Dr. JC Howell

Many had died buried alive in boxcars, suffocating to death on that train ride to hell.” I raised my head and looked at the Russian. “The Nazis starved the others till they were walking skeletons. They deprived them of being human. They starved them of love.” The Russian sat back against the seat and arched his brow with a questioning expression. “I heard about American reprisals at Dachau. You’re in Roosevelt’s SS division?” “No, no!” I said. “I serve as a soldier in the US Army’s Forty-Second Infantry Division.” I didn’t want to talk about the reprisals, reflex reactions to the emotional outrage that any human being could have committed in that moment of discovery, seeing those well-fed SS guards responsible for thousands of starved and dead bodies, surrendering and begging for our mercy. The Russian flitted a smile as if he understood, and then a tear rolled down his cheek. “I was in the Sixtieth Russian Army,” he said, and paused for several seconds. “I lost five brothers: Vladimir in the Prague offensive . . . Joseph at Krakow . . . Alexander in Warsaw . . . Dimitri and Fyodor, my youngest brothers, were killed by eight-year-old German boys firing an antiaircraft weapon in Berlin.” I gaped in shock and sadness. “I’m so sorry for your losses. I’m so sorry.” The Russian looked away as if he might break down. I wanted to console him but didn’t know what to say. “We lost some great men,” I said. “They were like brothers to me. I loved them all. I’ll never forget them.” The Russian met my gaze, his eyes filled with indignation. He lowered his voice. “The Nazis are still out there; they’ll morph and adjust. They’ll become a new species, a more efficient Nazi, creating their own international enterprise, giving themselves license to control, to work, to abuse, and to treat people like animals again. They’ll find a way. We must kill them all!” The trolley slowed as it approached the Grinzing Village stop. “This is my stop,” I said, alerting the conductor. I turned and peered into the Russian’s dark eyes. “There’s been enough killing. Enough!” “American fool!” he said, raising his voice. “You’re going to get off this car, and all your struggle will have been for nothing. No purpose.” My heart pounded. Then a wave of warmth and joy illuminated my mind. I rose to my feet, grinned, and slowly shook my head. “No. I’m going to get off this trolley and find the love of my life and have lots of babies. I’m going to love them and help them direct their attention to channel love and goodness into the world. Then they’ll have babies and teach their babies to channel goodness and love into the world.” The Russian’s eyes twinkled, and then he smiled. “You’re Catholic.” “Yes,” I said, and produced a big smile thinking about my childhood neighbors, Billy and Tommy Daniels. “Udachi!” “What does that mean?” The Russian continued smiling. “Good luck, comrade. Good luck.” I moved my heels together, stood at attention for a long moment, saluted him, did an about-face, and strode off the trolley with the wind at my back, knowing everything I’d been through had prepared me for tonight. Reflecting on the long journey from Camp Gruber to Dachau and then to Vienna, ending in the trolley ride with a Russian, I walked slowly for a couple of blocks, looking down at the street, deep in thought, then stopped, looked up at the stars, and prayed in gratitude. I found Polaris, the North Star, and many other stars emerged beyond. My entire body warmed and tingled from my head to my toes as if the ecstasy of infinity had washed over me. I stretched my right arm toward the heavens, wanting to touch the hand of God. I’d discovered my meaning.