Percy

Time meant nothing. For all I knew, I'd been here for six months or it could have been six weeks or days. It didn't matter. I was only alive because I was a six foot tall, hundred and eighty pound man who didn't look like he was about to crumble and die any second. If the prisoners had more energy, they'd probably try to kill me because I was so healthy and spoke German. I'd picked up a few Polish words, but that was it.

Fear wasn't the right word to describe my initial reaction as I stepped off the platform. The train ride was bad enough, but the sight before me, along with an unmistakable smell of burning flesh, were things I'd never possibly forget. Surreal wasn't the right word, either. There was nothing dreamlike about this place. I felt like I'd entered the depths of hell where all sense of humanity had disintegrated. Humanity no longer existed, just like God. Any ounce of belief I had vanished in a second.

Yet, I'd had this feeling before as if I was having an outer body experience where I, Alonzo "Percy" Richler was ordered to the right while mostly everybody else who got off that cattle car stepped to the left. There was no time for goodbye. My great aunts were gone, on their way to the gas chamber. But they didn't know that. For all they knew, they were going to the showers like the few on the right.

Only those chosen for work received a number, a tattoo etched in our skin as we all lost our sense of being. We were no longer human.

Jude Prak existed in another world, in another life or lifetime. A million years ago—or so it seemed—I watched Jude disappear the minute the SS invaded the basement, shouting and ordering everybody out.

Since then, I'd fallen asleep, but everyday I woke up in this hell. No matter how exhausted I was, I only slept a few hours a night, if I slept at all.

I was never one to do any sort of manual labor. It's a miracle I survived more than one day.

And I experienced an exhaustion I'd never experienced in my entire life. I was never an athlete, I never mowed the lawn or shoveled the driveway. If my parents were lucky, I shoveled the front steps.

I kept my head down, followed orders, and prayed I wouldn't get shot or chose to be a selected one. We all knew what that meant.

At night, as I shared a bunk with three other men in this foul-smelling, overcrowded barracks, I imagined eating my favorite meal, a Thanksgiving dinner. If I ever made it home, I'd ask my mother to make a Thanksgiving dinner, even though it was March.

As a grown man, as I lay there, I wanted my mother. I wanted to hug my parents and sisters again. I missed everyone. I'd never take anyone or anything for granted again.

I wasn't raised with any religious affiliation, but we celebrated Christmas. I had no idea there was Jewish blood in the family. My dad was a great storyteller and I was sure he would have shared his father's tory if he knew it. I planned on finding out more if I ever made it home.

If...

I felt like an actor in a Holocaust documentary, but this wasn't a documentary. If I made my way back home, I'd have to thank my German teacher for being such a hard ass. I understood the German commands, better than my comrades. I witnessed human brutality at its very worst.

But, day after day, as my stomach growled more and more, hunger over took me. Growing up in an upper middle class family, I never experienced any kind of hardship, especially hunger. As tempted as I was, I fought off the urge to attack other human beings for a slice of moldy bread.

But, a few more days, I was t so sure I'd be able to fight it off, risking certain death.

This morning, I woke beside a dead man, but I didn't tell anyone he was dead, just so I could get his food ration for the day. Other men probably needed it more than I did, but humans had an instinct to survive.

Despite everything... despite my loss of faith and in humankind, I had hope, hope I'd eventually return home because I didn't belong in 1944.

The chimneys, the ash, the stench, along with the gun shots and dogs, the cries and screams,  and... I could go on and on. If I made it through this, then what? Would I be stuck in this era for the rest of my life? I was thirty-two. I'd never see 2024 again.

At one point in my life I believed in God. After my visit here, I realized it was impossible for any god to exist. If I ever told my comrades what Germany looked like in 2024, they'd never believe me. They'd probably get the strength to stone me to death or push me against the electrical fence.

Mostly everyone in the barracks spoke primarily Polish and Czech. I'd picked up a few words here and there, but I mostly kept my mouth shut. Shlomo and Jakub were my bunkmates. Shlomo was the one who died.

A few men stored, moaning and groaning... a typical night. Some cried out before they died. Others just died. Barely anyone ever spoke, except for tonight.

"Ssh," one man said in response to a sound I didn't hear since my bunk was at the far end of the barracks.

What made me such an eternal optimist? I held a belief that someone would rescue me. I had a sense...

The voice got closer. Maybe I'd actually fallen into a deep sleep and I was dreaming that someone  wascalling my name.

But, as it turned out, I wasn't hearing things. The voice was real.

"Percy? Alonzo?"

No... it can't be... I'm delirious with hunger...

"Alonzo, are you here? Percy... Alonzo... it's me..."

Jude's whispers sent a combination of relief, bewilderment, and downright terror reverberate through my body. I doubted anyone in this barracks spoke or understood English. 

He was close. I spotted a shadow of a man creeping towards me, not realizing I wasn't far away. I would have called to him, but I didn't want to disturb anyone or risk retaliation from the kapos or commandants.

After the initial shock of hearing and seeing Jude, I mustered up enough strength to sit up. My eyes teared as Jude finally noticed me. He rushed to me, reaching up to help me down from the bunk. I threw my arms around him, clinging to him, fighting back the urge to bawl my eyes out because I didn't want to make any sounds. "I'm so hungry," were the first words out of my mouth.

Squeezing my shoulders, he pushed me away slightly. "We don't have much time," he said, placing two pills in my mouth. "Here. Take these. Hurry up. They're Ambien... sleeping pills. When we're home, I promise we'll eat as many blueberry pancakes and bacon as you want. Swallow."

"I like french toast, too," I said before swallowing. I didn't care to ask where he got the pills. 

"We'll get french toast, too." He popped two pills in his mouth. "We'll be home soon." He held my face, gazing into my eyes. "Soon this'll all be over."

In exchange for my piece of bread, Jakub let Jude and I have his spot on the bunk. He found another place to sleep in the barracks. Jude wrapped my arms around me, holding my trembling body. Resting my head on his shoulder, I wondered if sleep would ever come. I couldn't bear to watch him disappear again.

Succumbing to deep, peaceful sleep was the best thing that had ever happened to me. Ambien was a magic pill. Either I'd die or wake up somewhere better than this. Anything was better. Even death was better.

***

My days of making sense of anything were long gone. I couldn't tell the difference between reality, dreams or nightmares. As I struggled to open my eyes, I didn't recognize the voices or sounds in the room. Even the smells were unknown to me. I'd lost all sense of self... all sense of being, and I wasn't sure I wanted to open my eyes. What could this world offer me?

"Percy! Alonzo Richler!" an unknown woman's voice called to me. "Open your eyes. Come on, Alonzo, We know you're awake. Open your eyes, Alonzo. Would you like us to call you Percy or Alonzo?"

I groaned, shaking my head.  

"Which is it? Percy or Alonzo?"

"Alonzo," I muttered for whatever reason. I'd called myself Percy for years, but maybe I'd found peace with my given name.

"Okay, Alonzo. My name is Dr. Carmen Rodriguez. This is my assistance, Dr. Rossi."

"Can you open your eyes?" the make doctor said. "You've been asleep for a long time. We weren't sure you were gonna make it."

Dr. Carmen Rodriguez... I recognized that name. She was the one who did this to me. Something came over me and I snapped, completely waking up from this deep sleep I was allegedly in. Never in a million years did I think I'd ever attack a woman. But she wasn't a woman to me. She wasn't even a human being. She was a monster. Nobody expected me to lunge at her. I ripped the IV out of my arm, tackling her to the floor with my hands around her neck. I was never a violent person, and this wasn't who I was. A part of me still lived in that nightmare. 

Several men, or maybe women, pulled me off her. As I punched and kicked, they dragged me back to the bed. I experienced deja vu again as a nurse stuck me with a needle. My limbs grew limp and my head relaxed on the pillow. 

"I want to go home," I said as my eyelids grew heavy. Just seconds ago, Dr. Rodriguez begged me to open my eyes. "Jude... where's Jude?"

"He's fine," a woman responded. "I'm Tanya. I'm your nurse."

"I want to see Jude."

"We'll let him see you soon," Dr. Rodriguez said. I was surprised she chose to talk to me. "I'm truly sorry for everything you and Jude have gone through. It won't ever happen again."

"Go fuck yourself."

I had nothing to say to her. I was filled with such hatred and rage, I questioned whether or not I had the emotional maturity to become a psychotherapist. I wouldn't believe a word this doctor said even if her tongue was notarized. Voices echoing in the hallway, arguing and shouting. "I'm seeing him and you can't stop me!" Jude shouted, running into my room. In a hospital gown, Jude tripped over his feet on his way to me. As if he hadn't just fallen, he picked himself up and threw himself at me. The floodgates finally opened. I sobbed as he kissed me all over my face. I cried so hard, my bones hurt. 

"I want pancakes and french toast," I said through my tears.

"We'll get some," he said. 

"I want to go home," I reiterated. "I want to see my family."

"You can't go anywhere," Dr. Rodriguez said. "You have a kidney infection and a staph infection in your wound. You're still dehydrated and malnourished. I'm afraid you won't be able to see your family yet. There are some things we need to do before you're ready to discharge." 

"So you're gonna keep me locked up for a month? What am I gonna tell my family and work? What about school?"

"Everything's under control," the so-called doctor said. Why should I trust her? 

"I need to talk to Jude alone," I said as the tears returned. "Get out... please... I just need everyone to leave."

The room cleared out, leaving Jude and I alone. I had a lot of questions, but I didn't care about most of the answers. While I slept for the past three days, they showered (or de-loused) me, 'cleaned my blood' through some kind of dialysis machine, and removed my tattoo in their attempts to eliminate proof of where I'd been. A bandage was now in the place of my tattoo. 

Jude lay in my bed beside me with his arm draped across my chest. He summarized our situation and the events leading to his arrival in the camp.  

BUt I only thought of one thing.  

"I want Thanksgiving dinner."

"What? It's only March."

"I know, but that's what I want," I said, running my fingers through his hair. I wished I had hair like his. Right now I had no hair.  "And pancakes and french toast."

"Yeah," he said with a yawn. "That sounds good."

"Thanks for coming to get me."

"You would've done the same."

Just when we thought we were alone, an unknown man stood in the doorway. He was both short and round. His facial hair made up for the lack of hair on his head. He wore a tie and tan plaid shirt. The blue stripes in the plaid marched his navy blue pants. He looked more like an old-fashioned stereotypical psychologist than a doctor. "Can I come in, gentlemen?" he asked.

"Hi, Peter," Jude said, sitting up. "This is Peter Constanzo, the hypnotist. He's the one who helped me get to you."

The hypnotist sat in chair beside the bed. "Is it okay if I sit here and chat for a few minutes?"

Even though he asked us, he didn't give us a choice. He started talking even before we realized it. I supposed it didn't matter at this point. The damage was done. The nightmares and horrors would last in my memories forever, and there was nothing I could do about it. 

But there was something Peter Costanzo could do about it. 

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