Good luck homing pigeon

Chapter thirty five-going back and going forth part 1

I am sad to say that this will be the second-to-last chapter. I've loved writing 'Good luck homing pigeon' more than you can ever know, and I am sad that it is soon to be over. So tonight, for your audible pleasure, I've chosen 'La Vie En Rose', sung by Edith Piaf, in the native language of French. Enjoy your read, and have a pleasant evening.

Ten years later

You might be wondering at this point, what happened to everybody else? My friends, my mother, Angelo's family? It took us longer than we thought to piece together such an intricate puzzle. After weeks, then months of searching and digging, we were reunited with those who'd come out of the war alive, and learnt the fates of those who hadn't. We'd rejoiced with those who'd come to us safely, lent a helping hand to those who couldn't cope with the aftershocks of this dreaded war, and grieved the losses of dear friends who'd lost their battles against inhumanity.

Mama came out of Belson a serious, near-broken woman. It took a month more for the few, French Jews to finally return to France, but when the list of survivors from Bergen Belson arrived at the school, we waited outside the train station every day, awaiting the train mama was to step out of. On the third day, we set eyes on the woman we'd known as our mother, Evangeline Christoff. She came off the train wearing a thick, woolen, navy suit, a matching hat, her hair grown out a little, curled into a French twist, and stockings of the finest denier covering her thin legs. She wasn't as thin as I was when I'd first came back, but she was slender. Too slender. It felt almost painful as she set eyes on Briana and I, and waited a few minutes to be able to recognize us. And when she did, she ran; sweeping the two of us tight, into her arms. Whispering tearful comforts as she buried her face into Briana's shoulder. It just felt so hard to believe! Mama was alive-our family was intact. When so many families had been broken apart.

Though Antonia did return, much like mama had, there was somebody who couldn't join our family circle. Antonia was in tears as she recited the story to us all; when Typhus came to Belson, not long after yet another transport, Alina was one of the first to get sick. A pair of Dutch sister's they'd vaguely known had passed away shortly before Alina had-the eldest went first, then the younger, well into a fever delirium when the elder went, just two days later. Antonia had prayed over and over, not to let her daughter go to the same fate. But sweet, sweet Alina...she wasn't healthy like her brother was. No matter how hard we could've hoped and wished for her return, we knew that bringing her into a place, wild with disease would bring her nothing but suffering.

Angelo was distraught. I knew how he'd loved his little sister, but as grief overwhelmed him, it felt as if I couldn't reach him. Months of solitude, spent by himself, only ever acknowledging me when we held one another in our sleep. To this day even, I still see a glimmer of sadness in his eyes every time Alina's name is spoken. I was lucky I had mama and Briana at time, for if it wasn't for them, I couldn't have confessed that I missed Alina too. She was just always there, always being her reserved, helpful self that I couldn't have imagined what life would've been like if she wasn't. And now that she was gone, there was an empty space in our family that will never be filled, no matter what we did.

After the liberation of Mauthausen and Buchenwald, we'd found Judy and Adam, returning with the same wiry, ragged appearance as all of the other former-prisoners. Together they explained that although they hadn't known Alfred's fate yet, Judy had been transported to Buchenwald with Ruth shortly after their brief stay in Birkenau. It was a sad, rain-riddled evening when Ruth told her she was going out to search for some food. Naturally, Judy insisted she go with her, so that Ruth came back safe. There was no way Judy could've possibly known. For when Ruth had come across a stray corpse, the only thing she noticed was the hunk of stale bread, clasped in the bodies half-frozen fingers. The bread was taken, they were running, and for once it seemed as if they'd have just a little more food than usual. They weren't as fast as they used to be. Ruth was lagging behind Judy significantly; despite Judy's wild encouragement, Ruth couldn't outrun bullets. Ironic, was it not? When Ruth circled the school racetracks, Alfred used to joke that she could 'outrun bullets'. Just the thought of that joke alone made me cry. I'd never forget Ruth-not for as long as I lived.