The Frenchman's Table

Kill or be killed
Jakub found himself among a group of young men, rounded up like cattle, their whispered conversations a desperate attempt to glean survival tips. Towering over most, Jakub felt an odd sense of detachment, like a spectral observer in a grim theater of war and suffering. Their frozen train ride, a symphony of misery, had left them weakened, starved and dehydrated. For two agonizing days they stood, shoulder to shoulder. No one had any weapons on them. The cargo carrier became a freezing purgatory as they waited still on the tracks. Somehow caught in the middle of the chaos, Jakub had managed to stay warm enough not to have suffered frostbite. Not everyone on the trailer had the same outcome. He could hear the soldiers gathering outside and large bangs of metal hitting up against the openings of the cargo doors. The metallic bangs and rattle of chains, clanking, hitting the hard frosty ground forewarned the ominous arrival of soldiers. Then in one loud, forceful yank, the doors fell open, and with that, several lifeless bodies spilled out hitting the ground. Jakub looked and wished he hadn't. Their faces contorted by the cruel dance of death. Jakub, haunted by the sight, tried to avert his eyes from the grime canvas painted in shades of white and purple. No one knew who they were. A couple of the soldiers on either side of the metal blank, kicked the debris to the side, making way for the survivors to exit. The exiting mass of bodies swayed forward, stumbling out down the metal walkway unto the snow-covered ground. Long Icicles hung from roof's edges, trees, and telephone lines. The gray clouds covered the entire sky. The bark of trees across the rails were black stood like eerie gallows. The sector looking bleak and desolate. Beyond the fence, one-story white buildings stood like silent witnesses to the unfolding horror. Eight across, ten deep. Smokestacks belched ominous clouds into the gray sky, shrouding the compound in desolation. Numerous large piles standing 4 to 5 feet in height, covered with snow, littered the compound haphazardly. The soldiers, armed with machine guns, shoved the survivors with the butts of their weapons into a line, like pawns on a chessboard. A soldier with a clipboard, fluent in English, played the puppet master, directing survivors forward with the flick of his pen.
A soldier would grab a man and move him forward, and then yank them back again in line. He proceeded down the row. Walking back, he stopped and stood in front of Jakub. "This one and that one". Jakub chosen along with another man, was led past the piles of bodies, through the bobbed wired fencing, tethered dogs, and into the warmth of the first building. It was a long one-story white building made of wooden slats. He immediately felt the warmth of the fire burning at the other end of the room, but kept his mouth shut, thankful to be out of the cold. Two more soldiers appeared from behind eyeing Jakub and the other man as they walked past.
"Is this one you can use?'
"Ya. Ya," said a soldier standing in the middle of the room, his back toward Jakub. He never looked up. Jakub was nudged forward and stood directly behind the man. The soldier's scrutiny intensified as he questioned Jakub's ability to read. "Can you read?' he asked.
"Yes, sir," Jakub responded quickly, although his voice parched and dry. He could not keep his teeth from chattering and concentrated on biting down on his tongue to remain quiet. The man asked the same question to the other survivor. Before the man responded, a spray of several machine gunfire drowned out his answer from outside. Jakub dared not turn around and remained at attention.
Under the oppressive night, Jakub and his companion toiled, their hands stained with the grim task of loading the wagon of bodies and carting them over to the back buildings. They stripped the corpses of clothing, shoes, and anything of value. The collection of gold and silver wedding bands lined up next to the large box half full of watches. Catching his breath, he stared at the box and dismayed to see several watches still ticking away without their owner. He wondered how long the hands would continue to move, piled on top of each other. For the most part, he and his companion worked well together. Jakub was a bit taken back when his companion handed him a pair of pliers and watched him move over to pull, tug and wrench gold fillings, from the lifeless gaping mouths. A fitting scene of silent cries of horror never heard. Jakub repeated the movements swallowing hard to keep the bile from creeping up. After the stripping, they moved the naked bodies over onto a flat metal bed and pushed it into a building at the far end of the compound. Jakub glimpsed at the other working emaciated souls near the fiery kennels-shattered men resigned to a fate etched in sweat and shallow breaths. It made him wonder what his timeline would be. He watched the morning sun come up over the horizon and noted the camp was quiet----most sleeping in their quarters. Following the other shattered souls, he found a corner to lie down, feeling the heat from the furnace, drew over the remanence of a blanket to await the next arrivals.
A kick at his foot shattered the monotony, signaling a summons to a new task. Led to a room through the first building, the night prior, Jakub faced a critical assignment of stacks of mail and packages littered upon a long eight-foot counter in the middle of the room. Behind the counter, a closed closet door, and nailed down dirty window overlooking the yard. From behind him, a voice he recognized from last night asked, "Since you can read, these need to be sorted and distributed. Our last worker didn't solve the problem." Sorting and distributing mail would become his lifeline, a thin thread connecting him to the precarious dance of survival.
"Yes, sir." Jakub realizing his timetable might be lengthened if this was done right, or if not, rather shorter than he had hoped. The officer clicked his heels, turned, and left Jakub standing there without any further instructions. It had appeared the bags had been opened, and stacks of attempts made of sorting left in small piles across the table. Jakub picked up some letters and recognized the importance of getting this right. He started doing what the last man had been working on when he realized he was making the same mistake. Walking over to the closet, he found a large structure apparently discarded. Pulling it out, with some manipulation, tying, and lifting he reconstructed the mail's letterbox whole again. Once satisfied it wouldn't collapse, Jakub started separating and loading mail into the slots. As he went through the mail, he wrote down the senior officers' names and penciled them above the slots. About noon, the officer walked back in and stopped at the door. Surveying Jakub's progress, he nodded his head and threw Jakub a bread roll- a small token in a landscape of deprivation.
Nights in the mailroom stretched into a lonely vigil, a numbing rhythm of sorting and waiting for the next arrival. He slept on the floor near the door, as he could just make out the feel of warmth from the next room's fireplace. At least he wouldn't freeze to death. Sometimes he received a potato, at other times more bread. Never meat. He looked down at his form and could see his ribs, slowly wasting away until another replaces him. Standing there, sorting mail, gave him quiet time to think. He watched the clocks, the soldiers' movements, the officers, their breaks, their dogs. From the window, he could see areas where no one walked. Most of the soldiers didn't go back to the two buildings where the smokestacks billowed. The smell of bodies burning and decomposing was nauseating. The dogs were kept back in a long run with individual fenced kennels. Jakub had watched one of the handlers; a tall, lanky soldier come in for his mail. His mail always reeking with perfumed letters and small boxes. This guard was different. Jakub had caught him staring at him. He asked Jakub if he knew who he looked like. "Who me?" asked Jakub. "Ya, you." He responded and added, "You look like that movie star my girlfriend is always talking about. You are not him, are you?" "No, no, I'm not him." Jakub didn't know what movie star he was talking about but was glad someone was talking to him. For a moment, he felt human. The soldier always had a cigarette in his mouth and squinted his eyes from the trail of smoke puffing at the end. The next couple of times the guard came in, he left an apple once and potatoes on the counter at other times. The morsels of food sustained him, but the darkness grew. Jakub thought about why and came to a conclusion that this soldier, young like him, really didn't want to be here. Jakub studied his movements as he handled the dogs' kennels, taking them back and forth throughout the day for watering, walks, and the changing of stations. There were times when he would spray the dogs with cold water from the hoses causing them to yelp and bark. No one ever corrected the handler about his methods and looked the other way. Jakub wondered how this soldier would have treated prisoners and didn't think it would have been much better. Jakub didn't think he was very good with the dogs and noted that he didn't feed them enough- but at least they had shelter and food.
Eleven days had gone by when the second train arrived. Much like what he had experienced, it sat on the tracks for the night. He felt sorry for the bastards trapped in the cargo and knew what laid ahead for them. The sounds of moans and pleading answered the night owls hooting. As the morning sun crested over the horizon, there was silence. He had hoped that some would be spared. It wasn't likely.
He heard the soldiers and the barking dogs making their way to the train--the clank of metal and shouts reminiscent of his encounter. One soldier came into the building where Jakub was busily sorting and told him to come outside. Jakub stiffened, not sure what it meant. He dropped the letters and preceded out. Standing on the porch of the building, he saw men dirty and tired lining up along the train's length. Again, the soldier with the clipboard started down the line. Jakub closed his eyes for what happened next, squeezing them as tight as he could to block out the nightmarish wall of hollowed men standing, against the backdrop of the cold black train. The sounds of excited voices, barking and the clicks from the heavy guns strapped to the uniformed soldiers drew the attention of the captured, some raised their arms attempting to shield themselves from the spray of fire, others more resolute, mouthing silent prayers with clasped boney fingers imploring God for forgiveness. The sounds of pleas ended abruptly. He opened his eyes and watched the dog handler walk down the row his beasts to sniff out lone survivors and then upholstering his weapon shooting point-blank, finishing the kill.
Without being told, Jakub grabbed the metal cart and started toward the debris. He started loading the bodies and carting them through the gates to the back buildings. Each cart with stacked bodies averaged about ten. He made the trip twelve times. He tried to keep up with the numbers. The wheels ruts in the mud mingled with blood, slowed his efforts and zapped his strength, but he pushed through. And, like before, removed the clothing, gold fillings, rings, and watches unto the trays laid out on the ground before moving toward the burners. His mental mantra-"I've got to get out of here" kept him running through the next few hours. Once the tracks were clear, exhausted and cold, he slumped down next to the furnace, shivering, and fell asleep.
Morning came, and the coldness woke him. Jakub pulled himself up and started walking back to his mail room role. From his scruffy beard, peppered with frost, he mouthed small pillow clouds and watched his feet, sinking into the soft snow and made fresh prints. A fleeting thought of his childhood came to mind-this snow would make great snow angels. As he crossed the yard, he could see the cages-most dogs were wrapped in tight balls of fur for warmth; Jakub went unnoticed. He had only been in the mailroom a few moments, when from behind the dog handler walked in, carrying a dog chain and lead line. The handler set down a chain and lead line on the table along with an apple. Turning his back from Jakub to pull out his letters from his mail slot,-it wasn't even a plan, just more of a reaction, Jakub grabbed the chain and from behind lounged at the guy-who was caught entirely off guard. They fell forward to the floor; Jakub quickly wrapping the chain around the neck of the guard and pulled it hard. His knee braking up against the handlers' back for better leverage, Jakub held pressure on the throat and somehow managed to sit the other half of his body weight onto the butt of the soldier. There was no give. The movement so swift, blocked the guard from screaming out, his vocal cords giviing under the pressure of the tightening chain. Just a few more minutes and the struggling body went limp. Jakub could feel the release of life and, for a moment, felt dizzy from the exertion. He thought he would just pass out next to the body, and shook his head, grabbing hold of the table and stumbling toward the door- to lock it. Pulling off the soldier's clothes, he shoved his arms down the sleeves, quickly buttoning the jacket, sliding on the pants, and wrapping the laces across the top of boots. He dragged the still body across the room and heaved the mass into the closet, pulling papers over to cover what he could. Jakub thrust the cap on his head, grabbed the apple off the table and his pliers, the dog's lead line, shoved his sweaty hands deep in pants pockets to hide his shaking. Disguised, Jakub navigated the snow-covered compound, his footsteps etching a path toward freedom. Out he walked, toward the dog kennels, past other early morning risers, never looking up. Once at the pens, he continued walking past the sleeping hounds and straight back to the end fencing, and taking the very pliers from the night before, he cut a hole through the wire- just big enough for him to squeeze through. It wasn't until he came upon an abandon warehouse that he stopped to rest, offering a brief respite, a sanctuary for a soul battered by the echoes of despair. Taking the apple from his pocket, he discovered the dog handler's crumped letter addressed to her girlfriend-a spark of humanity amidst the abyss, "I've been feeding this guy and think I may have a way out for him."