Chapter 2

Meet Oscar Ochs

Chapter Two

Prague, Czechoslovakia. Year - 1942

 

Oscar Ochs could hear his own heartbeat; it was beating so fast it felt as though his ribcage was too inadequate to contain it. Oscar thought that at any moment his heart would beat free of his chest. He could picture it forcing its way up his throat and catapulting itself out of his mouth onto the wooden floorboards in front of him, a tepid, bloody heap still beating its unrelenting writhing twitch. Oscar’s dark brown eyes were wide with fear and panic and his dark Jewish features were covered with dust and dried sweat. His strapping athletic body dwarfed the tiny girl that he cuddled close to him. Oscar’s sister was shaking and shivering, a scared whimpering noise came from her mouth. They both hid behind an old disused bookcase in the corner of the room. Ona Ochs had already wet herself, her legs, socks and pants were soaked, she was cold and horrifically scared. Oscar held his sister close to him willing her to keep quiet.

‘Ona, shh, shh, they will hear.’ whispered Oscar, pleading and begging. Outside the small attic room German soldiers were smashing apart the small town house in Eastern Prague.

 

A few weeks before Reinhard Heydrich, appointed by Hitler as the Protector of Prague and also nicknamed ‘the butcher of Prague’, had been assassinated by the Czech Resistance. Oscar’s Father lay dead in the drawing room, partially mutilated, Franz Ochs had refused to co-operate with the soldiers, denying that he was a member of the resistance. Franz was a quiet and unassuming man, his greatest achievement in life had been receiving an award from the local neighbourhood for his community spirit.  His death had been quick and painless, shot without discussion or protest, the torture and mutilation that followed had been sickening. Oscar was quick enough to usher his sister upstairs, instinctually grabbing some candles and a book of matches forcing them into the pockets of his brown cord trousers, when the storm troopers had initially hammered on the door, he was fifteen years older than his sister and instantly took charge, Ona didn’t put up any resistance. Fortunately, neither Oscar nor Ona saw their Father die. Unfortunately, Oscar and Ona did witness their mother being viciously raped by two German soldiers. Peering through the gaps in the floorboards of the attic room Oscar and Ona watched in horror as their mother was violently punched and pistol whipped onto her marital bed. The two soldiers seemed to taunt their mother in their own sharp and curt language, laughing as each took their turn to violate and defile her. The shock of what she saw caused the five year old Ona to gasp sharply; as she did Oscar stepped on a creaking floorboard. One German soldier, who was now recuperating from his exertions, while zipping up his military issue flannelette trousers, suddenly stopped and grunted an order to his compatriot.  Both men fell silent, looking around as if waiting for movement. Ona’s bladder failed and she began to whimper once again.

Below Oscar could hear the two men ransacking furniture, turning over tables and chairs and violently ripping open drawers, he prayed that they wouldn’t find the secret door, in his parent’s wardrobe that led to the attic room. Light spilled into the upstairs room through a large window at one end, leaving no option to hide in the shadows. Without warning the wooden door splintered back on itself at the bottom of the short staircase, loud, sharp shouts filled the top of the house. Heavy boots thundered over the wooden stairs and the two German soldiers burst into the attic room, grimacing and searching like blood thirsty wolves.

Ona screamed at the sight of the formidably frightening men and wriggled free of Oscar’s grip, sprinting towards the large bright window.

‘Ona no, come back’ pleaded Oscar, his hushed voice desperately beckoning his sister’s return, but it was too late. Ona tried to run past the soldiers and she managed to deftly dodge the clumsy attempts of one, before the heavy meaty fist of the other rained down, catching her on the side of the head. Ona’s body fell with a weighted thump on the dusty floorboards, almost as if imaginary puppet strings holding it up had been simultaneously cut all at once. The first, clumsy soldier laughed and strode towards Ona’s tiny, lifeless and doll-like body. He pulled his narrow Luger pistol from its holster, pointed it at Ona and fired a single shot into her small head. In the perfectly still lying position that she was in, Ona’s body jumped slightly from the floor, as if a bolt of electric had suddenly drawn it up.

Oscar’s eyes widened in horror, his body began to shake and tears ran down his dirty and dusty cheeks. The soldiers now focused on searching the room, heading straight to the bookcase that concealed Oscar. He could hear the heavy boots striding towards him; he had only a second to react. Oscar darted out from behind the bookcase aiming for the farthest wall, away from the soldiers. Like Ona, he managed to dodge the slow and clumsy soldier, with a sickening thud he crashed into the wall. Oscar’s breaths were quick and sharp with fear and his eyes were blurred with tears and terror. He looked up and saw the light of the window, his shoulder screamed with pain from the force of smashing it against the wall. Letting out an animal like scream he rushed towards the window, his young and fit body opening out like a cheetah in full sprint. Oscar was only two or three paces from the window, his breath came in great heaving gasps as he prepared to smash through the old and weak window frame.  Out of nowhere the butt of a rifle was driven full force into the side of Oscar’s face, sending his head back and his legs forward still in motion, Oscar’s head hit the floor violently splitting open the skin at the back. Blackness consumed Oscar, his body fell limp and blood seeped out from the wound at the back of his head forming a small black puddle, his left eye was swollen purple grotesque and deformed. The clumsy soldier barked something quick and sharp at the other one that sounded like the other soldier laughed and nodded in agreement and replied something in German that sounded like “Gregor…” Slowly stepping towards Oscar’s lifeless body the clumsy soldier withdrew his pistol and pointed it at the boy’s head. One of Oscar’s eyes very narrowly opened and looked towards the soldier pointing the pistol, and as if he could hang on no longer it closed completely, the blackness returning to his mind.

 

Fiercely staring down at the Jewish boy’s lifeless body, the clumsy German soldier snorted at the air like a triumphant race horse. The feeling he had over this weak boy was like pure victory and adrenaline cursed through his veins. His eyes were maniacally wide, his nostrils flared and a vein stood proud on the side of his head.

“Two dead Jewish kids” he laughed, his voice was coarse and gravelly, looking over at his compatriot, his mouth forming a beastly grimace that flashed his discoloured and stained teeth. He cocked his luger with his eyes narrowing in excitement.

 

Through the large window in the attic a brilliant flash lit up the room, followed by a deafening explosion. Outside German voices could be heard frantically shouting, interspersed with the shrieks and wails of the injured. A homemade bomb had been thrown at a panzer tank from a close by alleyway; the entrance to the turret had been left open by an arrogant German officer. The bomb had exploded in the turret, killing the four occupants and igniting the weapon store. The subsequent explosion had maimed and injured at least ten storm troopers that were close by, pandemonium ensued.

Back inside the house the clumsy soldier grinned, ready to pull the trigger, his yellow teeth forming an ugly, fiendish smile. The other soldier barked a succession of sharp and spiky commands. Angrily the clumsy soldier stopped smiling and spat at Oscar’s spiritless body. The German soldiers stomped out of the room and down the short staircase that led to the bedroom where Mrs Ochs’ semi-naked and beaten body lay. The big and clumsy soldier sneered as he marched past the body. They both quickly filed out of the house, to the sound of distant gunfire, and in to the street in search of Czech resistance fighters.

Lying on the dusty, bloodstained floorboards, Ona Ochs looked peaceful, almost tranquil in her eternal slumber. Had it not been for the bloody, gaping wound on the side of her head, Ona could have been confused for being asleep, dreaming of fairies and pixies, playing pooh sticks by the river on a warm and sunny day or other such thoughts that filled the heads of five year old Czech girls. Opposite Ona, just a few feet away, Oscar Ochs also lay serenely; a pool of dark, sticky blood formed a grotesque halo around his head. The sun shone through the large window bouncing golden rays of sunlight into the attic room, small particles of dust were highlighted by the glow. Oscar’s eyes flickered animatedly under closed lids as the rays danced across his face. To begin with it sounded like a whisper, something that Oscar confused with the gentle breeze outside, teasing the leaves of the sycamore trees. As Oscar’s body lay unmoving, his mind searched for the sound he could barely make out, sounding like the ocean tide gently sweeping in and out on a desolate and abandoned golden beach.  

“Os-car, Os-car” came the faint and distant murmur, breathlessly beckoning Oscar to wake from his confused and seemingly delirious coma. To Oscar, the voice could hardly be recognised but in the mesmerised, dreamlike trance that seemed to possess his mind, he thought the hushing soft sigh sounded like a girl’s delicate melody.

“Os-car, Os-car” sang the voice, more pleading now, begging Oscar to answer but still his body lay motionless, unreflective of his slowly envisaging mind. Oscar considered the voice to be Ona’s “Maybe she didn’t die” he thought, the picture of the clumsy soldier coldly shooting Ona passed through Oscar’s thoughts. “Impossible, she couldn’t have survived a bullet like that” Oscar’s thoughts argued with themselves.

“Please Oscar, ple-ase” came the voice, desperately imploring Oscar now. Oscar’s body may have been dormant and useless but his mind was now swimming and vibrant. He felt an over-whelming sense of detachment coupled with a confusion that it was difficult to explain, like the first moments of waking in a strange place. Those first few seconds of the day when unfamiliarity instils a sense of fear and the mind races to comprehend its surroundings. All of sudden Oscar felt a new sensation, a gentle floating feeling giving him butterflies in his stomach. In his mind’s eye he saw the attic room and Ona’s limp and lifeless body, and for a brief moment within the madness he was exploring, Oscar felt saddened knowing his sister laid dead, a life too short and unfulfilled. Still the sensation grew stronger and Oscar felt drunk and delirious an odd force seemed to be pulling him upwards. The force seemed to grip him by the mind pulling him up and along, dragging his heavy and dull body behind it. A wave of nausea washed over Oscar almost causing him to faint, the butterflies in his stomach gently flapped at his throat, Oscar prayed that his unconscious mind wouldn’t fail and turn off. Oddly, Oscar still felt ecstatically happy and euphoric but at the same time wondered if he was at last on the brink of death. He knew his body was lifeless and had lost a lot of blood, perhaps now his mind had used the last of his essence and its life force was finally dwindling to nothing.

“Maybe this is what it is like to die” marvelled Oscar, not in the least bit scared. As soon as the thought passed through Oscar’s mind the pulling feeling returned. This time it was more intense and Oscar could feel himself rushing upwards really fast, as if he was on a really high rollercoaster. The butterflies in his stomach also grew more intense and he felt as if his stomach would lurch out of his mouth, spewing green vomit everywhere. Oscar’s mind was being pulled faster and faster upwards, the attic room seemed to race past his mind’s eye at a million miles an hour combined with every thought that he had ever had. Lightening seemed to scar the darkened sky outside the large window and Oscar’s short life flashed before his mind’s eye. On the floor of the attic room, Oscar’s body lay still but his eyes twitched furiously behind the closed lids and white foam seeped from the corner of his mouth, as if Satan had possessed him, twisting his mind beyond his subconscious. Still Oscar’s mind raced upward, nearly reaching the ceiling of the attic room, where it was spun around and around. The large window flashed past Oscar like a siren, and the only noise he could hear was a deafening, ear-splitting scream that sent wave after wave of fear through his mind. The feeling was so excruciatingly intense that Oscar’s mind felt the agonizing pressure of a fiendish and demonic headache. The acute, unrelenting pain increased by the cacophonous scream left Oscar feeling like his mind might explode; the blood flowed through his ears beating a heavy bass, cocooning him in his dark nightmare.

And then silence…

 

It took Oscar a few moments to realize that peace had ascended and the pressure on his mind had lifted, the high pitched howl had stopped and no longer was his mind spinning out of control. He was however, still floating high above the dusty old floorboards of the attic room. The sun shone through the window in great orange and golden streaks and Oscar could hear the sound of the bird’s happy, melodic ballad outside in the sycamore trees. A sense of tranquillity washed over him and the smell of newly mown grass and pine trees joyously gallivanted into his nostrils, subconscious memories of lazy days spent playing with Ona.

 

Oscar left his thoughts and opened his eyes, marvelling at the picture in front of him, he was looking down into the attic room. Oscar seemed to float high in the corner of the room as if balancing on an imaginary beam or rafter.

“Is this another trick of the mind” thought Oscar. Scanning the room he could see the bright, large window at one end and the trees waving in the breeze outside. The bookcase that he had hidden behind stood nearly directly below him, slightly at an angle where he must have pushed it in an attempt to evade the German soldiers. A dusty old, cast iron fireplace leant abandoned against the wall that Oscar had bounced off, covered in cobwebs and a battered, ancient ottoman lay derelict in a corner amongst some disused packing boxes.  In the middle of the floor the small frame of Ona lay, as abandoned as the fireplace, the wound on her head disfiguring her beauty. Tears filled Oscar’s eyes and he pitched forward to try and get close enough to stroke her tiny face, noticing his outstretched arm.

Shock stopped Oscar in his tracks he could see his arm reaching for Ona. Looking down again Oscar’s vision flitted past Ona’s body to the pool of dark sticky blood where his own body had once laid, devoid of life.

Oscar’s initial reaction was that someone had taken his body while he had been suffering his near death experience. Seeing his arm made Oscar look again, this time he saw his legs dangling below him, he was still wearing the brown cord trousers and scuffed black leather shoes that he remembered putting on and tying up earlier. Looking left then right Oscar checked both arms, that both seemed to be fine and still ensconced in the blue denim shirt he had also dressed in this morning. To his amazement, Oscar’s whole body was present, relief washed over him. Seconds before Oscar had truly believed that he was dying and now here he was, fit and healthy but bizarrely, floating above the dusty old floorboards of the attic room. The realisation and the delight made Oscar chuckle to himself then the chuckle turned into a quiet giggle. The quiet giggle turned into a snicker and before long he had tears of joy rolling down his dusty cheeks, engulfed by a loud and uncontrollable laugh.

 

When Oscar had finally gathered himself he began to ponder the strange situation he found himself in.

“Ok, so I’m not dead” he thought, “I’m in my body and I feel alive”. In fact Oscar felt really alive, as if all of his senses had been fine-tuned and his awareness was on overdrive.  The next thought that hit Oscar was what to do now. Even though Oscar could move his arms and legs something held him back from moving from his floating position in the eves of the attic room. Try as he may Oscar couldn’t move to another position in the room, he strained and grabbed at the air but still he couldn’t move. Soon frustration took hold of him and he got angry, growling and cursing when he still couldn’t move. Eventually Oscar gave up, floating comically in space close to the ceiling, totally deflated and spent. Feeling dejected and confused Oscar closed his eyes, annoyed at his predicament, at tilted his head to the sky. In his mind he pictured his mother and father laughing and joking, being affectionate to each other. Oscar also pictured Ona running to him on as he turned the corner of the street that they lived on, Oscar sweeping her up in his arms and tickling her.

“Poor Ona” he thought longing to scoop her up again and hear the childish, innocent laugh once again.

Without warning Oscar felt a strange sensation in his stomach, an almost pleasant nausea feeling washing over him. Scared, he opened his eyes and found he was moving! Gradually floating away from the corner of the room he was gently moving towards Ona’s body, slowly downwards in a soft curve. After only a few moments Oscar found that he was kneeling next to Ona, the dusty floorboards creaking quietly as they took his weight.

 

Oscar looked down at Ona’s tiny childlike face, the red, angry wound the only blemish on an otherwise perfect canvas. Ona’s skin was like fine antique porcelain, smooth but slightly dulled with death. Her little mouth seemed to rise gently at the corners as if a peaceful smile hid the violent last few moments of her life.  But staring out across the dusty floor, Ona’s eyes glared dully into space, unfocused and lifeless. Gently, Oscar cradled Ona’s small head, stroking her face and breathing in the smell of her hair, the aroma of tint oil shampoo still strong in her fine dark hair.  Overwhelming sadness enveloped Oscar and tears rolled freely down his cheeks; he pulled Ona’s limp body tighter to him. The sobs came in big, animal like lurches, the whole of Oscar’s body heaving and lowering as the grief took hold of him. The tears blurred his vision, stinging his eyes and rolling over the purple swelling on the side of his face. He wailed without conscience, loud, angry cries that shook his frame desperate for Ona to be alive, for his father and mother to burst into the attic room full of affection, telling him that everything was ok.

 

Oscar felt the wretched cries subside, the big gasps of air turned into slow deep breathe and the tears dried on his dusty cheeks. Gradually his vision cleared leaving his eyes red and puffy, Oscar realised it was the first time that he had cried with such force. He also realised that he had nobody to comfort him, no mother to hold him close and no father to cajole him into believing he was fine. Oscar was alone. Looking down at Ona’s body, Oscar took quick deep breathe through his nose and decided that he would try and move her out of the way in case more soldiers came back. Focusing on the boxes in the far corner of the room Oscar tried physically moving towards them but still he didn’t move. Then he remembered that he had felt the desire to move to Ona rather than actually moving. This time Oscar looked at the boxes and from inside his heart he felt the need to get close to them. A smile grew on his face as Oscar started to move towards the boxes, the same feeling hit his stomach like crazed butterflies trying to find a way out.

“Woohaa, yippee” Oscar laughed in amazement. He reached the boxes and found what he was looking for, an old blanket half eaten by moths with a few large stains. It smelled damp and musty and it had patches that felt rough, there were also splashes of paint in various places and various shapes on it. Oscar picked up the blanket and using the same trick of focusing and feeling he moved, a little more deftly, towards Ona. When he reached her tiny little body he paused for a moment, Oscar then kissed her gently on the cheek and closed her eyes.

“Goodnight, sweet little princess” he said, fighting back more tears. He placed the blanket over her, almost like his mother would at night when she went to bed. He stopped briefly at her chin and then covered her face with the blanket, the same tearful feeling pushed at his throat and his eyes as he did so. Tucking the blanket around Ona’s body so she was completely covered Oscar looked around the attic room, he spotted the bookcase and the little recess behind it. Holding tightly onto Ona, Oscar moved slowly at first and then a little more swiftly towards the recess. Once there Oscar laid Ona gently down, he thought that the recess in the wall must have once been the top of a large fireplace that was in his parent’s bedroom. The attic room had a floor added, probably to create more storage space, but no further renovations had taken place leaving the top of the fireplace exposed. Oscar carefully worked Ona’s small body into the gap, her covered head delicately placed on an old brick stack. Oscar floated out of the recess and around to the other side of the bookcase before heavily pushing it with a dull dragging noise, in front of the gap that now contained Ona’s tiny mass.

 

The sycamore trees outside the attic room began to swish gently in the breeze and Oscar began to feel dizzy. In his ears he could feel a pressurised pain as if they were filling with water but his hearing was still acutely sharp. The sun seemed to have ducked behind a cloud, running scared from the increasing wind in the trees. The butterflies in Oscar’s stomach flapped their imaginary wings angrily and again rose up in his throat. Without warning, the voice that he heard earlier screamed piercingly in his ear as if it was stood next to him “Now Oscar, now” it shrieked, Oscar ducked away as if dodging a fist, fear drove itself through his spine, the hairs on the back of his neck stood up as if trying to free themselves. Panic overtook Oscar’s floating body, so confused he couldn’t move, rooted to the spot.

“Oscar, now, Oscar come” again the evil howl beckoned him, imploring him. Oscar felt himself being pulled up by the mind again, like before only this time he used his thoughts to resist.

“No Oscar you must go” screamed the maniacal screech, almost incomprehensible through its force. A surging physical energy seemed to grab hold of Oscar’s body, a deafening scream crescendo in his ears and he was flung full force at the large window. Just as Oscar thought he was about to smash through the window and land broken on the street below or sliced by the branches of the sycamore trees, there was a blinding flash of light. The flash of light seemed to knock Oscar out burning his eyes as his mind scrambled to stay conscious, and then blackness enveloped his desperate and struggling mind.

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