JEAN-LUC
Jean-Luc is in a deep sleep when he hears the shouts. “Raus! Raus! Time to get up!” First he thinks it’s a dream; then, as he comes up through layers of sleep, he realizes the voices are coming from right outside his room.
“Philippe!” he says. “Philippe, wake up!” He feels around the wall, looking for the light switch.
Suddenly their door is kicked open and light from the corridor comes flooding through. “Achtung! Get up.”
He throws his pajamas off and struggles into his overalls. He’s aware of Philippe doing the same. The guard stands by, waiting, then pushes them out to the elevator. The other four men are already squashed into it. “Problem in train,” the guard states as he squeezes himself in with them. “Stuck.”
When they step outside, it’s still pitch-black and cold, no sign yet of the rising sun. The six workers sit in silence as the truck speeds through the dark streets. They’re finally going to see a train. Now he’ll know if they really are cattle wagons. He guesses they must have loaded the train before they realized it was stuck, so this time he might see the prisoners with his own eyes.
His stomach rumbles loudly and Frédéric looks over at him. “Do you think we’ll get any breakfast?”
“Doubt it.” Xavier shakes his head. “They’ll want that train to get going as soon as possible.”
“Yes, before day breaks.” Frédéric looks at his watch. “It’s only five o’clock.”
“Merde!” Marcel looks up. “No wonder I’m tired.”
The truck draws to an abrupt halt. “Achtung!” The guard jumps out and they hurry out after him.
When they reach the platform, they stop dead in their tracks, Frédéric crashing into the back of Jean-Luc. “Oh my God!”
“What the hell?” Marcel puts his hand on Jean-Luc’s shoulder as though to steady himself.
They hear screaming, shouting, crying coming from the cattle train sitting on the line, the doors closed.
“Move on! Move on!” The guard behind pushes them forward with his stick. Jean-Luc feels it prodding him in the back. He resists the urge to turn around, to snatch it from him and shove it in his damn face. Instead he moves forward, stepping over items of clothing strewn across the platform: coats, hats, handbags. As he stares at the train, he sees a long, thin hand reaching out from a narrow slit at the top of a car, then another, and another, clutching scraps of paper. The hands open, releasing the papers, which blow away in the breeze. He stops to pick one up, but he can’t make out the writing in the semi-darkness. The only light comes from a huge beam focused on the train. He shoves the scrap of paper into his pocket, guessing it’s probably a letter for someone—a loved one. He has no doubts left now. These people are heading toward their deaths.
A hand pushes him forward. “Aussehen! Look!” A guard stands behind him, shining a flashlight at the tracks. Jean-Luc follows the beam. Immediately he sees the problem: a wheel has fallen into the gap between two tracks. The fishplate that normally holds them together lies open. He doesn’t know how they will be able to lift the wheel back onto the tracks. He turns to look behind him. Frédéric’s face shines out in the half-light, and Jean-Luc sees a twitch of a smile playing on his lips. Has Frédéric done this? He hopes he has. But what can they do now? He looks around at the soldiers and guards on the platform; there are many, maybe as many as forty. And they all have guns. There are dogs too, snarling and straining at their leashes. It’s hopeless.
The hand pushes Jean-Luc again in the back. “See problem?” But Jean-Luc is frozen to the spot. The hand pushes him again. “Look!”
He turns to the angry guard. “What do you want me to do?”
“Fix it. Put train back.”
“I can’t. The fishplate is broken. We’ll need to unload the train and lift it off the tracks to get the lines back together.”
“What?” The guard’s frown grows deeper.
Another guard approaches, speaking in German; it sounds like a translation of Jean-Luc’s words. The first one shakes his head. “No descend train. No unload.”
“Impossible! It’s too heavy!” Jean-Luc puts his hands up in the air to show the hopelessness of this idea.
“Okay. Okay.” The first guard disappears, coming back a minute later with a group of unhealthy-looking men, all bones and hollows of whiteness.
“No!” Jean-Luc looks at the small group of diminished men. It simply won’t work; any fool can see that. A larger group of men approaches, and the six workmen step back, leaving them to argue loudly in German.
“Ja, unload train!” Someone shouts the command. Immediately, bolts are pushed open, doors slide backward on runners, and prisoners come tumbling out onto the platform. They cry and shout names as they reach their arms out for each other.
Then a shot rings out. “Quiet!”
The noise subsides, crying and shouting turning to whimpering and moaning. But the babies among the prisoners won’t listen to the German commands, nor their mothers trying to hush them, and a background noise of wailing continues.
Another shot rings out. The sound of the dogs barking reaches out into the night. “I said quiet!”
A body collapses to the ground. More screaming. Another shot. Then it goes almost quiet, the only sound now the dogs. The soldiers stride up and down the platform, waving their guns, shouting out commands in German, while still more people come tumbling out of the wagon.
“My God, how many of them are there?” Frédéric touches Jean-Luc’s elbow.
“There must be about a hundred just in this wagon!”
The soldiers herd the prisoners with guns and sticks toward the back of the platform.
Jean-Luc still can’t move. The crowd of prisoners pushes past him, avoiding the hard blows from the soldiers’ sticks. Someone shoves a piece of paper into his hand. More pieces of paper are thrust at him. And still he doesn’t move. He’s never felt so helpless in his whole life. He wants to shout, “Stop!” He wants to turn the soldiers’ guns on them. But he is paralyzed, looking on in disbelief. He sees them open another wagon. Hundreds more people come stumbling out. The noise level rises again as they cling to one another, crying and shouting.
Then he feels a hand pulling on the collar of his overalls. He looks down to see a young woman with bright green eyes. Frantically she pulls his head down toward her mouth. “Who are you? You’re not a prisoner.”
He holds her around the waist so she won’t get swept away by the throng. He whispers in her ear. “I’m a railroad worker. Do you want me to take a message to someone?”
“No.” She’s crying, tears streaming down her face. He wants to hold on to her, not let her go. He turns to the side, protecting her from the surging crowd. It’s getting noisier again as more people come stumbling out of the car. He waits for the next shot to be fired.
She puts her arm around his neck, her lips next to his ear. He wants to wipe her tears away, but he knows she’s trying to tell him something. “Please,” she says. He feels something being pushed up against his chest. Something warm and soft. He looks down.
A stubby nose pokes out from layers of cloth, and dark eyes open, looking straight at him. The background noises seem to fade away as the infant gazes at him solemnly.
“Please, take my baby!”