Broken Wings

Starless Nights and Empty Days

Maximilian Schüffen- Austria 1942

The sky was starless that night. It was a black cloud, hovering over their heads, not unlike the fear and hatred that dwelled in everyone's hearts that night. Maximilian lost count of the days they had spent in the lulling rhythm of the train car. It had seemed like an endless amount of minutes, of hours, of days. For the most part, the car remained silent, with the exception of sporadic whispers and outbreaks of arguments. Incidents were scarce, much to everyone's relief, but as I said before, they still happened.

Children and elderly were becoming increasingly ill. Now, we know that when bad events occur, often times us humans like to find someone to blame.

And that someone happened to be Max.

Though his fever was going down each day, his chills and blurriness still persisted. The kind man made sure that he was fed properly at each so-called meal. This angered fellow prisoners.

"He's going to get us all sick! And you want to give him extra food so he can survive! What about the rest of us? Should we starve to let him live, and spread disease to the rest of us?"

Maximilian cowered in his corner, his cheeks turning a reddish hue. His heart beat violently in his chest, as if it were trying to leap out and free itself on the ground. Maybe he should just die. Maybe it would be the best for everyone. Let me just tell you, this is dangerous thinking. It is also the wrong kind of thinking.

"They're just hungry, Maximilian, don't listen to them," the kind man whispered. It was then Max realized he didn't even know his name, the name of his savior.

"Sir--"

"Sh, don't speak."

He nodded, resting his head on the grimy, dusty floorboards. A chilling air rose around him, tousling with his hair and biting his nose. His head throbbed nonstop. Where was Else now? Where was he now?

Maximilian had a passion for questions.

"Why should we starve so he can live?" A series of shouts and arguments broke out, spreading throughout the car like an angry wave.

"Gentlemen! Ladies! Please. Is this how you treat others? Would you turn away a starving, sick man on the streets so you could get more food for yourself? What has become of you?" the kind man yelled over the wave of voices. The prisoners glanced at each other in guilt and shame. The train car became a bed of silence; the wave of arguments and shouts became a wave of quiet and gentleness.

"I'm sorry," someone whispered. Maximilian looked up from the floorboards, smiling meekly. His heart began to slow, drifting him into a peaceful sleep. A place of peace where everything would be okay, at least for a little while.

❀❀❀

The lulling motion of the train came to a sudden stop. The prisoners perked up their heads, scanning the car. Surely, it wasn't time to empty the bucket already. It wasn't even half full. Maximilian lifted himself off the floor, stretching his muscles, or rather the few muscles he still had. They felt like frozen icicles, ready to snap in half.

Rumor drifted throughout the car.

"They're going to empty us all off of the trains and shoot us," someone shouted, her voice wavering in fear.

"You stupid pig. They wouldn't waste good money on an old cattle train to take us in the middle of nowhere and then shoot us. We are going to a prison."

"They are just going to leave us here and let us starve!"

Maximilian shuddered, slamming his hands to his ears. Everything was still a blur. The people. The train. The world. Every part of him felt frozen. A series of chills erupted throughout his body. Even his heart felt frozen. He didn't even care anymore about what happened to him, to others, to them.

But I can assure you, Max was wrong. His heart wasn't frozen, it was quite thawed, in fact.

More so than many others in that train car.

The doors trembled, causing a miniscule earthquake below their feet. A beam of light showed through, falling across the floor. And then came the S.S. officers.

It was almost a pretty picture.

"Out! You filthy pigs—out!" They grabbed the arms of the nearest prisoners, thrusting them out of the train car.

The screams pierced the air, bleeding in Maximilian's ears. Bleeding into the world before them. When the S.S. finally reached Max's tiny corner, he nodded dutifully at them, and crawled across the floor towards the door. The kind man followed, gently pushing him off the edge and onto the frozen, gray landscape. Maximilian gazed up at the bleak, dusty sky. Frozen flurries swirled down, dotting his pinkish nose. Glancing around, he realized how filthy they all were. Filth. He was covered in filth. He could even see it through his blurry eyes.

The whole world seemed to be covered in filth just then for Max.

"Maximilian, get into line," the kind man whispered, waking him up from his daydream and pulling him into the line. It was an endless column of sick, helpless Jews, marching endlessly on into nowhere. Countless times Maximilian just wanted to collapse. Collapse onto the bed of fluffy snow. Collapse into a world of dreams. Yet, his feet would not stop marching. They continued to march automatically on. On and on and on.

More endless hours. First, the gym, and then the train. And now, the snow. Hitler must sure like making people wait.

By now, Maximilian had learned to tune out the ghastly, horrid insults that were oftentimes thrown at him. But for some reason, now, he could not avoid them. They seemed to be coming right at him.

"Filthy Jude!"

"March faster, you lazy swine"

"You worthless animal--"

Et cetera.

Finally, his legs were forced to stop marching, yet he still felt the rhythm remain in his feet. Before him, a wall of barb wire stretched out, polluting the desolate landscape. A large, intimidating gate taunted him. If he walked through that gate, it would be like walking to his death.

"Welcome to Mauthausen, you filthy Jews."