by Samuel Hanke
The car decelerated its already sedated pace as it approached a vine-strangled iron gate. The black Cadillac, unfit to the pitted terrain upon which it traveled, had spent the past twenty minutes bouncing over potholes, sticks, and rocks, and ducking through foliage overhanging the long-abandoned drive. Only one profiled passenger had accompanied the chauffeur on this rugged driving excursion; and upon their arrival, this passenger resolutely exited the vehicle and approached the gate while his driver emptied the trunk of the man’s luggage. While the driver was present, the passenger maintained the self-important composure with which he had learned to conduct himself as a Nazi general. However, after the chauffeur had circumspectly returned down the one-lane dirt drive, the general liberated himself from his rigid composure, assuming one more commonplace. He promptly opened his smaller luggage bag and protracted a well-worn key. This key, he remembered, was the same one with which he had a decade prior given the Nazis access to this once-glorious German manor. A spine-chilling shiver traversed his spine, awakening his spirit from his day-dreaming. He rapidly rallied his emotions and attempted to resume his usual militant composure once more. He deftly slid the key into the lock, swung the gate open enough for him to slide through with his bags, shut the gate, and locked it again—a long-neglected exercise of his now-rusty muscle memories from his middle-teenage years.
He pondered as he pursued the path to the plantation how he had slipped off the property grounds nearly every evening about this same time. Dusk was encroaching him as he pressed on toward the manor. Passing a wooded grove on the right, he recalled that this same field hid dozens of soldiers on that fateful night. He glanced at the field on the left; that was the field where the conflict had climaxed. The flow of these ever-returning memories gnawed at the general’s composure until he began to break. Although he would not admit to being spooked, he increased his pace toward the house, which lay just around the bend and atop the hill. Two minutes of this speed-walking reunited the general with the view of the mansion.
He paused, motionless—breathless—at the sight. All the terrors of war had not prepared him for the emotions which accompanied this reunion. Every haunting horror swarmed him at once; the malice with which he had hated his Jewish adopters, the adrenaline which engulfed his soul as he accompanied the invasion of the mansion by torch-light that awful night, the insurgent thrill he received as he observed his family beaten and bound, the rancorous exhilaration which fed his dark spirit as he watched the flames engulf the wing of his parents’ residence—all these memories served spinal shivers which seemed to strangle his soul. Tears acquainted themselves with the general’s cheeks for the first time since he had bitterly wept himself to sleep in hateful rage throughout the weeks prior to the incident. But tonight, he cried from an overwhelming presence of regret. Five minutes of silence and tears could not suffice to calm his deeply disturbed spirit. Only after the clouds began to tingle his cheeks with tears of their own did he realize that he needed to reach the house before being overcome by a storm. Tripping every few steps from wet conditions and lack of light, the weathered Nazi reached the lawn and crossed the cobblestone path to the hardwood double doors.
He knocked. The thumps seemed to boom throughout the entire dwelling place, returning with hollow resonations signifying the vast store of empty air the mansion now housed. He waited for nearly two minutes, almost deciding to turn back. But he quickly deposed the thought. He knocked again; finally, he heard footsteps from deep inside the mansion. One lonely butler came to the door, cracked it open, and peeked out. His face became white as the moon which futilely battled to pierce its rays through the night’s black clouds. Thoroughly startled at the sight of this long-forgotten fiend and the memories his figure evoked, the butler nearly slammed the door back in his face. Only a piercing sense of curiosity led the butler to expose the entryway enough for the man to penetrate the dwelling once again.
Once the butler returned the door to its repose, he turned again to the general. Neither individual spoke but gazed at each other in a prolonged silent exchange. Nearly another two minutes passed. Finally, the general broke the visual discourse by turning toward the stairway and guiding himself up to an upper bedroom. The butler continued to stare until the general advanced out of sight. Upon reaching the third room on the right, the Nazi hesitated at the doorway. Inhaling deeply, he stepped onto the worn hardwood of the high-ceilinged room. Laying his bags at the foot of the bed, the general reposed on the dusty quilt bed-cover.
The wear on the hardwood, he reminisced, came from the frequent foot-traffic it had accommodated when the house was still occupied. Nearly every week, some refugee Jewish family found sanctuary from the Nazis through this room. Swiftly, his thoughts turned to the fireplace . . . but after a moment’s contemplation, he assessed that he was not emotionally ready to face what lay ahead. Determining to wait until dawn to proceed with his mission, the general employed a candle to accompany the lightning in illuminating the room. Eagerly, he next reprieved his feet of his dampened leather shoes and his body of his restrictive uniform. After addressing necessary preliminaries, the general lay on the bed and attempted to sleep.
But even an attempt at slumber could not seem to relieve him of unsettling thoughts. The thunderous background did not improve his dozing thoughts but reminded him of the gunshots the soldiers fired a decade ago. When he slept, he dreamt of the tumultuous emotions that prompted him to enter the German militia. But by midnight, the general had relaxed into a tranquil slumber lasting until daybreak.
The sharp sunlight easily punctured the thin glass of the general’s barren bedroom window, awaking him with a keen smile. Two birds greeted the general with a lovely duet—a simple and pleasant contrast from the side of nature which greeted him the night prior. Stretching, attempting to regain full consciousness again, the general noticed a bowl of fruit on the nightstand which had not been there the night prior. Recognizing his growing hunger, he gratefully rummaged the bowl and selected a banana and an orange to eat. Refreshed by the nourishment and fully awakened by the time passed, he now prepared himself for what lay ahead.
Confidently, he confronted the outstanding brick fireplace. Not many of its type had been constructed, especially since the time that this one was completed. Selecting a brick from the fifth base row, he tugged with significant force. Surely, the mechanism had not been triggered for many years, requiring extra effort on his part. Suddenly, the steel flame-housing at the back of the fireplace slid to the side with serpentine silence, revealing a hidden room behind. Yet another deluge of adrenaline frequented the general’s figure.
Cautiously, he crawled hands-and-knees through the opening and into the chamber. Although little remained elsewhere in the house, this room was as full as ever with furniture and other living commodities. He stood in the center of the room, momentarily refreshing his vague memories.
Suddenly distinguishing one object in particular, the general approached the back wall with trembling hands and dislodged a dusty portrait. Now all his emotions swamped him at once, more frantic than ever to gain control of his body. Through oncoming tears, the general tenderly handled the object of his return. This picture of his family was taken a month before that dreadful night when he stimulated their being sentenced to labor camps for housing runaway Jews. Thisthoughtful family had adopted him when he was thirteen. Thisvirtuous family he had learned to hate for their nationality. From this affectionate family he fled to the Nazi militia to escape. Thesepeople he betrayed from arcane malice on that cold evening a decade ago. No longer could he restrain himself: for nearly an hour, he sobbed out over that painting all the emotions he pent up for several years. After witnessing the events of that dreadful night and participating in several like operations, the general had come to appreciate the Jews—their faith, their character, and their determination. Yes, after all these years, the general understood that thiswas the family he had come to love.
--Adapted from “The General’s Return Visit,” a descriptive essay submitted to Mrs. Jennifer Mason, English teacher at Ambassador Baptist College
