Authors: Roger Barry
The pale orb shone like a beacon in the clear night sky, exposing the wet cobbled streets of Dresden to its harsh blue-white luminance, while confining the shadows of the buildings where it could not penetrate to an inky blackness. Ella trudged through the soft slush which clung to the footpath, both arms still wrapped tightly around Gretchen, as they had been the entire day. She was cold and wet, hungry and tired, but of more immediate concern to her, frightened and confused.
Half way up the street, where an alley turned off to the left, she stopped suddenly. This alley seemed familiar to her, or did it? It was so difficult to tell in the darkness. She would have had great trouble finding her way to her aunt’s house in daylight, but now, in a city of shadows, it was almost impossible. Yet, this laneway did seem familiar, or was she mistaken? She decided to try, for what option did she have?
She stood, peering into the foreboding gloom of that alley for some time, building up the courage within herself, before finally taking her first tentative steps. As she walked, her eyes and ears straining for any shred of information, she slowly began to make out dark forms and shapes.
‘It’s ok Gretchen, it’s ok’ she whispered to the doll, over and over in the gloom.
With grim determination, she trundled on. She was startled momentarily as what she presumed was a cat leapt onto the wall to her right, before its silhouette disappeared from view as it scrambled down the far side. Halfway down the passage now, no point in turning back. She began to gain a little confidence, knowing she had reached the halfway mark. All she could hear were her footsteps in her sodden shoes, and her own shallow breathing. Then suddenly, something else. What was that? She froze, now just the sound of her breathing. What WAS that? She turned, her eyes trying to pierce the blackness, head cocked to one side, straining to hear. Then, she heard it again, a low, primitive animal growl. She spun her head in the direction of the sound, searching. When she saw the eyes, two flicks of yellow in the almost non-existent light, instinct took over. Run Ella! She whipped her body forward, and ran. She ran like she had never ran before, charging through the blackness. She could see the blue-white light of the moon on the cobbles fifty yards ahead, the sanctuary of the street. She was going to make it. Twenty yards, ten, almost there. Then, a sudden vicious pain shot through her body, her leg ensnared as teeth met flesh, and she tumbled to the ground, her high pitched scream piercing the still night air. She kicked out frantically with her undamaged leg at the dark shapeless form that held her, but it was futile, as she was too weak and tired and young to have any effect on her captor. Then, she heard it. A loud snap as her shin bone was cracked in two, and the scream that came from her was the scream of an animal that knows it’s going to die.
Hans Dorst walked briskly through the near deserted streets, his lunch box under one arm, his work torch in his other hand. It had been a long tiring day at the railway yard, and he yearned to reach home to a warm open fire and his wife’s tasty cooking. His daydream of domestic bliss was suddenly interrupted by a high pitched scream, coming from the alleyway ahead. He stopped momentarily, unsure, then sprinted to the mouth of the lane.
‘What’s happening there’ he shouted, flicking on his torch and shining it into the dark alley. The sight that confronted him made his blood freeze. A child, a girl, lay on the ground, a doll to one side, while a black beast stood over her, its jaws wrapped around her slender leg. He ran in, aiming a kick at the animal with his heavy work boot. It connected, but the beast had no intention of letting go its prey so readily. Frantically he swept the area with his torch, looking for a weapon. Then he spotted it, a heavy piece of timber post about four feet long. The child screamed again as the animal made an effort to drag its quarry away. Hans lunged for the post, grasped it firmly in both hands, and with all his strength brought it squarely down on the beasts back. It let out an injured yelp, letting go of Ella’s leg, and turned to face Hans. He quickly swung the post a second time, catching the creature to the side of the head, blinding it in one eye. It emitted a long, loud blood-curdling howl, turned on its heel and ran back down the lane.
The timber post fell to the ground, and he crouched down beside the stricken child. The screaming had stopped, replaced instead with a semiconscious moan. He picked her up as gently as he could, she emitting a loud yelp as he lifted her. He carried her out of the lane into the moonlight. He could see now that she was in fact conscious, her face contorted in pain.
‘Gretchen, where is Gretchen?’ she murmured
‘It’s ok, it’s ok, you’re safe now, I’m going to take you to a hospital. Don’t worry, it’s ok’ he soothed her.
‘No, please, take me home. Please, take me to my mama’.
‘You should go straight to a hospital. But I can take you to your parents, if you wish. I suppose it is their right to bring you. Ok, I will take you home. Where do you live?’
Ella, grimacing with pain was silent for a moment. Finally she spoke.
‘Swartz Strasse. I live at 112 Swartz Strasse’ she gasped.
Amilie Collitard stood in shock as a heavy set man she’d never set eyes on before carried the limp bloodied body of Ella Stein into her house.
‘I heard her scream in an alley I was passing on my way from work. She has been attacked by a wild animal. I would say it was a dog, but I must confess if that was indeed the case, to have never encountered such a ferocious canine before’.
Amelie, composing herself, thanked the man profusely for his help and assistance.
‘You know, she needs to get to a hospital as soon as possible’ he answered.
‘Yes, of course, I will contact my husband immediately. He will be home in a matter of minutes, and we shall take her. Again, I must thank you for your help’.
Hans Dorst nodded, and turned to walk out. He stopped, as if to say something more, then silently continued on his way.
As the front door closed behind him, Amelie’s mask dropped.
What was she to do? Call a non-existent husband?
She frantically searched for any possible solution, pacing back and forth, one hand on her brow.
Think girl, think!
She admonished herself,
what can you do, who can you trust.
Suddenly, it occurred to her.
Of course, Gilbert Blanc!
They had become friends during their schooldays in Paris, and she’d only found out recently that he too now lived in Dresden. And didn’t she also hear that he was now studying medicine?
She quickly picked up the phone book which stood under the hall table, searched and dialed.
Fifteen minutes later, Amelie answered a loud knock on the door, the tall dark figure of Gilbert Blanc brushed past her looking slightly agitated, carrying a briefcase in one hand.
‘As I told you on the telephone Amelie, I am only practicing medicine. I am not a doctor’.
She nodded silently. Whether he knew it or not, Gilbert Blanc was her only hope.
She led him to the couch, where a crumpled Ella Stein lay.
One glance at the child was enough.
‘Jesus Christ Amelie, are you crazy? This child needs to go to the hospital immediately. I can’t do anything here’.
He walked to the telephone in the hall, and began dialing. Amelie, beside him now, placed her hand on the receiver, disconnecting the call. He looked at her angrily.
‘What the hell are you doing. She needs to go to the hospital, and now’.
‘She…can’t’.
‘What do you mean, why not?’
‘Because she’s my sister’s child’.
‘And?’
‘She’s Jewish. My sister and her husband have already been taken away. If I take Ella to a hospital, she’ll be taken away too. Don’t you see, I have no choice. You’re the only option I have. Please Gilbert, please, there must be something you can do for her?’
Gilbert Blanc emitted a low, resigned sigh as he slowly made his way back to Ella as she lay on the couch.
‘What caused this injury?’ he asked as he carefully cut away the bloodied stocking which covered the damaged leg.
‘I’m not completely sure’ she answered uncertainly. ‘A man brought her here. He seemed to think it was some type of wild dog’.
Gilbert rubbed his fingers over his eyes, as if attempting to block out the injury, before speaking again in a low, almost inaudible whisper, more to himself than to Amelie.
‘She’s traumatized, in a state of shock’ he began. ‘She has a weak pulse, clammy skin, shallow breathing. But that’s only the start. She has a compound fracture to her left shin. That wound will have to be thoroughly cleaned, the bone reset and held in place somehow. Also, judging by what you believe was the cause of the injury, she’ll most definitely need rabies treatment too’.
He was quiet for a time as he tried to recall the relevant pieces of information from his classes, until eventually he spoke.
‘I’m going to have to render her unconscious for a time. I want you to have lots of hot water on the boil. Everything will have to be sterilized. Get some sheets and tear them into strips about a hands width, and I’ll need a number of pieces of wood to act as splints, one length from under her arm to her foot, another from her groin to her foot, and a cross piece. A couple of broom handles might do’.
‘But what will I cut them with?’
‘A saw, a bread knife, whatever. Use your teeth if you have to, just do it’.
He then opened his bag, and with slightly shaking hands, began to remove the surgical implements.
Two hours later, it was done. Ella lay in a drug induced sleep as Gilbert stood over her, mopping his brow with a piece of unused sheet. He pulled a syringe and two vials from his bag.
‘She’s had a rabies shot, but you’ll need to give her another in two days time, followed by a final one two days later. They’ll hurt like hell, but they have to be given. That’s all I can do for her’.
‘I don’t know what to say Gilbert, you’ve probably saved her life. Is there any way I can possibly repay you?
‘You can get me a glass of the strongest drink you have for a start’ he replied.
They stood together, both downing a shot of whisky in one go, looking down at Ella.
‘You know’ said Gilbert, ‘and presuming that there are no other complications, she’s still going to have a pretty bad limp for the rest of her days’.
‘I know’, replied Amelie, ‘but a limp is preferable to the alternative’.
Tom stood in the centre of the main room, surrounded by floral print, while Ella put the groceries away. She seemed to be moving much more freely now, and had even offered to return the favor of making him a cup of tea, which he accepted. He was studying the pictures on the walls. The first group contained images of war. They featured US soldiers from world war two in various settings, mostly portraits or in groups. They were generally smiling for the camera, but something about them made Tom a little uneasy. It was their eyes. Their eyes gave off a different emotion, a sense of fear, of despair, a feeling that those eyes had witnessed things which would remain with them for the rest of their days. Those eyes could haunt you if you looked at them long enough. He moved on to the next set of pictures. These were a group of street scenes. They all appeared to have been taken around the same period, late forties or early fifties Tom guessed, judging by the clothes worn and the occasional vehicle seen in the background. They were definitely European. He realized the city was Paris when he spotted the unmistakable silhouette of the Eiffel tower on the horizon of one image. Most of the photos featured the same dark haired girl, framed in a doorway, or sitting in a café, but in a couple of images that girl appeared to be working, waiting on tables. Tom moved closer. She was definitely an attractive subject he noted, but there was something else, something he was seeing that wasn’t registering. Then he spotted it. In one picture the girl was leaning over a table she was waiting on, and hanging from her neck was a pearl necklace. So, it’s her, he realized, the girl featured in all the pictures was Ella. He should have known sooner, for what woman would have a wall covered with lots of images of another woman, unless it was her daughter, and these were taken much too long ago for that. These pictures were really good. Whoever took them certainly knew what they were doing, and the old lady making the tea inside was a real head turner in her day, no doubt about it.
‘Have you ever been to Paris?’ asked Ella, returning with the tea.
‘Err, no, unfortunately’ answered Tom, feeling a little awkward at having been discovered studying the pictures of a much younger Ella so closely, ‘but it looks really nice, maybe I’ll get over there at some stage’.