Motherless Bastard

Once over the wall, he tied the material to the nearest tree. In eerie silence, the fragile group pushed the rump of the next child as far as their little arms could stretch. Swiftly their little feet clawed the grey bricks to freedom. Easily the small light cargo climbed, until it was Marta's turn. She would be last.

Eagerly, with sense of purpose, Marta gingerly gripped the knots pulling herself upward as the urchins on the other side tried to contain their excitement. The mothering girls among the vagabonds hushed all into reality reminding them of the consequences of their actions if they were discovered. With each glide of the material across her legs, Marta's hopes ascended causing her heart to leap. Buried deep down inside, her spirit emerged, first in resistant jump-start, then it sprung up like a rocket unable to be containing. Finally lifted to the top of the wall, she teetered, overlooking both sides, each a contradiction in purpose. Between heaven and hell, life and death, from the deepest depth to the highest height, almost in levitation, Marta's hands reached out for the next knot guiding her hands in downward spiral motion toward freedom.

It was a celebration waiting to happen when the tips of her toes touched the carpet of fresh grass on the side of freedom. The earth itself felt different, but the jubilation bursting from within remained calm as the foul odor of the crematorium sickened them.

Tightly, David wrapped his arms about his sister while the others brushed a powdery dust in the atmosphere from her clothing. She loosened the knot from the tree trunk, freeing the rags. Wadding them up, Marta gathered them, clutching them as she counted each courageous child.

'Stay close to the ground, near the trees. And be quiet,' ordered Marta, leading the way. Heading toward the east, as far away from the wall as possible, she could not help but notice the faces of the young ones under the glowing stars. For years she had thought the sky had relinquished it's sparkle over to the Nazi's. There in the glimmer, Marta watched the reclusive look on their countenance vanish. Clasping hands, their only compass, polarized their steps magnetically, synchronized by Marta's every movement.

Throughout the night they moved, resting occasionally, just long enough to catch their breath. Not even the youngest shed a tear. No one spoke of fear. They winded easily, all in extremely poor health. But when refreshed, exhilarated spirits transported their weary legs tugging them onward. After many long hours, Marta huddled them all together, spreading the knotted rags, their ticket to freedom, onto a clump of grassy knoll. Patchy snow brightened a trail before them. Marta unpinned a wrist watch from inside her dress. It was given to her by one of the old men just before the escape. Holding the circular object close to the snow, the slight brilliance illuminated the crystal allowing her to read the time. It was nearly 4 a.m., April 29th. She would let them rest for an hour or so.

Though they could not see the compound, the putrid stench reeked even in the woods, keeping Marta's senses on full alert. Would she ever escape the odor, she wondered. Maybe her nose was playing tricks on her.

'David, can you still smell the crematorium, or is it just me?'

'No Marta. I can still smell it. Is it on our clothes?'

'I smell it too!' 'So do I.' It was unanimous.

The sun danced lightly through the trees by mid-morning, sending blinding striped patterns across the landscape. Dizzy from the phenomenon and lack of sleep, they thought they saw a figure further ahead, along the barbed wire. Dashing flat to the ground along a scattering of budless trees, each lay motionless. Someone raised their head announcing 'It's not the S.S. Look.'