Suddenly, a roar of noise rose up
from the soldiers, followed quickly by a second wave from the spectators. “Sieg Heil! Sieg
Heil!” sounded the cry. The noise subsided as quickly
as it has risen. I shook with fear and my eyes were smarting from the unfamiliar
smells that continued to swarm up around me. A drone of
talking drifted out over the crowd from the balcony beyond, carried by a
speaker too small and distant to reach everyone’s ears.
As the speeches continued, my
legs grew tired, and thirst from the long morning in the dusty field became
unbearable. “Opa, when will this be over? I have to
pee.” I grimaced, pulling on Opa’s shirt. I knew
Uncle Fritz’s tavern was just a couple blocks away. Perhaps, I could be back
before anyone noticed... Opa shook his head quickly
and clutched my hand more tightly.
“It will be over soon, Alfie.” The look in his eyes told me the matter was
settled; I must wait.
A murmur began to ripple through
the crowd. “The Fuhrer! Look, up there! Sieg Heil! Sieg
Heil!” The noise rose to a crescendo as everyone took
up the refrain, their arms quickly rising in a stiff salute.
Opa
nudged me in the back, yelling, “You better put your hand up too, Alfie, or we’ll be in trouble. No, the other one, the other
one! Look, Alfie, like mine.” He winked at my
startled face and raised his arm also. It trembled slightly, already tired from
the day’s exertions.
I tore my eyes from Opa’s face and glanced back at the central balcony, my arm
already aching in the unnatural position. Flanked by the
officers stood a small man, dressed in a belted black leather coat with a hat
obscuring his eyes. “The Fuhrer, the Fuhrer! It is Adolf
Hitler!” hummed voices all around me.
My arm began to burn, as the
blood flowed slowly away from my raised fingertips. I longed to flop it to my
side and give it a good shake. Finally, its heaviness became overwhelming and I
lowered it, raising my left arm, instead. I sighed, the feeling returning to my
fingers. At once, a tall man dressed in a black uniform materialized in front
of me, his hand on his belt. He barked something unrecognizable at me,
showering me with angry spit from his twisted mouth. Opa
grabbed my right arm and returned it to the painful position from which I had
rescued it. He urged, “Come, Alfie, leave it up. It
will all be over soon.”
My whole body trembled, a mixture
of anger, fear, and humiliation being only part of it; I still needed to go to
the bathroom. The uniformed man had melted back into the crowd; it had
engulfing him like a wave obscuring a grain of sand on the beach. But, I
suddenly noticed how many of the uniforms surrounded us, and this only served
to double the weight of my arm, causing tears to well in my eyes. Through these
tears, which I tried desperately to blink away, I looked back again to the man
on the balcony, only now noticing a razor blade mustache above his thin lip,
which spread into a cruel line as he bellowed to the crowd, his fist waving
angrily in the hazy air above him.