Open Eyes

Open Eyes

The resonant thundering of exploding grenades echoed in my ears uninterruptedly.  I could hear my fellow youth removing dozens of safety pins and releasing shells at a rushed tempo.  This pace was kept by my elders’ bellowing.  Their barks were unending, and I wondered how they had time to breathe.  They were only a few years older than I, yet I could see great differences in their build and maturity.  The boys surrounding me were giggling with their eyes ablaze, imagining they were bombing the enemy in some great battle.  My leaders, though, had cold eyes that refused to look at others with anything other than disdain.  I believed they had already experienced so much, even with them only in their teens.  I was ten.   

~~~

My mother was stirring soup for our supper when I returned home from that week’s rally and exercises.  She called me from the door right away, and ordered me to slice potatoes while placing a large knife in my hand.  She knew that I was very skillful with knives at youth meetings, and decided to use my talents domestically.  I was eager to please. 

By the time I finished slicing three potatoes, I heard my father’s work boots pounding on the wooden floor leading from the front door.  He entered the room, still wearing his black, wool uniform with the noble swastika boldly sewn on his left sleeve.  I couldn’t wait to receive my own uniform similar to my fathers, for I simply wore a light tan collared shirt, with a wide black tie and shorts. 

“Hello, Vati,” I said quietly with a nod.  He turned to me with eyes tired, and nodded curtly.

“How was the meeting?” he asked, sounding sincerely interested.

“We threw grenades today!” I announced excitedly. 

“Did you make yourself known to the Rottenführer?  I can not take you with me to Poland if he does not approve of you.”  Taking me to Poland on his first official Schutzstaffel invasion had been my father’s aim for months, ever since I had been eligible to enroll in the Youth Movement.  It was his belief that the best way for a boy my age to prepare for the military was to get experience right away.  He didn’t believe that I needed much of a childhood because it would soon be over, and I would never return to it again.  I agreed with him.  Why waste your time on a part of your life that offers nothing for your future?  We believed that it was simpler to begin training for the future when one was first able.  Traveling to Poland would be the best way for me to accelerate my growth into adulthood.  My father knew that if I proved myself worthy to my leaders, they would allow me to go with him. 

“Of course, Vati,” I replied, although I wasn’t entirely sure if I actually had proved myself.  Because my leaders never paid much attention to anyone during morning exercises, I could never tell if they had even noticed me in the blur of flailing limbs and flying weapons. 

“Well, you must keep on working,” I heard my mother speak for the first time since my father’s entrance.  Her eyes were usually angled lower in my father’s presence, but then they were focused on him. “The world needs strong boys, like you, to save it from the unworthy.”

~~~

It was only two weeks later when I was given permission to travel with my father to Warsaw.  I kissed my mother good-bye on our front porch, and was then whisked away to a world where my life would be forever changed. 

My first glimpse of Warsaw was destruction.  The town was composed of fallen wood planks, glass fragments, and a lullaby of hushed tears.  From the very second I walked into this forsaken town, it was as if I had wandered into a photograph.  I was surrounded by shades and shadows, no colors.  No greens, no yellows…no smiles, no rosy pink blushes.  Just grey; and to me, that was worse than black and white.  At least with blacks and whites, you had a strong distinction between what was good or evil.  With grey, there was no separating line.