"All this was too eagerly and well prepared for me to take the risk. These thoughts were flashing through my mind in a matter of seconds but another reversal of thinking was also saying to me, you are trained, you know the luger isn't loaded, take it, its the last chance you will have, the luger is heavy and the weight could make it a good missile, throw it at the living skeleton behind the door and then jump your accuser no matter how strong he is and what hidden weapon he may have, and out you go through the window like a bird to freedom or eternity. The trouble was I couldn't fly. I was getting in a mood or a trance, if you like, with the temptation.
It was coming to split seconds now, when suddenly, from nowhere, a small hurricane or inward draught occurred and the windows were thrown or rather sucked shut with a very loud thunder clap which woke the three of us out of this provocated vacuum atmosphere of foreboding. The figures in this drama started moving again awakened - just like a scene in a movie. A whirlwind of most divine nature had saved me at the very last minute as time had been ticking dangerously away for me.
Who knows what could have happened there! I am very strong, I know that, all the Fynaut's have always been strong but so was my adversary and the poor soul behind me was a wiry little devil waiting with his pistol at the ready. They must have realized that I was never going to talk or bend even under torture. I was not that type and I would rather die. It was a waste of time for them.
In a harsh voice, after having tapped away again on his typewriter and underlining it with red ink, he said,
"You will krepeer, - starve in a concentration camp"!
Sentenced to die, that was my verdict! Just like the inquisition which they seemed to have copied, that was the ordeal, the last solution. No courts, no justice, no trial or anything!!!!
He called the guards to take me back now. I didn't act like I seemed very impressed, just walked away as if I was going calmly to a firing squad but it was not to be yet, concentration camp, he had said, another chance for me after all!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
To be continued ...
Tuesday, 31 January 2012
Day 36 - A glance full of hatred!
"At this point every one of us was being interrogated in sequence and who knows what was going to happen after that - so we all felt a great sense of urgency!
One day we were nearly caught when one of us was being called out; it was with Carlos I think, a sullen looking guard brusquely opened the door without us having heard him coming. We were just having a jolly time with our hoard when the door flew open, everything dropping in front of his boots. He just starred at the hoard as if drugged and as if he couldn't believe his eyes. Lucky Strike Packet, matches and all spread out on the floor beneath his feet.
In the interval of surprise, one of us managed to kick it under the bed and across. As Carlos was going out he covered the whole scene with a wide gesture and sweep of his arms. Either the guard couldn't believe his eyes at all, or he was seemingly hypnotized or didn't know Lucky Strike from anything else. When the door closed behind him we couldn't believe our luck for the moment! That could have been the "mittard" or dungeon for at least three weeks - which would have blocked our ability to escape due to our absence.
The dungeons in a fort built during the middle ages were terrible things to live in, just a deep pit where you were completely forgotten, especially by Richelieu. Carlos came back with the news which we had expected and that was that we had no time to lose and had to be quick with our plans. Shortly after, Carlos came back from his interrogation - it was my turn. This was a dilemma, I knew that, fearing the worst I was led to a room near the street which I noticed because of the noise of the traffic and the sight of some tram lines.
A Gestapo agent with his cap and overcoat filled the room with his bulk. I noticed what appeared to be a hard or very strong character sitting behind a table with a typewriter. He was a thin, raspy looking skeleton of a man, with flat ears - more like a tramp all in all. He was desperately and wildly gesticulating to his strong partner. The scrawny one was in plain clothes and drably dressed at that.
When I entered the wretch withdrew but left the door halfway open thus reminding me of a previous occasion, not so long ago. I had an instinct for symbols or things like that; he was still watching and waiting on orders to jump in, I could sense that very well. It was a set-up, a trap carefully planned by both and it stunk, I also didn't like the way he had sized me up when I entered, giving me a glance full of hatred!
The stern Gestapo man told me to sit down now. He began softening me up and sounded very much like a lawyer, for my benefit, combining clever double talk of accuser and defender. He told me that I had been locked away for a very long time, away from home, parents, family and friends and if I co-operated with them I would be united with them and could re-enter society.
He then said, would I now like to tell him who my contacts were and where I was going, seriously! "By the way" he said, "Your friend told us everything anyway". I knew now that he was lieing because Daniel didn't know anything like that except; that we were going overseas and so did they, so that was too easy. So, I said, ''It was just a mischevious prank by mislead youths and that we were going to shoot lions in Africa".
At that he lost his temper and smacked me in the face. "You mean shooting German soldiers", he said. I didn't reply to that, that was a bad moment. I heard a slight movement behind me, probably the other one. He was tapping madly on the typewriter and I could feel my face tingling from the smack. After thinking for a moment, he suddenly stopped and placed his luger on the table within my reach, that was it, the moment the other one had waited for too.
He now suddenly stood up and acting in an absent minded way turned his back towards me and walked over to the window throwing it wide open so that I could hear the traffic below, hooting cars, trams, bicycles passing with bells ringing and people chattering. Even that in Fort-Du-Ha, I hadn't heard for a long time as it was hermetically sealed and thus closed to outside noise. What a temptation, that was the idea! The devil and the demon: the luger, the chance of a jump, just for the taking, the lamb ready for the slaughter and maybe a coffin and hearse waiting
To be continued ...
One day we were nearly caught when one of us was being called out; it was with Carlos I think, a sullen looking guard brusquely opened the door without us having heard him coming. We were just having a jolly time with our hoard when the door flew open, everything dropping in front of his boots. He just starred at the hoard as if drugged and as if he couldn't believe his eyes. Lucky Strike Packet, matches and all spread out on the floor beneath his feet.
In the interval of surprise, one of us managed to kick it under the bed and across. As Carlos was going out he covered the whole scene with a wide gesture and sweep of his arms. Either the guard couldn't believe his eyes at all, or he was seemingly hypnotized or didn't know Lucky Strike from anything else. When the door closed behind him we couldn't believe our luck for the moment! That could have been the "mittard" or dungeon for at least three weeks - which would have blocked our ability to escape due to our absence.
The dungeons in a fort built during the middle ages were terrible things to live in, just a deep pit where you were completely forgotten, especially by Richelieu. Carlos came back with the news which we had expected and that was that we had no time to lose and had to be quick with our plans. Shortly after, Carlos came back from his interrogation - it was my turn. This was a dilemma, I knew that, fearing the worst I was led to a room near the street which I noticed because of the noise of the traffic and the sight of some tram lines.
A Gestapo agent with his cap and overcoat filled the room with his bulk. I noticed what appeared to be a hard or very strong character sitting behind a table with a typewriter. He was a thin, raspy looking skeleton of a man, with flat ears - more like a tramp all in all. He was desperately and wildly gesticulating to his strong partner. The scrawny one was in plain clothes and drably dressed at that.
When I entered the wretch withdrew but left the door halfway open thus reminding me of a previous occasion, not so long ago. I had an instinct for symbols or things like that; he was still watching and waiting on orders to jump in, I could sense that very well. It was a set-up, a trap carefully planned by both and it stunk, I also didn't like the way he had sized me up when I entered, giving me a glance full of hatred!
The stern Gestapo man told me to sit down now. He began softening me up and sounded very much like a lawyer, for my benefit, combining clever double talk of accuser and defender. He told me that I had been locked away for a very long time, away from home, parents, family and friends and if I co-operated with them I would be united with them and could re-enter society.
He then said, would I now like to tell him who my contacts were and where I was going, seriously! "By the way" he said, "Your friend told us everything anyway". I knew now that he was lieing because Daniel didn't know anything like that except; that we were going overseas and so did they, so that was too easy. So, I said, ''It was just a mischevious prank by mislead youths and that we were going to shoot lions in Africa".
At that he lost his temper and smacked me in the face. "You mean shooting German soldiers", he said. I didn't reply to that, that was a bad moment. I heard a slight movement behind me, probably the other one. He was tapping madly on the typewriter and I could feel my face tingling from the smack. After thinking for a moment, he suddenly stopped and placed his luger on the table within my reach, that was it, the moment the other one had waited for too.
He now suddenly stood up and acting in an absent minded way turned his back towards me and walked over to the window throwing it wide open so that I could hear the traffic below, hooting cars, trams, bicycles passing with bells ringing and people chattering. Even that in Fort-Du-Ha, I hadn't heard for a long time as it was hermetically sealed and thus closed to outside noise. What a temptation, that was the idea! The devil and the demon: the luger, the chance of a jump, just for the taking, the lamb ready for the slaughter and maybe a coffin and hearse waiting
To be continued ...
Monday, 30 January 2012
Day 35 - Thanks to The Resistance and all those helpful souls!
"We had a small light table and chairs and it didn't take too long before we tried out the spiritual bit! Our days were long and boring, the establishment worked on us like mad with the usual questions. Maybe it was the ongoing tension of not knowing how long we would be in prison or whether we would live or die - the usual questions one would ask in our predicament.
One day, Janeck set up a contraption of which we asked questions and it seemed to work like mad on the usual questions! The Spanish captain was skeptical about his answer, which of course was a negative one. Janeck and mine came to the point where we would meet again on a hill somewhere in the middle of Germany. The others were saying that somebody must have put his foot under the table and it was all a bad joke in the worst possible taste. I don't think that happened at all, but it was better so, some started to get worried about the whole affair and Janeck fully agreed to do better and finish it off.
After that incident tempers became short and people flared up at the slightest excuse as if an abstract or evil atmosphere was constantly around us. It could boil down to the fact that when people are confined together in a small space that tempers become frayed or was it something else, a created reaction.
As we took a siesta one afteroon, I was suddenly awakened by terrible screams coming from Zin Zhnn, both Janeck and Reiss were masturbating him and we quickly made them stop such practices. The old captain told them off and Zin Zhnn said he was going to call the guards if further attacks occurred. Somehow, Zin Zhnn got himself out the next day - either he got transported or he really was a ferret after all?
We were all changed to different cells and lost track of each other shortly after that. I was put in the last cell of the block on the same floor touching the stairways of the French quarters. Here was an older and more mature group from different walks of life and mostly from Bordeaux, it seemed. This would top my education and knowledge of this place called Fort Du Ha a good deal.
It was the same kind of cell I had left but with a vault hump in the right hand corner on the window side. This is where the stairs were underneath for the French guards who were contracted out; on the right day, we would have a break out when we found a way to hack through the hump and discover a solution that wouldn't compromise or incriminate the French guards - who would have to be involved.
As it was now, they were feeding us chickens, cigarettes, Lucky Strike, Camels dropped by and for the resistance, bread, meat, chisel and hammer, all through the skylight which we eagerly hauled in. We had long conversations, as well as sent letters and messages. They could easily watch the enemy from this lookout without being seen.
It didn't take long before entering that cell that they took me into their confidence, I had to be taken in by them and trusted, of course! Otherwise you were a goner anyway with the people present as they were; we had as our top leader a man called Carlos who looked like, The Sentimental Agent, one of the best known entrepreneurs of Bordeaux. He was supposed to be the son-in-law of Martial Foch, who supplied the resistance as well as the Germans. We also had Fiesche, a Corsican police inspector, well in with the resistance, he was one of the leaders and also a councillor of renown for his political activities and a genuine Corsican gangster. Our politician, Fiesche was short and strong with a big moustache, this gangster was a James Bond type of man. So, we formed a complete set ready for action. Time was all too short for our schedule now and the Gestapo were trying to get us on to transports.
During this time, I managed to write a letter to my mum and had it sent home by a secret route and it did arrive! My mother still had it at the end of the war and showed it to me. By that letter she was able to ascertain my whereabouts thanks to The Resistance and all those helpful souls.
We were planning the time and date of escape now as we could feel it was becoming more urgent by the minute ......
To be continued ....
One day, Janeck set up a contraption of which we asked questions and it seemed to work like mad on the usual questions! The Spanish captain was skeptical about his answer, which of course was a negative one. Janeck and mine came to the point where we would meet again on a hill somewhere in the middle of Germany. The others were saying that somebody must have put his foot under the table and it was all a bad joke in the worst possible taste. I don't think that happened at all, but it was better so, some started to get worried about the whole affair and Janeck fully agreed to do better and finish it off.
After that incident tempers became short and people flared up at the slightest excuse as if an abstract or evil atmosphere was constantly around us. It could boil down to the fact that when people are confined together in a small space that tempers become frayed or was it something else, a created reaction.
As we took a siesta one afteroon, I was suddenly awakened by terrible screams coming from Zin Zhnn, both Janeck and Reiss were masturbating him and we quickly made them stop such practices. The old captain told them off and Zin Zhnn said he was going to call the guards if further attacks occurred. Somehow, Zin Zhnn got himself out the next day - either he got transported or he really was a ferret after all?
We were all changed to different cells and lost track of each other shortly after that. I was put in the last cell of the block on the same floor touching the stairways of the French quarters. Here was an older and more mature group from different walks of life and mostly from Bordeaux, it seemed. This would top my education and knowledge of this place called Fort Du Ha a good deal.
It was the same kind of cell I had left but with a vault hump in the right hand corner on the window side. This is where the stairs were underneath for the French guards who were contracted out; on the right day, we would have a break out when we found a way to hack through the hump and discover a solution that wouldn't compromise or incriminate the French guards - who would have to be involved.
As it was now, they were feeding us chickens, cigarettes, Lucky Strike, Camels dropped by and for the resistance, bread, meat, chisel and hammer, all through the skylight which we eagerly hauled in. We had long conversations, as well as sent letters and messages. They could easily watch the enemy from this lookout without being seen.
It didn't take long before entering that cell that they took me into their confidence, I had to be taken in by them and trusted, of course! Otherwise you were a goner anyway with the people present as they were; we had as our top leader a man called Carlos who looked like, The Sentimental Agent, one of the best known entrepreneurs of Bordeaux. He was supposed to be the son-in-law of Martial Foch, who supplied the resistance as well as the Germans. We also had Fiesche, a Corsican police inspector, well in with the resistance, he was one of the leaders and also a councillor of renown for his political activities and a genuine Corsican gangster. Our politician, Fiesche was short and strong with a big moustache, this gangster was a James Bond type of man. So, we formed a complete set ready for action. Time was all too short for our schedule now and the Gestapo were trying to get us on to transports.
During this time, I managed to write a letter to my mum and had it sent home by a secret route and it did arrive! My mother still had it at the end of the war and showed it to me. By that letter she was able to ascertain my whereabouts thanks to The Resistance and all those helpful souls.
We were planning the time and date of escape now as we could feel it was becoming more urgent by the minute ......
To be continued ....
Sunday, 29 January 2012
Day 34 - Brave Women singing the "Marseillaise"
"The bars were flatish held together by a traversed pair palming the vertical ones. There was also a wooden box, trapped in front of it, preventing the prisoners from looking down as well as drawing attention to a little light coming in from the sky.
The cells were similar to the underground vaults reminding me of old casemattes we had once found in the woods around Ostend - left by the Spanish to stall their horses. Flush french toilets were added, a convenience not available at Caserne-Boudet. Once a week, we also had communal showers in the old tower, we had to walk in a circle as we showered.. There were lots of guards, a small army around us and within the fort itself.
The first cellar allocated was on the ground floor and was intended for use by select hostages according to the coloured strips on our doors, we found that out later ...
Sometimes, we could hear prisoners being taken away early in the morning. We often heard brave women patriots singing the "Marseillaise". These women helped to boost our moral and pride in the cause, which was all we had left!
One of the inmates of my cell was a tall, thin, broody southerner from the "Midi" Toulon or Marseilles. He had a grey patch in his forelock inherited from father to son from generations back. He had been at "Mers el Kebir", near Oran when the fleet he was aboard had been scuttled by the British, resulting in a lot of wounded and dead. He wasn't very glad about the treatment he was getting but everybody thought it necessary not to fall into German hands with Darlan! Sacrifices had to be made, this was going to be our epitaph, unavoidable circumstances!
During the next weeks, I was taken to the next floor and lost my brooding companion and most of my former inmates. I made new acquaintances and met again with Maxwell, an old Spanish Republican captain, The Gypsy; Reiss, the young Pole, Janeck Paderwski and the last new member Zin Zzn, a most unusual name. Zin Zzn came from Eupan-Malmedy, the small German canton ceded to Belgium after the First World War. Zin Zzn was an unknown factor, a homosexual and we suspected, a ferret, planted amongst us. We were careful not to say anything that would incriminate us when he was around.
The food was worse and I don't know what happened to the Quaker parcels that had been regularly sent to us. We had cheese biscuits at the weekend that must have been donated by the Red Cross. One weekend, due to bad storage, they were hardly edible and stuck in your mouth and could have choked you if one didn't swallow lots of water. The only thing we could do was to stack them behind the box put in front of the bars where we got fresh air. Having forgotten about the biscuits for a few weeks, "Reiss" The Gypsy, tried them again and announced they were okay.
Probably the air and the draught at the bars had taken the badness of the mold out of them. It was like Mana from heaven to us, a miracle! For now, we had so many biscuits, this helped to alleviate our constant hunger,
a bit ....
One day, Maxwell suddenly left us, he was dragged out of the cell and after that we never saw him again, he wasn't released either ....
To be continued ...
The cells were similar to the underground vaults reminding me of old casemattes we had once found in the woods around Ostend - left by the Spanish to stall their horses. Flush french toilets were added, a convenience not available at Caserne-Boudet. Once a week, we also had communal showers in the old tower, we had to walk in a circle as we showered.. There were lots of guards, a small army around us and within the fort itself.
The first cellar allocated was on the ground floor and was intended for use by select hostages according to the coloured strips on our doors, we found that out later ...
Sometimes, we could hear prisoners being taken away early in the morning. We often heard brave women patriots singing the "Marseillaise". These women helped to boost our moral and pride in the cause, which was all we had left!
One of the inmates of my cell was a tall, thin, broody southerner from the "Midi" Toulon or Marseilles. He had a grey patch in his forelock inherited from father to son from generations back. He had been at "Mers el Kebir", near Oran when the fleet he was aboard had been scuttled by the British, resulting in a lot of wounded and dead. He wasn't very glad about the treatment he was getting but everybody thought it necessary not to fall into German hands with Darlan! Sacrifices had to be made, this was going to be our epitaph, unavoidable circumstances!
During the next weeks, I was taken to the next floor and lost my brooding companion and most of my former inmates. I made new acquaintances and met again with Maxwell, an old Spanish Republican captain, The Gypsy; Reiss, the young Pole, Janeck Paderwski and the last new member Zin Zzn, a most unusual name. Zin Zzn came from Eupan-Malmedy, the small German canton ceded to Belgium after the First World War. Zin Zzn was an unknown factor, a homosexual and we suspected, a ferret, planted amongst us. We were careful not to say anything that would incriminate us when he was around.
The food was worse and I don't know what happened to the Quaker parcels that had been regularly sent to us. We had cheese biscuits at the weekend that must have been donated by the Red Cross. One weekend, due to bad storage, they were hardly edible and stuck in your mouth and could have choked you if one didn't swallow lots of water. The only thing we could do was to stack them behind the box put in front of the bars where we got fresh air. Having forgotten about the biscuits for a few weeks, "Reiss" The Gypsy, tried them again and announced they were okay.
Probably the air and the draught at the bars had taken the badness of the mold out of them. It was like Mana from heaven to us, a miracle! For now, we had so many biscuits, this helped to alleviate our constant hunger,
a bit ....
One day, Maxwell suddenly left us, he was dragged out of the cell and after that we never saw him again, he wasn't released either ....
To be continued ...
Friday, 27 January 2012
Day 33 - To me it looked like a place of no escape!
"Everything was coming to an end, we were only a few left. One day "Discipline" took us to a corner of the kitchen. I could see that there was a way to get out, the walls were old like an ancient castle, at a slight angle, and roughly hewn and would be quite easy for someone like me to climb.
As I was studying the walls, I suddenly felt "Discipline's eyes on me and I felt like he was guessing my thoughts. He had a smile on his face, almost daring me to try. That plan would have been alright if I could get away from the inside and had sufficient time to climb unhindered, but with someone watching all the time it would be imposible.
Shortly after that incident a "Secherheitsdienst", security counter intelligence of the Gestapo came to see us to check our papers. We were also inspected as to our general condition and cleanliness, very much like army procedure. When he looked at my hand he said, "that is healed now you can go on transport".
"Discipline" was in charge of the inspection. He spoke to the prisoners very sternly and told them off if he found dirt or any crinkles, like a father figure. The protestant vicar we never so again but somehow I think he had a chat with the S.D. man about us. The vicar was a tall, dark eyed, silent type of a man moving in the mysterious way of mysticism that he portrayed. In contrast, the S.D. man looked silent and strict, mostly sharped face too, a nervous snappy man in movement and manner.
The S.D. man was a prototype of one of the teachers I had know who had turned traitor. To me inquisitors and turn coats seem to inherit the same look and ways of undertakers. Even their uniforms and signs symbolised the dark side of the regime. At the end of the inspection the only thing he said to us, in a shrill croaking executioners voice was, "You lot are due for transportation, first you go to Fort Du-Ha for preparation".
I didn't know whether this move was for better or worse. What I did know was going to transportation would get us out of the rut we were in now and maybe there would be another opportunity to jump or roll off the trains.
It also meant, that after Fort-Du-Ha we would still be alive and well. How much so, after that, was the question!
We departed the same way that we had come in, handcuffed from Caserene-Boudet annex to the old fort of Du-Ha. We were sent to the political section, we entered through a big ancient gate resembling the entrance of a fortress. We then came upon an enormously wide, ugly round tower in the centre, behind which was a square with buildings extending in all directions resembling an octopus.
To me that looked like a place of no escape .....
To be continued
As I was studying the walls, I suddenly felt "Discipline's eyes on me and I felt like he was guessing my thoughts. He had a smile on his face, almost daring me to try. That plan would have been alright if I could get away from the inside and had sufficient time to climb unhindered, but with someone watching all the time it would be imposible.
Shortly after that incident a "Secherheitsdienst", security counter intelligence of the Gestapo came to see us to check our papers. We were also inspected as to our general condition and cleanliness, very much like army procedure. When he looked at my hand he said, "that is healed now you can go on transport".
"Discipline" was in charge of the inspection. He spoke to the prisoners very sternly and told them off if he found dirt or any crinkles, like a father figure. The protestant vicar we never so again but somehow I think he had a chat with the S.D. man about us. The vicar was a tall, dark eyed, silent type of a man moving in the mysterious way of mysticism that he portrayed. In contrast, the S.D. man looked silent and strict, mostly sharped face too, a nervous snappy man in movement and manner.
The S.D. man was a prototype of one of the teachers I had know who had turned traitor. To me inquisitors and turn coats seem to inherit the same look and ways of undertakers. Even their uniforms and signs symbolised the dark side of the regime. At the end of the inspection the only thing he said to us, in a shrill croaking executioners voice was, "You lot are due for transportation, first you go to Fort Du-Ha for preparation".
I didn't know whether this move was for better or worse. What I did know was going to transportation would get us out of the rut we were in now and maybe there would be another opportunity to jump or roll off the trains.
It also meant, that after Fort-Du-Ha we would still be alive and well. How much so, after that, was the question!
We departed the same way that we had come in, handcuffed from Caserene-Boudet annex to the old fort of Du-Ha. We were sent to the political section, we entered through a big ancient gate resembling the entrance of a fortress. We then came upon an enormously wide, ugly round tower in the centre, behind which was a square with buildings extending in all directions resembling an octopus.
To me that looked like a place of no escape .....
To be continued
Day 32 - A tribute to Sophie Scholl
 |
| Source: National Post Vol 14 No. 78 Friday, January 27, 2012 Writer Tony Woolfson |
Thursday, 26 January 2012
Day 31 - Enlightenment!
"One day, in a little cell like room, I became covered all over with big scabs, like Job in the Bible story. Lacking in vitamins I suppose, or the food, I don't know! Maybe it was the fleas, lice and bug bites gone septic but it took its time to show up!
One night, I felt desperate and started meditating and was at the point of giving up when I came closer to God. I even felt ready to confess to any priest and ask forgiveness for sins I hadn't even committed!
We were given time off to see a German priest in the chapel across from our cells. Of course, we were closely guarded. A man in a German uniform gave us a sermon and some asked if he could do anything to help us, to which he responded, he would try. I am afraid the man could do nothing at all, it was out of his hands but he certainly tried.
Then in all this, my scabs fell off, in one night, by themselves and what a relief that was more divine than any priest or traditional taboo could have achieved for me.
Divine, I believe, because in all my efforts to prove it to myself and understand I realized that there was a force at work that stood above it all and everybody was bound to do his or her duty to it, according to his choice, "To Each his Own.................."
To be continued
One night, I felt desperate and started meditating and was at the point of giving up when I came closer to God. I even felt ready to confess to any priest and ask forgiveness for sins I hadn't even committed!
We were given time off to see a German priest in the chapel across from our cells. Of course, we were closely guarded. A man in a German uniform gave us a sermon and some asked if he could do anything to help us, to which he responded, he would try. I am afraid the man could do nothing at all, it was out of his hands but he certainly tried.
Then in all this, my scabs fell off, in one night, by themselves and what a relief that was more divine than any priest or traditional taboo could have achieved for me.
Divine, I believe, because in all my efforts to prove it to myself and understand I realized that there was a force at work that stood above it all and everybody was bound to do his or her duty to it, according to his choice, "To Each his Own.................."
To be continued
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)