Jessica Tsai
A Roller of Cigarettes
Pg. 27-34
I was a roller of cigarettes. The taste of them I did not love, but the rolling became my passion and guilty pleasure. I painted houses and played the piano accordion, which in the future comforted the people around me, although I am still unaware to that to this day. I made little money through playing in pubs, and many say that I have cheated death once, but it must have been faith that we would eventually met.
When the opportunity of caring for another foster child was presented to us, my wife and I both took it on, as we have straightened out many in the past. It wouldn’t be anything new, and the duration of the stay was undetermined. Yet, to remain unattached to a child is a hard enough task, especially when caring for them, but raising a child is undoubtedly harder. Liesel Meminger came to us on an ordinary day, nothing special about the day. As the car pulled up, I saw a young little girl, tears scarred her young face. A layer of dirt coated her. How she got here? I may never know. I saw her look up. Safe blond hair, but dangerous dark brown eyes that searched the street for a sense of familiarity, yet as the light dimmed, she found none. And still not a slight intention to leave her temporary sanctuary.
“Was ist los mit den Kind? Na, komm. Komm.” Don’t rush her, Rosa, let her come by herself. I tapped the cigarette a couple times and advanced quietly. Put a hand on her Rosa as I signalled her to leave.
“Liesel, would you like to come in?” And so the convincing games began. Nearly fifteen minutes after, she came out the car.
And then there was the gate. A gang of tears trudged down her face as the neighbours starting poking out their heads.
“What are you assholes looking at?” Rosa hollered. Ah, my wife. Finally, I took hold of Liesel’s hand and walked into our house, unconscious to the book hidden in her suitcase that would become a stepping stone to our intertwined lives.
“Saumensch, du dreckiges!” screeched Rosa. The same layer of dirt covered our foster daughter, dirt from God knows where. “You filthy pig! Why won’t you get undressed?”
“Leave her alone.” She glared at me with the same bright eyes as always. Don’t start with me. “Leave her to me.” She left quietly, but emotions filled her eyes as always. What to say though? The frightened little thing was backed into a corner of our closet like washroom, clutching for nonexistent arms of the wall for some level of support. Taken from her mother, she was left in this estranged world of Molching. I rolled the cigarette between my fingers, looking for an answer. And there I found it, right at my fingertips.
“You know how to roll a cigarette?” She simply looked at me through her thick, dark lashes. No, read her eyes. I retrieved my little box of supplies and showed her my guilty pleasure. Never admired by anyone else, she looks on with great wonder and admiration, tinted with curiosity. And for the next hour or so, we say in a rising pool of darkness, playing with the tobacco and cigarette papers while I smoked them. And at the end of this hour, she could roll a cigarette moderately well.
Pg. 36
In the months to come, I did not know this at first, but I would yet find one night where I slept soundly in my bed and beside my wife. While she slept like a dead log, I was woken up by screaming coming from our only bedroom. I couldn’t bear to hear her screaming and weeping in her bed. Nor could I imagine what could possibly happen if I went into comfort her. Deciding which one I simply could not stand more, I made my decision. Quietly as ever, I stepped into Liesel’s bedroom, knowing she must have had a nightmare, and sat with her. “Shh, I’m here, it’s alright,” I would sometimes say. After a while, I just held her in my arms until she was calm and could drift back to bed. I did not know what possessed me to do such things, but I came in night after night, week after week until she could relax and sleep. With as much gentleness I possessed, I held her in my arms, nodding off as the sun started to shine. Day by day, I felt like she started to trust me, see me as someone that truly cared, for which I did exactly that. I could tell that she was different from the previous children we have taken care of. Thus trust was built.
Pg. 63- 64
Just like any other night, screaming woke me up. As always, I walked quietly into her room. A different atmosphere hung in the air. Or a smell.
“Papa.” It was all she could say. Never did I ask what she dreamt of, but I knew that this nightmare must have been different. I pried her from the wet bedclothes and took her to the washroom.
“We take the sheets off.” I reached under and pulled at the fabric, but something came loose that I stopped and heard a thud. A small black book with silver writing came into appearance, between my feet. I looked at it with a puzzled look and in the darkness, I looked at Liesel. She simply shrugged. I sighed and picked up the book, realizing there was writing on it. I squinted in the dark, trying to make out the foreign letters to my eyes. “The Grave Digger’s Handbook.” I was not a good reader myself, yet I was faced with a young girl, misplaced in the world, looking to me for everything.
“Is this yours?”
“Yes, Papa.”
“Do you want to read it?”
“Yes, Papa.”
“Well, we’d better read it, then.” A smiled a tired smile at her. At that moment, though I did not know it, my teachings would save her one day, but that day had yet to come. Only time could go on to tell us the reaping of our hard work.
Pg. 125-128
A book burning took place in our little town. Riddled with Nazis and Heil Hitlers. As I took my Liesel home, I couldn’t help but wonder the proposition that sat before me. No words could be exchanged nor thoughts shared. The time was crucial and the decision to take on such a task could be a matter of life and death. Danger riddled, but I felt like I needed to do it. Even though I could trust Liesel, would she say anything to anyone? In the corner of my eye, I could see Liesel bend over. What’s happening? From underneath her clothes, she removed a smoking book, hopping it sheepishly from hand to hand. I could only stare at her in disbelief.
“What the hell do you call that?” I couldn’t censor my feelings inside. Stolen? I took hold of the smoking book. The Shoulder Shrug. Hot, wet, blue and red, and obviously stolen from the book burning. “Another one?” She rubbed her ribs. Yes, another one. I scanned the book, moved my old fingers across the cover and the edges as pieces of paper fell away from my fingertips. Then it dawned on me. This could be the answer. Not directly within my hands. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.” How could I not have figured this out before? The perfect utility for what I needed.
“What, Papa? What is it?”
“Of course.” How could I not have realized that this is what the answer was?
“Come on, Papa, what is it?” This was absolutely perfect!
“Are you going to tell?”
“Sorry?” Tell what?
“You know. Are you going to tell Mama?” She was making absolutely no sense. She grabbed onto my sleeves with her eyes wide with despair.
“About what?”
“This.” She raised the book. What?
“Why would I?” Seriously confused. Her face scrunched up, not wanting to admit what she had done.
“Because I stole again.” Ah, my sweet girl. I crouched down, rose again and placed my hand on her head. I stroke her hair with tenderness.
“Of course not, Liesel. You are safe.”
“So what are you going to do?” What a question. Could I trust her? Should I? She is still but a child. Will she understand? What could happen now, doesn’t not only concern the lives of our little family, but more than that.
“Listen, Liesel.” I placed my arm around her and walked along. “This is our secret, this book. We’ll read it at night or in the basement, just like the others-but you have to promise me something.” A compromise for what I have to offer her.
“Anything, Papa.” I knew this was an offer that she could not refuse. Hungry for any story, whether to escape the reality of our time, or rather to make a world of her own.
“If I ever ask you to keep a secret for me, you will do it.” It was not a question, but a statement.
“I promise.”
We headed home. What Liesel wouldn’t know was that I carried some cigarettes down to the Nazi Party Office in Molching and exchanged for with loose change for the Mein Kampf. Written by the Fuhrer himself, the safest weapon that could ever be used. No way to doubt such a trusted book.
“Thank you.” With no hint of what is to happen with this specific book, he left the Nazis behind and ventured on. A key taped inside the cover of the book, sent off to a distant address and to end up in the hands of Jewish fist fighter.
Pg. 394-395
The parade was in town. No, not the kind of parade you would think to happen on any other day in a small town. But on this day, a day in World War II, the parade marched through a small German town. The parade of Jews. Why I took Liesel and Rudy there, I do not know. Why I didn’t protect their naive youth from such a sight, I can never say. Chains echoed through the street. Ugly shouts of German commands fill our ears. Feet shuffled as they carried the barely there weight of their owner. Holding onto the small, delicate hand of Liesel, I couldn’t help but feel a little more grateful at the moment. How could they treat each other in such a way? Treat other humans as if they were below each other. Some must be done. Some had to be done before one of them drop onto the ground, and never to rise again. I dropped Liesel’s hand, and reached for the paint cart that I had carried with me. Reaching into it, I pulled at the object and headed towards the parade. I locked my sight on the first participant I saw and revealed the object. A piece of bread. Although maybe stale, it was food nonetheless. He took it and slid down to his knees and held my shins. He buried his face between them and thanked me. Gratuity filled his voice as only of a desperate man. What caused me to do this, I do not know. Maybe the Jew hidden in my basement and the proof that a human is a human. Grateful and self sacrificing. All the other Jews streamed by as like a streaming pool. All too unaware of the soldier wading through the crowd. Without a second of thought more, he took out his whip. Six whips onto the Jew. Four for me. I could only imagine the sight it looked like to Liesel. Blood dripped onto the sidewalk as I dropped to the ground. The elderly Jew in front of me and climbed back up, with one last glace, he walked on with burning lines of fire on his back. I sat up, kneeling on the ground and watched the procession. Call me what you want, at least I can say I did something human in this lifetime. In these hard times of war.
Pg. 423-425
Two hours left until goodbye, I sat in the kitchen. The kitchen is said to be the heart of the house. To stay in the heart of our home a little longer before I am sent off to cold, dark roads with families screaming and gunshots filling the air.
“Don’t go, Papa. Please.” Liesel pleaded with every fibre of her being. “First we lost Max. I can’t lose you now, too.” I couldn’t even face her at the moment. Everything had been my doing. The line of events that had happened was all my doing.
“You’re half a woman now, Liesel.” Unable to look at my grown girl, I push back the tears that were bridging on the borders of my eyes. “Look after Mama, will you?” I finally looked up and saw her nod through the pain in her eyes.
“Yes. Papa.”
No time is left. No more goodbyes as the train has pulled up to the platform. I hold her little frame in my arms. Say something, say anything. Pushing the thoughts of ‘the last time’ away from my heart, I pushed through.
“Could you look after my accordion, Liesel? I decided not to take it.” A cover up of thoughts. I can only ask her one final thing. The one thing might just be able to keep the rest of them sane. “And if there are more raids, keep reading in the shelter.” Be that little shining of light in the dark times of a warm, my dear.
“Yes, Papa.” My diligent and faithful daughter. Sweet and precious. I reached out to my wife and my daughter. Held them both for as long as I could, and then watched them grow smaller, and smaller, and smaller until they were no bigger than pin heads and finally, faded from view.
These filled my life and until the unseen, yet predicted end of my life, the little girl that I cherished and watched grow up left her mark in the world, even if it’s only evident to so many people. The decisions I’ve made have determined her path, for the better or for the worse. Even as I lie eternally here, I leave with no regrets and leave a trail of accordion notes and cigarette paper.
Essential Questions chosen:
1) How does the environment affect one’s decision?
2) Are decisions part of human nature?”
Thesis: Every step of action we chose to take, every thought that passes our mind is an offspring of what and who is around us, and without the ability to weigh and chose the actions we chose to take in our lives, we cannot be called human beings.
Hans Huberman would have only needed to make such decisions in a time of war and in a time where desperation is everywhere. Without experiences of gunfire, he would have never accepted the request to hide a Jew in his basement, and without the interaction with such a refuge, he would have never decided to give bread to the prisoners walking by his town
Accompanied Music.
