A Semblance of Justice: Based on true Holocaust experiences (WWII Historical Fiction) by Holles Wolf

Author:Holles, Wolf
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Amsterdam Publishers
Published: 2024-05-05T00:00:00+00:00

It was pleasant walk in the morning sun along the winding road with the cool early-morning smell of grass, the green pine forests and green farmland surrounding me. Here and there a bicycle rider or an automobile would drive by. A slight summer breeze was blowing. Everything was quiet otherwise.

Soon, ahead, I saw the first lovely white single-family homes nestled under a grove of old trees. It looked like a fairytale setting. All around me was deep silence. Here and there, birds were chirping in the trees or a dog was barking in the distance. A hint of cattle manure scent lingered in the air.

A short while later, I came to a small stone house surrounded by elm trees. The forest-green shades were pulled down over the windows. The place looked deserted.

I took heart, walked up to the front door and knocked. Maybe a caring person would come out and invite me in and serve me all kinds of yummy food?

But nothing happened. Nothing moved. I waited a bit longer, then knocked again. No answer. Okay. I moved on to another identical house a short distance away. Same result. Where were all these people? Had they fled the Russian Army? Klara had told us many Germans were afraid of the Russians and fled to other parts of Germany. Were they just too afraid to open the door to strangers?

I turned and walked a short distance to the next home, a white-plastered two-story farmhouse with an adjacent old stone barn. I knocked three times on the door. Knock, knock, knock. Tomblike silence. A strong smell of summer and fresh-cut hay swirled through the air. I waited. Cows were cawing nearby. Seconds passed. Then: “Wer ist da? [Who is there?]” a woman’s voice said.

My heart leapt. Finally, someone was home. “Bitte, Fräulein,” I said. “Lebensmittel? [Food?]”

Then the front door opened slowly and an elderly woman peered out at me, and then quickly closed the door. I knocked again. She didn’t answer. Terrific, I thought. I tried three more houses. No answer. I was feeling dejected. Maybe my brothers were right. Why should these people help strangers? They were probably starving themselves. But I kept on and came to a nice yellow brick farmhouse shaded by old willowy oaks. I knocked two times. After a moment, a slight young woman with a friendly face opened the door and stood inside the doorway with two small girls.

“Guten Tag,” I said. “Bitte, Fräulein. Lebensmittel?”

The woman looked at me. “Woher kommen Sie? [Where are you from?]”

“Tröbitz,” I said, and briefly explained my circumstances.

She gave me a knowing nod, and after gesturing for me to wait, went back inside with her two girls. A few moments later, she came back with a small box filled with food: Bread rolls, a tin of condensed milk, a jar of homemade jam, and some apples and pears (which must have grown in her garden).

I stood there surprised at her generosity. “Danke schön,” I said, thanking her and put all the food in my flour sack.

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