The door opened
from the front side, the sling squealed, the front door has had not been opened
for several decades now. It was without lock yet none had come into the house
of the old man for decades.
Anataalie entered.
She was wearing a simple and long jersey gray dress, a pearl necklace and over
it a heavy shawl, like the Hungarian women of the village.
Her step was firm as she entered, and with her she brought the life that has ceased
to exist in this house for decades.
She
did not say a word; she removed her shawl and put it on the bed.
She
saw the old man trembling with cold, but she did not want to insult him by offering
to cover him up, she knew this kind of men, they were more proud than life and
death.
Anataalie had come to know about Joseph through some archives she had been researching
in La Sorbonne while working on her Thesis: Post-Traumatic behaviors of acts of
violence. The tiny quote referred to Joseph after the Second World War was ended,
and the concentration camps opened to the world to see how human beings had been
treated. It was a horrendous discovery for those who opened the camp to the light,
as it was still so for Anataalie who read the scanty details of Joseph's survival.
None really knew what had happened to Joseph, where he had re-settled, whether
he was still alive, and it took Anataali some three years before she located Joseph
in this small backward village in Hungary.
She
had taken the first flight, and it had been very difficult to reach the small
village. Noone cared for its inhabitants; it was a ghostly place, made of miserable
houses. Amenities were so scanty. Anataali had taken lodging in one of the village's
home against offering of some foreign goods.
And so that evening, she walked her way down the village, the cold wind in her
face, it took so much strength from her to walk against the snowy blizzard to
reach the house of Joseph. None knew what he was doing, whether he was alive.
None had seen him for decades or even cared to visit him.
Anataali
reached Joseph's house, the door was unlocked and there he was, as she had dreamt
she would find him. An old emaciated man, with a fierce look in his eyes. As she
came near to him, he had a hard look in his eyes, and cruelly planted his gaze
in her eyes. She did not budge or said a word, and slowly she saw the hard stare
melt into the gaze of an old man near to death, kindly warmth filled the eyes
of Joseph. He asked her in French:
"You
are French!"
"Yes. My mane is Anataali ,Joseph." Anataalie replied softly.
He
asked quickly:
"What is it that you want? I have nothing left to give, to share."
Anataali
did not reply. She stood there, and went to take some water from the backside
of the house and warmed it on the stove. She poured the warm water and gave it
to drink to Joseph. There was nothing else to put in the water, she knew. There
was but one white metal timbale and the old man drank slowly.
"Thank you.",
Joseph
said in a very low voice.
Anataali slowly came closer and said:
"Joseph, please do not fear me. The Star of David is but a star to me, among stars,
in the sky. None can take it down. I know Joseph. Please do not fear me."
As
she said the words, she came close to the side table, the old man muscles hardened,
and he looked, as he was ready to hit Anataali. The atmosphere in the house became
very tense, as it never had been before. Anataali continued to come closer to
the small table, slowly she put her hand forward, the old man's eyes became cruel.
He hated her, he said:
"No"
Anataali
replied:
"Yes, it is time Joseph. I must"
And
she continued advancing her hand towards the small table, and her fingers gently
took the old photograph.
The old man took Anataali's wrist and cruelly pushed his hard nails until blood
ran from the white skin of Anataali onto the photo. Blood dripped in tiny tears
over the photo and Joseph collapsed in his armchair, sobbing uncontrollably.
Anataali took the photo and said gently:
"It is alright Joseph. Please. Be gentle for them."
Anataali
had tears in her eyes and the old man was fascinated looked at her taking his
despair of decades between her soft white hands. Anataali said:
"What were their names Joseph?"
The
yellow picture showed two beautiful little girls playing in the same garden with
their mother.
"Danuta and Sophia.", replied Joseph.
"How old where they?"
Joseph
laughed hysterically and said:
"Read the back, you will know"."Girls of Paper."
Anataali
said:
"Yes, Joseph, I read."
He
said:
"Then do not ask any question anymore. I have not long to live. This is what I
wrote. Girls of Paper".
He
continued in an extinguished voice to narrate his life as he remembered it:
"We were told by the Nazis then to wear the Star of David like a shame. And we
all four said: the German are fools, we are very proud to wear it, stupid Hitler.Then
my wife was a doctor, they prevented her from practicing, and then they killed
her because she helped a woman in labour to deliver. They killed them all. They
did not want Jewish doctors.Then they took my little girls, and they are dead
too. They came to this house and said, everything is for the German, and you have
nothing. And I was taken to a concentration camp. I survived in despair, despair
fed me, because I remembered that this photo I had hidden under a tile, and I
lived through hell just to get back this photo. As you see they took everything.
When the war was over I came back here and never left again. I lived with the
girls of paper. Because that is what I lived for, to find my two little girls
of paper."
Anataali
said softly:
"Yes,
Joseph, I have come for them too. To tell the story of the little girls of paper.
Of all the little girls of paper."
-2/3-The
Girls of Paper-Copyrighted Rahman, brigitte Arlette- All rights reserved.
