Michaela

I sat in the common room in our flat as my daughter put her new Beatles album on the record player. She proudly displayed the album cover next to the phonograph. Rubber Soul was the title of the album. Every time Edith bought a new album, she always played for me. That was our little tradition. Ever since her mother died in the war, I promised myself that I would protect her. We were happy together living in London. Edith put the needle down on the record and we listened to the first side. The last song was the song that brought back many memories for me. I closed my eyes but quickly opened them when the singer sang in French. “Papa, what’s wrong?” Edith asked. I sat there mesmerized at the words. They were the words that I had said to her mother, the night we had Edith. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ I was a young war correspondent for the BBC in Czechoslovakia. I was stationed with the Red Army when I got separated from my convoy when the Germans attacked us. I had staggered into a small Czechoslovakian village where a girl who was about my age approached me. “Quickly, Germans coming!” she whispered in Slovak. She grabbed me by the arm and led me to her house. We dashed inside, the girl shut the door, and we hid in her root cellar, keeping the door slightly opened to know when the Germans were gone. We were in the cellar for about half an hour before they left. When it was safe, the girl led me out and back into the house. “Thank you,” I said in Slovak. “You’re welcome,” The girl responded in the same tongue. It was then that I got a good look at whom my rescuer was. She was a very beautiful girl with jet-black hair. She wore a purple skirt and a white blouse. She had a purple headscarf in her hair. She reminded me of Esmeralda from The Hunchback of Notre Dame . “It’s gonna take a bloody miracle to get me out of here,” I muttered. Hearing my voice, she recognized where I was from. “You English?” she asked. “Yes. I’m Daniel Williams. I’m a correspondent for the BBC. I got separated from my convoy when we came under fire from the Germans. “My name Michaela. I am gypsy,” she said in broken English. “My people hunted by the Germans.” “Good thing we have something in common,” I replied. I wondered where I was, but I decided to lay low until the Russians liberated the town. Not wanting to tip off the Krauts (or any spies in the townsfolk) of my English Nationality, I did away with my army clothes and exchanged them with clothes that were Michaela’s father had worn. (Her whole family had died in a German raid a year ago. These kinds of raids were common as the Krauts often came in here to round up the gypsies.) She had hidden in the woods from the patrols for several days until the Krauts had left. She was glad that I arrived in her town. She had needed a man in her life since her family died. Taking me by the arm, Michaela took me outside and led me outside. In the front yard was a large tree that fell into the left side of the yard. From the looks of things, the Germans had used it for target practice with their bazookas. From the looks of things Michaela had attempted to clean us up the tree herself. An axe rested next to the tree. Knowing what the good book said about work, so I rolled up my sleeves and began to chop away. Several times, looked back at Michaela who was sitting in the grass, sewing. She smiled at me when I looked at her. When the sun set Michaela called me in for dinner. Taking the axe with me I went inside where a found a meager but filling meal with me. There was silence for a few minutes, and then Michaela spoke: “Daniel, you say you come from England?” “Yes,” I replied. “I want to get out here. When the Germans occupied our lands, my father had planned for my family to escape to France. Then when Hitler ordered my kind arrested there was nothing we could do. We went into hiding several times, before a German tipped my family. I had hidden in the forest and after the Germans left, I found my family dead. I had no one for comfort and prayed for someone.” I slept on the story that Michaela had told me. Would I be killed by the Krauts? Several days later, as I was working on cutting up the tree and Michaela was going through beans looking for rocks, we heard the sounds of a Mercedes truck in the distance. Michaela darted in to the house. Seeing that something was wrong, I put down my axe and went into the house. I found Michaela crouched in the corner of the house, her head on her knees, and she was crying. I sat down next to her. “What’s wrong?” I asked, even though I knew what wrong. “It the Germans,” Michaela sobbed. “They come to take me away.” I took her by the hand and ran my fingers through her hair in order to calm her down. “Don’t worry, Michaela. I will protect you. I’ll get you back to London. You have my word.” I could see that the truck had stopped outside the house. There was a banging at the door and a man shouting: “Heraus!” We stood up and I opened the door, while Michaela clinged on to me in fear. They Germans were wearing black uniforms, which meant that they were Gestapo. “Who are you?” The commandant asked?” Thinking on my feet, I responded in Slovak: “I am Michaela’s husband. We married several days ago. It would be a shame to separate us now. Not in our time of bliss.” “Ah so you married this man. I’ve never seen him here before.” “He from another village. My father knew him well,” trembled Michaela. The commandant looked at us than huffed. “Hiel Hitler!” he exclaimed as he saluted. Then he and the men left. Me and Michaela went back into the house. After shutting the door we breathed a sigh of relief. Then Michaela fell in to my arms and I knew she was in love with me. A fortnight later, I went out to fish in the local stream. I caught several fish and went back home. Taking some potatoes from my pack, I cut them up with my pocketknife. With some oil and some cornmeal I cleaned and cooked the kipper. Then I cooked the potatoes in some oil. When Michaela tasted it she exclaimed: “This is the tastiest meal I’ve had in years. What is it?” “Fish and chips,” I replied. “It’s a staple dish in England.” “Have you found a way out of here?” “I was with a Russian combat unit when were ambushed. There was talk that the Russians would reclaim this area soon.” “I see,” Michaela Replied. There was silence. Then Michaela spoke. “Daniel, Thank you for protecting me from the Germans last week.” Before I could speak she continued. “Daniel, you are my protector. I know that you were sent to me. Daniel, will you marry me? “Michelle, ma belle, sont les mont qui von tres beien esambele. I love you,” I said. “I will marry you.” ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Nine months passed and I began to blend in with the townspeople. I married Michaela, who had become pregnant. She gave birth to a daughter, whom I named Edith. It was a joyous day. Joy would turn dark two days after she was born came the greatest tragedy of my life. I was out fishing when I heard the sound of a Mercedes Truck approaching the town. It could only mean one thing: The Germans were back. I knew they were searching for Michaela and her people and that Michaela was in great danger. I dropped my pole and ran back towards town. I crouched behind the house. A squad of Krauts had entered our house. I crouched behind some bushes facing the road. I couldn’t tell if she had Edith or not. I prayed that she didn’t. The Nazis forced her outside. The commandant taunted her, but she was silent. He tried to make advances at her, but she stood still. She uttered something in Slovak and spit on the commandant. The Krauts all wanted to execute her but the commandant held out his hand to stop them. He pulled his revolver and lead was injected in to her chest. Michaela fell to the ground. The Krauts all laughed and drove on. When they had left town, I rushed to Michaela’s side. I brought into the house and laid her in my arms. There was nothing I could do now to save her. “Daniel,” she said feebly. “Edith is in the root cellar. The Germans never found her.” “Come on darling,” I sobbed. “You can’t die now.” I don’t know why I said that. She grabbed hold of me and said: “I…. love…you…Daniel.” we shared our final kiss together. Then her body became lifeless. There was nothing I could do now. I cried for a while holding Michaela’s lifeless body in my arms. I opened the door to the root cellar and found Edith sound asleep. I brought her into the house and with the money Michaela and I had earned, bought her a coffin and a headstone. The funeral was a day later and there was sorrow throughout the town. Many of the families helped me get through this tough time. One of the women in the town nursed my little lark. She had known Michaela personally and to help take care of Edith lifted a small burden off my back. I was given food and other things. Several fathers offered me their daughter’s hand in marriage. But they were nothing like Michaela and I declined them all. For several weeks, Edith and I suffered through many air raids until one day the Russians liberated the town. I was overjoyed at the fact that help had come. Taking Edith, I went to the center of the town. The Russian commander was directing his troops and setting up base. “Excuse me sir, may I speak to the commander,” I said in Russian. “I am he.” He quickly realized who I was. “You are British. You are…” “Daniel Williams, BBC war correspondent and my daughter Edith. I was stranded here nine months ago,” I said. “I see, Mr. Tyler. I’m Captain Demitris Uspensky of the Third Soviet infantry. I’m guessing you would like to get back to London.” “Yes, please. I would like that very much.” “Well then, Mr. Williams, I’ll call a jeep to take you to Prague. You should be able to get a flight back to London. “Thank you very much, Captain,” I said as we shook hands. While Captain Uspensky called a jeep, I packed the little belongings we had. I grabbed my typewriter and Michaela’s Guitar along with some clothes Michaela had made for Edith. With my other belongings, some of Edith’s clothes and my fishing pole, I wrapped them in the skirt that Michaela had worn on the night we conceived Edith. With a look around the place we called home for several months and left for London. I still work for the BBC, but I do it from here in Britain. My daughter is now nineteen and is beautiful as her mother. We have lived a happy life together. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ “Dad, are you alright?” Edith asked me as the record finished playing on the first side. “Yes, Edith. I was just thinking of your mother. That song brought back many memories.” “Do you want to me to stop playing the record?” “Nah. I want to hear the other side.” As Edith went to flip to record, I got up. “Edith, there’s several garments in the chest at the foot of my bed. They were your mother’s. Now they’re yours. “Thank you dad.” She kissed me on the cheek and ran into my room. Several minutes later, Edith returned wearing Michaela’s red tasseled skirt, and one of her white blouses, she had taken the red headscarf and put in her hair, which she had brought down. She had put a flower in her hair and her feet were bare. I laughed and quickly flipped the record back to side one and played “Michelle” again. It took my daughter by the arm and we danced. “Dad, why did you laugh when I entered the room?” Edith asked. “You look just like your mother, Edith,” I replied.