The Marching Man The marching by an elderly man, seemingling contorted in rage, along the main treet of Ramleh, a small town in Israel, was almost a daily sight during the past few months. At a closer look, one might describe his actions as maniacal; his legs moved in a jerky marching rhythm, and his veined hands flayed the empty air. The man's face was twisted in an unknown agony, and from clenched teeth came an audible cry of distorted words mumbled through a twisted mouth, "Mara, Jochim, Tish". As he continued mumbling these words, his mad eyes searched in emptiness, searching for something only known to him. For those who watched the demented figure, could depict him as a man of medium height in the late seventies and somewhat thin: There was a glimpse of a former handsomeness seen through his contorted facial features, crowned with mussy grey hair. The parading of the man continued all along the thoroughfare. The indifferent drivers, in passing automobiles, hooted their horns in derision, while they called out mockingly the rhythm of the march. Little children followed the marching man, mimicking his very move- ments, and calling out in childish tongues the secret mumbled words: "Tish, Pish", they laughingly called out, "Mara, Para, Jochim": Over and over they playfully shouted, but the man, seemingly unaware of their presence, continued on his march, mumbling, "Mara, Jochim, Tish". Then one fateful day, it became a different one for the marching man, as in the final hours it ended a search and longing of many years. It started with the usual scene; first there was the marching, accompanied by a troop of laughing children screaming out the man’s secret words, mixed with the noise of heckling motorists. Then the interruption of the performance by the minions of the law. An official automobile stopped carefully in front of the man; the doors opened, and two policemen emerged from within. The younger of the two, a recent recruit to the force, dispersed the children, forcing them to the safety of the sidewalk; while the older one who was familiar to this repeated scene, took the marching man in tow. He placed one of his arms around the shoulders of the deranged marcher, and with comforting effort led him to the auto, "C'mon Hans, your sister is waiting for you." No resistance was offered as the man was placed in the rear seat of the vehicle, but his contorted mouth continued with the mumbling of the three words. Seeing all was in order, the two officers re-entered the vehicle, the younger of the two behind the steering wheel. As the police car made its way through the streets of the town, the older officer, a greying veteran nearing his retirement, turned and faced the marcher, offering few compassionate words to placate him, but the words drifted beyond the madness of the possessed man's reasoning. The marching man only kept his glazed eyes fixed on sights beyond the surroundings; he was searching, searching beyond his senses. As the vehicle crept through the snarled traffic of the busy town, the senior officer looked at his companion, "Guess you might be a bit puzzled. Well, the miserable soul, in back... how can I put it in words for you to understand?... way past your time.. You probably know of the terrible years during the Second world War... the persecution of the Jews... (pause) Hans, here is one of the survivors... Survived to a life of madness... He lives in the past memory, if there be one.. lost his entire family... wife, two children, as well as most of the members of his immediate family were murdered in the concen- ration camps." There were no interruptions from the younger officer, as he knew of the frightful history of that period; that his questions would find no answers, as there were no rightful answers to the persecution of the innocent. The younger officer drove, and listened, with interest, to the flowing words. "Poor chap.... Hans, Hans M..... is his name; born and raised near a large town in the vicinity of Cologne in Germany... married a school friend... had two lovely children, a boy and a girl... (pause) forgot their names. He was working on his doctorate when Hitler came to power. Afterwards when the Nazis grew in strength, Hans, being Jewish, was thrown out the university... The only work he could find was manual and even that wasn't on a regular basis... barely able to feed his family." The marcher didn't show any signs of hearing the words of the officer, and kept on chanting the mumbled words, "Mara, Jochim, Tish"; and his eyes persisted in their search. The veteran policeman then spoke of time in 1944, when the Gestapo cleared the German town of the remaining Jews. He told how Hans and his family, together with all their Jewish neighbors and friends, were assembled at the railway station at the outskirts of the town. He gave a clear picture of the terrible selection process, when Hans was separated from his wife and children; the words told of his attempt to reach them, only to receive a brutal beating for his efforts. The senior continued by telling, that during the whole of the Second World War, Hans was pressed into slave labour, "survived by a sheer miracle." "Well, after the war he searched for his wife and children... constantly searching; but as time wore down, hope of finding them lessened... Then a tragic story of futility followed.... It related that as time crept along, Hans' mind snapped from the pitful efforts of the desperate quest. Hans, due to his mental condition, was sheltered in a refugee camp run by the British Army. They had checked his meager documents, and finding that he was Jewish, informed a Jewish Organization, who, in turn, brought him to Israel. His younger sister found him in a shelter near Jerusalem, completely locked in his madness. "The sister never married, only took care of her brother." After the veteran officer finished the simple, yet tragic history of the marching man, a moment of silence prevailed. Then he turned to his mate, and issued a terse command, "now, lets concentrate on our driving. Turn left at the next turning, and drive along the road bordering the rail tracks till you come to the old quarter. I will direct you to where Hans' sister lives. Only a few minutes drive to the old Arab quarter where his sister lives. (pause) Wretched woman... lives miserably in run-down abandoned building... Could of had a decent place to live, but the fear of the known past, drove her to a 'so-called hideway'." "Let's see. I can only recollect a bit of hearsay told about her past life - another tragic story... So many, so many! (pause) As I understood from what I heard..." Another bit of that terrible history was related... It told of one of the roundups of the Jews from the German town by the Nazis; that how Hans' sister, one of the victims, had managed to break away from the selection at the train platform. She had found, by chance, a shelter in a small church, whose pastor had preached against the Nazi terror on the Jews. That the righteous cleric found for her a place of hiding with a compassionate German farmer and his family. But, she lived an existence filled with fear, waiting for the tramp of boots. Words told, that even to the present day, many years after the war, the woman still has a hidden dread of that resounding tread. That every night she waits in the dark for that pounding on the door. Only the tiredness of her body sends her in a fitful sleep. At every sound, she wakes up with a beating heart, drumming the terrors of expectation. "His younger sister is his only living relative," continued the senior, "doesn't want to place him in an asylum for that reason. It is a living hell for her - Hans marching around and around in his locked room loudly mumbling his secret words. Somehow, by sheer willpower, she accepted his madness - taking care of him with every bit of love and kindness". The officer paused for a moment to clear a tearful feeling in his throat before continuing, "Hans had a bit of trouble with his heart about a couple months back. His sister took him to the clinic in the center of town for various tests and treatments... Poor dear, trembled at the sight of any man or woman in uniform; took a great deal of courage, on her part, to make the trip. But, be it a sign from above, help reached out to her... The local bus driver, a nearby neighbor, heard of her plight... It seems he knew of the time when she and Hans would be at the stop... waited till they boarded the bus. Yelled at the passengers who complained of the delay... even drove the bus direct to the clinic." "It was a different story at the clinic," the senior officer related. He continued and told that at some of the visits, when the sister would be busy dealing with the doctors or seeing to the endless paperwork, Hans would walk away and start his marching down the street towards the rail depot. She had many complaints from the authorities, but the poor woman was almost helpless; the sister was getting on in years, and it became more and more difficult for her to manage her brother outside her home. "A few people in the town knew of her troubles, and when Hans was on the march, they quietly picked him up." A delivery van suddenly came from a side street when they drove along the road, forcing both vehicles to brake quickly. Both police officers immediately alighted and ran angrily towards the carrier. During that brief moment, the marching man, stared through the opened window.. Suddenly, his mind cleared, and he saw a visionary image of three figures standing on a distant freight platform. Hans' twisted features turned from distortion to one of radiance, and from his smiling mouth he called out in a loud and clear voice, "Martha, Joachim, Tess, wait for me!!" Somehow, he managed to open the door of the police car, and he rushed hurriedly towards the multiple rail tracks. "Martha, Martha... its me Hans...." he shouted. "Martha, Joachim, Tess", he called as he made his way quickly through the intersecting tracks. Suddenly a shrill siren blasted a warning, signalling the approach of a speeding freight train. The man took no notice of the signal, and continued on his march calling out the names; he made his way on the rail lines towards the vison of his sight. Again and again the sound permeated, coupled with the deafening squeal of air brakes. The piercing sound alerted the two officers, who immediately searched with their eyes the cause of the commotion. Suddenly they noticed the marching man on the tracks of the approaching train. As it neared, the policemen ran towards him, and desparately shouted a futile warning through the deafening sound, "Hans, Hans... the train"; but before they could reach the man, the train plowed into the marcher, throwing him a few yards. The officers waited for the train to pass, and then they quickly raced to the spot where the body had fallen. The battered body was spread on its back, the legs broken and twisted in a marching position, and the arms raised. The marching man's face was flecked with blood, the eyes closed peacefully, and his lips were shut with a faint smile. Both officers, shocked by the incident, stood quietly over the pitiful remains; and in a moment of reverence the older of the two remarked, "Now, I know their names - Martha, was his wife's name... his two children were called Joachim and Tess. Guess his search for them has ended."
Copyright © 2002 Norman A Rubin |