Soul to Take (11 page)

KAUFMANN

The further back my memories take me, the more fragmented they become. Nonetheless, I am transported back to a series of still images, evoking reveries of yet another life I once had.

I can see what I know to be myself, sitting in a room. With my kippah drawing a strong outline for my skull, I look up to my father who is leading the prayers as we welcome the Shabbat, in the warm glow of the candles my mother has just lit.

Flooding back, like an evening tide, comes the knowledge that we would spend every Shabbat in this way, together as a family, thanking God for our lot. My father worked in a bank and we had a life, not of luxury, but of plenty. Although the fire had to remain unlit that night each week, my parents, my siblings and I sat together in a room which never felt cold.

While my sister played for hours with a lovingly decorated wooden dolls’ house, my brother and I would be equally absorbed in the tin soldiers my father had brought in for us one day. We always knew mother didn’t really approve but we adored them just the same. I would divide them up into the four kingdoms and was always the Prussian Army. My brother never held such loyalty and switched regularly between the others. Strategies in place and infantry lined up, battle would commence. Bedtime was usually announced when the soldiers began their attack on the dolls’ house.

To say that my childhood was uneventful, would be to do it a huge disservice but I remember no monumental occasions which changed the course of the lives of those contented little children.

The next image I have, is of myself much taller and almost a man. I have swapped my kippah for a spiked helmet and look not dissimilar to a life-size manifestation of those tin soldiers. This time my father is watching me, as I place my left hand on the staff of the colours and raise my right hand for God and the Fatherland. My mother and sister are wiping tears of pride and my brother looks on with envy and anticipation that he, too, will soon register to volunteer.

This was what I had waited for all of my childhood. I knew that I was fit and healthy and would certainly pass the physical examination at the muster. But when I stood there before my family, I felt such achievement and importance. The weeks of preparatory drill and discipline were gruelling but had allowed me to prove that I could serve and protect my country, if ever I should be required.

The man I see in the next picture looks so very different and yet I know it is me. I can see that it must not have been too long before my eager contribution was necessary. I remember now, with tender affection, the short time before this picture, in the barracks with my comrades. The Mess was a constant hive of activity and the men with whom I shared a room, became as close to me as my own brother. Food was meagre but it was ample enough reward for our new way of life. We were not Prussian or Bavarian, Saxon or Wuttenberg. I was no longer Jewish nor German. We were Men, waiting to defend our Nation.

But this man is different. Gone is the spark in his eyes; gone is the belief that he will save the Fatherland. He stands, a boy in a man’s body and clothes, looking like he would rather be anywhere else on Earth than this hole in the ground somewhere in a foreign land.

I recall hearing that we were better off than the English soldiers. Talk was, that their trenches were not as deep as ours and their lack of military foresight had resulted in a more temporary type of accommodation, without the drainage systems and seating areas, which kept us mostly dry. Furthermore, we’d been here first and built on higher ground which had served to our advantage in the efforts so far. Indeed we had goats for milk and the men said that these new machine guns would keep us safe.

But it was difficult to remain grateful for long. I laughed with my friends at the sound of frying lice, as we picked them from our scalps and dropped them into a shoe polish tin, heated by a candle. But nobody truly thought it was funny and no-one laughed when they were alone and found the little red creatures in their underpants, making an expedition to God knows where and itching like Hell, every inch of their journey.

Rats were another species of trench-mate but despite their size and constant noise, at least they were visible. What we couldn’t see coming was the icy cold weather, which threatened our feet as much as any enemy. Men who suffered most watched as their toes, swollen and deformed inside their boots, died on their feet.

The death of a digit was painful but the death of a comrade was worse. I remember distinctly the time I was unfortunate enough to watch this with my own eyes. In the most surreal of our experiences, fighting had ceased on Christmas Day and we all enjoyed a game of football on No Man’s Land. Only one day before, we had been taking aim at these men’s heads and shooting them down. And now, we were heading the ball to them and shooting past their goalkeeper. I think this joviality had psychologically disarmed us for a moment, because the following day, before we could stop him, Hans jumped over the parapet to readjust some barbed wire which had been disturbed in the previous festivities. And that’s when it happened.

His body leapt in the air and descended like a felled tree, until it lay prostate with the ground. We all looked on in horror and fear. Hans lay there for some time, rotting and decaying with the multitudes that no-one would ever make the suicide mission to recover, his corpse a constant reminder that Christmas was over.

As if to buoy our spirits, there was much talk of a new chlorine gas, which would revolutionise warfare, and as far as we knew, we were the first to have it available for use. It would asphyxiate the enemy and result in a slow, painful death.

When a letter came from my sister, and I sat to write my reply, I wanted to tell her of this impending tactic, to reassure her that things were going to be alright. But I knew such information was not allowed to be penned, so instead, I told her of the chilly climate of Northern France and the warmth her letter had sent me. I did, however, think about the chlorine gas when I carefully replaced her letter in the envelope and looked at the stamp. “Gott strafe England” it read. Punished they will be, I agreed, when they breathe in our cloud of chemicals. Feeling stronger than I had in a long time, I waited for our turn to shine, our turn to avenge the death of Hans.

I recall little of the last day of my life. Snippets of orders shouted to me and the other men to go over the top, once the gas had been released, pervade an otherwise darkening memory. “The wind has changed!” are the last words I heard, in my life as Kaufmann, and I was very soon to realise their significance. The damage I’d hoped to inflict on the enemy was quick to blow back in my face. What had started as a feint whiff of something between pepper and the liquid my mother used to use to clean the kitchen floor, grew stronger and the dirty yellow cloud we’d waved off to the other side, was all I could see. Like an onion, my eyes were peeled of their cells, layer by layer. The harder I tried not to breathe, the more my rasping lungs grabbed for the poisonous air outside. The Devil was eating me alive, starting with my innards. Falling to the ground, I could do no other than face my fate and I prayed that the denser gas down there would speed up the process. Hans had been the lucky one to be shot down in an instant; I lay there for hours writhing in the agony of my death.

I’ve heard it said that a Human Being’s moment of true enlightenment comes at the moment of their passing. It was at that point that I realised how foolish I had been. To be gunned down or blown up by the enemy is one thing but to fall at your own side’s blunder is another. I was no hero. I wasn’t going to be eternally honoured by my country for the sacrifice I had made. I was just another tin soldier, knocked over in the game. I would be replaced and forgotten, just as we had done in our childhood play. Never would I get the chance to have my own family and watch them grow, enjoying each Shabbat in our wonderful Fatherland.

ME

Remembering my lives and their deaths brings me comfort, knowing that I have lived and loved and seen much of what the human experience has to offer. But I have also known hardship beyond measure, I have lost my freedom and my lives have been wasted because of the actions of others. I do not remember the slugs or the willow trees I surely must have been during my journey, but I can see now that my soul is one of few, fortunate enough to live multiple human lives. The Hindus talk of rebirth, the Buddhists of reincarnation, the ancient Greek philosophers documented such theories and even the Christians believe Jesus will return. And now I know it is true. My soul, like a phoenix, will come back again. This time I know it will have a special purpose and I am certain that this life will be different to those which have gone before. I have come so close to enlightenment and fulfilment in the past but never had opportunities such as these women offer me.

Spending time inside the minds of my potential mothers has shown me who they really are. Of course we can watch others, listen to what they say and judge their actions but we never truly know a person until we walk a day in their shoes. And having done so, I am more shocked than I was before. These self gratifying lives are unlike any I have lived; none of them appear to know any bounds in their pursuit of personal happiness. They blunder through life with varying degrees of disregard for those closest to them. I am quite certain there is nothing they would not do to achieve their desires.

I cannot ignore the reasons these women want to have a baby. A child should come into this world not only by love but also by honesty and truth. Deceit is an ugly parasite which feeds on all that is beautiful and pure, leaving it marred forever. Furthermore, children are not tools and cannot be used to construct relationships; they will break and disintegrate rather than mend.

Having waited so long for my soul to return to a life where I can prosper and reach my awakening, I cannot begin my days like this, as someone’s deepest, darkest secret, created to make something else work. Surely this is not the plan. I cannot see how any of these women can serve my soul well. Indeed, I am fearful of their wily ways and if one of them must be my mother, I need to continue to see how they will prepare the pathway for me.

VICKY

Finally! After all of that. The deed is done. I’ll just text Eliza to let her know; I know she’ll have been wondering about me all weekend. I can’t believe it was so tricky. Booking a romantic night away in a relaxing spa hotel should have made it easier but I’m exhausted now!

I can’t remember which website I was on when I read that it’s a common anxiety amongst men, that they don’t want to have sex any more when their partner is pregnant, for fear of hurting the baby or something, but it hasn’t half made my job harder! If only Dan knew quite how ridiculous he was being! I was sure I’d be able to persuade him otherwise the last couple of weeks but being his usual stubborn self, there’s been no shifting him. Nope, no bedroom action for us. Fancy having to go to all of this expense!

Anyway, the hotel’s been every bit as wonderful as the reviews on the website said. And if, according to that ovulation calendar I used on the internet, I’m ovulating today, then we couldn’t have waited any longer. Getting pregnant next month would be far too suspicious. Yes, drastic times call for drastic measures! And hey, hopefully if I keep my legs peddling in the air, like Eliza told me to, my bun is baking in the oven right now! I’d better stop doing this before Dan gets back from the gym. I’m sure he only went down there so I didn’t pounce on him again!

Well, he should have been more obliging yesterday. Seriously, when has he ever come into a hotel room and gone straight down to the gym? Normally, it’s shoes off, sit down, quick flick of the television channels while I make a coffee with those sachet things, which is always cold by the time we’ve tested out the bed! But oh, no! Not this time! He couldn’t wriggle out of a ‘freebie’ night in a hotel that I’d ‘won’ - I must remember to give Eliza the cash for it when her credit card bill comes through - but when it came to being in any sort of physical contact with me, he turns into bloody Hussain Bolt all of a sudden! How funny!

He was no better last night either. Our candlelit meal in the hotel restaurant, with that wonderful pianist playing in the corner, certainly put me in the mood. Pity I couldn’t have any vino to go with that fabulous steak. Dan made up for it and finished the whole bottle. Why he didn’t just order a lager, I’ll never know. He says it’s not the ‘done’ thing in places like this but who’d have cared? I’d forgotten how sleepy wine makes him on the rare occasions he drinks it, so I really thought he was joking when we got back to the room and he flopped on the bed, declaring, “Ah might be asleep when yer done in’t bathroom, love.”

As predicted, he was snoring like a donkey by the time I’d finished having a wee and brushing my teeth. I stood no chance of waking him. I have to admit, I was starting to panic a bit by this stage.

But it didn’t last long. I shouldn’t have worried. That’s when I realised that if I woke up before him, he wouldn’t be able to resist a bit of Morning Glory. I slept well, nestled in this huge, comfy bed, knowing that the alarm was set on my mobile. Once a Girl Guide, always a Girl Guide. Well, the preparation stuff, not the morning sex stuff!

I was a bit worried Dan would wonder why I’d set an alarm on a weekend away but I experienced that strange phenomenon of waking up ten minutes before whatever time the alarm is set, so I was glad I was able to switch it off before he heard a thing.

Dan must have got cold in the night and had managed to undress and climb under the covers next to me. He was lying on his back, still snoring away when I slowly I rolled over towards him and stroked his chest, nestling my head into the space between his collar bone and his ribs. The amount of time we must have spent lying like this, over the last few years... It’s where I feel safest in the world. Wrapping my especially smoothed left leg over his muscular right thigh, I knew he would rouse when I kissed his neck, then that special spot further towards his ear. His snoring eased into a pleasured snuffle when I move my hand down to see if Mother Nature was on my side.

Sure enough, he was ripe and ready. His expression was rather funny as I straddled his abdomen and began the deed. He was like a little boy who wakes up on Christmas morning but and can’t quite believe he’s not dreaming! It didn’t really matter that it lasted no time at all; it felt a bit different to usual, more purposeful. I mean, I’m not saying that I didn’t enjoy it and I tried to secure it in my memory as the time our child was conceived. But in a weird kind of way, it was like I was simply collecting something, my crucial ingredient.

When I think about it like that, I do feel a bit guilty. But it’s not as if I’m trying to achieve something he’s going to be unhappy about. Dan’s been delighted about our ‘baby’ this last couple of weeks; he must have told everyone we know. I loved it when I was the first topic of conversation at the committee meeting the other night. Barbara and Frances were telling me all about which hospital I should use and which antenatal groups were better than others. Old Norman even lent me the cushion he usually brings for his bad back, bless him. There was certainly no mention of the blasted teabags this month! Imagine what things will be like when the baby’s actually here. No, in the grand scheme of things, what Dan doesn’t know, will never hurt him. He’ll never find out, we’ll have our perfect little baby to coo over and we’ll live happily ever after.

Eliza does keep reminding me that sometimes it takes a while and things don’t work out like when she was trying for her second for a few months. But we’re both young and healthy and I can’t see any reason why it won’t happen for us.