Good luck homing pigeon

Chapter thirty four: we're home

Three months later

We all knew going home wouldn't be easy. As soon as we stepped into that train, clean, new clothes on our bodies, I felt the same feeling I'd felt when we first walked the blood-tainted soils. Uncertainty. What was going to happen to us, as soon as we were back in Paris? Could we possibly have some sort of refuge when our houses had been taken away? Jobs lost, money non-existent? All I knew was that out of thousands of us who arrived here from France, only a few were actually returning. It tore at me inside to know that amongst those who weren't going back could've been family, friends.

Nick didn't come to France with us. We asked him, through Andre, if he had anywhere else to go. If he wanted to accompany us to our country, learn how to live as a French-man. Each time, he'd said no. He'd explained to Andre, with a look that begged forgiveness, that Poland was all he ever knew. It was where his mother raised him, where his sister was  born, and where his only, happy memories took place. We tried-we tried to reason that there was nothing left for him in this place. But I suppose we couldn't blame Nick for wanting to stay. He had nothing, no one. And if he left the country he grew up in, he'd have even less. How was that fair? He'd turned his back to the suffering, the pain. But so would many of the others if they were given such a chance. And as I looked back on his face, through the glass of the train window, I could only hope for him. Hope that one day, he'd find some sort of salvation.

The train had stopped many times before we'd actually reached Paris. All those times, we were allowed to get off, stretch our legs, and eat something if we needed to. Nurse Ada had made us pack as much food as we could possibly carry for the journey. Bread, cheese, salami, a flask of that creamy, potato soup, and two bottles of drink. One of milk, the other coffee. It was difficult for most of us to eat, and not expect somebody to steal it. Especially Angelo. But the food had lasted us for more than the entire trip, so that was alright. Besides, the tea-lady herself was always more than happy to offer us tea, biscuits, or anything else we might've wanted.

I was shaking as I climbed off the train. The metropolitan platform stood, clear as day, outside the train window, but to me it still felt like an illusion.  I'd forgotten what the air tasted like, how the concrete echoed beneath my feet. All the little things I'd never noticed in an ordinary day here, I was beginning to remember. And in a way, it was relieving. It distracted me from my own anxiety.

"Here we are." Angelo said, stepping out onto the platform beside me. "Paris."

We didn't affect anything as we set foot in our old city once again. Nobody stopped to look, nobody came to greet us. People just came and went from the long stretches of murky, grey platform. Emerging and fading like the smoke from the trains. We'd gotten off at platform four, thus proven by an ash-stained, yellow sign that protruded from a signboard on the right wall. I came closer to the board, which on closer sight was covered in lists. Peoples names, their previous addresses, the transports they were sent on. They were the people of Paris; political dangers, Gypsies, Catholics, homosexuals-Jews. Mostly Jews. Those who'd prayed in a synagogue, those who lit the Sabbath candles, those who spoke in a foreign tongue. So many names, I knew to be those who'd prayed by my side. I hadn't any idea just how many Jews were in Paris before, and now all I could see were their names.

"Look, there's our names." Briana whispered, pointing to the third row down. And sure enough, there we were.

Katherine Christoff-discharged from Auschwitz

Briana Christoff-discharged from Auschwitz pending questioning

"I should've expected it," She said, "Nothing comes without a price there."

It wasn't as bad as she thought it was, I knew it. All they really wanted to do was ask her about how she became a camp nurse. She wasn't a traitor. Real traitors were dealt with accordingly. With justice. Briana only fell in love. It shouldn't be such a vicious crime, but it was. And shamefully, I resented her for that, when I myself was falling in love with my best friend. But I felt it in my heart that Briana was not the enemy in this. In my moment of need, she'd been my hero.