Bernd Barth catches a train
Everything matters including how you deal with fear
The rainbow of scents from the flower stand are gone, replaced by the odor of stale beer. The café Geiger, gone. Thaler’s luggage shop is no more. The little shops in the central railroad station in Strasburg that used to sell earrings, candy, and lotte
ry tickets, all gone. Only the newspaper and magazines stand are open for business along with three dreary cafes. The colorful travel posters beckoning us to go to Turkey, and Crete, along with pictures of the latest Citroen car models all have disappeared. In their place are colorful posters of Adolf Hitler and Marshall Petain of France smiling, shaking hands.
The people inside the terminal walk quickly in determined straight lines. Some with heavy luggage and children in tow look grim-faced. Uniformed police and soldiers are everywhere, hurrying, scurrying about, on the alert.
Bernd Barth could hardly sleep the night before he had planned to go to the Strasburg railroad station. Images, dreams, of what was to be tomorrow kept moving across his mind. He kept waking up, startled. Morning finally arrived.
Bernd Barth got up frozen with fear. He sucked in air but never enough to quiet him down. He had planned everything in detail, everything. As he was reviewing his plans, he kept getting interrupted with the sights and sounds he left behind in Heilbronn Germany. The shattered glass sprinkled on the street in front of the burning synagogue, the screams that seemed everywhere. The day after he saw men marching in line down Kaufmann street escorted by special police and into waiting trucks. Some of the brown shirt policeman were singing spirited songs, songs about sharp knives, Jewish blood sprouting, spilling onto the street. Some of them recited over and over ‘The vermin Jews are our misfortunate’.
Bernd had no choice. He could not leave Strasburg with his wife with him. She had to leave days earlier. He arranged to meet her at their destination in Marseilles. Bernd reserved a room for her at the Escale Oceania, Rue 5 La Canebiere. The inn overlooked the dock from which they planned to board the steamship Neptune and sail, escape, to Lisbon Portugal.
Bernd was set to leave his hotel room. For the third time Bernd unpacked his valise and then carefully repacked it. In an oversized backpack were basic essentials for his train trip to Marseilles. There was a German passport, displaying a huge J, buried in his underwear, steamship tickets, a few shirts, trousers, sweaters, 2 jackets, 2 pairs of shoes, rain gear. A French passport was on top of all his clothes. He took no jewelry or extra Francs or German Marks. If discovered it would be his ticket to a concentration camp.
Bernd left his hotel room and hailed a cab. He stuttered in broken French as he told the driver, “Gare south station’.
During the short ride to the station he once again checked his inside pockets murmuring to himself, 2 train tickets, one to Nancy and a second ticket to Marseille. He had stashed a liverwurst sandwich in his jacket pocket. Maybe buying a snack at the station might have been dangerous. Everything was dangerous.
When he got to the train station he paid the driver. He hesitated before walking into the station. His valise had gotten heavier.
Inside the station there was crowded bedlam. All sorts of people, families, children running around, loudspeakers bellowing announcements, police, screaming, shouting. Bernd headed for one of the station cafés but then turned around, …too many uniforms. He bought a newspaper and sat on a bench making believe he was reading. Suddenly he heard a series of high-pitched whistles, running feet and screams that suddenly stopped. He looked up and around. Many of the people in the station were staring in the same direction he did. Many just shrugged and looked away. Bernd looked down into his newspaper
On hearing some train announcements, he looked up at the train arrivals and departure board. His train was set to leave from platform 9 in an hour and a half.
Bernd sat fidgeting, hyperventilating. His left leg tremor had started. His mind swirled in all sorts of directions, some in the past but also possible future scenes like in a lineup with police making sure that no one wandered away. They shouted. “No talking. Eyes straight ahead. No sitting down. The images couldn’t stop moving across his mind screen. He dug his thumb nail into the palm of his hand to divert his attention. It didn’t help nor did taking a deep breath, nor did biting into his liverwurst sandwich.
The station announcer kept up a steady stream of passenger information, platforms for departing and arriving trains but most of all reminders of what is not allowed in the station by order of the police. Everyone was encouraged to stay alert and report any suspicious activities, suspicious people.
Bernd couldn’t sit still. Even though it was still over a half hour from the time the train would depart he decided to slowly make his way to the entrance gate to platform 9. He couldn’t wait. He had to get closer to the train that would speed him to Nancy and then but what if…..
At the gate stood a uniformed railway station attendant. He asked Berndt to stop and show his railroad ticket. Berndt reached into his pocket and with his hands shaking handed him his tickets along with his French passport, and did so saying virtually nothing. The attendant asked whether he was planning a holiday at the Mediterranean. Berndt smiled and said yes and went on to tell the attendant that his wife was already there and waiting for him to arrive.
.The attendant held the passport up to the light turning it over, staring at it, feeling the paper.
“I noticed that you have a German accent when speaking French. Do you live in Strasbourg?”
Bernd responded, yes, I live here and love the city but it is also nice to get away for a couple of weeks.
The attendant kept smiling. “ Where do you live in Strasbourg?”
Bernd thought fast and said, 5 Rue. Singenwald.” A street that he knew existed having visited the city before.
The attendant replied, “Oh yes. I know that neighborhood well. By the way did you often shop at the green grocers, the one owned for years by the little old fat lady, Madame Proust.”
Bernd wondered, ‘Was this a trick question?’ He had to decide something and in a stuttering voice said, “You know I rarely do the shopping. No doubt my wife would know her.”
The attendant’s smile turned into the beginning of a sneer. He put the passport and railroad tickets in his pocket and called over a policeman who was standing nearby.
The attendant told the policeman that this man’s name is Bernd Barth. “Sounds German, right? Told me that he was going to meet his wife in Marseille. I don’t want to be disrespectful or overly suspicious which is so easy to do in these unsettled times. Well I wonder if you could relieve some of my unease and look at his French Passport. But of course, Mr. Barth can appreciate our sense of caution, don’t you agree Mr. Barth?”
Berndt tried to turn his grimace into a smile as he responded to the policeman, “ I understand and would no doubt be just as careful if I were in your shoes.”His mind was racing. ‘Why did I come to the gate so early and instead join a crowd later in front of platform 9. Stupid. Stupid. What if he asked me to open my suitcase and why didn’t I ask my wife to travel with our steamship tickets? Shit. What now. Shit.
Don’t show panic but how? Damn and my German passport if he sees that, then what do I say.
The policeman broke his train of thought. “Mr. Barth, we hate to bother you but you have lots of time before your train is scheduled to leave, and so if you don’t mind why don’t we step over to that counter over there and open your suitcase…oh I think it would be helpful if my German colleague, Lieutenant Stumpf joined us.
The French policeman called out, “Rudi, could you help us here.”
A tall German soldier strolled over and looked Bernd, up and down. After being introduced the lieutenant said,
“Ah Herr Barth a pleasure to meet you. Always nice to see a blending of German and French heritage. No doubt you agree.”
So, let’s see what little secrets you have hidden in your suitcase.”
Bernd’s hands were shaking as he opens the suitcase. Lieutenant Stumpf looked in detail at the contents of Bernd’s backpack. He found it. “Ah, you also have a German Passport and here we see a big J. So, you are of the Jewish persuasion. Oh, and here, tickets on the steamship Neptune heading for Lisbon. You certainly are a very multidimensional fellow. No doubt travel is one of your hobbies. I would enjoy learning more about you.”
A friend of the author read the story and thought either rewrite it or trash it. Here is what he had to say.
I read the Catching a Train story. The author, is overly dramatic but worse, he designed the main character so that he would end up doomed. How? In a word he described Bernd to be a hosenschisser (literally a pants shitter, one who is so scared that he shits in his pants).
Bernd’s fear was so palpable that the storyline had to end as a disaster. Maybe I could convince him to try and save Bernd Barth by changing his appearances, his style, and maybe add some bravado. Change how he is dressed. Make him look like a comfortable confident traveler and put a Tirolian fedora on his head. You might also consider having him wear hiking boots. Have Bernd strut into the train station.
How about giving him a chance to relax and enjoy a cup of coffee and maybe take a seat at the same table with a railroad cop.
Then rewrite the scene in which you write about a series of high-pitched whistles, running feet, and screams a family, perhaps Jews, running through a train station exit. You should point out that the cop sitting at your table doesn’t immediately join the chase. Why not write that Bernd noticed that and stared at his id number on the badge of his uniform? Make Bernd look disappointed at the lack of enthusiasm on the part of this policeman.
Bernd should hum a tune loud enough so that someone nearby could hear him.
Under no circumstances have Bernd arrive early at the gate in front of platform 9. You might even choose to get him to the gate a bit on the late side.
Why not write that Bernd gave the official at gate 9 the ID number of the complacent cop he didn’t run after the escaping family in the train station and perhaps say, “Perhaps you can talk to him, motivate him, let him know how important it is to keep the train station safe.”
Let Bernd encourage the gatekeeper to look inside his bag. He has nothing to hide, right?
With proper bravado he may make it to Nancy and then Marseilles. One more thing. Bernd would not likely eat liverwurst but instead would eat a disgusting Sülze Sandwich.
Try a rewrite but don’t forget stress bravado. It matters.
On the plus side I congratulate the Bernd story to at least keeping the plot with some positive features. For example, he could have chosen to have Bernd Barth waiting in Marseilles for his wife and his two children to arrive by train from Strasburg. Imagine his wife and two boys ages 3 and 4 waiting, terrified in a railroad station. She may have told them how important it is for them to be extra quiet. She urged them to be sure to go to the bathroom before leaving for the railroad station. But then, boys will be boys. They brought along a ball and played with it. Suddenly one of them drops the ball and it rolls away to where? Towards the back of the station or perhaps it ends up at the feet of a railroad policeman who smiles, picks up the ball and hands it over to the 4-year-old. He stops smiling and looks over the little boy. Something different about him including how he thanks the policeman in German not in French and the story then takes few more twists and turns and ends going towards a bleak end. The mother of the children is paralyzed and does not know where to go from here. At least you didn’t put the mother and children plot in the story which reminds me, as a story teller you of course know that everything matters and not just sometimes.
Comments
So many outcome possibilities in the story, or stories just like it. Survival. Who survives and who doesn’t and why beyond chance, luck. In a rewrite of the original Bernd story the ‘hero’ is resilient, confident, and so acts in a way that raises of chances of surviving and get on the train that eventually will allow him to meet up with his wife. The new and improved Bernd is resilient and that matters. Resilience. What is it made of? Bits and pieces of genetics plus lots of experiences, practice in resilience starting early in childhood which still leaves us with mostly unknowns.