Vilho who has escaped from the Warsaw Ghetto, continues to tell his story to Emmitt Till, a Unionizer, at the Golden Spike in Bulge, Montana 1942. Yes, it’s copyrighted.
(For more excerpts and blogs visit my WRITER’S NOTES site.
from S E V E N T E E N / Child of War
“Eight days later the earth monsters arrived, the Panzers, gorgon tanks with no apparent humans to guide them. Der Grim Schnitter took up the breath of every boulevard, guided by guns turning in hydra like turrets a story high, this way and that whirring, stop, whir, aim, pause, incinerate. A classic image that defines perception, like all the hay stacks by Monet painted to get the light right at all times from dawn to dusk. Buildings dropped from the bombed roofs floor upon floor. If a front wall fell out first, you could see inside for several blocks, bedrooms with rose wallpaper and framed pictures askew, tables with cloths still on them. Where windows had been a moment ago, came alive with fire and certain suggestions of human life. The eternal beauty of the next month of lightning strikes colored our innocence and became classic to us as nightmares and flashes of terror out of nowhere. To you who were not there, The Rape of Persephone by Rubins comes to mind, the myth, the picture defines your perception. The original terror, is lost to interpretation, you see. To you the real event never existed. Still I continue.
“The month’s Blitzkreig, exceeding wildest imaginations, had sprung from benign activity. Hitler bantered one day over map tables, designating Warsaw and this rest of Poland with his a sweep of his crop was at once both elated and disturbed, he being the greatest military genius since Alexander, who was, he relates to his lovely movie maker, Leni Riefenstahl in bed, a flawed mortal, blighted by homosexual troubles. ….”
And, Bill is it? You know this how? Posh art, queers, guns, and mayhem, and only a youth?
“I will answer that this precisely is how I do know. We are sprung from war, you understand. Chaos swept in and now the world is clear. The young see what you cannot see.”
And do you, an Irish at the bar respond with, “Jesus Mary! Lad, you are full of malarkey. Go back to Germany or wherever you say you’re from!”