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Night
A boy, still of schooling age,
Trapped inside Hell on the surface:
Auschwitz, the work camp. Where he would remain, for
Two years to come. Two years, two years, two whole years…
What a long time that is, those two wide years.
And so torturous, so painful it was.
It seems like the pain
Won’t ever end, not ever.
But it did end, it did…
But that, friend, is another story.
Lost his mother in the fray,
As well as his sisters.
He clings to his father, all that he has left.
And then, his last relative, his father, one and only,
One day, realized, “It’s time. I am finished.”
And finished he was.
But Eliezer, no, he did not see it quite that way.
“Not like the Rabbi’s son,” he convinced himself.
“I do not wish to be rid of my father… he is not a burden.”
Ah, but every life must eventually come to a close.
The boy’s father has swayed the curtains shut,
Before he can even take his bow.
The show has ended… but the boy will still applaud.
He can still applaud. He does. His memories clap for his father, always remembering,
Always.
Even if his mind forgets, one day,
His heart will always remember his father.
Did you know? It still claps.
Even now, his kind heart applauds his father, remembering…
“One of the greatest performances I’ve seen. Bravely produced, Father.”
His heart shouts this, even though he knows that his father can no longer hear his applause.
Even knowing that his father cannot appreciate it, he applauds.
He applauds to make up for that moment
When his father called out to him,
And he did not respond.
Because, even if his father never knows it, he will.
Forever.
Who knows? Maybe his father can hear him.
But that, friend, is another story.
“Then my father made a rattling noise and it was my name: ‘Eliezer.’”—Night, page 106, Elie Wiesel
 FN Pixie · Fri Nov 21, 2008 @ 12:05am · 1 Comments |
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