Naked

An hour ago the transporter had stopped. We were forced to disembark and marched through the woods for about half a kilometre, roped together at the ankles. Seven of us, all male and all young Jewish men. We had been caught in one way or another after being hidden or helped by friends and sympathisers, who themselves risked severe penalties. It became clear why we were brought here after the spades were handed out.

The soldiers smoked cigarettes and joked amongst themselves whilst we were made to dig. Underneath the initial layer of grass, the ground was hard and full of tree roots. Digging was difficult enough; we were practically starved, muscle tissue long ago wasted away, but knowing that we digging our own grave made the task virtually impossible. The soldiers kept shouting at us. There were three of them in total. One wore a fixed smile and clearly enjoyed the work. He had slammed the butt of his rifle into the groin of one of the prisoners during the journey, simply for making eye contact. He was older than the others, perhaps about twentyfour. The others were about nineteen or twenty, a similar age to myself. One had dark hair, the other a classic German blond. After the incident in the lorry we had all kept our eyes to the floor until we reached our destination.

I looked around at our secret cemetery. It was a small clearing in a wood with oak and birch trees predominant. On another day, through a more appreciative pair of eyes, the location could have been described as tranquil and picturesque. I imagined myself walking through the trees on a warm summer evening, side by side with a girl, laying together in the grass and forgetting the world for a few precious moments. I stared ahead at the dark earth that was to form my last resting place. Unmarked, hidden away, part of a dirty secret that must be kept from the world. I wondered if some young couple would pass over this ground in years to come, unaware of the atrocities that had taken place earlier.

Progress on the grave was clearly unacceptably slow to the smiling soldier. He snarled out an order and the two subordinates climbed down and each took a spade from a prisoner.

The dark haired one was alongside me in the pit. He was digging at twice the rate that I could manage. I ventured a glance at him. He seemed vaguely familiar. I risked a further look and recognised him at once, although I hadn't seen him for over ten years. Stefan and I had been friends at Kindergarten age. Oblivious to the tension building between our races we had been kindred spirits catching frogs by a local pond. Stefan had inadvertently harmed a frog when lifting it from a fishing net. It had caught its foot in the netting and was moving with difficulty. He had been mortified and took it upon himself to nurture the animal back to health. A week later we released the frog, back into the pond, with the usual ceremonial pomp that would seem necessary to two seven year old boys to mark such an occasion. And now? What had become of this innocent child? A case-hardened cog in the evil Nazi war machine.

He climbed out of the pit without a second glance and his companion followed. We were ordered out and then made to remove our clothing. To achieve this the ropes attached to our legs were removed. One of the prisoners, having decided there was nothing to lose, made a run for the trees. The smiling soldier was on him in a flash, slashing across the back of his legs with a long blade. He was dragged back and held over the edge of the pit while his throat was cut, before his pathetic, sinewy frame was allowed to fall into the grave.

Stefan had removed his hand gun from a holster and was motioning us towards the pit. The blond one was helping him line up the prisoners. The smiling soldier walked behind us slowly, backwards and forwards along the line. I could feel his smile burning into my naked back. I looked up at Stefan. His face was gaunt, his eyes sunken and grey. I spoke his name, softly, almost imperceptibly low. But the sound of ones own name is surely the most unmistakable that a human ear can detect and there was no doubt that Stefan heard and recognised my faint uttering. He looked up and into my eyes. I stared back at his, reaching deep into the dark fetid world that he now inhabited. His jaw lowered slightly and as I studied his face, his eyebrows raised in recognition. “Ben,” he breathed.

I was still staring into his eyes, waiting, perhaps for some retribution for my effrontery. They told me that, just like me, he was a prisoner, held in some alien world where fear was the watchword. He looked at me, his eyes pleading for forgiveness and I, in my nakedness, was overcome with pity for this creature from my past, sent to execute me. My lips tightened together briefly and my eyelids nodded in assent. Stefan looked down and stepped behind me.

I could feel the moist grass and loose soil beneath my feet. The mid morning sun flickered though the canopy of leaves parted by a gentle draught of wind. The breeze lapped around my thighs and up the channel in the small of my back. I felt so close to nature that I thought perhaps there were worse places to die. Drowning in a stinking, rat-filled trench or strung out across a smoking field of barbed wire. I thought of my parents whom I hadn't seen for so long and felt a longing to be re-united with them.

A gunshot broke the silence. The blond soldier had shot one of the prisoners. His body fell limply into the pit. Another shot and another body. I closed my eyes and waited for the end. Then a louder shot and I heard something fall behind me. A shout from the blond soldier and then a reply from Stefan followed by another shot. This time I saw the blond soldier fall clutching at one of the prisoners. I turned around and saw the smiling soldier dead at my feet. From my upside down view of his face, his smile looked even more sinister than it had in life. Stefan looked back at me and the other three remaining men, one of whom was on his knees sobbing. Stefan’s own eyes were watering as he spoke softly.

“Get dressed.”