Opa
Cologne, Germany. Modern day reflecting on past events
Hans gripped his 27 year old granddaughter's arm, her warmth and youth comforting him. She was so lucky she had not had to endure war, that she could enjoy being young. How it should be, he thought. They had reached their destination and stood at the foot of the steps leading up to an imposing building darkened by pollution and age. Most of Cologne had been destroyed during the war but not this monstrosity.
'Are you sure you want to go in, Opa? We could just go and eat cake.'
He grunted and leaning on her arm, climbed up the steps.
As they passed the threshold, Lina watched her grandfather's expression. He was scowling his mouth set in a resolute grimace. She bought the tickets and was informed of the different exhibitions.
'I don't want to see the exhibitions. Just room 202 and the cells.'
The young man behind the desk explained 'The rooms were transformed in the 1980s when the old Gestapo headquarters became the current National Socialism documentation centre. It was...'
The old man cut short the young man's explanation with a dimissive hand gesture as if swatting away an annoying fly.
Gripping his granddaughter's arm once again, without a word, he shuffled off, with as much dignity as his aged body could muster, towards the stairs leading to the basement.
They reached the bottom and he guided her left. The cells had not, unlike the offices upstairs, been destroyed, and had been kept as a harsh yet just reminder of the cruelty of one group of people.
They stopped in front of the very last cell and she felt his body stiffen. One greying mattress adorned the floor along with a battered chipped enamel chamber pot. Her eyes were then drawn upwards to the writing and crude pictures etched into the cold faded walls. The room was clean and smelt dusty. She shivered.
Hans put his hand to his throat trying to keep the memories down. Those cold blooded monsters gripping at his fragile heart, those ghosts who had haunted him every single day of his life. Where were they now those torturers? Their decaying bodies once riddled with worms now a pile of useless bones, that's what they were. They were dead he felt sure of it and he was alive. They could no longer hurt him. He let out what sounded like a chuckle taking his granddaughter by surprise while she reflected on how hard it must have been for dear Opa.
'Now we can go and eat that cake you mentioned. I think I'm going to have slice of my favourite cherry cake.' And as he smiled, the creases of his life etched in his paperthin skin spoke more words to her.
Hans gripped his 27 year old granddaughter's arm, her warmth and youth comforting him. She was so lucky she had not had to endure war, that she could enjoy being young. How it should be, he thought. They had reached their destination and stood at the foot of the steps leading up to an imposing building darkened by pollution and age. Most of Cologne had been destroyed during the war but not this monstrosity.
'Are you sure you want to go in, Opa? We could just go and eat cake.'
As they passed the threshold, Lina watched her grandfather's expression. He was scowling his mouth set in a resolute grimace. She bought the tickets and was informed of the different exhibitions.
'I don't want to see the exhibitions. Just room 202 and the cells.'
The old man cut short the young man's explanation with a dimissive hand gesture as if swatting away an annoying fly.
Gripping his granddaughter's arm once again, without a word, he shuffled off, with as much dignity as his aged body could muster, towards the stairs leading to the basement.
They reached the bottom and he guided her left. The cells had not, unlike the offices upstairs, been destroyed, and had been kept as a harsh yet just reminder of the cruelty of one group of people.
They stopped in front of the very last cell and she felt his body stiffen. One greying mattress adorned the floor along with a battered chipped enamel chamber pot. Her eyes were then drawn upwards to the writing and crude pictures etched into the cold faded walls. The room was clean and smelt dusty. She shivered.
Hans put his hand to his throat trying to keep the memories down. Those cold blooded monsters gripping at his fragile heart, those ghosts who had haunted him every single day of his life. Where were they now those torturers? Their decaying bodies once riddled with worms now a pile of useless bones, that's what they were. They were dead he felt sure of it and he was alive. They could no longer hurt him. He let out what sounded like a chuckle taking his granddaughter by surprise while she reflected on how hard it must have been for dear Opa.
'Now we can go and eat that cake you mentioned. I think I'm going to have slice of my favourite cherry cake.' And as he smiled, the creases of his life etched in his paperthin skin spoke more words to her.
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