Main Navigation |
Featured Writer |
Featured Interview |
Featured Review |
Fun Stuff |
Our Friends |
KUNATI BOOK PUBLISHERS
Infinity Publishing
|
The Unlikely Victims (Excerpt)by Alvin Abram |
|
THE ANNIE WEISZ CASE: A
jagged bolt of lightning split the black sky, followed by a sharp crack of
thunder. Short gusts of wind
blew loose leaves over manicured lawns and well-kept walkways; rain fell,
first in large drops and then in a deluge. An old woman moved slowly along
a deserted residential street. She brought a hand to her chest, hoping to
calm her racing heart. Glancing at the creased scrap of paper clutched in
her right hand, she read the address once more. The rain pelted the
writing, causing the ink to run, distorting the words. But it made no
difference to her, for she knew the address by heart. She smiled in spite
of her exhaustion. He was waiting for her. Fifty-nine years, five months
and six days had passed since she’d last seen him. Her beloved husband
was alive. Her smile broadened.
She glanced quickly at a small, darkened bungalow opposite her to see the
number, then forced herself to approach until she stood before the front
door. She swept her matted hair away from her eyes. Was he really there?
Everyone had said he was dead, but he wasn’t to her. She had always felt
his presence, no matter where she went, no matter what she did. She
refused to accept any answer but the one in her heart. She looked at the
windows for signs of movement – there were none. Why did the house
appear deserted? The man on the telephone had said he lived here. For
almost sixty years neither she nor her husband realized the other had
survived the war. Not only survived, but lived in the same city! She knew
miracles happened. This was to be hers. She gazed down at her wet clothes.
She must look terrible. He’d be so disappointed seeing her this way. She
took a couple of deep breaths and faced the door.
She knocked. The steady drum of rain on the
roof of the small porch was her only answer. “Please, open the door.
It’s me, Annie.” She knocked again, then hesitantly tried the handle.
The door swung open. Peering into the darkness, she called weakly,
“Hello, Hershl, are you here?” Once again the sky
lit up and in that instant, she saw that the interior was empty. She
stepped over the threshold, leaving the door open, placed a trembling hand
on the wall and followed it to an adjoining door, only to find another
empty room. “Hershl,” she called again.
She was crying, although she was scarcely aware of her tears. She
turned towards the door and watched the fury of the rain. Her tears became
sobs that wracked her fragile body, and from the centre of her being came
a wail of pain. “No-o-o!” She lowered herself to the floor and buried her face in her hands. He wasn’t here. He’d never been here. The man on the telephone had played a cruel joke on her. How had he known so much about her Hershl?
|
