AN AMERICAN SANDWICH
(from the book “Arch of Fire” copyright 1995)
We tried, again and again, to obtain information about my father’s true fate. Had he died in the concentration camp? Had his death been falsified, just to torture us even more?
Was the statement about his death a bureaucratic error? Did they possibly tell him that his wife and his child did not want to claim him any longer? He would not have believed it.
One of the many attempts to obtain information took us to the city of Schleswig. Another former concentration camp inmate, someone who had been released from the camp before the war ended – yet after my father’s supposed date of death – might know some relevant facts, some information that would take us a step forward. My mother wanted to speak with him.
I accompanied her as far as the railroad station in Schleswig. I did not want to talk to that gentleman. I had heard enough horror stories about the camp. I wanted to hear no more. It was too horrible, too sad, too depressing. I would wait. So I asked my mother to go by herself. I would meet her at the railroad station later.
I walked through the town and visited the beautiful cathedral. It was pleasant to be in a town that had not been bombed into rubble. Finally, I returned to the station to wait for her. It was still two hours before our train would leave. My mother had not yet come back. Probably she would want to spend as much time as possible, exploring whatever she could.
For a while, I walked around the station. The trains were running again. They were now inscribed with “Allied Forces”. The insignia of the German Railroad had been removed.
Those large inscriptions on the tender of steam locomotives, inscriptions that had read “Wheels must roll for Victory!” were gone as well, covered with fresh black paint.
I was hungry. We still did not have enough to eat. I had eaten breakfast that morning – if one piece of bread could be called breakfast. Now it was four in the afternoon. My stomach was growling.
I sat down in a corner of the train station and watched all kinds of people walking around. Several passengers were crossing the building toward the exit and the city. A train had recently arrived. A few other people were running toward the platform. Probably they wanted to catch that train before it continued on, most likely toward the north, toward Flensburg and maybe Denmark. A few British soldiers were hanging around. I guessed they were waiting for some troop train.
But what was that? That uniform looked different! That soldier must be an American. What was he doing here? I thought this was now a British occupied area?The American soldier walked very slowly through the station. He seemed relaxed. His gait was hardly military. He saw me sitting in my corner and smiled a bit. He began a wide circle toward the exit. I could watch him well; if he continued on his path, he would walk right past me. And as he was closest to me, he reached into his pocket, pulled
something out, and dropped it into my lap. It was a wrapped sandwich! Suddenly, he accelerated his footsteps and was gone.
I removed the paper. What wonderful food! The bread was absolutely white. Nearly like snow. I had never seen anything like it! Between the two slices of bread I found a very thick layer of some kind of meat. I had never seen it before, but it tasted incredibly good.I would have loved to say “thank you” to that soldier. I could even have said it in English! But he was gone. Well, in that case, the “Thank You” is meant for all those people in the world who help hungry and tired children, wherever they might be.
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