When You Could Only See Red

Fabryka Emalia Oskara Schindlera

Up in the window, little Sully, who just turned two the day before, was pressed up against the window, waving at him as the truck drove away. They were his family now. They were the anchor that made him want to come home. They were worth the fight. "Oh Lord," Felix prayed silently as he leaned back into his velvet. "Please protect them while I'm away." He glanced around the compartment. His father, who was sitting beside him, was reading some sort of literature book- which reminded him of Margeit. Felix closed, folding his hands. "Please, Father. Protect them." 

---

The train stopped with a thump, propelling Felix out of his seat. His father chuckled. "Come on. Don't be so clumsy." Felix got to his feet, wiping his pants. Thanks for the advice. He said to himself as he followed Victor out of the compartment and off the train. The world he was greeted with was nothing like Felix had expected though. The world around him seemed dark- black and white- and there was a since of despair all around him. Families crowded the train station, most with the yellow stars on their jackets, all trying to get on the train. 

Beside him, on the other side of the ropes separating those who were getting off the train and who were getting on, a father with his wife and several children was trying to get his family on the train but was getting rejected. He had an older boy, who was holding the hands of his younger brother and sisters (they were twins) while his mother was trying to calm down their crying newborn. Felix made eye contact with the boy, who gave him a look of sorrow. He wasn't any younger than Felix was. 

Solemnly, Felix bowed his head, following his father out of the crowded train station and out to a stagecoach that was sitting outside the building. "People like us use buggies here in Prague." His father said pridefully as he climbed on the buggy. People like us. Felix thought. Like we're any better than them.  Nonetheless, Felix climbed onto the buggy, sitting beside his father, and they rode out of the station, into the cold, snowy plains. 

Felix felt ridiculous riding in a buggy in the cold, but there was nothing that he could do about it. His heard ached for the people waiting in the station- tired, weary, hungry- not getting anywhere and being forced to stand in the freezing cold with their wives and children and grandparents. he said a silent prayer as they rode away from the station, which looked so small from miles away.

Slowly, him and his father made trip into town, where lines of manufacturing facilities flooded the streets. There were people crowding on the sidewalks, and roars of factories and trucks and street sellers filled the air, and most of all, Nazis on every corner. The mix of red and black swarmed the sides of the roads, which did not make Felix feel any better than he already did. The Third Regime invaded Poland September 1st, 1939, and since then, the people of the Poland were on high alert. Thats why there are so many Jews trying to leave. And so many who are unable to escape... 

The buggy soon stopped in front of a large, grey industrial building, where Felix could hear thousands of workers yelling at one another, and the clacking of machinery echoed into the streets. Felix followed his father into the humid factory- which felt much better than it did in the snowy wind. And to his surprise, he saw hundreds of workers standing next to machines, watching metal being melted and crushed and reformed into pots and pans. "What does Mr. Schindler specialize in?" Felix muttered to his father as they headed through the main office and up a long, dark staircase. 

"Pots and pan. Metal work for the Germans." His father said, pointing at his SS pin. Felix rolled his eyes, and tried to straight up, reusing the same breathing method that Mrs. Fischer taught him so long ago. He fixed his black jacket and pulled off his cap, gazing at the SS symbol embroidered on it with uneasiness. The voice of his father shook him out of his thoughts, however, when a thin man with round black glasses peered through the door that said Eigentümer on it. "Mr. Gunter," He said nervously, fixing his glass, "Its- nice to meet you, sir."