0% found this document useful (0 votes)
94 views

TSPW Chapter 9

The document tells the story of two children, Nicci and Damian, living in a ghetto during World War II. Nicci brings Damian to see a puppet show called Brundibár to distract him. Later, Nicci learns from Gabriel that Damian may be transported away. Nicci keeps Damian occupied by bringing him to an art class. While painting a watercolor landscape, Nicci finishes her work but forgets to sign her name.

Uploaded by

monkeypartydance
Copyright
© © All Rights Reserved
We take content rights seriously. If you suspect this is your content, claim it here.
Available Formats
Download as DOCX or read online on Scribd
0% found this document useful (0 votes)
94 views

TSPW Chapter 9

The document tells the story of two children, Nicci and Damian, living in a ghetto during World War II. Nicci brings Damian to see a puppet show called Brundibár to distract him. Later, Nicci learns from Gabriel that Damian may be transported away. Nicci keeps Damian occupied by bringing him to an art class. While painting a watercolor landscape, Nicci finishes her work but forgets to sign her name.

Uploaded by

monkeypartydance
Copyright
© © All Rights Reserved
We take content rights seriously. If you suspect this is your content, claim it here.
Available Formats
Download as DOCX or read online on Scribd
You are on page 1/ 7

Trinette, I ask Where are you from? Italy. She responds suspiciously. Where in Italy? I asked. Rome.

She said, eyeing me. Where in Rome? I ask. Why are you questioning me? She asks in return. Just answer the question. I say stubbornly. Fine, she responds I live near the site of the Stadio Olimpico. Whats your last name? I continue. Again, she says why do you need to know this? Just answer the question. I say again. DuPont. Trinette DuPont, who is French, lives near the Stadio in Rome. You re kidding me! You can t be Trinette! What do you mean? Do you remember Tom Handley? Yeah, I used to listen to it on the wireless on Sunday afternoons while my parents went out with friends. I stayed with my babysitter named... wait. No, it can t be! You re Nicci? I nod. Nicci! It s been so long since I ve seen you! She exclaims. I know. What s happening? Damian asks. Who knows? Gabriel says. Remember Zis is Funf speaking? I ask Trinette. Yeah it was the German spy guy from the show! she laughs. At that we both crack up for no good reason at all.

After were done eating, Damian, Gabriel, Trinette and I all walk down to our barracks. Gabriel leaves for the men s barracks as Trinette and Damian follow me down to the one for children. Later, Trinette leaves for her room and Damian and I are alone. It soon becomes quiet. Too quiet. So... I say to break the silence. So... he responds. How was the soup? I ask, which is stupid since I ate the same soup for dinner. The usual, he answers It was cold, watery. There was a bit of potatoes however. True. There were some potatoes but there were so few you could barely tell the difference. Yeah, I say as we break into our separate rooms. Well, he says bye. Bye. Goodnight. Goodnight. There is nothing more to say. As I lie on my bed I begin to ponder why we are here. The ghettos are not a place for children. To tell you the truth the ghettos are no place for anyone. Why do they place us here? Why do these soldiers hate us? Are we not human such as them? We never did anything to hurt them so why do they hurt us? My mind is reeling with thoughts of hatred. I hate Nazis. I hate soldiers. I hate war. I hate Hitler. No. No I don t. Thinking such thoughts will only make me as low as they are. Hating people because they hate you is stupid. I do not hate them do I? Maybe I am fooling myself by thinking that I do. But maybe I am fooling myself by thinking I don t. I m so confused. Look at what hatred has done to us. It has made us ignorant. It has caused stupidity. It has caused war. I refuse to fall into what has caused such a war. I refuse to fall for what has also caused the situation I am now in. I must forgive and forget. I must ignore what they have done to me. With that unhappy thought in my mind I fall into a deep, dreamless sleep. When I wake up I see a simple envelope tacked up on the corner of the post on my bunk bed. I quickly snatch up the envelope and rip it open. Inside are the simple words I m going to talk to the old lady. It s pretty much a code we use here. The old lady is just a way of saying that there s news. I m going to talk to the old lady just means that there s news and we need to talk. I bet I know who it is and I take a shower and race to our meeting place. About a week ago there were rumours of an end to the war. But we couldn t just say that out loud. We made a place to meet up and talk. A place that was hidden away but still reachable. So I run to our hiding place, the attic balcony which is both reachable and secluded.

To get there, however, you must pass the attic filled with the dead and dying, older men and women. The place smells of rotting flesh and rats. Flies have invaded the area and gave no mercy to the aging victims as the slowly rot away. Two to three people share each cot. They shiver as they attempt to sleep. I keep thinking of the fact that if they sleep they may never wake. But I guess it s a better end than gassing or cremation. As I walk quickly past the dead and dying. I am expecting Damian to be at the balcony but when I arrive I see not Damian but Gabriel. Well that s a shock. He s not usually talkative and is always saying that we shouldn t listen to the old lady and that it s all just gossip. Well here he is and he seems to be anxious. Listen to me, he says You have to save Damian. What? I ask, bewildered. Just stay calm, he says This is bad news. Just spit it out already! I shout a bit too loudly. Okay, he says, trying to stay calm Damian is being transported. What?!? I shout, again. I knew you would take it badly. I have to go tell him. No, you can t! He can t find out about this. And why not? Because we can t. He s been so... almost... happy. He has friends here and there s Trinette too. I think she d die if he left. Fine, but what do we do? I m going to the office later. Please keep the little kids away. The last thing I need is two little kids complaining. Fine, I ll go to the concert with them tomorrow. Ever since the Danish Red Cross came to visit we ve had concerts and children s Operas. I personaly have no idea why. Aren t they supposed to torture us? Good. Gabriel says, relived. And with that we run down the through the attic, down the stairs and we split off down the street in separate directions. I run back to Damian s room to pick him up.

We re going to Brundibr! Get up and get dressed! I shout at him as I throw a pillow in his face. What? He mutters. Get up! Get up! I shout again. I m going, I m going! He shouts. I wait outside while he gets dressed, occasionally thumping on the door to hurry him up. Let s go! I holler at him. I know it s only been five minutes but I need to go get Trinette too. Damian finally thumps out the door angrily and follows me to Trinette s room. Trinette? I shout Are you there? Yeah, Trinette shouts Come in! We re going to watch Brundibr, I say as I walk in You coming? Yeah, she responds I was going anyways. Let s go people! Let s go! Damian echoes. Let s go! Trinette echoes. With that we all walk crazily to the theatre, shouting like wild animals. When we arrive we take our seats right before the show starts. The story is about a girl named Aninka and a boy named Pep ek. The two fatherless siblings run to the doctor to find out what s wrong with their mother. The doctor tells them that what their mother needs is milk but they are too poor to afford it. Instead of giving up they run to the market square and sing to get money for their mother. But the evil organ grinder Brundibr chases them away. But with the help of a fearless bird, overly enthusiastic cat, a smart dog and a few of the kids in town help chase him away and continue to sing in the market square. More! the audience calls. That s the end. The director shouts. The director is onstage now as the actors file off and the set makers clear the stage. More, More, More! the audience shouts. That s it for the day. He shouts, but the audience is so loud you can barely hear him.

About five minutes later Damian, Trinette and I decide to leave. The crowd is still shouting as we walk down the street. We are soon out of earshot of the maniac audience. Its only 11:45 in the afternoon and I need to keep the kids distracted. The only thing I can truly think of doing is bringing them to an afternoon art class. We may even be able to catch a musical concert performance afterward. We race down the streets as quickly as possible. We only have fifteen minutes to have some lunch before we race over to the attic. We grab our soup and eat it all quickly. As soon as were finished we race down the street and to the class. Even with all our running we manage to be five minutes late. Today we will be trying watercolour painting. the art teacher says eagerly First choose two paint colours and squeeze them onto the plate. Now drop in a bit of water into your paint and mix it well. It should look a bit watery. After you have done this please come up to get some paper. About half the class gets in line to get some paper. Paper is quite rare here. The artists sometimes get us a few sheets from their work. Mostly we use the back of old papers the soldiers throw away. But today it is artist grade paper. The beautiful thick, white sheets just like the ones in the secret compartment of my suitcase. I remind myself to thank the artists if I should bump into them one day. Now, the teacher continues You may begin your original pencil sketches. You will later have to erase the pencil marks so please draw lightly. I draw a pond surrounded by evergreen trees and full of beautiful water lilies. A frog sits atop a gray stone almost hidden away from sight. I spend almost an hour sketching until I finally find that the whole drawing is perfect. Then I begin to paint. The two colours I chose seem to complement each other. The blue and the green I have created are not vivid but sleepy. The colours Damian has chosen are equally well chosen. The gray is the colour of a raincloud and a yellow the colour of the pond lilies I imagined. As I begin to paint I realize that I cannot simply make do with only two colours and I ask Damian if I can borrow his. He lets me do so and I soon finish the lake. All that is left for me to do is paint the tree line and see if I can finish the water lilies. About half an hour until the end of the class, every bird has been painted a light greenish bluish colour, every flower doused in a layer of light yellow paint. I have mixed in specks of white paint to create an effect making it seem almost as if the water is moving. The bits of yellow make the water become alive with sunlight. The trees are much darker and the shadows play across the forest ground. The frogs are strewn across logs, rocks and lily pads. The brush finely strokes the paper leaving colour behind. The beautiful lines and dabs are as intricate as they are delicate. It almost seems alive. You re not quite done. Damian says.

And why not? I ask. You forgot to sign your name. He responds, smiling, as he points to the lower right hand corner. I guess I ll do that now then. I pick up the finest brush I have and gently inscribe the words Nicci Costa #615982, July 17th 1945, Theresienstadt camp. The old woman has been talking a lot lately. Damian says She said that the war might end soon. This, of course, is probably just gossip, but here we take it as a sign of hope. They are starting clean ups around here. He continues next week we might be forced to help them cover up all the dead. I really hope we can get the war to end. I whisper. The old lady also said the Hitler is dead. He whispers back, smiling. Something in between a gasp and a cough escape my lips and Damian laughs. Were free, Nicci. He says. Yes. Yes we are. We are free at last. Does Trinette know? She s the one who told me. You know how she works in the S.S office? She practically sits around waiting on the soldiers orders so she picks this stuff up all the time. What else does she know? There are going to be hundreds of transfers this month, along with clean ups and then we are going to be left to ourselves. The transfers. That is why they are deporting so many people. I guess they don t want a bad reputation in case the Allies or the Russians make it here. The whole world must still think that we live comfortable lives in the lap of luxury here in Theresienstadt. I wish they d come sooner. With only five minutes left of class, my painting is hung up to dry, and I am urging Damian and Trinette to hurry up. It is now 3:00 and the show starts at 3:20. We only have twenty minutes to run all the way back to the stage. Trinette has just hung up her picture when I drag them out the door. Again, we race down the street as fast as our feet will take us. Again, we are late. Its 3:30 by the time we reach our seats. The music is quite beautiful and the dancers leap across the stage soundlessly. I was told that these instruments

were given to us when the Red Cross came for their visit and they never took them back. I keep wondering why. But I push the thought away from my mind and begin to sink into the beautiful sounds and imagine myself at home, listening through the wireless, seated next to Trinette on the red velvet sofa.

You might also like