Laughing Winds by Christo Rose

Author:Christo, Rose [Christo, Rose]
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3, mobi
Published: 2012-10-02T22:00:00+00:00

* * * * *

There are eight of us in the basement where there ought to be ten.

Lia cries inconsolably at the bottom of the piano stool. I don’t know why. I don’t know why she cries for a child she barely knew.

I wonder whether she’s not crying for another child.

Jürgen has his arm around Lia. I don’t think she notices. I can feel Sea Eyes’ gaze on me; I can see her peripherally, sitting at the bottom of the concrete staircase; I don’t look at her. I don’t want her to tell me she’s right and I’m wrong. I don’t think she’s right.

“I hate this place…” Jonah whispers.

“You’re the only one,” Lukas snaps at him.

“Stop it,” Jürgen says.

The only sound in the drab little room is of Lia’s smothered cries.

Jürgen‘s composure wilts. “We’re all tired…”

“I don’t want to die like that,” Daavid says. His eyes are out of focus, the unseeing eyes of a newborn animal. “How are they going to kill us? Does anyone know how?”

I hesitate. “I’ve seen them make prisoners dig their own graves,” I say. “Then they shoot the prisoners in the backs, so the prisoners fall in.”

“That’s…”

No one said it would be painless. No one said it would be humane.

“We can’t think about this,” Daavid says, carding his fingers through his unkempt hair. “If we waste every last second thinking about dying, it’s going to eat us alive.”

I am starting to wonder whether it was a bad idea to learn each other’s names.

“Heaven,” Jonah says. “Keep your eyes on Heaven.” Ironic that he keeps his eyes on the wall. “Everything will be alright once this is over.”

Is he lying? Is he unknowingly repeating a lie? Will believing in a lie keep us sane?

“Hear, hear,” Daavid says, with a weak, short-lived smile. “Let’s play a song.”

“How can you even think about music?” Lukas says. “We’re going to die!”

“Of course we are,” Daavid says. “But we haven’t died yet.”

And he is right.

“What’s your favorite song, Lukas?” Daavid asks.

Lukas sighs, long and hollow. “The Thief’s Heritage,” he finally replies.

“Then I’ll play it. And you close your eyes, and you pretend you’re wherever you’d like to be. At a tavern. Wherever.”

Daavid’s fingers skitter across the piano keys. Lukas’ eyes slowly close.

The rude, playful little medley dances and bounces around the confines of the basement. It restores life unto this place of death.

Your father greases wagon wheels, the song is supposed to go. Nobody’s singing now. Your mother steals fish at the market. Your brother is a cardsharp. And your sister? Shacking up with a Kozak!

All of a sudden, I notice it: Lukas is smiling. His mind is very far away. I wonder where he is right now. In his sweetheart’s arms, maybe.

In this moment, I am happy for him.

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