Cruise
to Nowhere Tales
Next Tale
Previous Tale
Terms of Use
About Me
Links
Poems for Free
Stories
for Free
|
INTRODUCTION TO THE LAWYER'S
TALE
"Well," said the host, "this is a
fine affair! You say you will and then you won't! But there Are
others in the company who will Regale us until we've had our
fill.
"It's just past ten now, the gambling's over at one. A
quarter of our time has thus far run, Pleasantly, I hope. For precious
is Each moment, and we find our joy in this: That though we cannot
have again what's done, There's always more to have till we are
gone.
"So, lawyer, come now! You must have a tale So full of
lusty truth our own lives pale Beside the secrets told in
confidence That you might now disguise in fiction, whence Good tales
all come -- from life, but subtly bent, Sufficient to protect the
innocent."
"I'm afraid," the lawyer said, "that I Have little in
my head to satisfy The need to hear a tale yet unheard, And what I
have strikes me as absurd.
"Yes, much in my long life that I have
done Might easily into a tale be spun, But Chaucer, in his massive
oeuvre has Already done it all with more pizzaz Than I could
ever generate. And so, Like the chef, I'll to his great work go, But
this time to a tale he finished, taking All the essential ingredients
of its making, And bringing it up to date, as you will see In this,
a tale from Chaucer and from me."
THE LAWYER'S
PROLOGUE
O may we be spared from
poverty, Hunger, torture, rape, of loved ones shorn, And all
descendants of this company From being of the starving billions
born, All their lives to suffer and to mourn, Or through some twist
of fate or will of war From being cast among the wretched
poor.
But if misfortune come to us, then let Us bear it
patiently and with good grace, For what we are is more than what we
get, And fortune is far more than time and place, Ready to return a
strong embrace, As you will hear in this, my tale of woe And
courage, that makes one of high and low.
THE LAWYER'S TALE
PART
I
Anna Weiss was born to wealth and
ease, A daughter doted on in early years By parents whose greatest
pleasure was to please, And with love to inundate her fears, And
with kisses still her infant tears. Till she was four, she knew nor
want nor pain, Nurtured in a world both safe and sane.
With her
father she was very close. Often he would take her on his knee And
read to her, or talk of what was most On her childish mind, but
seriously, As though there were no better company. She was indulged,
not spoiled, as she grew To imitate the generous love she
knew.
She was affectionate and trusting, shy At first, but then
a little chatterbox, Quick to laugh, not easy to make cry, Innocent
as yet of painful shocks That later fit the soul with doors and
locks. Universally she was adored, An angel whose sweet face one's
faith restored.
All that wealth could do for her, it did: She
had a spacious room chock-full of toys, And what she wanted, want did
not forbid. But most of all, she learned the deeper joys That later
lie beneath the foreground noise -- All that taste and culture could
instill, And grace around her could shape into will.
Her father
wanted her to learn what men At that time exclusively were
taught, And to be equal to her husband when She married, in both
character and thought, And bring to life more than her mother
brought, Not stunted in what she could say or do By being limited in
what she knew.
So was she destined for a happy life Of pleasure,
plenty, privilege, and praise, To marry well and be a loving
wife And mother, who in turn would ably raise Children bright and
gentle in their ways. But fate had something else for her in
store, As you will see, if you listen more.
When she was four,
the Germans came to town. Soon Anna had a Jewish star to wear On all
her clothes. Now rarely she went down With her parents to play. The
Germans there Would curse and spit at Jews, or cut their hair. And
so they stayed at home and waited for The end of what seemed just
another war.
One day her parents told her she would go With
Luba, a former nanny, for awhile Into the country, how long they didn't
know, Until the Germans, as was oft their style, Finally left. And
then (this with a smile), She and Luba would return, and they Would
be just as before she went away.
Anna naturally could see
behind The veil of normalcy to what the heart Was saying, quite the
opposite of mind, And understood, for all her parents' art, That
they would for a long time be apart, Perhaps forever. She wept and held
them tight, And nothing that they said could make it right,
Till
Luba had forcibly to pry Her from her parents, and drag her out the
door While they, weeping, did not even try To stop her, so that Anna
became sure That Luba was a witch, the kind that tore Children from
their parents so that she Might eat them up, once fattened
properly.
They took a train out to the countryside, And then a
horse-drawn cart, and then on foot Through snowy fields to a barn with
cows inside, Some goats and horses, too. Then Luba put Down the
things they brought with them and shut The door, and said that Anna
must stay here Until there were no Germans left to fear.
She
would bring her food each day, she said, But warned her never, never to
go outside Because the Germans wanted all Jews dead And searched for
Jews to murder far and wide. So should some stranger enter, she should
hide Beneath the hay and not come out at all Until she heard Luba to
her call.
Then Luba left the child there alone With nothing but
the cows to keep her warm. Whether she returned cannot be known, For
little Anna, weeping, left the barn, Thinking that the witch might do
her harm, Fattening her up to eat her, as occurred In a tale that
she had lately heard.
How else explain the power of the
witch Over her parents? She must have cast a spell! Or maybe Luba
engineered a switch With demons that in deep, dark forests dwell And
her loving parents! Who could tell? Her parents never would have sent
her here! So much, then, was absolutely clear.
Little Anna
walked across a field And found a path that led into a wood. It was
past four, the light began to yield, And there before her evil demons
stood, Five of them, all dressed as demons should In shrouds that
blended with the ambient snow, And blocked the path on which she now
would go.
One came near and knelt in front of her. "Who are
you?" he asked, "my dear, sweet child?" She was not used to Polish,
though there were Many words she understood. He smiled And said, "A
little Jewish girl!" Then piled Some snow into his hand, a little
mound, Covered her face and threw her to the ground.
What they
did to her, I need not tell. Enough to say she bled from front and
back, Left lying naked in the snow that fell Like heavy, frozen
tears down from the black Sky, half-burying her on the drifted
track, As she, freezing, could not move, but lay Dying on the
unfrequented way.
And then she saw an angel coming near, Who
dropped a sack of wood and knelt beside Her praying silently, yet she
could hear Music like an overwhelming tide Drown her in love, when
else she would have died, A love just like the pain she could not
bear Flowing from the angel with blond hair.
PART II
Twenty-eight years now pass, and
Anna Weiss Is Anna Michnowicz, a Catholic Pole, Married to her
angel, who is twice Her age, unquestioned icon of her soul, Father,
husband, lover, joy -- the whole Passion of her life, but for
Christ, Whose love alone for her would have sufficed.
The horror
in the woods became a gift Through which she found divine and earthly
love, A trauma that eventually would shift Her childish vision to
perception of The permanence of pain and need to move With dancer's
grace to choreography Beyond what she could comprehend or
see.
It was enough to witness pain, of course, And feel the
fullness of our suffering, For God alone had wisdom, wit, and
force To render good and true salvation bring. The love one felt was
what made one's soul sing, One billionth part of what one had
received From Christ, if one's heart could be believed.
Still,
one ought to imitate His life, Who came to Earth to illustrate the
good, Teaching by example man and wife, Who otherwise might not love
as they should, Not knowing love within as now they could. Love was
the gift that Christ gave on the cross, Turning into gold life's bitter
dross.
So Anna loved her husband long and well, A farm wife with
two sons. At times she thought Of her strange past, though it was hard
to tell Fantasy from memory. She caught Glimpses of a time that
sometimes brought Such pain to think about she let it go, Wondering
whether it was real or no.
Her husband Jacek was a fiery man Who
fought against injustice and oppression, First against the lords of his
own land, Then against the foreigner's aggression, The Nazis and the
Reds in swift succession. Often he was beaten and in jail, But now
he was becoming old and frail.
One day some friends came to the
house and said That he would be the special target of A campaign to
remove all those who led Some protests that had too successful
proved, And so the government to slander moved. They would say he
was a Zionist spy, And his wife a Jew, which was a lie.
Jacek
blushed and said that it was true. He found his wife when she was just
a child Raped and dying in the woods. A Jew, Yes, she was by birth
(and here he smiled), But now with Christ completely
reconciled, Spending so much time upon her knees That he would often
miss his midnight squeeze.
This is no joke, they said. They will
accuse You of Zionism, and your wife. You must go into exile, now,
or lose For good your freedom and, perhaps, your life. The capital
is with these rumors rife: That to crack down on protests, they will
use The age-old Polish hatred of the Jews.
Jacek didn't want to
go, but when They warned that Anna might be tortured, too, He gave
in reluctantly, and then Did everything they said that he should
do, Afraid of what his wife might be put through After all she
suffered long ago When he found her dying in the snow.
Off they
went, they and their two boys, Adam and Lech, guided on their
way From house to house by those who found their joys In making
their dark midnight into day, Living as they would while others
lay In darkness, slaves to history and will, The innocent
accomplices of ill.
They crossed the borders of those states
enslaved On foot, through woods or over mountain passes, Crossing
streams in small boats and on paved Roads, or gravel, pounding through crevasses,
Barely breathing as a guard harasses The driver at a checkpoint drowned in light,
Harsh and ugly adjunct to the
night.
And then at last a crossing so remote To a place so
backward none can tell What century it is, where a boat Awaits to
take them out of that cold hell Across the sea to where one might
rebel And speak the truth, and say what one believes, And not be
ruled by murderers and thieves.
But here the brave, like-minded
network ends, And smugglers for pay must take their place, Far less
dependable than were their friends Among the many dangers that they
face. The smuggler leads them at too fast a pace And soon is gone,
too far ahead to see, Abandoning the winded family.
And there
upon a ridgeline Anna saw The same five evil demons she had seen So
long ago, when she was only four, Coming towards them like some awful
dream That could not be, but is. Anna's scream Echoed like a
banshee's off the hills, The kind the heart with dread and anguish
fills.
But why detail what those demons did? First, they stifled
Anna's screams and tied Her hand and foot, then took what was
hid In clothes that her sweet angels wore; then tried To find out
more with torture till they died -- Anna's angels buried in a
wood While Christ looked on and wept, as well He should.
After
raping her till they were done, They sold Anna to a brothel in some
town Deep in the mountains, far from anyone Who spoke her language
or might help her. Down In a dark cellar she was tightly bound Until
the owner finished eating dinner, Then came down to teach the raw
beginner.
She found her deep in prayer on her knees, For Christ
had come to see her there, and held Her in His arms. She had begged Him
please To take her to her angels, but life knelled Incessantly for
her as bright tears welled Into His eyes. "Not yet, not yet," He
said. "You've much to do before you join the dead."
Then she
wept for comfort in His chest, As child to parent, burrowing
inside Towards something that made sense of all the rest, A love for
all that was, that never died, In which all things might innocent
abide. The owner then unbound her, let her be, For never did she
such sweet radiance see.
And so it was the next few months as
Anna Became a prostitute in that small place, Accepting what her
fate had thrust upon her Without complaint and with uncanny
grace That made the men ashamed to see her face, And gave to those
who shared her slavery New hope in what they sensed but could not
see.
But, knowing that Christ wasn't welcome here, Anna learned
the teachings of Islam As she taught the others not to fear, But to
find strength in God, the "am that am," While they taught her the ways
of the Koran And their language, which was of the same Kind as hers,
and so words quickly came.
As Anna practiced well the Muslim
faith, She came to love it also, and to pray To Allah purely, as the
Prophet saith, Without Christ's human image in the way. Yet for her
faith she dearly had to pay, Especially since she influenced the
others To treat even their customers as brothers.
Yet there was
something beautiful within That made even the brutes that owned her
pause, Evil as they were, and steeped in sin, But human still, and
touched by higher laws, Though rarely acting without selfish cause. And
so they sold her to a pious man Who freed her and then asked her for
her hand.
PART III
Thirty years now pass, and Anna
Weiss Is Anna Spahiu, wife of Muhamedin. Although a Muslim, she's
still in love with Christ, Adding new loves to what loves have
been, Seeing through eyes shaped by what she's seen. She is poor --
the years show on her face -- Yet she is grateful for this time and
place.
Most of all she loves the times of prayer, Alone with
Allah, pure and full of peace, A breath upon the void, no more than
there, Free of all that must begin and cease, A bit of longing,
longing for release. At such times all her suffering and joy Become
one love no demon can destroy.
Her husband was a widower with
three Young girls, for whom he needed soon a mother. Hearing of this
saint, he went to see Her for himself, and then would have no
other. The first few years he was to her a brother, But then she
came to love him as a wife, And shared with him his sweet but meager
life.
They now were getting old, the daughters gone To their
husbands' villages nearby, Married and with children. Left
alone, Anna and her husband oft would lie Hand in hand and share a
silent sigh, The house full of memories, calm and still, Rich with
love, untenanted by will.
But one night demons knocked upon their
door, Then knocked it down and came inside, the same Five demons
that had come for her before, Laughing as they called them both by
name, Anna and Muhamedin, then came Into the bedroom, neighbors that
they knew, Yet now doing just what demons do.
"Dirty Muslim
pigs!" they said, then dragged Them out the door and set the house on
fire. "Your wife will love this!" the cruel demons bragged As they
tied her husband up with wire, Then raped her till they had all their
desire. "Just wanted you to see!" they laughing said, Then shot her
weeping husband in the head.
And then they left, those demons, as
she lay Bleeding on the ground from front and back, As she had so
long ago that day She met her angel on the forest track As snow like
frozen tears fell from the black Sky, and she lay dying and in
pain. But this time, like the last, her man was slain.
And so she
prayed to God that she might die And not be rescued this time. Her
desire Was simply to beside her husband lie And never move again,
but to expire As though to sleep. No hope did she require, Nor
faith, nor love, but all was bleak despair, For life itself was more
than she could bear.
O those who stoke the evil in each
heart For power, vengeance, greed, or hope of gain, Know that as you
play your ugly part, There is a part of you that writhes in pain And
drives you on to massacre again. You shape your inner world, and outer,
too, By everything you think or say or do.
And so for good the
opposite is true, For love allows the loving soul to flower, And
being's sweet effulgence to renew With more resilience and with greater
power, As it did in Anna's darkest hour, Moving her to move and then
to rise, Though no one heard her sharp and painful cries.
She
found a shovel near the burned-out barn And buried her dear husband
where he fell, Untying first his feet and then his arms That he
might rest in Heaven safe and well, Away from this advertisement for
Hell. And then she left her smoldering abode To join her fellow
Muslims on the road.
For days they walked with little food or
water, Thousands, tens of thousands, on the run Towards a distant
and indifferent border Where they were left in limbo, and undone By
hunger, thirst, and sickness one by one, In their thousands slowly
dying there, A nation dispossessed and in despair.
Anna searched
the camp for her stepdaughters, Hearing things that filled her heart
with dread, Many seeking kin as she sought hers Only to find
for certain they were dead, Killed by Christians or dying as they
fled. Two sons-in-law were dead -- that much she heard. But of the
others there was not a word.
Sick with grief and hunger, still in
pain, Anna fainted, and there she would have died But for some
angels finding her again And with a stretcher taking her inside A
tent, where volunteers from Israel tried To save those that they could,
though Muslims all, And they were Jews who came at mercy's call.
When
Anna woke, she heard a doctor say, In a language that she knew she
knew, "She will be fine." He knelt down where she lay To feel her
pulse, then, satisfied, withdrew. "Wait!" she said. "Please wait! I am
a Jew!" The translator translated, the doctor turned As lost,
beloved memories through her burned.
"My name is Anna Weiss," she
said, "born Somewhere in Poland soon before the war. But then I was
from my poor parents torn And became a Christian. After
more Troubles, then a Muslim. Please, before You go away, I wish
that you would see Whether anyone still looks for me."
The
doctor nodded, then withdrew again. Anna waited white with hope
inside The tent, while he contacted Yad Vashem In Israel, to say
that he had tried, Certain she, to stay alive, had lied. But sure
enough, Anna Weiss was there, A little girl lost near Lublin
somewhere.
The doctor then returned to her and said, "There is
an Anna Weiss among those named As missing, though none knows alive or
dead." And looking for some proof she had not feigned, He said a
prayer that she might have retained: "Baruch atta --" "No! No!
It is attoi!" And so they hugged and kissed and wept with joy.
PART IV
Six months later, Anna Weiss was
on A plane from Tel Aviv to JFK, Looking for her father, who was
gone From the last place he'd been known to stay After moving to the
USA. For fifty years he'd faithfully sent in His address and his
phone to Yad Vashem.
He had never given up on her. He registered
her name soon after he Had come to Israel. The others were All dead,
each member of his family Gassed or shot. He could not know that
she Had been saved by her angel, and then grew Up barely knowing
that she was a Jew.
She followed him upon the ledger there, From
Tel Aviv to Dan to Jerusalem, And then Seattle, Cleveland, and Bel
Air, But always, always, telling Yad Vashem Address and phone, that
they might tell him when She had been found, or, perhaps, they'd
heard From someone somewhere sometime just one word.
His last
address and phone, in Riverdale, The Bronx, was sent in just four years
ago. She called and wrote to him, to no avail, And now was flying in
that she might know If he was still alive, and then, if so, Would
want to come to live with her at last, To heal the wound inflicted so
long past.
She traced him to a nursing home nearby Where he had
lived, and went to see him there, Directed to a ward, she knew not
why, To which she had to be buzzed in, and where There seemed to be
but little nursing care. Residents roamed up and down the
halls Aimlessly, or leaned against the walls.
She found a desk,
deserted, then a nurse In a white coat, and asked her for her
father. She led her to a room where someone cursed Them viciously,
got up, began to totter Towards them, then decided not to
bother, Collapsing back to bed. "That's him," she said, Then went
back out, no longer interested.
"Papa!" Anna cried, though knowing
he No longer was, yet was. She was too late, And yet on time to live
the irony That was the last expression of their fate, So long had
both of them had had to wait To be rejoined, and now he could not
know The daughter he had lost so long ago.
Two years she stayed
to care for him, while she Worked as a companion and a maid, In the
USA illegally, Alone and poor and ever more afraid Of being caught,
the longer that she stayed. She wrote to her stepchildren, now back
home, And talked to them from time to time by phone,
But could
not go to see them, lest when she Returned, she would not be allowed
back in. Every day she could she went to see Her father, though
unrecognized by him, And fed him that he might not get too
thin, Until he died, and she was free once more To start again, as
she had done before.
She went back to Israel to live In Bat Yam,
a suburb by the sea, Living off a pension that they give To
Holocaust survivors, and what she Was sent by her remaining
family For her share of the farm, which they had sold To someone who
had paid for it in gold.
They reburied their father
properly, Inviting her to come, which now she could, And did, though
as a Jew, which all could see, And prayed and wept for her dear
husband, good Man that he was, and later stood Deep in the
mountains, where her angel lay, And her two sons, and on her knees she prayed.
"Dear Christ," she prayed, "and Allah, and Jehovah, A
trinity now of a different kind, Three-in-one, my Gods, may you look
over All my loved ones gone, and help me find Them once I leave this
gift of life behind." She hungered then for death, when she might
be Reunited with her family.
Her stepdaughters were anxious she
remain With them, to spend in comfort her last days, But she
returned to Israel again, Which was to her, her home, in many
ways, The first she felt her own, where no bright glaze Need cover
her dark truth, as it had done Till she to Israel's tent had finally
come.
She studied Hebrew and the Talmud, too, Kept a kosher
home, observed Shabbat And all the holidays as they came
due, Transforming her home to a Migdash Me'aht, A little space of
holiness, where not One demon would not bow the head and pray, So
pure and clean and simple was her way.
Yet well she knew the demons
were still there, Waiting to be summoned by the heart That would
call out and draw them from the air To play their ghastly, cruel,
inhuman part And commandeer the souls that now would start To
massacre and torture, burn and rape Those whom for their difference
they would hate.
The demons, yes, were rampant among Jews And
Arabs both, just itching to begin The reign of hate, that would collect
the dues Long owed by both sides for their years of sin, A
retribution savored long within. Yet angels, too, were hovering
nearby, Singing songs that filled the radiant sky.
Just as the
sun casts its light on Earth Not meaning to, so Anna gave to
her Small circle of good neighbors something worth Far more than
those whose words the many stir, A peace that helped to calm what
passions were Dancing in their hearts; also a grace That helped to
make a sanctum of that place.
So there's my tale, the best that I
can render, Leaving Anna innocent but wise, Tiresias of faith
instead of gender, Having worshiped God through many eyes, Becoming
what would else have been disguise, And joining in her prayer all those
who love, And whose sweet will to peace might others move.
EPILOGUE TO THE LAWYER'S
TALE
"By God, that was a most affecting
tale!" The bartender exclaimed, lifting his ale. "And long enough
for two or three, I'd say. But now enough of God, I humbly pray, And
preaching in the guise of narrative. I want to see some characters who
live As I do. Minister, is that OK? The lawyer's stole your thunder!
If I may, Could we have a tale without religion? But I say too much
-- it's your decision."
"That it is," the minister
agreed. "Perhaps I shouldn't go, if you have need --" "I'll take his
turn!" the engineer broke in. "I have a tale steeped in venal
sin, Some bitter beer, the taste of everyday, Where morals are a
universal gray.
"Let the minister assume my place Later on,
perhaps when we can face Another tale to profit from. Right now We'd
favor one distinctly lower brow."
All agreed that's what they'd
want hear, And so this next went to the
engineer.
|