The Ticket

She opened the door to her parent's room. The open door and the mid afternoon sun coming in the window gave her just enough light to initiate her search. Her green eyes methodically scanned the top of the dressers.

"Where is it?" she wondered.

Finally, the red box was located next to a stack of paperbacks gathering dust. She grabbed the box and set it down on the bed. A smile came over her face as she opened the lid and caught sight of all the beads, pearls, trinkets and special stones. She slipped her hand into the treasure chest and gently pulled out the string of soft white pearls. The necklace made loops around her fingers as she slowly freed it from the box.....something catches her eye???...she stops abruptly.

Whats this?? she says.

The pearls are set aside.Her curiosity overwhelms her as she pulls out a thin piece of weathered cardboard. Why is this in the jewelry box?? Upon closer inspection she noticed the yellowing and watermarks on the paper. Turning it over in her hand she saw the faded writing on it in a language she recognizes but does not understand.
Puzzled, she places the ticket in her palm and wraps her fingers around it.Hmmmm ,.... still pondering she makes herself comfortable on the quilt. Maybe a quiet minute alone with her thoughts will help her make sense of this mystery. She lays her head down on the pillow for a minute and closes her eyes. In a matter of minutes sleep overtakes her body but not her mind.

Clankety-clank, clankety-clank
The old train had seen better days
but at least this one was operating.

Within one of her cars
a young man is lounging.
His lean, long frame fills the seat.
His simple shirt and trousers
are worn and threadbare.
At first glance he appears quite relaxed,
yawns and goes back to sleep.
Upon closer examination there appears to be something clenched in his calloused hand,
almost hidden from view but ready to be presented at a moments notice.

Clankety-clank, .....clankety, clank
The iron horse is slowing down
and comes to a halt.
Up and down the cars the instructions are yelled out
in German and Dutch.
“Border check ...everybody out.”

People exit the train
under the direction of uniformed men.
The young man eyes the the guard with the gun
as he comes out into the daylight.
He knows this charade has to be perfect.
A quick prayer is muttered under his breath
as he joins the line of people being checked by the border officials.
“ID, ID” the official asks the man in front of him.
When it is the young mans turn he is waved through by the guard,
without so much as a glance.
Relief floods his body as he hurries to joins the others
for he has no suitable document.

At the second check the young man is instructed
by his friend to grab number 17 off the board.
The owner of that number was not at work today
and so this is written into the charade.
Grabbing the number he realizes the stakes in this game are very high.
The young man follows his friends example and places the number over his picture
on his passport and awaits his turn in line.
Once again he is waved through by the official.

Back on the train the young man closed his eyes
and turned his thoughts toward home.

It had been many months since his arrest.
The last time he had last seen his father was when he was still being held in the village jail.
The tiny cell made for four that housed twelve of them.
He remembered the humiliation of the day the Germans paraded the group of men in handcuffs through the village past the houses with the curtains drawn and put them on a train for Germany.
Their destination? A work camp. All the young German men were off fighting in the army.
Their factories needed workers
so they plucked the young men from wherever they could find them,
including the street of a small dutch village.
His time in the work camp was something he wanted to erase from his memory,
it was his family he wanted so desperately to see.
Today he was thankful for his friendship with a Dutch border worker,
who purchased his ticket and was his companion, a link to his home.

Clankety-clank......clankety-clank
The train was slowing down
and came to a stop.
As he emerged out of the train
and onto the platform
a joyous reunion occurred
between father and son.
One that involved a handshake, whispered instructions
and the presentation of a bicycle.
As they parted ways
in the midst of watchful eyes,
the young man pushed the bicycle off the platform
and onto the street.
The smile on his face grew with every free step he took,
and yet still crumpled in his hand,
almost obscured from view,
lay the ticket


Karen Williams
(based on the actual account of my grandfathers escape from a German work camp)