Daria's Dilemma

Daria's Dilemma

“Thank you, so much for coming,” Daria said. She was standing next to the casket stealing glances at the ashen facsimile of her husband, David. These past 63 years had seemingly passed in the blink of the proverbial eye. She continued, on autopilot, greeting family and friends with a pasted on smile, barely feeling anyone’s grasp. Her mind wandered to another time and place.

She had been starving for 14 days, no food, little water and what there was, was nasty. She couldn’t remember the last time she had been warm or felt safe. Her family had all died, either in the showers or because of disease or starvation. She was alone in the world now with little hope, even her faith having failed her. She lay down on her squalid bunk and contemplated the ease of just letting go, just giving up, but something inside her wouldn’t allow it. She lay still, concentrating on just breathing. The hunger pangs had stopped two or three days ago and she was finding it difficult to move about at all, let alone get up.

A commotion outside caught her attention. There was gun fire, not that it was uncommon here, but this seemed louder and more frequent than usual. The ground beneath building was vibrating softly, gently. Suddenly a face appeared just above Daria’s stomach, or where it would have been if it weren’t slowly digesting itself. The face was decidedly not Jewish, not German and had not been in this place very long.

The face whistled, and covered her with a blanket. He extracted her from the wooden bunk that would have been her only coffin. With great care he moved her out of the bunkhouse and to a medical transport. He said something that she didn’t understand. She wondered what it could be as she drifted off in the blissful unconsciousness.

When she awakened, she had no idea where she was or what had happened. She didn’t feel the hunger pangs, she didn’t feel thirst; she wondered if this pristine place could be heaven. Surely after her ordeal, she wouldn’t have to face…no, no true God would allow that.

Days must have passed, but she didn’t remember them. Sleep, medicines, food and water in preciously small amounts; and him. He was there almost every time she awakened; that same face, smiling at her. She marveled that anyone could smile at the visage that she now held.

Finally, her body beginning to respond to treatment, she was awake enough to smile back at that handsome, obviously American face.

“You’re awake, Dovey,” he said. It was a pet name that he would use for her the rest of his life. A nurse on the opposite side of the bed was translating for him.

“Ja,” she began. She found her voice to be scratchy at best; she didn’t know the last time she had actually spoken.

“I don’t know who you are,” he said. “And, I don’t care. I don’t know your history or anything about you, but I want to take care of you. Will you marry me?” At the last, the nurse stopped translating for a moment and asked him in his own language if he really knew what he was saying.

He enthusiastically nodded and spoke to the affirmative.

They married the following spring in America. She had no reason to remain in Czechoslovakia; she had no family; only bad memories and pain. That had been 63 wonderful years, three children, eight grandchildren and four great-grandchildren ago. She sighed heavily.

A sight brought her from her reverie; David was in line to greet her. She thought she had to have lost her mind. How could it be? David was dead, a shell in the wooden and metal coffin for which she had paid a small fortune.

“Hello, “ he said.

“How, it’s not possible,” she stammered.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m David’s twin brother, Daniel. You don’t know that much about me, but I know about you, Dovey.”