APPARITOR

At sunset, exhausted, hoping for food, we find a Polish village.
					SS soldiers have arrived before us.  
We run, a cross stubble  fields towards the forest.
						Darkness.
As our feet press the ground each step is marked by a spot of light.
			               Glow worms?   Small electric bulbs be on the ground?
"Son, the Germans have electrified this meadow. They know where we are!"  
Search lights scan the sky.
				We run faster. 
Search lights find us.
			Gun shots.
We run past trees and bushes, tripping over rotting wood.
	                                          I can't breathe.
We rest - my back against a tree, my son in my arms, we fall asleep.
When I wake, the German officer
is lying in front of us on his side, dressed 
in a World War One uniform -
spiked helmet, shoulder epaulets, 
brass buttons, silver sheathed sword.  
An elderly face, grey bushy moustache, his blue eyes look at me, 
but he does not speak.  
I wake my son.  I want to run.  
"Do you see him?"  "Yes."  
Trembling, I stare at him.  
He, motionless, stares back at me.
Minutes pass.
"Don't hurt us.  I am just a woman, and this is my son.  
Look, here are my papers.  Please spare us."  
He does not answer. 
His eyes fixed, he keeps looking at me.  
Why has God placed him here?  
"Son, let's recite the Shema."  
Saying the prayer. We fall asleep.

When we awake the sun is high.  
					He is gone.
Where he lay ferns are bent,
				the needled ground is marked.  
"Who was he?", my son asks.
"He wasn't a ghost.
			I don't dare to call him an angel," I reply.

               - Bernard Otterman