The train stops at a station. “I think this is it,” the slit-watcher says. “Lots of lights, barbed wire and fences. Dogs, soldiers, marching prisoners in stripes who look like they’re on their last leg. I hear lively band music from someplace, but it doesn’t look good.” “Don’t worry, don’t worry,” Bischoff says. “They might be political prisoners you’re seeing; we’re not.” They stay in the station till morning. Most of the groaning and crying’s stopped. More people have died but nobody’s piling them up. “It’s snowing,” the slit-watcher says. “Big flakes, but melting soon as they hit the ground. Plenty of activity outside, everyone being lined up, called to attention, even the dogs. Something’s about to happen. A tall man in a great coat and officer’s cap is pointing to the train.”
The door suddenly opens and several men and women outside start shouting orders. One tells them to hurry out of the car and leave all their luggage on the platform, a second says to go to this or that truck. “What’s going to happen to us?” Denise says in the car.
“I don’t know,” Howard says. “There’s air though. Feel it coming in? Olivia, Eva — do you feel it? Already it smells better. Soon toilets, water for drinking and baths.”
“Have we really got everything planned fully?” Denise whispers to him. “If they tell you to go one place, me another and the girls a third, or just split us up any other way but where we lose you or both of us lose the kids, what should we do?”
“What can we?”
“We could say no, stay with our children — that we have to, in other words. They’re small, sick, need us. We don’t want to lose them, we can say, lose them in both ways, and it’s always taken the two of us to handle them.”
“And be beaten down and the girls dragged away? I don’t see it. I think we have to do what they want us to.”
“We could ask graciously, civilly. Quick, we have to come to some final agreement. We can plead with them if that doesn’t work — get on our knees even; anything.”
“We can do that. I certainly will if it comes to that. But we’ll see when our turn comes.”
“It’s coming; it’s about to be here. I’m going to beg them first to keep us all together, and if that doesn’t work, then for you to go with the girls. You’ll last longer than I if it’s as bad where they take us as it was in the car.”
“One of us then will stay with the girls. If they don’t go for it, then each of us with a child. OK, that’s what well say and then insist on until they start getting a little tough.”
There’s room to move around now. Half the people have left the car. He gets down on his knees and kisses the girls, stands them up between Denise and him and he hugs her and their legs touch the children. “Should I start to worry now, Mother?” Olivia says and Denise says “No, absolutely not, sweetheart — Daddy and I will take care of you both.”
“May it all be OK,” he whispers in Denise’s ear. “May it.”
“Come on out of there,” a man shouts. “All of you, out, out — yours isn’t the only car on the train.”
“Good-bye all you lovely people,” Bischoff says. “We did our best. Now God be with you and everything else that’s good and I hope to see each of you in a warm clean room with tables of food.”
Howard hands Eva to Denise, picks up Olivia and their rucksacks. “This is how we’ll split the kids if it has to come to it, OK? By weight,” and she nods and they walk out.
“All right, you,” an officer says to Howard, “bags on the platform and go to that truck, and you, lady, go to that truck with the children.” “No,” she says, “let us stay together. Please, the older girl—” “I said do what I say,” and he grabs Olivia to take her from Howard. Howard pulls her back. “Do that — stop me, and I’ll shoot you right here in the head. Just one shot. That’s all it’ll take.” Howard lets him have Olivia. The officer puts her down beside Denise. “What will happen to them?” Howard says.
“Next, come on — out with you and down the ramp, bags over there. Richard, get them out faster. You go that way,” to a man coming toward him and points past Howard, “and you two, the same truck,” to two young women. “Go, you both, what are you doing? — with your children and to your trucks,” he says to Denise and Howard. “No more stalling.” She stares at Howard as she drags Olivia along. A soldier tugs at his sleeve and he goes to the other truck. She’s helped up into hers with the girls. Some more men and young women climb into his truck. He can’t see her or the girls in her truck anymore. It’s almost filled and then it’s filled and it drives off. “Denise,” he screams. Many men are screaming women’s names and the names and pet names of children, and the people in that truck, older people, mothers, children, are screaming to the people in his truck, and a few people on the platform are screaming to one or the other truck. Denise’s truck disappears behind some buildings. He can hear it and then he can’t. Then his truck’s filled and a soldier raps the back of it with a stick and it pulls out. They’ll never get our belongings to us, he thinks. What will the girls change in to? It makes no difference to him what he has. They’ll give him a uniform or he’ll make do. But Denise, the children. Denise, the children. “Oh no,” and he starts sobbing. Someone pats his back. “Fortunately, I had no one,” the man says.
14. Frog Takes a Swim
Olivia doesn’t want to play on the beach anymore, wants to go into the water but not to swim. “Just a little more till I finish this paragraph,” “No,” “All right,” and puts down his book, walks her into a part of the lake where the sun is, lifts her under the arms and swings her above the water. “More, more, this is fun,” and he does it some more, then says he can’t, too tiring, let’s rest, stands her up. “Too cold,” she says. Holds her arms out. “Again.” “Give me a few seconds.” Looks out to the lake. Sailboat way off, or something with a sail. People jumping off the ledge into the water, but so far away that even from their shrieking he can’t tell if they’re kids or adults and which are male and which are female. Lily pads, closer, with flowers all over. Picks her up, swings her in a circle, her feet skimming the water, then her legs cutting through it. “Whee, this is great, better than swimming. Know what it reminds me of, Daddy?” and he indicates he doesn’t and she says “Twirling around and getting dizzy dancing,” and he does this till his arms ache, says “No more for now, I’m all hot from it, let me take a swim,” stands in place holding her till he doesn’t feel he’ll fall if he walks, walks to shore and sets her down. “How can we do this — for me to swim? I can’t just leave you.” “Yes you can. I’ll stay and play here.” “No, someone has to watch you,” while he’s drying her. “We’ll ask someone here to — would you mind that?” “Do I have to stay with that person?” “No. Just that if that person says come away from the edge of the water, for some reason — a leech, maybe, or motorboat being put in — well, you do that, but that person won’t have time to say much. I’ll only go out for thirty strokes, kick my feet a few times while I’m on my back out there and maybe dive down once, and then swim in, a little slower than when I swam out as I’ll probably do the breaststroke coming back, if that’s it — you know, where the arms sort of push the water underwater. Like this — how could I be unsure what it’s called?” and brings his arms to his chest, spreads them wide, brings them to his chest. “That’s a stroke, like the crawl’s a stroke,” and demonstrates that one, even the breathing. “I think you said the first one’s a breaststroke because it’s your breast you’re hitting.” “Right. So, which person looks good to look after you?” “Her. She asked me what I was building with my mud before, and she was nice.” Sitting by the beach, around twenty-five, noticed her when they walked down here and several times when he looked up from his book to see her reading hers, slim and nicely built from what he can see in the seated position she’s been in since they got here, doesn’t look like a local, magazine, travel and week-in-review sections of last Sunday’s Times held down by a hairbrush and sandals. “OK, let’s ask her.”