The Persistence of Vision (This story is based on a truth. Any resemblances to fiction are equally true. ) “Get lost! Go!” his father said, as he was herded away, with numerous other Polish Jews, by the Gestapo. The boy’s mother was marched off in an opposite direction. This is where we find the boy - completely alone, as he slips away from the horrible scene disappearing and becoming lost within an anonymous crowd. We next see him escaping the Krakow Ghetto, roaming through the country side and being taken in by scattered Catholic peasants for a bit of food and shelter. One wandering brought him to a bombed out town. It was close to nightfall and about half a soccer field away, to his right, was a movie theater, burned of its flesh, looming as a skeleton over the devastation. A luminous beam cut across the street and cast phantoms on one crumbling yet stubborn wall of the theater. A squad of tired German soldiers were smoking, drinking and watching a film. He always loved the movies and crept closer, knowing full well the danger of being seen. He hid among a pile of rubble and peered toward the hallucination of another world. A world he wanted to slip within and escape. Never mind that he couldn’t understand the words, this made sense in a more visceral language. The cold barrel of a rifle against the back of his head extinguished the dream. A German soldier laughed at the boy and his ragged cloths. German Soldier: “You like movies, yes? No?” The boy couldn’t move. German Soldier: “Then move!” The soldier fired a shot into the air. The squad leapt to their feet, then seeing the boy, laughed. The boy still couldn’t move. German Soldier: “See the projector? Yes? If you make it to there, it’s yours” The soldier leveled his gun straight at the boy. All the boy could do was stare at his face. He could find nothing of what he believed was a human being, only a dark and distant shadow stood before him. A shot rang out as a bullet bite the ground near his foot. He began to run. Another shot whizzed like a wasp over his head. He ran. Zigzagging through a maze of stones, bricks and mortar. And laughs. Then another shot shattering the window of an abandoned shop. He ran. Toward the light. He ran. His body reeled, his breath unreeled in what seemed an infinite loop . . . “keep moving, don’t stop, keep moving, don’t stop. . .” He was within reach when the projector exploded into pieces from a bullet. He fell among its shattered parts. The soldiers gathered around him. More laughs and louder. A Captain appeared. He lifted the boy to his feet and picked up what was left of the projector. He then handed it to the boy. Captain: “Go” The boy took the mangled projector. Captain “I said go!” The boy turned and began to walk back out the town. He had reached a place beyond being scared. If a bullet was to hit him, it will hit him. At least this unbearable and indifferent coin flip of an existence would be over. Heads or tails? He thought of his father who would play that game with him. He thought of his mother. Heads or tails? It all was beyond any reason. The German Soldier raised his rifle. This time he was taking careful aim and had the boy trapped within his scope. The Captain pushed down the barrel. Captain: “Enough! Let him go!” The soldier grunted with disappointment then rejoined his equally disappointed squad. The Captain watched the boy walk on, with sure steps. He watched him all the way until he was just a shadow disappearing into the woods. Captain: (To Himself): “Is there ever a place we can ‘go’ ” It wasn’t a question, really. And yet the boy kept walking. He walked out of his country, he walked out of the war, he walked right into a rectangular frame fired by a projector and can be seen to this day. I saw him last night, moving within the twilight of “The Pianist”. Heck, I’ve seen him countless times in the chiaroscuro of “Chinatown”. Art has unbreakable rules, makes sense and something I would call Truth . . . Reality rarely does. . . Jeffrey Cintolo ©2014
Posted on: Fri, 21 Nov 2014 04:31:03 +0000