turn the knob and push. It opens and I feel and smell the warm scent of a family living inside—my family! I breathe them in. Then I smile to myself, and then sigh. I step inside and turn to softly close the door. I turn again and face the dark interior. I hear: the tick of the yellow teapot clock on the kitchen wall just ahead—so loved by overgrootmoeder (great-grandmother) because it is electric! She is only twenty-nine, op deze plaats, op dit moment.

I hear a fan in a back room. Windows are open, but it is hot inside. There are no air conditioners, op deze plaats, op dit moment.

I step softly through the great room, which is actually very tiny. I want to take something so I will never forget them. In the dim light, I see a small starfish shell on a shelf. It is broken. I see a small picture of my Oma on her fiets. I put that in my pocket, with the stone. I leave the shell.

I walk to the hall which is lit by a light left on in the badkamer (bathroom) to the left. I hear the fan and a man's snoring coming from the room on the left at the end of the hall. The door is closed. I would love to open it... to see them! To talk with them-- overgrootmoeder and overgrootvader (great-grandfather)! There is so much to say!

But... Geweldige oma Elisa said Nee! (No!). They would not be able to handle the shock—of seeing me here. They would call the Politie (Police). It would be... een scène (a scene of uproar, confusion).

So I cannot. Another tear falls.

Now I turn to the open bedroom door on the right. My heart begins to pound, to race. I stand for a moment. I hear the wind pick up outside. I must leave soon!

I enter the doorway and stop. There are two twin beds. In the one on the right sleeps little tante Nancy.

The one on the left... I step closer. She knows. She can sense I am here! She wakes and looks first to her sister.

Then she turns to me. I step closer so she can see me. I am so overjoyed!

I calm myself and whisper to her, "Oma". She does not answer. Her child's green eyes show fear and confusion in her half-waking.

So I whisper slightly louder, with urgency, "Oma Olivia!" I know: I must warn Oma, who is asleep as she experiences this, in Berlin, in future from this time, in her dream. My warning is here in her childhood. But also, in her dream, warn her of it so she will know in ten years and five months. She will know then to listen to, to act on, what I bid her do now.

She draws her young body up in fear. I want to touch her. I want to comfort her. I say, "Oma, I am Lizet."

She says, "Who? Why'd y'all call me ona-libdia? Wh.. Who... are you?"

I almost smile at her cute accent. But her teeth are chattering with fright. I have forgotten that, op deze plaats, op dit moment, she calls herself Barbara, while most call her Bobbie.

I reach to my Oma and touch, hold her cold hand. I reach into my other dress pocket and pull my carefully hand-written note and press it into her hand. It says, Van Lizet: Ik hou van je, oma! (From Lizet: I love you, Oma!). I want it to be from my world, so the Flemish. I hope she will be able to find someone to translate it!

I say with loving comfort in my best English, "I am your Lizet. I am here to ask... to beg you. I am here to... to..."

Suddenly I know the end is near. My time is fading afgewerkt (finished) here. I feel such a droefheid (loss, sadness). I want to cry huge tears. I want to never leave her. I never knew it would hurt like this. I want to hold her and whisper comfort to her. I want her to comfort me, I who must return now to a world where unknowns about her reign. I lean forward to her, across her small bed. Up close, I am shocked! Her hair is light, not pikzwart (jet black) as expected—like mine is! But then I realize: overgrootvader forces her to maintain it all shorn off. He wants so much for her to grow in his sterke man (strong man) patroon van zijn (pattern of being)! Her face smells nice, like milk sweetened with vanilla. Her eyes are wide. I kiss her lightly on the cheek. I drop a tear. I pull back. I look to the window and see droplets of rain, the growing lashing wind outside.

I let go of her hand and try to get my urgent message out quickly, as I begin to back away, "I am here to... to tell you to..." vision begins to fade... I must run. I no longer see Oma, but my words float out to her, "... to hearten her—Oma Leida. To say to her Hold out, for me... for Lizet... to say...". I hear the storm breaking on us. Tante sighs and turns over in her bed, unaware of me. I say my last words, they issue forth from the depths of a vapor-shrouded breaking heart, from the fog that lies on the street, and in spite of my Mamá's stalwart defiance, "... to please say to her, Leida, I love you. My life depends on... this."