Only the pounding rain was seen outside the window. While the thunderstorm lashed the exterior of the sunken city, a doctor wearing a white gown came in.
“You will be able to go home after few days. Please relax yourself.”
But I could not. The memory of the haunting event still chilled my nerves. Few days ago I encountered a horrifying and regretful situation. Although satisfied that I was able to get rid from participating in the merciless action, I could not forget my friend, who already does not exist here. Tears dropped from the eyes to the cheeks.
“Drag those filthy animals from the gas chambers and throw them into that large hole as quickly as possible.”
It was an unpleasant sight. Though the others beside me conducted the task with apathy, even with enthusiasm, I could not. The things we buried were animals, but not a “typical” one. One of them was my old friend who lived in Warsaw, Poland. I hoped, hoped for the second time, and hoped for the third time to see my friend after peace. Yes, I met him, but in a different condition: I was alive with malice and evilness, and he was dead with disappointment and sorrow. I could not allow the brainwashed workers to throw the body, as if it were a broken archaic machine. So, I snatched it from the hands of a tall but scarily skinny fellow, glanced at the horrified eyes, the lifeless hair, and the stiff hands, and placed gently into the hole of death.
I could not sleep one day after another. To find a trace of the already gone friend was nearly impossible. If I ran out of the army, I would be captured and shot mercilessly. If I disobeyed to the commander’s order, I would be suffocated in the bath of chlorine gas. With nervousness and regret, I stayed up all night, watching the stars, listening to both the snores of the other members and the shivering wind blowing with misery.
However, there was a chance which I could find a little trace of my friend. Our army went into the heart of Warsaw, collecting items which could be used to supply weapons or food resources. Pretending as if I was finding valuable resources for the army, I ran straight ahead to my friend’s house. There was a battered house of my friend. Only the stone floors were left. I walked onto the floor, paying homage to my friend who died painfully in the gas chamber. Then, something caught my eyes: an old book. The book was the diary of my friend. Although several pages were ripped off, I could feel the emotions and spirits of my old pal. I looked at the first page of the diary.
December 25th, 1934
Merry Christmas, Christopher! Although the winter is harsh, the home is very warm. Although my parents are not in this world, they are looking at us from the photo. What is your dream, Christopher? My dream is to see my mother and father again. Have a good day.
Suddenly I felt a warm glance of tears flowing on my face. Trying not to cry, I turned over several pages. However, many of them were ripped apart – maybe from the explosion – so I was unable to read most of the diary my friend wrote. And then. There was one section which was not ripped apart. It was just before Poland was invaded. Suppressing the overwhelming tears from my heart, I read on the diary.
August 28th, 1939
Dear Christopher
Yesterday was very astonishing! I returned from the “picture world” to the “real world”. Although I miss my parents and my ability to see colors correctly, I had a memorable experience which will sustain my and your future.
I might have probably told you shortly that I cannot distinguish colors. Yes, I cannot. At first the fact came to me as a shock. One day, I placed one red celluloid sheet onto one blue celluloid sheet. The color resembled purple, by other’s standards. But I could not say whether the color was purple, green, blue, or even black. After the experience, I realized that I cannot distinguish several colors. Especially, I often misinterpret green and red as one color. Sometimes I often call sky-blue as light violet or extremely bright bronze. I realize every day the limitation I have compared to others.
So what I do is to memorize and hear carefully to other’s remarks on colors. However, such efforts were futile in front of the huge wave called “art class.” I paint the face of a person with light green, unable to distinguish the color with light brown. I paint the hair of a person with dark green, unable to distinguish the color with black. The world I paint is distorted. However, I do not feel disappointed about my limitation. Rather, I feel proud about my disability. Yes, many friends pity me for inability to distinguish colors. However, I pith them in reverse since they have not acquired the experience, a miracle, I had few days ago.
I woke up in a typical morning with bright sunshine. I felt nothing special but felt slightly tired; so, I stayed in bed after I woke up. In front of my bed is a photo of my family which was taken when I was young and my parents were alive. I could remember their faces only by the photo because they had passed away before I could even conceive them as my parents. That morning, faces of my parents looked slightly but clearly different from my memory of them. I went out of my bed and went closer to the framed picture. Inside the frame were clearer and livelier appearances of my family.
Was there a change in the photo? I rubbed my eyes hard to see the photo again. I could not realize at first. But then, when I looked closely at the photo, it tok me by surprise. Unbelievably, my mother and my father – that is, in the photo- semmed to be blinking – yes, blinking – at me. After a while, they even started twitching and moving a little bit.
They called me to come closer to them. As I approached to the picture, they dragged me into the picture, and with unimaginable magic, I was in the picture with my parents. I hugged my parents with joy, rejoicing that my dreams came true. However, that was not all. It was a completely new world in the picture, and I found myself that all colors I see are all distinguishable. The new world was opened in front of me, and whether or not it is false or real, I decided to stay in the photo. I went to a new school, and, like as usual, there was an art class.
But there was a great irony. When I go to bed in the picture world, I woke up again in the real world. So, the cycle of entering the artificial world in the morning and coming back while sleeping was repeated. One day, when I woke up in the real world as usual, a strange thought came into my mind. I have been absent from school in this world for three days and have not met any of my friends for such a considerably long time.. Why is no one seeing after me? Thus, I decided to take a day off; I decided to attend the school in the real world. So I dressed myself – though it was quite hard for me for I could not distinguish color again – and stepped out of the house, and.. WHAT A SURPRISE…
The world, the real world, was exactly the same as the artificial world. The only thing changed was the color I am perceiving and the existence of my parents. Feeling sense of strangeness and frustration, I went into the school building, expecting that every school teachers and students would greet me. However, they did not greet me. Rather, they showed the same attitude for me as if I have not absented from the school in my life. Also, there were several faces I had seen in the artificial world. Astonished but fearful, I asked one of my friends. “Jake, have I ever absented from the school these days?” “No, you did not. You have always sat there. Why?” “Oh, it is nothing.”
It was extremely strange. I remember that only the colors and the existence of my parents changed overall. Nothing changed except the fact that my parents deceased and the fact that I cannot see colors correctly. However, I learned a true and important viewpoint on looking the world. I now acquired an ability to view the world from two visions: one from contorted eyesight, the other from corrected eyesight. The others would stick themselves with the corrected eyesight. I, with contorted eyesight, would not stick myself with the corrected one, but would rather compare, contrast, and admit my disability and my potentials. The miracle also taught me how to look not only from eyesight, but from thoughts as well. The importance of multifaceted viewpoints has been, and will be so great. The human technology and the scientific revolution all spawned from multifaceted viewpoints, not from solely one viewpoint. Maybe in this world where politics intermingle so horribly and complex, the multifaceted viewpoints will give us the answer on how to solve the problems we face now.
I dropped down onto the floor, and cried silently. Under the name of euthanasia – a policy taken from Nazi Germany to eradicate people with disabilities under the principle of “Social Darwinism” – the talented individuals were perished in the concentration camps, in the gas chambers, and in execution sites. I was angry at myself since I participated at the war with enthusiasm, not knowing anything what my friend will suffer. I was angry at others, who acquiesced to the inhumane orders from the army. I was angry at Nazi Germany which demolished the life of an important but partially disabled individual and the life of a friend of the individual. I opened my eyes. I tore down the uniform I was wearing and threw it away. I looked around. A willow tree stood beside the stone floor. I walked toward the willow tree because the tree called me to come to there. I embraced the willow tree, trying to feel the traces of the old friend.
Suddenly, there was a shouting voice. “Hey, there is a polish down there.” The other members of the army misinterpreted me as a polish wandering around the street. Although astounded, I kept embracing the willow tree, trying not to forget the memories and experience I and my friend shared. But just before I was able to bring up the memories, there was a sound of a gun. A piercing pain struck my leg, and I toppled down in front of the willow tree.
“Is there anything wrong, Mr.?” The doctor called me once again.
“Oh, it is nothing.”
The doctor stared at me with worrisome glance, and walked out from the room.
Six years later the war ended. Nazi Germany surrendered, ending the age of the Third Reign. Thanks to the injury, I became crippled all my life, but I was able to escape from the horrifying war. My family, luckily, moved to the middle of Switzerland, one of few countries which was not occupied by Nazi Germany.
May 11th. Although my hometown was in rubble, the radio announcer announced that the war ended and that Germany surrendered. As soon as I heard the news, I packed several things and headed toward Warsaw. It took several weeks to reach Warsaw; I was crippled severely, and there were still several threats from the armies of Soviet Union. However, I was able to reach Warsaw, the city of bombarded and pulverized. Hardly anything was seen. The situation was even worse than that I visited Warsaw for the first time. Most of the buildings collapsed. Even the stone floors did not exist. Only the rubbles and the bloodstains remained on the ground. I looked around the silent city. Then, I spotted a very familiar tree. It was the willow I was looking for. Even though crippled severely, I ran with all my might to reach the willow tree. And I hugged the tree. The scent of the tree evoked the memories I longed for.
Uncomfortable: This was the first word which came out of my thoughts after watching “Jesus Camp”, documentary film dealing about the evangelist church movements in religious camps and daily life. Maybe other viewers might feel the same “discomfort” after encountering with zealous actions toward Christianity. In fact, however, I encountered two discomforts throughout the documentary: the extreme tenets of the evangelist church, and the depiction of the documentary. Yes, the documentary was successful in depicting the occasions within evangelist communities. However, was it “truly successful”? While we laughed, mocked, and pitied at the children indoctrinated by the camp leader Becky Fischer, we were also “indoctrinated” by the intentions of Rachel Gardy, the producer of the film.