morgan

Gone Tonight, But Not Today

Father had snapped my wand in two, but the magic remained. If we were to survive tonight, it had to.

Four Nazi guards stood in a straight line as a man identifying himself as "Captain Friedburg" ordered us to drop our bags on the floor of the subway station and form a line. My family stood up from the waiting bench. Father left behind the sheaf of papers from his next speech at the Temple and a pencil, brand-new because he claimed fresh pencils helped him write.

Last night, his eyes red but his voice steady, he had warned Mother that once the Nazis learned of his speeches against their practices, they would no longer include us in relocations. The next time they came, it would mean the end of our family.

"When the time comes," he had said, "do not be afraid. God rewards those who do great things. If they have the courage."

With a sad glance at me, perhaps suspecting a girl my age wouldn't understand, he had finally decided to simply embrace me and kiss me on the head.

The few lights still functioning lit the platform we all stood on. Lime green tiles decorated the floor, walls, and ceilings of the subway. A passage connected us to an adjacent platform.

The ground rumbled with the insistent whine of an approaching train. I looked down the tunnel, but I couldn't see the light. The train must be coming from the other platform.

At Friedburg's order, those few taking the night's last trains by choice, not because they were Jews, backed away and went up the stairway. As if by fate, the light-bulb showing the way into the passage and the stairway blew out, darkening our only hope of escaping.

I glanced at the two split ends of my now-broken magic wand lying on the ground.

Gone tonight are the things we hold dear , Father had written, then shared with the Temple as he did every week. But never today what God has promised.

Previously a scholar, Father spoke now almost exclusively about the war and the impending collapse of our community, insisting that even in our darkest hour, God was still with us.

He had wanted me to follow in his footsteps as a scholar. But now on my way to becoming a woman, the only thing I had written were stories, nothing close to essays on philosophy and religion. As I offered to use my magic to transport us home instead of using the subway, Father, finally fed up with my dreams of something he didn't understand, took my wand and snapped it in two.

Gone tonight. But not today.

I hadn't understood earlier that evening what his speech meant. How could something be gone but still be with us?

But tonight, when the guards burst into the subway and demanded we line up to die, I knew. The wand didn't matter. All I needed was a new wand, anything would do, and God would reward me for the courage to save us. The magic remained, and God willing, so would our family.

I grabbed Father's pencil, knocking the papers off the bench.

Friedburg pointed his gun at me and told Father, "Take control of your daughter!"

"Please," my father said. "She's just a little girl. She doesn't understand."

"None of you seem to understand," Captain Friedburg said. He drew his pistol, cocked it, and pointed it at me.

I raised the pencil, my new wand, to deflect the bullet--

"Sarah, get back!"

Father jumped in front of me as a gunshot fired. He fell to the ground, blood pouring from the small hole in his chest. The Captain fired a second round to finish the job. My mother screamed and ran to stop him, but Friedburg rewarded her efforts with a third bullet, this one in her head.

I sank to my knees, cursing myself for being too afraid to use my new wand to save them.

Friedburg pointed the gun at me, but he paused. "You aren't all there, are you, little girl?"

God rewards those who do great things, Father had said. If they have the courage.

If.

If.

If.

Through the passage connecting the adjacent rails, a train approached on the other side. Its lights beamed through the darkness.

He had sacrificed himself to save me. Did I have the courage to make the most of it?

Clutching the pencil, I ran.

A gunshot fired as I crossed the passage. Desperate, I waved the wand. I dared a glance behind me and knew. A bullet had passed through me and into the wall where I had just stood, leaving a smoking hole.

I reached the other rail and saw the train bearing down on us, fast.

I backed up against the edge of the platform and looked down the tunnel at the oncoming train.

Magic, God, whatever it was, had to be real. If I was to survive this night, it must be.

I paused. My finger passed through a small, burned hole where the bullet had passed through the dress, not through me.

The guards came through the hallway and took formation.

Captain Friedburg betrayed himself at the sight of me standing on the edge of the platform, about to jump. Again, he hesitated.

"Don't be a fool," he said.

Real.

It must be. It must be.

With the train upon me, I waved the wand, closed my eyes, and leaped.