On an ordinary Tuesday morning, the Harlow's café opened its doors to the public at eight o'clock, as it always did in the last fifteen years that it has been established at the corner of the Exeter street and Main Avenue. It was s sunny summer morning; people came and went as usual to the subway, walking down the streets, carrying their briefcases and coffees, talking on their cellphones, greeting colleagues at work, waiting for a cab or just waiting for the light change to green. It was completely normal, even for Kate who had woken up that day very late for work and forgotten her keys in her other jacket. Luckily, the landlady had another copy of the keys and Kate could come to her apartment after work, with any complication. It wasn't the first time that she had forgotten something but she was too worried about the result of her application form to the university that she could not think in anything else. In that paper was her destiny, her luck, her entire life…
She entered to the cafeteria 15 minutes late and her boss looked at her a bit angry, but he kept talking with some of the clients. Next to the counter was Sally, one of the waitress who was preparing a cappuccino for a woman who was waiting next to the counter with cakes and rolls. After being ready with her apron and a pony tail, she said hello to a new costumer, this time an old woman who couldn't decide between an espresso and a late. The Tv was on and the weather forecast was announced, next to a commercial and the new show advance about singers.
-How was Abigail's birthday?- asked Sally when they were preparing some coffees for the clients. The café was full of people was every week, most of them were watching the TV and other just talking about the last game of a famous NBA team. Kate remembered last night when after work she went to her brother's to celebrate the fourth birthday of one of her nieces- How old is she now?
- She's 4- answered Kate pouring water in the mugs- It was nice…like every single child's birthday with balloons, a cake and a lot of presents- she laughed, remembering her niece's face-We got so many things when we are kids… I missed that. Anyway, Kayla asked me to taking care of the girls this weekend, so I'll be carrying them.
- Are you going to be paid? - said Sally, when she gave the costumers one of the coffees.
-No- smiled Kate- We are family, you know how it works.
Both laughed. It wasn't going to be the first time that Kate would take care of her nieces, even though it wasn't something very hard, she wished to have doing something more that next Saturday. She never knew why her brother and her sister-in-law believed that she was really capable to taking care of her nieces, but apparently, Kate had a good relationship with kids, even though she wasn't the kids lover type.
-Oh my God!- said the old woman when she tasted the coffee. Her face, which one minute ago was happy, now seemed pale and terrified.
-What's wrong?-asked Kate immediately- Is it bad? Does it need more sugar?
The woman didn't say a word, looking above Kate's head, directly to the TV. Many people in the cafeteria started to look at the screen, trying to understand what was going on. Someone ask for turning up the TV and that was when Kate noticed that Sally was just pale as the old woman, looking at the screen.
-Oh my God- repeated the woman, horrified. Kate was petrified, not even understanding what was going on- Is that real? Oh my god…
-It seems that a plane has just crushed into one of the towers…-repeated the woman of the news and the image of a building, from which a huge cloud of smoke was taking up the screen. The images came from a helicopter which was flying, surrounding the high building and telling single detail of that event.
The first thing that Kate thought was in her family. She immediately left the coffees; and as many people did that morning, and took her cellphone and called his father. Luckily, the lines were still working at that hour but her father didn't pick up.
She wasn't really close to his brother but they had a good relationship. It was something natural that happens between brothers who had never have something in common; Mark was a typical guy who work for his family, owned a house and lived in the suburbs. He was good at school and got a scholarship for the university. But Kate was different; she was never very smart as her brother and forming a family wasn't exactly in the plans that she had for her future. Remembering that his brother worked near of the building, she called him.
Kate was the youngest of her family. Her mother died years ago and her father was still living in the suburbs, but she had lived in the center for a while after graduating for school. Her older brother, who was an executive in a travelling agency, was the second person she called that morning. The telephone lines appeared to the collapsed, but fortunately she hear the typical tones coming from the other line.
- Hello? Mark?- she said when someone appeared in the other line- Hi! It's me Kate… how are you?
- Kate?- his voice was a bit nervous, like impatient- Kate, can you hear me?
- Of course!- she smiled looking at what was happening in the screen- How are you? I tried to call dad, but the lines…
- Kate! Listen to me- tell her brother from the other line- Something happened, a plane crashed in the building and…
- I thought I was a lie!- she said surprised- I thought it was a movie… that's horrible
- Kate…- repeated her brother- I'm in the building… I'm in the tower!
Her heart stopped for a while. The images kept passing through the screen while the people where stand, just looking at them, covering their mouths with their hands. Mark said something at the phone, Kate was just looking the TV.
-Kate! Are you there?- repeated once- I need you to do something for me- he made a pause. She could hear the people talking from the other line, everything was confusing- We are going to evacuate the building but I need you to call Kayla.
-Where is she?- asked Kate.
-I've been calling her but she doesn't ask- said Mark, coughing- and Kate, please tell her I am alright and that we are leaving the building, okay?
She tried to call her sister-in-law for ten minutes but as he brother did, she had no answer. There were people on the street looking down where the center, where the two high towers were. Some were recording everything and some were just looking, while the sirens of the police, firefighters and ambulances kept ringing.
-Hello?- said Kate, with her cellphone near to his ear- Mark?
-Kate… - the voice was barely audible- Did you talk with Kayla? Was she alright?
- No, I couldn't- she answered. Her hand had started to shake, even though she wasn't very nervous there was something inside her which was telling her that something wasn't going right. Looking that building with all that smoke was overwhelming- Where are you? You have to come home with the girls…
-What happened? We don't even know what happened here- said Mark. His voice was faster as usual- Somebody said it was a fire or a bomb…
-It was a plane- tell her sister- You have to come home, Mark…
- It's too hot here- he said almost laughing- I'll try to be there at dinner.
-I'll keep calling here, okay? Don't worry. She'll be fine and you too- said Kate looking at those buildings. Mark said something from the other line but it wasn't understandable because of the noise. She kept calling her sister-in-law but she got any luck. Like most of the people, she kept looking what was on the screen of every single TV that morning and when the other plane hit the north tower, she knew that nothing would ever be the same.
Tuesday, January 22, 2013
Monday, January 21, 2013
The penitent soldier ❹
Erik Lenzer looked around trying to find some of the victims but it was impossible because of the gunshots that they all have in their faces. It wasn't the first time that he did something similar with the dead bodies and even if his fellows thought it was something very stupid, he'd keep looking. The war had taken away everything from the people who were dead and even for them; for Erik it was the third winter far away from his home, family and friends and he hadn't received a letter in months. He didn't exactly know what was going on in the rest of the country, especially in Bavaria where he was born, but what he really knew at that moment was that he and the rest of the German army had besieged a small town called Somme.
In the centre of the city there were only three houses which remained standing next to what it seemed too had been a square with a destroyed pool of stone. The rest of the street was full with rubble, old newspapers and some belongings of the people who had left.
Walking down the street, Lenzer saw a picture in middle of the tarmac next to an abandoned suitcase full with clothes, pictures and some pair of shoes. It had belonged to a family, which were in the picture that Erik took from the street. Two boys and one little girl with their parents smiling, in what it seemed was a familiar dinner. Would they still in Somme? Would they still even alive? Erik felt pity about them and left the photograph where he had found it, next to the suitcase. One of his partners looked at him, confused. Erik knew that he would never share that new feeling that the war had brought to him; when he was younger, some years ago when everything started, he thought that his country needed him for a good reason. But now, when years had passed and nothing but death and destruction had filled the streets and corners of every city and village that they visited, his pride for his country wasn't there anymore. Was he the only one who felt the same?
The squad kept walking into the city or, what remained of it. There were some old bodies lying next to a chapel. The smell was indescribable and Erik couldn't help looking at them. Their faces were eaten by rodents; their bodies were nothing but old clothing wet and dirty. There were two, maybe men. After ten minutes walking down the street, the German squad found what it seemed to be an old school in the middle of a field. Some chickens were running in the backyards next to a cow and a pig. The school was a big country house which had been alone since the war started and the gate was opened.
As soon as they registered the entire house and had found that was empty, the captain gave the order to settle there. They were almost 15 men, counting the people who were sick and wounded, desperate for water, food and rest. Immediately, the cooker started to do something with some of the vegetables that he luckily found in the garden and others were given orders to woodcutting, divide rooms and to be awaken at any possible enemy attack.
Erik went down the stairs, looking for a place where he could sleep. He hadn't slept in some days; the last battle was exhausting and many of his fellows died in action. Originally they were 50 men, young, with experiences with guns and some battles in their bodies. For Erik, it wasn't the first one. He had already fought in Poland, when allied came. Then, he was transferred to another battalion next to Paris and finally stayed came back to Poland, near to extermination camp where he spent almost three months. He was a man-made for battle; he was tall and had athletic body, he moved fast and was a perfect sniper. Even though his reputation in the German army was worthy of consideration, he never showed his register off. On his shoulder he had carry every day the regrets of killing people in a field, but as one of his partner said one night while they were hidden near to a bridge in Paris, it was him or the people behind the enemy line.
What he saw in that camp where people gone there to die, was even more tragic. Those three months were enough to change his mind and his appreciation about war; there was nothing that could prove that massive killing of people. But who was he to do exactly the same? At the end, he was just following orders for his superiors, being the marionette of somebody else who would never get his hands dirty.
One photograph of the school made him stop. There was a man, which seemed to be a priest, in the middle of the picture next to some women and around them, there were bunches of kids, students of that institution. Where they could be? Had the Nazis killed them too? Those innocent souls? He felts worse when he entered in one of the rooms. The bed was made, followed by a wardrobe and a desk in front of the window. Erik came closer to see through the glass, watching his fellows doing their job in the garden. He even laughed when the cow kicked one of the soldiers in his lower parts. Then, Erik focused his attention in a journal left over the desk, close to some papers and wrappers of sweets. Looking one of the papers and flicking through the pages of the journal, he realized that everything had belonged to a woman, maybe a teacher of that school who lived in that room. That thought made him chills and kept the papers and the book in the first drawer of the desk.
When he opened the wardrobe, several dresses and pairs of shoes appeared in front of his eyes. Surely, the German occupation caught the earlier inhabitants by surprise, barley having time to take the most important belongings. That person, that woman, had left everything there, even jewels in a little box hidden in among some shoe boxes.
-What are you doing, sir?-asked Cross, the youngest man in the squad. Erik was holding one of the dresses when the kid appeared, having a box in his hands. The box was full of children's clothing- Do you want to try that on?- he smiled, but Erik didn't. He took all the clothing of the wardrobe and left it in the box but, he kept the jewelry case, hidden in his pocket. Cross didn't even realized; he was more interest on asking things to his war hero than putting attention of what Lenzer was really doing.
At seven o clock they had dinner. The cook made a stew, sacrificing one of the chickens that they saw in the entering door some hours earlier. They were in the paradise! The large table was full with different salads made of tomatoes, lettuces and even eggplants. Every plate was full with potatoes and beans, some of them were still eating that tasty stew and some were just devouring everything. It was the first time in months that they eaten in a table, talking and telling stories of war and life, without any threaten.
Erik, who was sat next to the captain, was cutting a potato with the knife and drinking some water, while the rest were laughing about the story that one of the soldiers was telling, apparently when they were in Poland. Lenzer, as his friends, hadn't eaten a good meal in weeks but there was something in his stomach that couldn't leave him alone. He was absent of the conversation, eating like a machine, just filling up the spoon with more beans and cutting the chicken with the knife.
-It's your turn, Lenzer- said finally the soldier of the story. The rest of the people were still laughing- Tell us one story! You have many! - They clapped and hit the tables, smiling.
-No… you are way better than telling stories, Tillman- said Erik drinking water.
-But you are Erik Lenzer!- said Cross in the contrary border of the table. The men clapped and cheer him up. Even the captain told him to tell some of his stories.
-Well…- said Erik, trying to remember- There was a town near to Warsaw, I can't remember the name… but it was destroyed. There were people there who still alive, living in their houses but the entire city was destroyed. Nobody in his right mind would ever stay there- he made a pause, remembering exactly the moment when the battalion entered in one of the houses- There was a house, near to the centre of the city… a house like this. We knew we weren't the first in that town… some battle or something had happened before we went there…- he was young at that time, only 21 years old- What I found in the second floor was a bunch of corpuses… children.
-That's not a good story- said Tillman laughing- You have kill many people! Tell us something like a battle, when you killed some Americans or something…
- I am not proud of that- replied him looking at his partner- I've killed more than 50 men in this war… some of them were like you Tillman- said looking at that blonde man- Family parents with children waiting for them… or like you Cross- said looking at that young face in the table- Some of them were just kids who didn't even know what all this was.
-You need a drink-said the captain, laughing but Erik didn't. He filled his glass up with wine and tasted like poison when Erik drank it. He needed that, something to drown his sorrows- I want to propose a toast!- the captain stand up looking all his men- For our men who still in battle, fighting against the enemy and for our people who will finally see the results of this crusade- all raised their glasses, even Erik- And of course, I want to propose this toast to our one and unique Erik Lenzer!
-For Erik Lenzer! - Everyone drank from their glasses
-For Erik Lenzer and a thousand-year Reich! - repeated the captain. All of them toasted, included Lenzer.
Already past midnight when he was trying to get to sleep, Lenzer heard a noise coming from the first floor. The rest of the men were sleeping in the different bedrooms in the second floor and there was only one who remained in the first floor and Cross, making guard. Erik stood up and looked for his gun. The entire house was gloomy except for the first floor, where in the chimney the logs were consumed slowly. He tried to make any noise in the middle of the snoring of his partners and came to the first floor. Cross, like in other times, was asleep holding his riffle between his legs. Erik looked at him, nodding. How stupid could that kid be? Cross should never have been enlisted in the army, for his age, he would still be at school learning about mathematics and science instead of shooting people.
While he was feeling sorry for that boy, Lenzer heard again that noise. It was like when someone was slipping away, but where? He looked up to the ceiling but the noise wasn't coming from there. He searched in that it seemed used to work as a little library, but there was nothing strange there. Then, he went where the classrooms where, which were simple rooms with many tables and blackboards in it, but again he couldn't find the noise. He was giving up when he heard again the noise, but this time was clearer than ever.
The kitchen was large, with shelves and cupboards on each side. In the middle of the room, there was a table with pots, frying pans, some vegetables and the rest of the food they hadn't eaten that night. Next to the cooker there was a white furniture, which worked as a cupboard where stuffs like sugar, flour and canned food remained. A thud makes him almost jump when he put his ear near to the shelf. It just a mouse he said to himself, feeling like an idiot. A second thud made him change of opinion. What if…? He put both hands in the borders of the cupboard and tried to move it, but it was too heavy.
-What are you doing, sir? - The voice of Cross made him jump. Erik was still holding the cupboard, but it was impossible to move- Have you lost something?
-I… can't sleep-lied Erik, taking one of the tin which contained gherkins- Do you want some?
-You look… weird- declared Cross, rubbing his eyes.
-What do you mean? - asked Lenzer, trying to open the tin with a knife. The taste of that gherkin was horrible, even though he tried to swallow it.
- This morning you were looking that dress… and then when we're having dinner, you were talking…- started to say Cross- I don't understand… I thought you were proud … like me, like the rest of the team.
-And I am-replied Erik, lying- I am just a bit tired- he smiled offering a gherkin- Can I ask you a question, Cross?- The young man smiled, nodding happy holding his gun. It was the first time that the great soldier Lenzer paid attention in the insignificant Cross-How old are you?
- I'm 17, sir- replied the kid, proud- They take me to a training camp when I was 12.
- You still under age- Erik looked amazed.
-I know- Cross kept smiling- I was the best of my class… So, my superiors decided to send me to Paris…and then I joined to your squad, sir.
-Wouldn't you like to be in somewhere else, Cross? With your parents, maybe. Tell me about them- Lenzer had forgotten the strange noise for a minute, looking at that young soldier.
- My mom died when I was 8. I was left in an orphanage and I went to a Christian school- he made a pause- I never met my father. I don't have brothers… I have nothing to lose in this… that's why I joined! - Smiling again- and what about you, sir? Do you have family? Are you married?
Lenzer smiled. Many people in the army thought that Erik was older than he really was and maybe that he had a family back in Baviera, but not of that was true.
-No- Cross looked surprised- And my parents… I don't know if they still in the city or if they have gone. You see, I had some differences with my father about all this conflict…
-Was your father a traitor? - asked the young man, disgusted.
-He's more man who I could ever be- Erik smiled vaguely, remembering the face of his father- I was more like you, Cross. I used to believe in the national dream… - Cross felt proud- I was proud of join to the army and fight for Germany, but soon I realized that it didn't matter how many excuses I could make up, every time I was going to sleep my mind was asking me a reason why I was doing that- he made a pause. They could hear the crackle of the logs- I never understood why my father was so embarrassed of what he had done years ago, during the Great War… but now I do.
-What?-asked Cross, anxious.
-You'll find out soon, kid- said Lenzer after leaving the kitchen.
Cross went back to his place, sitting in an armchair in front of the principal door. Erik sat on the bed, trying to organize his thoughts. Remembering his father was very painful but in the last days, he had brought him back to present many times. He didn't know anything about their parents and had begun to believe that maybe they were dead. The possibility that they parents could be in a labor camp was even more horrible. Maybe, if they were lucky, they would be in other country like Switzerland or Denmark. The possibilities were infinite.
The reflection of his face in the mirror next to the closet reminded him of how much time had passed since he left home. The memories of that village were vague as their parent's faces. Many of the people he knew was then dead or disappeared and the majority of the men of his age were recruited in the army, just as he. Life had changed much in the last years and nothing was as he would ever expected.
When he was at school, he was a brilliant student and many of his teacher thought that Erik would go to college. He was a natural leader who used to believe in rights, equality and in the values of the society, but when all the propaganda about the new emergent savior of Germany appeared, everything in what he believed and strongly defended, was forgotten. He was blind by the national euphoria and he didn't even think it twice when the War began.
His parents begged him not to go to the war but it was impossible, he would never change his mind. The last memory of his parents was a day very early when a truck full of young soldiers appeared in the little village. He put his name and signature and was given a gun. His mother cried just like his father but Erik was mad with his parent, for not believing in the truly cause that he was fighting for.
The past blurred his vision. He lied back in the back, focusing in the ceiling trying to sleep and for an instance he remembered the small jewelry case that he put in his pocket that morning. He took out it, vacating the jewels in the sheets of the bed. There was a ring, two sparkling earrings and a necklace, but what called his attention was a simple choker made of gold. He took it in his hand, looking the small heart which had engraved a figure of pigeon in his front part. When he opened it, he found out a quote engraved. Reading carefully he could finally distinguished "Annie, life always offers you a second chance. It's called tomorrow''. Who was Annie? Would Annie have been the person to whom the necklace belonged? Where was she now? Was she at a concentration camp or was she abroad? While he was thinking about the dedicatory, he read the initials R.F.G and 1926, engraved in the back part of the necklace. That was the last thing he did that night before falling asleep in the bed, holding that strange piece of jewelry.
In the centre of the city there were only three houses which remained standing next to what it seemed too had been a square with a destroyed pool of stone. The rest of the street was full with rubble, old newspapers and some belongings of the people who had left.
Walking down the street, Lenzer saw a picture in middle of the tarmac next to an abandoned suitcase full with clothes, pictures and some pair of shoes. It had belonged to a family, which were in the picture that Erik took from the street. Two boys and one little girl with their parents smiling, in what it seemed was a familiar dinner. Would they still in Somme? Would they still even alive? Erik felt pity about them and left the photograph where he had found it, next to the suitcase. One of his partners looked at him, confused. Erik knew that he would never share that new feeling that the war had brought to him; when he was younger, some years ago when everything started, he thought that his country needed him for a good reason. But now, when years had passed and nothing but death and destruction had filled the streets and corners of every city and village that they visited, his pride for his country wasn't there anymore. Was he the only one who felt the same?
The squad kept walking into the city or, what remained of it. There were some old bodies lying next to a chapel. The smell was indescribable and Erik couldn't help looking at them. Their faces were eaten by rodents; their bodies were nothing but old clothing wet and dirty. There were two, maybe men. After ten minutes walking down the street, the German squad found what it seemed to be an old school in the middle of a field. Some chickens were running in the backyards next to a cow and a pig. The school was a big country house which had been alone since the war started and the gate was opened.
As soon as they registered the entire house and had found that was empty, the captain gave the order to settle there. They were almost 15 men, counting the people who were sick and wounded, desperate for water, food and rest. Immediately, the cooker started to do something with some of the vegetables that he luckily found in the garden and others were given orders to woodcutting, divide rooms and to be awaken at any possible enemy attack.
Erik went down the stairs, looking for a place where he could sleep. He hadn't slept in some days; the last battle was exhausting and many of his fellows died in action. Originally they were 50 men, young, with experiences with guns and some battles in their bodies. For Erik, it wasn't the first one. He had already fought in Poland, when allied came. Then, he was transferred to another battalion next to Paris and finally stayed came back to Poland, near to extermination camp where he spent almost three months. He was a man-made for battle; he was tall and had athletic body, he moved fast and was a perfect sniper. Even though his reputation in the German army was worthy of consideration, he never showed his register off. On his shoulder he had carry every day the regrets of killing people in a field, but as one of his partner said one night while they were hidden near to a bridge in Paris, it was him or the people behind the enemy line.
What he saw in that camp where people gone there to die, was even more tragic. Those three months were enough to change his mind and his appreciation about war; there was nothing that could prove that massive killing of people. But who was he to do exactly the same? At the end, he was just following orders for his superiors, being the marionette of somebody else who would never get his hands dirty.
One photograph of the school made him stop. There was a man, which seemed to be a priest, in the middle of the picture next to some women and around them, there were bunches of kids, students of that institution. Where they could be? Had the Nazis killed them too? Those innocent souls? He felts worse when he entered in one of the rooms. The bed was made, followed by a wardrobe and a desk in front of the window. Erik came closer to see through the glass, watching his fellows doing their job in the garden. He even laughed when the cow kicked one of the soldiers in his lower parts. Then, Erik focused his attention in a journal left over the desk, close to some papers and wrappers of sweets. Looking one of the papers and flicking through the pages of the journal, he realized that everything had belonged to a woman, maybe a teacher of that school who lived in that room. That thought made him chills and kept the papers and the book in the first drawer of the desk.
When he opened the wardrobe, several dresses and pairs of shoes appeared in front of his eyes. Surely, the German occupation caught the earlier inhabitants by surprise, barley having time to take the most important belongings. That person, that woman, had left everything there, even jewels in a little box hidden in among some shoe boxes.
-What are you doing, sir?-asked Cross, the youngest man in the squad. Erik was holding one of the dresses when the kid appeared, having a box in his hands. The box was full of children's clothing- Do you want to try that on?- he smiled, but Erik didn't. He took all the clothing of the wardrobe and left it in the box but, he kept the jewelry case, hidden in his pocket. Cross didn't even realized; he was more interest on asking things to his war hero than putting attention of what Lenzer was really doing.
At seven o clock they had dinner. The cook made a stew, sacrificing one of the chickens that they saw in the entering door some hours earlier. They were in the paradise! The large table was full with different salads made of tomatoes, lettuces and even eggplants. Every plate was full with potatoes and beans, some of them were still eating that tasty stew and some were just devouring everything. It was the first time in months that they eaten in a table, talking and telling stories of war and life, without any threaten.
Erik, who was sat next to the captain, was cutting a potato with the knife and drinking some water, while the rest were laughing about the story that one of the soldiers was telling, apparently when they were in Poland. Lenzer, as his friends, hadn't eaten a good meal in weeks but there was something in his stomach that couldn't leave him alone. He was absent of the conversation, eating like a machine, just filling up the spoon with more beans and cutting the chicken with the knife.
-It's your turn, Lenzer- said finally the soldier of the story. The rest of the people were still laughing- Tell us one story! You have many! - They clapped and hit the tables, smiling.
-No… you are way better than telling stories, Tillman- said Erik drinking water.
-But you are Erik Lenzer!- said Cross in the contrary border of the table. The men clapped and cheer him up. Even the captain told him to tell some of his stories.
-Well…- said Erik, trying to remember- There was a town near to Warsaw, I can't remember the name… but it was destroyed. There were people there who still alive, living in their houses but the entire city was destroyed. Nobody in his right mind would ever stay there- he made a pause, remembering exactly the moment when the battalion entered in one of the houses- There was a house, near to the centre of the city… a house like this. We knew we weren't the first in that town… some battle or something had happened before we went there…- he was young at that time, only 21 years old- What I found in the second floor was a bunch of corpuses… children.
-That's not a good story- said Tillman laughing- You have kill many people! Tell us something like a battle, when you killed some Americans or something…
- I am not proud of that- replied him looking at his partner- I've killed more than 50 men in this war… some of them were like you Tillman- said looking at that blonde man- Family parents with children waiting for them… or like you Cross- said looking at that young face in the table- Some of them were just kids who didn't even know what all this was.
-You need a drink-said the captain, laughing but Erik didn't. He filled his glass up with wine and tasted like poison when Erik drank it. He needed that, something to drown his sorrows- I want to propose a toast!- the captain stand up looking all his men- For our men who still in battle, fighting against the enemy and for our people who will finally see the results of this crusade- all raised their glasses, even Erik- And of course, I want to propose this toast to our one and unique Erik Lenzer!
-For Erik Lenzer! - Everyone drank from their glasses
-For Erik Lenzer and a thousand-year Reich! - repeated the captain. All of them toasted, included Lenzer.
Already past midnight when he was trying to get to sleep, Lenzer heard a noise coming from the first floor. The rest of the men were sleeping in the different bedrooms in the second floor and there was only one who remained in the first floor and Cross, making guard. Erik stood up and looked for his gun. The entire house was gloomy except for the first floor, where in the chimney the logs were consumed slowly. He tried to make any noise in the middle of the snoring of his partners and came to the first floor. Cross, like in other times, was asleep holding his riffle between his legs. Erik looked at him, nodding. How stupid could that kid be? Cross should never have been enlisted in the army, for his age, he would still be at school learning about mathematics and science instead of shooting people.
While he was feeling sorry for that boy, Lenzer heard again that noise. It was like when someone was slipping away, but where? He looked up to the ceiling but the noise wasn't coming from there. He searched in that it seemed used to work as a little library, but there was nothing strange there. Then, he went where the classrooms where, which were simple rooms with many tables and blackboards in it, but again he couldn't find the noise. He was giving up when he heard again the noise, but this time was clearer than ever.
The kitchen was large, with shelves and cupboards on each side. In the middle of the room, there was a table with pots, frying pans, some vegetables and the rest of the food they hadn't eaten that night. Next to the cooker there was a white furniture, which worked as a cupboard where stuffs like sugar, flour and canned food remained. A thud makes him almost jump when he put his ear near to the shelf. It just a mouse he said to himself, feeling like an idiot. A second thud made him change of opinion. What if…? He put both hands in the borders of the cupboard and tried to move it, but it was too heavy.
-What are you doing, sir? - The voice of Cross made him jump. Erik was still holding the cupboard, but it was impossible to move- Have you lost something?
-I… can't sleep-lied Erik, taking one of the tin which contained gherkins- Do you want some?
-You look… weird- declared Cross, rubbing his eyes.
-What do you mean? - asked Lenzer, trying to open the tin with a knife. The taste of that gherkin was horrible, even though he tried to swallow it.
- This morning you were looking that dress… and then when we're having dinner, you were talking…- started to say Cross- I don't understand… I thought you were proud … like me, like the rest of the team.
-And I am-replied Erik, lying- I am just a bit tired- he smiled offering a gherkin- Can I ask you a question, Cross?- The young man smiled, nodding happy holding his gun. It was the first time that the great soldier Lenzer paid attention in the insignificant Cross-How old are you?
- I'm 17, sir- replied the kid, proud- They take me to a training camp when I was 12.
- You still under age- Erik looked amazed.
-I know- Cross kept smiling- I was the best of my class… So, my superiors decided to send me to Paris…and then I joined to your squad, sir.
-Wouldn't you like to be in somewhere else, Cross? With your parents, maybe. Tell me about them- Lenzer had forgotten the strange noise for a minute, looking at that young soldier.
- My mom died when I was 8. I was left in an orphanage and I went to a Christian school- he made a pause- I never met my father. I don't have brothers… I have nothing to lose in this… that's why I joined! - Smiling again- and what about you, sir? Do you have family? Are you married?
Lenzer smiled. Many people in the army thought that Erik was older than he really was and maybe that he had a family back in Baviera, but not of that was true.
-No- Cross looked surprised- And my parents… I don't know if they still in the city or if they have gone. You see, I had some differences with my father about all this conflict…
-Was your father a traitor? - asked the young man, disgusted.
-He's more man who I could ever be- Erik smiled vaguely, remembering the face of his father- I was more like you, Cross. I used to believe in the national dream… - Cross felt proud- I was proud of join to the army and fight for Germany, but soon I realized that it didn't matter how many excuses I could make up, every time I was going to sleep my mind was asking me a reason why I was doing that- he made a pause. They could hear the crackle of the logs- I never understood why my father was so embarrassed of what he had done years ago, during the Great War… but now I do.
-What?-asked Cross, anxious.
-You'll find out soon, kid- said Lenzer after leaving the kitchen.
Cross went back to his place, sitting in an armchair in front of the principal door. Erik sat on the bed, trying to organize his thoughts. Remembering his father was very painful but in the last days, he had brought him back to present many times. He didn't know anything about their parents and had begun to believe that maybe they were dead. The possibility that they parents could be in a labor camp was even more horrible. Maybe, if they were lucky, they would be in other country like Switzerland or Denmark. The possibilities were infinite.
The reflection of his face in the mirror next to the closet reminded him of how much time had passed since he left home. The memories of that village were vague as their parent's faces. Many of the people he knew was then dead or disappeared and the majority of the men of his age were recruited in the army, just as he. Life had changed much in the last years and nothing was as he would ever expected.
When he was at school, he was a brilliant student and many of his teacher thought that Erik would go to college. He was a natural leader who used to believe in rights, equality and in the values of the society, but when all the propaganda about the new emergent savior of Germany appeared, everything in what he believed and strongly defended, was forgotten. He was blind by the national euphoria and he didn't even think it twice when the War began.
His parents begged him not to go to the war but it was impossible, he would never change his mind. The last memory of his parents was a day very early when a truck full of young soldiers appeared in the little village. He put his name and signature and was given a gun. His mother cried just like his father but Erik was mad with his parent, for not believing in the truly cause that he was fighting for.
The past blurred his vision. He lied back in the back, focusing in the ceiling trying to sleep and for an instance he remembered the small jewelry case that he put in his pocket that morning. He took out it, vacating the jewels in the sheets of the bed. There was a ring, two sparkling earrings and a necklace, but what called his attention was a simple choker made of gold. He took it in his hand, looking the small heart which had engraved a figure of pigeon in his front part. When he opened it, he found out a quote engraved. Reading carefully he could finally distinguished "Annie, life always offers you a second chance. It's called tomorrow''. Who was Annie? Would Annie have been the person to whom the necklace belonged? Where was she now? Was she at a concentration camp or was she abroad? While he was thinking about the dedicatory, he read the initials R.F.G and 1926, engraved in the back part of the necklace. That was the last thing he did that night before falling asleep in the bed, holding that strange piece of jewelry.
The old man ❸
There was a time when Michael used to spend all his days in a hospital, waiting for some news of his father's condition, but the old man never got better. It was unfair to see his father in that way; he was a man who worked his old life for his family and who became a widower at young age. He struggled to pay the rent every month, who went to work every morning no matter under what conditions and who gave everything to his children. And when all his kids were grown up, with grandchildren and life projects, his life was fading. It was at first a heart attack in the middle of a familiar dinner and before Christmas, he suffered another one. He was too weak and ill for being alone at home; that why his younger son came directly from the capital to see him, if that means taking coffee in the waiting room and watching TV sitting on the couch next to his bed.
For Michael taking care of his dad was nothing but a trouble. He had to give up to a job offer where the salary was way better and he was already missing the capital city. He was sure that his brothers and sisters didn't even care about that old man dying in the hospital, and even he wanted to go, there was something inside him that make him stay.
The TV was on and a journalist was reading the news of a tornado in Texas, a massacre in India and the winning soccer team of the late season. There was nothing better than that and his father, as usual, was sleeping like a dead. The first weeks that Michael spent in the hospital were even worst; his father had several problems with the blood pressure and a Wednesday he thought that he's father was going to die, but luckily the doctors could stabilized him. Since that day, his father looked as an old man of 80 years old waiting for his breath. He used to sleep more than in the evening and barely talked with his son. Sometimes he was breathing and sometimes it seemed like he was going to die, but his heart never gave up.
-Claire… Claire…- his voice was rough. Michael was falling asleep sitting in the sofa that he almost didn't listen to his father but he opened his eyes, he saw that pale wrinkled face and that vacuous blue eyes- Who the hell are you?
-Dad, it's me, Michael- said standing up, turning off the TV- How do you feel?
- Who is Michael? I don't have a son! - scream the old man. Everything was getting difficult with his father, especially when the old man started to ramble in his memory- What is this place!? Where I am!!?
-Calm down, dad- he pushed the bottom next to the bed and a red little light came on. In a few seconds, a nurse came in.
- Don't shush me! What the hell I am doing here?- the nurse tried to call him down, but it was impossible. He started to scream louder and louder until a doctor came in, putting him an injection.
After some minutes, the old man seemed to be calm. The doctor was reading his medical record while Michael was asking him questions about the condition of his father. The old man looked at them like a child boy, confused about what was happening. Their faces seemed familiar to him, but where have he seen them?
-I know you-said suddenly the old man. The other two looked at him, but the chances where vague. He started to laugh like someone had just tell a joke and pointed with his finger to the doctor- You' Robert Easton! You're the sergeant of the second battalion in Somme.
-Pardon me? - The doctor seemed now confused. Michael just laughed- I'm Doctor Ross…
-I'm not stupid! I knew you! We used to drink in the bar in France near to Paris… It was 1918 and we won the war and I never knew anything more about you- he said happy, like he was found his old friend- How is Dorothy? And why are you wearing that awful apron!?
-Dad this is doctor Ross- Michael said tired- I'm your son Michael, and you are in a hospital because you had two heart attacks in a month… you almost die.
-A son? Did I get married with Claire?- asked the old man, with hope. Michael couldn't answer; he didn't know who Claire was.
The doctor gave him some medicine which make the old man sleep. Michael had enough to call his brothers and sisters scattered throughout the country, telling them the new condition of his father. The Alzheimer was ever worst and the heart problems and sooner or later his father were going to kick the bucket. But none of his sibling showed enough interest to go. The delusions of that man weren't new in his family life: in one Christmas party he forgot to wear pants and he suddenly was acting like a young child, then he forgot to turn off the oven and the police came to his house because the neighbors saw that something was burning in the kitchen of the grandfather. One of the brothers of Michael tried to go on vacations with the old man but was nothing but a trouble, because he wanted to swim in the pool naked, as he supposed, once did in France during war.
Michael would never understood why his father, when he was mixing things with the past and the present, started to talk about the war in France in the late nineteen century. According to his birth certificate, his father was born in 1943, two years before the second war world began and more than twenty years before the first war world took place. Not even Michael's grandfather, who lived during those days, used to talk about a second battalion in Somme, France. All must have been tales from the old man.
-You look tired soldier; go home- said the old man to his son, while Michael was drinking another coffee.
-I can’t- said Michael sitting next to his bed- I have orders of the sergeant Easton and I must stay here- he lied, but at that point nothing was going to make his father happier.
-Have you seen a nurse called…?- he tried so hard to remind her name but it was impossible.
-Claire- whispered his son. The old man nodded with his head, asking where she was, but Michael didn’t know what to tell- She came back home- the eyes of his father clouded and did nothing but looking through the window. It seemed like he was going to cry- What’s wrong?
-She’s the love of my life- explained the old man, smiling- I knew it the first time I saw her at the hospital… it was a place like this, you know. There were a lot of injured and they needed help. My battalion was… we were only 6 at that hospital, it was a rough day and… I saw her- his father smiled while he remind what it seemed to be his past- I knew right at moment… she was my love.
-What happened next?- asked Michael, with a little of interest. The tales of his father went far beyond his imagination.
-I was transfer to another town… and I never saw her again- said the old man with pain- I still remember her face, her eyes and lips, her hair and her voice telling me that everything was going to be alright…- both were quiet for a minute and then the old man put his head on the pillow, looking at the ceiling- I’m tired… is that you Michael?
-Yes dad, it’s me- he said looking that old face. It was his father again, that former worker of the shoe factory- What happened?
-I'm tired- said the old man looking at him- I’m old
For Michael taking care of his dad was nothing but a trouble. He had to give up to a job offer where the salary was way better and he was already missing the capital city. He was sure that his brothers and sisters didn't even care about that old man dying in the hospital, and even he wanted to go, there was something inside him that make him stay.
The TV was on and a journalist was reading the news of a tornado in Texas, a massacre in India and the winning soccer team of the late season. There was nothing better than that and his father, as usual, was sleeping like a dead. The first weeks that Michael spent in the hospital were even worst; his father had several problems with the blood pressure and a Wednesday he thought that he's father was going to die, but luckily the doctors could stabilized him. Since that day, his father looked as an old man of 80 years old waiting for his breath. He used to sleep more than in the evening and barely talked with his son. Sometimes he was breathing and sometimes it seemed like he was going to die, but his heart never gave up.
-Claire… Claire…- his voice was rough. Michael was falling asleep sitting in the sofa that he almost didn't listen to his father but he opened his eyes, he saw that pale wrinkled face and that vacuous blue eyes- Who the hell are you?
-Dad, it's me, Michael- said standing up, turning off the TV- How do you feel?
- Who is Michael? I don't have a son! - scream the old man. Everything was getting difficult with his father, especially when the old man started to ramble in his memory- What is this place!? Where I am!!?
-Calm down, dad- he pushed the bottom next to the bed and a red little light came on. In a few seconds, a nurse came in.
- Don't shush me! What the hell I am doing here?- the nurse tried to call him down, but it was impossible. He started to scream louder and louder until a doctor came in, putting him an injection.
After some minutes, the old man seemed to be calm. The doctor was reading his medical record while Michael was asking him questions about the condition of his father. The old man looked at them like a child boy, confused about what was happening. Their faces seemed familiar to him, but where have he seen them?
-I know you-said suddenly the old man. The other two looked at him, but the chances where vague. He started to laugh like someone had just tell a joke and pointed with his finger to the doctor- You' Robert Easton! You're the sergeant of the second battalion in Somme.
-Pardon me? - The doctor seemed now confused. Michael just laughed- I'm Doctor Ross…
-I'm not stupid! I knew you! We used to drink in the bar in France near to Paris… It was 1918 and we won the war and I never knew anything more about you- he said happy, like he was found his old friend- How is Dorothy? And why are you wearing that awful apron!?
-Dad this is doctor Ross- Michael said tired- I'm your son Michael, and you are in a hospital because you had two heart attacks in a month… you almost die.
-A son? Did I get married with Claire?- asked the old man, with hope. Michael couldn't answer; he didn't know who Claire was.
The doctor gave him some medicine which make the old man sleep. Michael had enough to call his brothers and sisters scattered throughout the country, telling them the new condition of his father. The Alzheimer was ever worst and the heart problems and sooner or later his father were going to kick the bucket. But none of his sibling showed enough interest to go. The delusions of that man weren't new in his family life: in one Christmas party he forgot to wear pants and he suddenly was acting like a young child, then he forgot to turn off the oven and the police came to his house because the neighbors saw that something was burning in the kitchen of the grandfather. One of the brothers of Michael tried to go on vacations with the old man but was nothing but a trouble, because he wanted to swim in the pool naked, as he supposed, once did in France during war.
Michael would never understood why his father, when he was mixing things with the past and the present, started to talk about the war in France in the late nineteen century. According to his birth certificate, his father was born in 1943, two years before the second war world began and more than twenty years before the first war world took place. Not even Michael's grandfather, who lived during those days, used to talk about a second battalion in Somme, France. All must have been tales from the old man.
-You look tired soldier; go home- said the old man to his son, while Michael was drinking another coffee.
-I can’t- said Michael sitting next to his bed- I have orders of the sergeant Easton and I must stay here- he lied, but at that point nothing was going to make his father happier.
-Have you seen a nurse called…?- he tried so hard to remind her name but it was impossible.
-Claire- whispered his son. The old man nodded with his head, asking where she was, but Michael didn’t know what to tell- She came back home- the eyes of his father clouded and did nothing but looking through the window. It seemed like he was going to cry- What’s wrong?
-She’s the love of my life- explained the old man, smiling- I knew it the first time I saw her at the hospital… it was a place like this, you know. There were a lot of injured and they needed help. My battalion was… we were only 6 at that hospital, it was a rough day and… I saw her- his father smiled while he remind what it seemed to be his past- I knew right at moment… she was my love.
-What happened next?- asked Michael, with a little of interest. The tales of his father went far beyond his imagination.
-I was transfer to another town… and I never saw her again- said the old man with pain- I still remember her face, her eyes and lips, her hair and her voice telling me that everything was going to be alright…- both were quiet for a minute and then the old man put his head on the pillow, looking at the ceiling- I’m tired… is that you Michael?
-Yes dad, it’s me- he said looking that old face. It was his father again, that former worker of the shoe factory- What happened?
-I'm tired- said the old man looking at him- I’m old
The Victorian psychologist ❷
Professor Sidgwick stood in the middle of a warm round of applause, in front of the crowd of scholars, colleagues, reporters and students of the university. The man, who had spent half of his life working parallel at the Psychology Department at Oxford University and with his own investigation in the field of parapsychology, was stepping up to the stage with the help of a wooden stick, thanking the applause and interest of people in his work. He looked at the crowd and recognized his students and some of the other professors at the university, but the rest where all journalists interest on the new publication of the old physiologist. Sidgwick knew that this new book would carry out consequences in his own person and work, especially by the gentlemen in the front row, who continually doubting and judging his research, but at the end of the day, that was the critics' work.
-Thank you, thank you- said Sidgwick smiling politely, leaving his stick behind the podium and then he putting his hand into the pocket of his jacket, taking out his thick black glasses and a folded piece of paper, where he had written the night before his notes for that presentation. One of the photographers took a picture in that specific moment while the public was still looking at Sidgwick; waiting for the speech- I'm glad to see you all here. First of all, I would like to thank dean Collinwood, who make this possible, giving me the support for the my recent book publication...
A bald man was sitting in the first line and moved his head when the professor Sidgwick mentioned his name. After thanking the rest of the public and editors, he started to talk about the reason and aims why he wrote the book. As expected, many of the people frowned at the same time when he explained the parapsychology branch, about the aspects of apparitional experiences, precognition, near death experiences and reincarnation instead of talking about his new book, where he tried to explained the possible stages of sleep.
-This is our first effort as association trying to organize the material and research of the many scholars and scientists who had develop an enormous investigation on the paranormal phenomena field- the incredulous faces watching him as he were uttering pure nonsense, including the dean Collinwood, who really thought this presentation was about sleep instead of paranormal events- In this book you will find the many testimonies of people who experienced this phenomena and who were studied by myself and some of my closest colleagues in the Society of psychical research. All written here is nothing but the truth.
Some of the reporters were encoureged, raising his hands to ask about the book. Collinwood, in the other hand, was furious. Sidgwick saw the interest of the people on such mysterious matters of study at young age, when we were studying at a catholic school and where he couldn't find more answer but the Holy Bible. Since that age, he realized that beyond the science and the religious explanation that life could have, there was something more that he wanted to figure out. His firsts studies on the paranormal phenomena field were developed in the early years of education in the privileged university, where he taught in those days. But not many of his colleagues saw a prosperous future in that pseudo science and often called him a lunatic. Crazy or not, Sidgwick was really sure that the debate between what science could really prove and what it couldn't, would never stopped.
Professor Sidgwick, do you believe that there is life after death? - One of the reporters asked.
- Well, I think that there is something more than nothing- said the professor smiling. The face of the reporter was full of questions as the rest of the faces in the crowd.
- So, you don't believe in God- declare another man in the crowd. Murmurs arose when Sidgwick remember his first meet with a woman, who claimed to have lived during the Georgian era.
Some years ago I visited an old friend in Glasgow, while I was taking vacations with my wife- he remembered the time when he and his wife reached a small town named Luss. They were visiting some relatives when the rumors of a woman, who continuously had episodes of hallucination and images of people who she seemed to never known, arose the interest of the young psychologist- Her name was Marie Ferguson and she was the daughter of a farmer who used to work for my wife's family. I barely knew things that my wife told me about Marie, but I didn't knew what to expect- he remembered the first day she told him what she saw in her dreams- Since she was a child, Marie used to tell to his parents that they weren't her real parents, that she had another life far away from that little town in Glasgow.
- But there could be many explanations for that- said a man sited next to the dean Collinwood.
- In the many sessions we had together, she strongly believed that she actually had another life, very different from the life in Glasgow. With every detail she gave a name, an age, a direction and a story about what was her destiny in that life- the faces were still remained inscrutable to the words of the professor- Her name had been Elizabeth Henley, she had all his life in Derby. She got married with a man named John and had two children.
Among the public, there was a young student who took classes with Collinwood but who was more interest in the new field that Sidgwick was developing. His name was Jonathan Lloyd, a student who spent part of that semester studying the new theories that Sidgwick and his workmates had proposed during those ages. Even though he wasn't going to dedicate his all life and career to understand the sense of that area, he was truly and deeply interest on that topic.
-I went to Derby and found the little town where she claimed to have lived- continued to say the professor while Jonathan was listening- but I didn't find the house. Instead of it, there was a public school founded in 1820, several years after Elizabeth lived there. I talked with the director and he told me that the school was a house of a man named Henley but after his death, the house remained empty, becoming part of the Catholic Church, which years later, established a school there- he smiled- So I had the name Henley which was the same last name that Marie gave me in Glasgow but who was Elizabeth Henley? Did she really live there? Was that house hers? Or was all invented by this woman?- All the people was silent, listening to the story of that old man- There weren't many people with the Henley name; just a few who lived in the city but none of them knew something about John or Elizabeth Henley.
-She was lying- one of the colleagues of Sidgwick looked upset, sitting idly by- She was inventing everything. Maybe she heard the name in other place or she knew a woman named Elizabeth Henley, but nothing it's true.
-That's what I thought- said sincerely the man- But I knew that Elizabeth Henley wasn't alive so there was another place where I could find my answers.
-The graveyard- Jonathan's voice seemed to fill the air. The professor smiled, nodding as the crowd turned his head to watch the young student- Did you found her there?
-God Christ- whisper the dean Collinwood looking at his student- You can´t believe this is true! These are all tales… a life after this? We are serious persons… how can you believe in something like that?
-But there is a possibility, dean Collinwood- said Jonathan while the reporters started to take him photographs and taking notes about the discussion- Was she there?
-She was lying- one of the colleagues of Sidgwick looked upset, sitting idly by- She was inventing everything. Maybe she heard the name in other place or she knew a woman named Elizabeth Henley, but nothing it's true.
-That's what I thought- said sincerely the man- But I knew that Elizabeth Henley wasn't alive so there was another place where I could find my answers.
-The graveyard- Jonathan's voice seemed to fill the air. The professor smiled, nodding as the crowd turned his head to watch the young student- Did you found her there?
-God Christ- whisper the dean Collinwood looking at his student- You can´t believe this is true! These are all tales… a life after this? We are serious persons… how can you believe in something like that?
-But there is a possibility, dean Collinwood- said Jonathan while the reporters started to take him photographs and taking notes about the discussion- Was she there?
Sidgwick was silent looking at the two men who started to discuss about the veracity of that science. During all his life, he found people like Collinwood, people who couldn't believe in something so extraordinary like that. But what cached the attention of the old professor was the interest of that young man. That was the only reason why he stayed in front of that people who started to call him layer and crazy.
- There is a cemetery near to Derby, close to the road. I was a bit sad because I couldn't find more about the Henley family in my short journey and I became skeptic about the story that Marie told me in Luss- he reminded catching the first glimpses of the old cemetery at one side of the road where his carriage was going.
He asked the coachman to stop and for help with finding a deceased aunt, who had died some years ago. They were alone in that cemetery. It was a cloudy morning of April and you could tell that no one had visited that place in at least a decade. He read the name of every single man, woman and child engraved in the headstones and it wasn't until an hour later, when the driver shouted excitedly Sidgwick' s name.
-I've found her! I've found her- repeated the coachman, waving his arms. Sidgwick, which in those days could still run like a young man, went immediately where the man was, looking at an old and eroded tomb. The dead branches and grass that hadn't been cut in years could hardly show the names and Sidgwick had to clean the plate with his handkerchief to see it properly. But there was no doubt- You see? This is your aunt… but she was very old… maybe it was your grandmother's sister or something…
-I can't believe it- said Sidgwick smiling. The name of the family was Henley and there were to people buried there. The first one was a named Robert Henley, born in 1725. And the second was a woman, named Anna Parker Henley, his wife born in 1732 and dead in 1778. According to Marie's story, his life wasn't long- She was 46 years old when she died. That's more than one hundred years ago! This is amazing- he said to the coachman.
-But the names were wrong- said another professor of the university while Sidwick was remembering his journey to Derby- It was another person! It doesn't mean it was the same…
-That's a load of rubbish!- scream another member of the crowd. People started to leave their seats while the press still taking photographs of the professor and tried to had an interview, making question to the dean Collinwood, who looked very upset.
-I can't believe you have done this to me, Thomas- said Collinwood to his old fellow. But Sidgwick seemed serene and tranquil, looking how the people were reacting with his story. He knew what was going to happened but he didn't even felt bad- You won't teach again in these classrooms, did you hear me?
-We both know my friend- said Sidgwick with his normal tone of voice- That people reacts in different ways against the unknown. And I am not interest in teaching people who don't really care about the possibilities or maybe, about the truth.
-You're mad- that's the last thing Collinwood said after leaving the auditorium of the university, followed by the press and his other colleagues, clearly ashamed of Thomas speech.
There were only empty chairs and many leaflets scattered around the floor with the name of the new book and a brief description of the topic of the presentation. Jonathan helped the old psychologist to get off the stage and Sidgwick stood straight with his cane, stretching a hand to the young student.
- Thomas Sidgwick said the old man holding the hand of the young man. Jonathan seemed nervous.
- I'm Jonathan Lloyd- he said- I study here at Oxford and take classes with professor Collinwood. I just wanted to say that this book- he reached something in his jacket and pulled out a copy of the new book that Sidgwick had written and for which the presentation had been made- It's a good book but… are you sure that all is fiction? That our minds are available to create something with any kind of help when we are sleeping, including episodes like a life or people we have never met?
- What do you think? - Sidwick looked at him smiling. Jonathan looked at the book and it couldn't find any kind of explanation.
- Maybe I am crazy but I think this is happening to me too- said finally Jonathan. Sidwick patted his shoulder-I've been trying to find logical answer why I see things I can't explain. People are always talking about death, about what happens after it and nobody knows it. They believe and trust that God has and knows our destiny, according what the Bible says, we can go to hell or heaven, right?
- According to Christians, yes-said the professor looking at the student.
- But what if…- the professor knew what Jonathan wanted to said, but also knew that saying something like that it was like feeling crazy- what if there more than this… more than this life and when we die, we go to somewhere else- Jonathan laughed, feeling myself stupid- You may think I'm stupid…
- According to Christians, yes-said the professor looking at the student.
- But what if…- the professor knew what Jonathan wanted to said, but also knew that saying something like that it was like feeling crazy- what if there more than this… more than this life and when we die, we go to somewhere else- Jonathan laughed, feeling myself stupid- You may think I'm stupid…
- Not at all- said the professor putting looking at the door where a coachman was waiting for him- Have you hear about the Parapsychology? - Jonathan gave a nod- So you are familiar with the study of paranormal phenomena that can't be explained by science.
- But that's not very reliable- said Jonathan- Something we don't see, something we don't really know… how can we explained that?
- How can you explain love? Or existence of a superior being? Or if we humans have souls? - Jonathan couldn't say anything else. The coachman help the old professor to get on the carriage- There are many things young man that we can't explain but they are there, outside and we can see them or feel them, or maybe even dream about them- the coachman was ready to go, holding the reins of the horses.
- What happened to Marie Ferguson? - asked Jonathan looking at carriage- Did you tell her the truth?
- She didn't need it- said the professor- She believed that, she felt that as her own life and no matter what I tell, nothing was going to change her mind- he bowed with the hat- If you ask me, I think there were too many matches… but like Collinwood once said to me, it's too good to be true- he smiled again- Good afternoon, Mr. Lloyd.
-Thank you, thank you- said Sidgwick smiling politely, leaving his stick behind the podium and then he putting his hand into the pocket of his jacket, taking out his thick black glasses and a folded piece of paper, where he had written the night before his notes for that presentation. One of the photographers took a picture in that specific moment while the public was still looking at Sidgwick; waiting for the speech- I'm glad to see you all here. First of all, I would like to thank dean Collinwood, who make this possible, giving me the support for the my recent book publication...
A bald man was sitting in the first line and moved his head when the professor Sidgwick mentioned his name. After thanking the rest of the public and editors, he started to talk about the reason and aims why he wrote the book. As expected, many of the people frowned at the same time when he explained the parapsychology branch, about the aspects of apparitional experiences, precognition, near death experiences and reincarnation instead of talking about his new book, where he tried to explained the possible stages of sleep.
-This is our first effort as association trying to organize the material and research of the many scholars and scientists who had develop an enormous investigation on the paranormal phenomena field- the incredulous faces watching him as he were uttering pure nonsense, including the dean Collinwood, who really thought this presentation was about sleep instead of paranormal events- In this book you will find the many testimonies of people who experienced this phenomena and who were studied by myself and some of my closest colleagues in the Society of psychical research. All written here is nothing but the truth.
Some of the reporters were encoureged, raising his hands to ask about the book. Collinwood, in the other hand, was furious. Sidgwick saw the interest of the people on such mysterious matters of study at young age, when we were studying at a catholic school and where he couldn't find more answer but the Holy Bible. Since that age, he realized that beyond the science and the religious explanation that life could have, there was something more that he wanted to figure out. His firsts studies on the paranormal phenomena field were developed in the early years of education in the privileged university, where he taught in those days. But not many of his colleagues saw a prosperous future in that pseudo science and often called him a lunatic. Crazy or not, Sidgwick was really sure that the debate between what science could really prove and what it couldn't, would never stopped.
Professor Sidgwick, do you believe that there is life after death? - One of the reporters asked.
- Well, I think that there is something more than nothing- said the professor smiling. The face of the reporter was full of questions as the rest of the faces in the crowd.
- So, you don't believe in God- declare another man in the crowd. Murmurs arose when Sidgwick remember his first meet with a woman, who claimed to have lived during the Georgian era.
Some years ago I visited an old friend in Glasgow, while I was taking vacations with my wife- he remembered the time when he and his wife reached a small town named Luss. They were visiting some relatives when the rumors of a woman, who continuously had episodes of hallucination and images of people who she seemed to never known, arose the interest of the young psychologist- Her name was Marie Ferguson and she was the daughter of a farmer who used to work for my wife's family. I barely knew things that my wife told me about Marie, but I didn't knew what to expect- he remembered the first day she told him what she saw in her dreams- Since she was a child, Marie used to tell to his parents that they weren't her real parents, that she had another life far away from that little town in Glasgow.
- But there could be many explanations for that- said a man sited next to the dean Collinwood.
- In the many sessions we had together, she strongly believed that she actually had another life, very different from the life in Glasgow. With every detail she gave a name, an age, a direction and a story about what was her destiny in that life- the faces were still remained inscrutable to the words of the professor- Her name had been Elizabeth Henley, she had all his life in Derby. She got married with a man named John and had two children.
Among the public, there was a young student who took classes with Collinwood but who was more interest in the new field that Sidgwick was developing. His name was Jonathan Lloyd, a student who spent part of that semester studying the new theories that Sidgwick and his workmates had proposed during those ages. Even though he wasn't going to dedicate his all life and career to understand the sense of that area, he was truly and deeply interest on that topic.
-I went to Derby and found the little town where she claimed to have lived- continued to say the professor while Jonathan was listening- but I didn't find the house. Instead of it, there was a public school founded in 1820, several years after Elizabeth lived there. I talked with the director and he told me that the school was a house of a man named Henley but after his death, the house remained empty, becoming part of the Catholic Church, which years later, established a school there- he smiled- So I had the name Henley which was the same last name that Marie gave me in Glasgow but who was Elizabeth Henley? Did she really live there? Was that house hers? Or was all invented by this woman?- All the people was silent, listening to the story of that old man- There weren't many people with the Henley name; just a few who lived in the city but none of them knew something about John or Elizabeth Henley.
-She was lying- one of the colleagues of Sidgwick looked upset, sitting idly by- She was inventing everything. Maybe she heard the name in other place or she knew a woman named Elizabeth Henley, but nothing it's true.
-That's what I thought- said sincerely the man- But I knew that Elizabeth Henley wasn't alive so there was another place where I could find my answers.
-The graveyard- Jonathan's voice seemed to fill the air. The professor smiled, nodding as the crowd turned his head to watch the young student- Did you found her there?
-God Christ- whisper the dean Collinwood looking at his student- You can´t believe this is true! These are all tales… a life after this? We are serious persons… how can you believe in something like that?
-But there is a possibility, dean Collinwood- said Jonathan while the reporters started to take him photographs and taking notes about the discussion- Was she there?
-She was lying- one of the colleagues of Sidgwick looked upset, sitting idly by- She was inventing everything. Maybe she heard the name in other place or she knew a woman named Elizabeth Henley, but nothing it's true.
-That's what I thought- said sincerely the man- But I knew that Elizabeth Henley wasn't alive so there was another place where I could find my answers.
-The graveyard- Jonathan's voice seemed to fill the air. The professor smiled, nodding as the crowd turned his head to watch the young student- Did you found her there?
-God Christ- whisper the dean Collinwood looking at his student- You can´t believe this is true! These are all tales… a life after this? We are serious persons… how can you believe in something like that?
-But there is a possibility, dean Collinwood- said Jonathan while the reporters started to take him photographs and taking notes about the discussion- Was she there?
Sidgwick was silent looking at the two men who started to discuss about the veracity of that science. During all his life, he found people like Collinwood, people who couldn't believe in something so extraordinary like that. But what cached the attention of the old professor was the interest of that young man. That was the only reason why he stayed in front of that people who started to call him layer and crazy.
- There is a cemetery near to Derby, close to the road. I was a bit sad because I couldn't find more about the Henley family in my short journey and I became skeptic about the story that Marie told me in Luss- he reminded catching the first glimpses of the old cemetery at one side of the road where his carriage was going.
He asked the coachman to stop and for help with finding a deceased aunt, who had died some years ago. They were alone in that cemetery. It was a cloudy morning of April and you could tell that no one had visited that place in at least a decade. He read the name of every single man, woman and child engraved in the headstones and it wasn't until an hour later, when the driver shouted excitedly Sidgwick' s name.
-I've found her! I've found her- repeated the coachman, waving his arms. Sidgwick, which in those days could still run like a young man, went immediately where the man was, looking at an old and eroded tomb. The dead branches and grass that hadn't been cut in years could hardly show the names and Sidgwick had to clean the plate with his handkerchief to see it properly. But there was no doubt- You see? This is your aunt… but she was very old… maybe it was your grandmother's sister or something…
-I can't believe it- said Sidgwick smiling. The name of the family was Henley and there were to people buried there. The first one was a named Robert Henley, born in 1725. And the second was a woman, named Anna Parker Henley, his wife born in 1732 and dead in 1778. According to Marie's story, his life wasn't long- She was 46 years old when she died. That's more than one hundred years ago! This is amazing- he said to the coachman.
-But the names were wrong- said another professor of the university while Sidwick was remembering his journey to Derby- It was another person! It doesn't mean it was the same…
-That's a load of rubbish!- scream another member of the crowd. People started to leave their seats while the press still taking photographs of the professor and tried to had an interview, making question to the dean Collinwood, who looked very upset.
-I can't believe you have done this to me, Thomas- said Collinwood to his old fellow. But Sidgwick seemed serene and tranquil, looking how the people were reacting with his story. He knew what was going to happened but he didn't even felt bad- You won't teach again in these classrooms, did you hear me?
-We both know my friend- said Sidgwick with his normal tone of voice- That people reacts in different ways against the unknown. And I am not interest in teaching people who don't really care about the possibilities or maybe, about the truth.
-You're mad- that's the last thing Collinwood said after leaving the auditorium of the university, followed by the press and his other colleagues, clearly ashamed of Thomas speech.
There were only empty chairs and many leaflets scattered around the floor with the name of the new book and a brief description of the topic of the presentation. Jonathan helped the old psychologist to get off the stage and Sidgwick stood straight with his cane, stretching a hand to the young student.
- Thomas Sidgwick said the old man holding the hand of the young man. Jonathan seemed nervous.
- I'm Jonathan Lloyd- he said- I study here at Oxford and take classes with professor Collinwood. I just wanted to say that this book- he reached something in his jacket and pulled out a copy of the new book that Sidgwick had written and for which the presentation had been made- It's a good book but… are you sure that all is fiction? That our minds are available to create something with any kind of help when we are sleeping, including episodes like a life or people we have never met?
- What do you think? - Sidwick looked at him smiling. Jonathan looked at the book and it couldn't find any kind of explanation.
- Maybe I am crazy but I think this is happening to me too- said finally Jonathan. Sidwick patted his shoulder-I've been trying to find logical answer why I see things I can't explain. People are always talking about death, about what happens after it and nobody knows it. They believe and trust that God has and knows our destiny, according what the Bible says, we can go to hell or heaven, right?
- According to Christians, yes-said the professor looking at the student.
- But what if…- the professor knew what Jonathan wanted to said, but also knew that saying something like that it was like feeling crazy- what if there more than this… more than this life and when we die, we go to somewhere else- Jonathan laughed, feeling myself stupid- You may think I'm stupid…
- According to Christians, yes-said the professor looking at the student.
- But what if…- the professor knew what Jonathan wanted to said, but also knew that saying something like that it was like feeling crazy- what if there more than this… more than this life and when we die, we go to somewhere else- Jonathan laughed, feeling myself stupid- You may think I'm stupid…
- Not at all- said the professor putting looking at the door where a coachman was waiting for him- Have you hear about the Parapsychology? - Jonathan gave a nod- So you are familiar with the study of paranormal phenomena that can't be explained by science.
- But that's not very reliable- said Jonathan- Something we don't see, something we don't really know… how can we explained that?
- How can you explain love? Or existence of a superior being? Or if we humans have souls? - Jonathan couldn't say anything else. The coachman help the old professor to get on the carriage- There are many things young man that we can't explain but they are there, outside and we can see them or feel them, or maybe even dream about them- the coachman was ready to go, holding the reins of the horses.
- What happened to Marie Ferguson? - asked Jonathan looking at carriage- Did you tell her the truth?
- She didn't need it- said the professor- She believed that, she felt that as her own life and no matter what I tell, nothing was going to change her mind- he bowed with the hat- If you ask me, I think there were too many matches… but like Collinwood once said to me, it's too good to be true- he smiled again- Good afternoon, Mr. Lloyd.
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