It tip-toes

SOULESS HEART

 

I feel strange, different. Two men in white, one in blue, wear little hats that remind me of the yalmaka I used to wear to synagogue when I was younger than spring.  They turn their backs  and I can't hear what they are saying about me, but I know.  Sitting in a lounge chair on the other side of me is Lottie, my wife, my life for fifty years. She turns to stare at the wall, closes her ears, her mind to what is being said.

 

Hear? I don't have to hear. I know, I know. I am going to die soon. A nurse, actually wearing a formal nurse's cap, jabs a needle in my arm and instantly I take off, start to fly. Calender pages ripple backwards. Dates get mixed up. There are screams and pieces of flesh falling on my chest. A gruesome bloody face stares at me, screams, 'Don't kill me, please don't kill me!' I don't listen and push my bayonet right thru his gut. He falls dead on top of an American soldier. I am out of control and stab him again and again. The German is dead and I am glad.

 

Thru narrow slits in my eyes I can make out the doctors turning towards me. One voice is louder than the others. It's the skinniest one who asks, 'What the hell do you think he is laughing at? He must know he isn't going to last much longer.' Somehow I manage to shake my head, let them all know that I am still conscious and intend on living.

 

They leave the room together and I turn a little towards Lottie, jiggle
 my bony fingers so she knows I am still here. She takes my hand, pats it, holds it, kisses it. I feel a warm spring wind on my face. She fades as the morphine takes me to Never- Never Land again.

 

Refugees plod in ragged columns along a muddy, pock marked road. They carry all that is left of their possessions, baskets with bits of uncovered bread, old photos, crying infants. One ragged peasant makes a quick move, pulls a luger from his basket and aims directly at me. I am younger, stronger and rat tat tat him dead in a second. I spray those near him and kill them all. Distant thunder, maybe cannons, roar, or maybe god is angry but I don't care if he is. I am glad I killed those Nazis, those Hitler ass kissers and walk faster to catch up to my squadron. No one talks to me, criticizes me. That is unimportant. I know I had to do what I did.

 

Less than semi-consciousness returns. The thumping of my heart scares me more than the refugee who was ready to murder me. Bells ring. A nurse hurriedly pushes a cart into my room, pulls it close to my bed. Lottie gets up and walks towards the door. There is a lot of silent discussion. Beeps go slower and slower.

 

'Lottie, Lottie, don't leave me, don't leave me!' She disappears and I can't believe I am dying–but I do.