Saving Them

I feel completely overdressed in my billowing pleated dress. These heavy leather boots are like cement blocks, requiring me to consider each step. The bonnet atop my head feels like a flashing caution light that says, “Look at me, pay attention to me!” I catch myself lost in thought and realize that these people won’t even see such a thing for thirty or forty years.

No, I have one thing to do here. A single mission. So simple…yet so astronomical. I must remain calm. My success is truly about life or death.

I have been here for weeks. Studying. Learning. Watching. I have gathered all of the resources and courage that I need to instigate my plan. Today is the day. I’m ready.

July. It is quite warm today. The bright sun is warming my shoulders, I can feel it’s heat through the layers of clothing. Or perhaps my nerves are causing the wetness in my armpits. I have a sudden sinking feeling in my stomach. A blackhole that’s opening, trying to suck me into its dark void. A cool, knowing breeze sweeps across my face. If I didn’t know better, I would swear its encouraging me, the Wind. As if she knows my fears. She knows how crucial this moment is. Enveloping me in a cool caress, encouraging me to solider on.

I cross the street and steal a quiet moment in the shade.

Breathe in.

Hold, one, two, three, four.

Breathe out.

Hold, one, two, three, four.

Okay. It’s now.

I approach a yellow, three-story building. Its many windows gawk at me. Never blinking, just boring holes into my soul. Sensing my urgency to stop what will become here.

A young woman stands just outside the door, blankly staring. Is she contemplating crossing the threshold? I wonder what thoughts dominate her mind in this moment.

I continue walking down the street. As I near the woman, I take a step too far to the right, and we collide. Coincidentally, my bag falls to the ground and spills all of its contents at our feet.

“Oh, no! Pardon me!”

“Let me help you,” she says quickly.

We squat down low to gather my things - paint brushes, oils, some rags - we are so close. As with the sun, I swear I can feel her warm breathe against my cheek. Sweat starts to bubble up under my bonnet.

“Thank you. I am very sorry.”

“Do not be sorry. These things happen.” She offered an absent smile.

I look into her eyes. Can I see it? I’m not sure what “it” is, but I searched for it nonetheless.

“I am just headed to the church to paint,” I say tentatively, as I gesture toward the church up ahead.

“I do enjoy art myself.”

“Yes, well. I would say it’s a passion of mine as well. I rather enjoy Greek art. It seems so…self-aware.”

We stand up and both flatten our skirts. I position my art bag over my shoulder again as I position myself to give an invitation.

“Would you like to join me?”

She hesitates. Looking up the street, contemplating my offer. Her eyes dart back to the yellow building, up toward the upper windows.

“I am to be meeting my Uncle soon, he is expecting me.” Her eyes rest on my bag, and I sense her desire to come with me.

“One cannot miss an opportunity to appreciate the arts. Your Uncle would understand that.”

Again, she looks toward the church, then back to me.

“Shall we?”

I start walking. She drops in step next me.

Soon we find ourself positioned outside the church building, my art supplies meticulously placed in front of us.

“How I envy you, your freedom to enjoy your art.”

“Do you not have the luxury?”

She looks down. “No, I will be working for Uncle soon. Taking care of his young children. His wife is ill.”

I stop to consider her words. Her predicament.

“If you had the choice, what would you do? Would you go work for your uncle, or would you run away to Paris and paint?”

She grins. Never revealing too much of herself through her smile. Reticent. Hesitant.

“I would love nothing more than to run away. Study the ancient arts. Paint.”

A sly smile crosses my lips, I can’t stop myself.

“What if I told you that, if you go to your Uncle…utter devastation will befall you.”

Her body freezes, emitting a wall of ice between us. It is palpable on this scorching day. She looks at me.

“I would ask how you could possibly know something of that nature. No one but God can know the future.”

“Then I would tell you that…you merely need to trust me. I can help you have the life you dream about. Art. Freedom.”

……

It was easier than I thought. This woman was eager to run. I think I always knew it, too. If given a chance, women of the past would charge toward freedom and independence.

Klara never went back to her Uncle’s house where his small children waited for her.

She never ended up marrying that Uncle.

She never lost babies in their infancy.

In fact, she never became a mother at all.

But I didn’t just save this one woman.

No, I saved six million Jewish lives.