Broken Wings

Stained Gravel

Maximilian Schüffen-   Linz, Austria 1942

The foggy, morning air greeted his face, as if it were saying welcome. Welcome to the real Mauthausen, Max.

Maximilian went straight to roll call, where the kind man was standing with a gap in between himself and the man in front of him. Though it was still rather a chilly morning, the marching had ceased, instead replaced with world-weary prisoners standing lifelessly about. Some crouched to the ground, their feet begging for relief. Others clung to their loved ones, dried tears streaked on their cheeks.

"They let you out, are you feeling better? Did they do anything to you?" the kind man whispered, staring off into the distance.

"Ja, I'm fine. Why?"

"There's a rumor spreading. Someone claims to have seen a doctor removing the liver of a patient. He died on the table."

Maximilian shivered, yet it wasn't from the cold. He tried not to imagine what they could have done to him while he was sleeping. The image of a piercing needle flooded his mind, glinting in the hospital light.

"How is the work here?" he asked, trying desperately to change the subject.

"Difficult. We have to do a lot of work on the quarries. You'll be fine. The factories are good to men." Maximilian nodded, his head bobbing up and down gently in the breeze. His stomach begged for food, complaining of the shortage. It had forgotten what good food tasted like. Both Maximilian and his stomach were ever so grateful when the prisoners were given their rations and sent to work. The lukewarm, watery soup called his name, and it actually tasted good.

That statement somewhat surprises me. Somewhat.

❀❀❀

The Kapo of the factory had a rather frightening appearance, to say the least. He was quite large, especially for a Jew in a concentration camp. His eyes were like little slits, narrowing at the slightest movement.

But he was kind.

"Hallo...?" he started, stretching out his hand.

"Maximilian." Prisoners bustled around, manning machines or carrying boxes, blurring Max's eyesight even more. Loud clanging noises resounded throughout the room. It would be a miracle if he still had his hearing after this was over.

If this was ever all over.

"Nice to meet you, Maximilian. You can call me Elie," he said, winking, "What were you before the war?"

"I was a store clerk."

Elie nodded, glancing around the factory. Most machines were already being manned, save a small table in the corner with a cardboard box.

"You'll sort the screws. Put the small ones in this box, and the large ones in the other box," he said, carrying over a box to the table. He had been spared again. Although it was easy, which Maximilian was eternally grateful for, it was dreadfully boring. The only excitement occurred when it happened to others. Today, for some reason, seemed to hold more excitement. People were losing hope. Everyone was growing weaker.

The first exciting event occurred two hours and hundreds of screws later.

A woman had gone mad. She was an older woman, with graying hair at the temples and wrinkling skin, which was baggier than ever. Her moans cut through the air, sending chills down Maximilian's spine.

And then the words came.

"We are all going to die here! All of us! They'll work us to the bone, and kill us all off when they've gotten what they want!"

The words cut right through Maximilian's soul. He cringed, indents slicing through his palms. It seemed to affect no one else, yet it did him greatly. He wanted with such desperation to crawl into a hole, to cuddle up in a blanket with his loved ones. Sighing, he continued to sort the screws. Minutes continued to drag on.

Another outbreak of excitement occurred when an S.S. sauntered in, studying the sickened faces of the Jews. One couldn't take the heat of the machine anymore. He collapsed to the floor.

You can imagine how that went over with the S.S. The scars were still visible several months later. They slashed across the man's back like a sword. After that, most of the commotion died down, save a few verbal outbreaks or spilt screws. The loss and heartbreak on his fellow prisoners' faces, however, melted over Maximilian like a river of words. His own soul felt beaten down by the world.

Soon, he couldn't take it anymore.

Gulping, Max crept to the front of the factory. His eyes filled with tears of sorrow and hope at the same time. It could not go unsaid.

"Never lose hope. God is with us," he shouted, his voice cracking. Sweat dripped down his forehead, despite the cold. His hands burned a hole through his prisoner suit. Public speaking wasn't his strong point. The factory ceased its silent commotion. Broken eyes stared back at him.

"Pardon?"

"Sometimes, in order to survive, we must repair our broken wings and learn to fly again," he repeated, this time slightly more confidently.

"Good man. Good man." Elie patted his arm, ushering the prisoners back to work.

I swear I saw a little glimpse of light in the prisoners' broken eyes.

❀❀❀

The evening sky shone in Max's face as he trotted out of the factory.

He was late to roll call.

"Halt! Jude!" A shadow cast across the ground, its figure bleeding through Maximilian. He stared up into its eyes. The eyes stared back.

"Josef." The eyes changed, if just for a second, to a look of regret. They immediately changed back to anger. Anger and fear.

"Wh-why aren't you at roll call? You, filthy Jude!" His voice quavered, quivering along with his tiny mustache.

Maximilian cringed. "Josef, it's me! Where's Else? I need to tell her--"

"You're not worth my time, you filthy--"

Maximilian was relentless. His eyes met with Josef's, for one minute. Silence is not always golden. The fear grew with each second.

"Josef, please, tell Else--"

"Nein! You're a Jew, Maximilian, a Jude! Get to roll call or I'll shoot you," he snarled, his voice growing stronger. Maximilian's eyes filled with hurt. The tears came, falling slowly into the dirt.

"I'm human too, Josef. I'm worth something, too."

"Berkman!" Another shadow appeared. Josef looked away, regret already growing. The gun shook in his hand as it passed into the clammy ones of Berkman.

The bang was heard throughout the entire camp.

Blood pooled in the dirt, infecting the feet of the S.S.

His eyes fluttered for a minute, then fell silent. His arm lay motionless in the pool of blood.

Goodbye, sweet Max. Goodbye.