The Melody of the Soul by Liz Tolsma

Author:Liz Tolsma
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Gilead Publishing
Published: 2017-01-15T00:00:00+00:00

David paced the tiny Terezín flat, coughing up blood from time to time. He’d burned the paper the German officer had given him within minutes of returning to his room, but the words seared onto his brain. Be prepared. Zacchaeus.

That was months ago. Hauptmann Engel hadn’t come again, hadn’t brought him any more news. What did the strange message mean? Be prepared, he understood. Something was going to happen. But what? And when?

And Zacchaeus? That was the strangest part. What did the Bible story have to do with anything?

The aroma of boiled cabbage mingled with the smell of rotting flesh. All that faded into the background as the story of Zacchaeus flooded him.

He had sat at his grandmother’s feet, his legs folded underneath him. He recalled her as a beautiful woman, even though gray hair crowned her head. Her green eyes shone. “What Bible lesson shall we have today?”

“Zacchaeus, please, Babička. That’s my favorite.” He loved the rhythm of her voice, like music, as she spun the tales.

She reached down and pulled him to her lap. “That’s the story you want every day. Don’t you want to hear about Joseph or Paul or Jonah?”

“Anna likes Jonah the best, but I like Zacchaeus.”

Babička laughed, the pitch a pure E. “Then Zacchaeus it will be.” And she told him about the little man who climbed a tree to see Jesus walk by. Who scrambled down to prepare a feast for the teacher. Who gave his dirty profits back to those from whom he’d stolen them.

“David, are you listening?” Babička spoke to get his attention.

“David, are you listening?”

He snapped to reality, the stench of unwashed bodies gagging him. Jan, one of his six roommates, stood in front of him.

“What is it you want?”

“You’re mumbling to yourself, calling for your grandmother. Sit down and stop pacing.”

“We’re caged tigers, made to perform at the whim of our captors.”

“Ah, the philosopher speaks.” Jan brought him a dipper of dirty water. “I thought you were a musician.”

“None of us are anything right now.” David sipped the offering.

“True enough. But what were you dreaming about? Or were you hallucinating?”

“Zacchaeus.”

“Who?” Jan slapped away the fleas that covered his scrawny body with red bites.

“A Bible story my grandmother told me when I was a child. My favorite.”

“Why would she tell you that?”

“She was a Christian.”

“Then why doesn’t she get you out of this mess?”

“She was also a Jew.”

“I’m sorry.”

But David wasn’t. The memory sparked a tiny flicker inside him. A hunger for all the days his parents and grandparents had spent teaching him about the Lord. His throat swelled, cutting off what little air he could draw into his lungs. If only he could sink to the floor and sob. But here, you couldn’t show any sign of weakness. In a life and death struggle such as this, weakness could be your undoing.

“Don’t let that mess you up. There is nothing beyond the here and now.”

For years, that philosophy had infiltrated David’s mind. Wove a web through him. That way of thinking appealed to a young man.

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