8/3/2019 Snowflake (Short Story for HUM 1)

1/2

SNOWFLAKE

SHORT STORY based on MANS SEARCH FOR MEANING

By Dondiego Eleazar G. Casanova

The salvation of man is through and in love.

I am Tilly, Tilly Grosser, and I survived the Jewish torment. Before being held captive, I was a

nurse in the same hospital Viktor was working as a neurosurgeon. And back then, I have hated him

dearly, for the petty reason of dumping my best friend for no reason, something that was pretty

preposterous since she was pretty. But then everything changed for me on our first date, which was the

best chance I got to get back at him, but only to find his honesty, of every single event with him and my

best friend. And because of that, I was pleased with his character.

It is true, what they say, that in every single day of being in love, everything goes vivid, light, and

sweet. Even for the traces of the Nazi terror, I have found the skies bluer, the sun brighter, and life

livelier. And even after the dates, I have found myself knees deep in love with him, without a care even

if my socks get wet, and shoes ruined. I was happy in the carnage that I thought would never get anyworse.

And like any other love that was perfect, we got married. It was for some reason of his that I

cant remember but what I can tell you is this: he has always said that he knew I would never leave him.

And I didnt. We went through every obstacle together everything with much patience necessary. The

patience to walk to church to get wed (we were not allowed to ride a carriage or a cab), the patience to

not have a child (for others were forced to abort them and to lose a child would have haunted me for

the rest of my life), and the impatience to wait for him to come back when he got deported which would

leave me behind. And so I left the factory to join him on the train to prison. I grew freighted every

minute and I held onto him and he wrapped himself around me and we stayed that way throughout the

journey.

The next was just a blur. People barged in, spoke simultaneously in different languages, looked

nothing like I ever imagined. They lookedfine. They seemed unharmed and I somehow felt the

reassured that everything will be fine. Fell in line, divided by sex, checked, stripped off our possessions.

It was then that my senses grew sharper, seeing my left hand, with only just the tan l ine of a wedding

band. And then I remembered our conversation before we walked out of the train. Leave your wedding

band. Do anything just to keep yourself alive, he said. I never replied. I nodded, and kissed goodbye. I

wish I told him I understood, but then I knew he knew. And even without telling me I would have given

my body and my fidelity just to see him again after all this is over. Ah, yes, when everything was over.

I am afraid I could no longer stand to tell you the pain that I have went through in those three

concentration camps, but I shall talk about my freedom thereafter. I wish you could understand, that I

am typical and no matter how much truth would set me free, it would only work when it would kill me

to keep it from all of you, not when it will kill me by telling it to all of you. The horrors that I have faced

are for no weak woman. And I was nearly strong, for you see I have been free twice: the white flag of my

captors and the white flag of my physical self.

Leaving my body on the cold snow, I found myself staring blankly at my corpse, withered and

thin, with my open eyes which stil l showed the glimmer of hope of living through this catastrophe. I felt

nothing for a moment. But with each passing snowflake, I felt warmer. I saw from beyond the dull camp,

8/3/2019 Snowflake (Short Story for HUM 1)

2/2

the sunrise, the pail purple mountains, and the light. I felt the glow come back to myself once more, I

became who I used to be without the therapy necessary for my incapable body. I was ready.

I was ready no to go further, but to go back and reach out to my husband in some way I could,

now that I am liberated. I stepped forward. I felt the cold snow on my naked feet, but they didnt burn.

The cold was bitter no more. I stepped again, no footprints. I stepped again. I was in front of him.

He seemed blank. He was as thin as I was. He was cold as I was. He has the glimmer of hope like

my body was. I held his hand through a small snowflake, he did not flinch. I kissed his cheek with a gust

of wind, he did not move. I hugged him tight with the cold, he did not shudder. He was lost. He was the

same man I met years ago, only buried beneath the cruel snow of a thousand torments. He is the man I

love, but I have a mission, to unravel the thick fabric of the Nazi nightmare that covered him preventing

me from ever feeling him, seeing him, holding him. And I knew just the thing.

He loved Psychology. And he didnt know that even in his ways, he has brushed on me a few of

his. I understood him and took him for a learned man. A Classic. And through deep things, I could touch

his heart. I wanted him to see what I see now. I wanted him to embrace the cold as something good,

and notice the beauty within the smallest of things. I tried to paint with life, make him feel things out of

the contrast, the repetition, the motion, the stillness, the darkness, the blankness. I wanted him to feel

human by feeling, and searching deep within himself a reason, even for his existence. I would have

made Rembrandt proud of all my subtleties. A sunset against the cool white mountains, a lit house in

the vast dark night, a delicate field in the soft sunlight. And there I felt like woman, making him feel like

a human.

Then one day, I stood next to him as we stared at the break of dawn. He spoketo me. And I

was there to listen. I cried hot tears as he spilled his heart of how he missed me. He thought of me every

single day, and I thought I lost him. I hugged him again like I hugged him back when we were on the

train. I listened further to his voice, which grew raspier because of the unforgiving cold. He said he

looked forward to seeing me again. I cried harder. I cried so hard that I lost what he said next, because I

knew that if he would, he would have to give up this fight right there and then. And I let a snowflaketouch his forehead. He closed his eyes.

I could say that I never left him. Even until he was free, literally, I mean. He was saved by some

troops and was given food, shelter, and a trip back home. I was there when he rewrote his lost article,

when he saw my pendant again, when he learned of my death, when he secluded from the world in

utter despair, and when he got through it. But I wasnt there when he got married again, for I knew it

would happen someday. That one day that hed be survived by a wife and a kid, a child we never risked

to try having. And I knew somehow that I would be less needed, more forgotten, but when I see his face

now, see the man I love before, today and forever. Yes its worth it. I have been saved. So was he.