Dirt-Stained Hero

Dirt-Stained Hero

         Dietrich stirred up plumes of ash as he stumbled down the path. It was dusk in Nürnberg, and the meager light of the jaundiced sun was fading into the gloom. Shadows crept silently over the rubble—the survivors of the bombing runs that had brought the city to its knees. Three days prior, when Dietrich had arisen, Nürnberg was not unlike the rest of struggling Germany. That night however, the sun set amidst ash and fire.

         Dietrich’s feet ached; his lungs and mind choked on the dust that filled the air. His brain had frozen in a state of bewildered shock, and his body merely fumbled from step to step. When Dietrich looked up from his inspection of the dirt, he noticed the growing darkness of nightfall and something inside him said that it was time to rest. It was not a conscious prompt but an old habit surfacing in time to save his failing joints; his mind had regressed past the point of conscious thoughts. Or at least that was how Dietrich felt at dusk of the third day since his life had ended.

         Dietrich’s mournful eyes lifted to the right horizon. The sight did not take his breath away, for Dietrich has not truly breathed for three days. His eyes simply found what they had expected, the same bleak wilderness that his Nürnberg had become.

         Yet out of the corner of his eye, Dietrich noticed an aberration. He blinked and focused on the spot. In a moment, Dietrich realized that he was staring at a person, a boy. It was the first soul that he had acknowledged since that ominous date. That is not to say that Dietrich had encountered no human beings before that boy, but only that Dietrich had not noticed them. He had passed by countless ghosts like himself in the recent hours but something about this boy made him stop and look. Dietrich tilted his head and took a step toward the child. Another step followed, and eventually Dietrich had come close enough to really see the youngster.

         The boy could not have been more than eight years old. His face was dirty and smudged with ash, and his mouth was contorted in a pained grimace. The boy’s right arm dangled at his side. It was not covered by a sleeve for the cloth had been charred off with the skin. The boy’s stomach jutted out underneath an undersized shirt and his knees were drawn up to his chest. As Dietrich drew nearer, the boy brought his blackened chin up. His hollow eyes met Dietrich’s.

         “I’m hungry,” the boy whimpered softly. With those two words, something in Dietrich’s heart awoke. A wave of sympathy rushed through Dietrich’s body, rejuvenating his unused nerves. Three words appeared in Dietrich’s mind.

         “I am too,” he said with the teeniest hint of smile. The boy looked back at the ground dejectedly, his hopes of relief dashed like pottery against the floor. “Wait,” stammered Dietrich, “don’t look so sad.”

         “Why shouldn’t I,” replied the boy. “I have nothing else to do, except starve.”

         “Do you want to hear…a story?” asked Dietrich.

         “A story?” inquired the boy.

         “Yes…a story,” affirmed Dietrich. The boy was silent for a moment.

         “What kind of story?” he finally asked.

         “Well, my story. It’s the only one I know,” Dietrich said.

         “Ok,” said the boy.

         “Ok,” answered Dietrich. But Dietrich had nothing to say. No words, no story came to his newly reawakened mind. He was in no shape to tell a story to the boy. And certainly not his story, which was too fresh in his mind also. Still, Dietrich could not deny the faint glint in the boy’s eye. To do so would crush the suffering child. The boy was waiting.

“Well, the story begins ten years ago, here in Nürnberg,” Dietrich declared. “I was thirty, and you had not been born. I lived in an apartment…a few blocks from here. I didn’t have much money; I was a laborer. My neighbor was a Jew named Jacob. Jacob worked in a library. He was a kind man, a good man. But he was always upset, troubled by something. Soon, his trouble became clear. Month after month, Jacob’s rights disappeared. Before long, he had no more rights. He was not allowed to do anything. This was hard for him, very hard, and I could see it in his eyes. Do you understand all of this?” Dietrich asked his listener. The boy nodded reservedly. Dietrich accepted the answer and continued his story with renewed vigor. His strength was beginning to return.

         “I did what I could for my friend Jacob, but there was not much I could do. However, one day he came to my apartment and knocked on my door. I asked him what the matter was. Jacob said that he was afraid; that he felt something terrible was beginning. I was not sure of what he meant, but I believed what he said. I told him I would pray for him and look out for him. He thanked me and returned to his room. That night was a very long one for me. I prayed for hours, and I felt that I needed to do something for Jacob. God put it on my heart to hide him in my house. I had no idea why I was supposed to do this, but I trusted my Lord and I obeyed. I approached Jacob and told him that he needed to hide at my house. Jacob consented, and I began to construct a special place for him in the wall. You must understand that I took a large risk in doing this. If Jacob was right in being afraid, then I had reason to be afraid too if I hid him. But I did it anyway.

         “A few weeks later, Hitler declared a “final solution” for all of the Jews. I realized then that Jacob had been right. The Gestapo came to his room within days, but they did not find him there. They questioned me and I told them that he had moved into the country. They peered into my apartment, but they did not search it.  For three years, I hid Jacob in my apartment. And then…” Dietrich paused as a single tear slid down his dirt-streaked face. His breathing shortened. But the boy was waiting. “And then the bombs began to fall. The first one hit the building next door to mine. The blast knocked over my dresser…blocked the entrance to Jacob’s hideout. I tried and tried to move it, but it was too heavy. Jacob shouted to me to leave him, but I simply couldn’t. I heaved against the bureau until the last possible minute but I did not succeed in moving it and I…I was forced to run. I was the last one out of the building before it fell. I searched for Jacob amongst the rubble…but…” Dietrich choked back a sob. Through his tears, he glanced over at the boy, who had fallen asleep, curled up into a ball. Dietrich’s heart warmed at the sight. The boy stirred in his sleep and shivered. It was a cold night. Dietrich slid off his coat and placed it around the sleeping child. The boy grasped it and pulled it around himself. Dietrich smiled.

         Dietrich sat beside the boy for an hour, quietly reflecting over all that had happened. He cried for Jacob, and for his life, and for his city, Nürnberg, which had been reduced to dust, but most of all for Jacob. Still, Jacob’s memory filled Dietrich with pride, because he knew that he had done the right thing, even though it could have cost him everything he did the right thing. Like he had done tonight. The thought made him feel odd. He felt like a dirt-stained hero.

         Dietrich glanced back over at the boy who seemed to be in a deep sleep with Dietrich’s coat pulled snug against his body. Dietrich lifted his eyes to the horizon. His city lay peacefully in the night, patiently awaiting its rebirth. Rebirth, the word sounded good. Dietrich caught his eyes drooping and blinked. He was tired; it was time for sleep. Dietrich shivered in the night air. It was a cold night. He reclined slowly against the jutting rocks. Finally, Dietrich shut his eyes, trusting God for the morning.