World War II: Acts Of Kindness In World War II

Acts of Kindness in World War II

Ernesto B. Reyes

It was very late and the living room was beginning to smell of seawater and rotten shellfish. A woman was sitting, crouched on a wooden stool near the east-side window. She had a rosary in her hands and kept murmuring something to herself.

The man, sitting down in her chair, was starting to wake up; he opened his eyes and wondered where he was, but he didn’t panic. His lungs were waking up too, for he coughed uncontrollably for a few seconds; his cough pierced through the soft quietness of the room and caught the woman by surprise. She had thought he was dead.

“Stai bene?”

The man muttered something incomprehensible.

“Sei italiano?”

The man gave a soft and weak shrug.

“Are you Italian?”

“You must be famished,” she said. He nodded and started eating again, but at a slower pace. The man and the woman then sat in dead silence, which felt appropriate. He kept eating, his face composed, moving his jaw unhurriedly and robotically.

“Do you work?”

“No. Not since my husband died.”

“What did you do?” “I was a school-teacher.”

“How are you able to have this home? How are you able to attend your child?”

“My husband, before he died, was an investor. He grew up wealthy. He was always well off. He left everything he had to me and our son.”

The man nodded, slowly. “He was a good man then.”

“Yes. Yes, he was,” said the woman. She held back her tears as best as she could. “How about you? Did you work before you joined the War?”

“Yes. I was a farmer.”

The woman smiled.

“What happened to you?”

The man frowned and tilted his head,

We had a few prisoners—Americans—at the camp where I’m stationed and one of them escaped. He shot one of our soldiers and stole a Luftwaffe. I followed him, we were both in the air for some time. His soldiers were waiting for him. They saw me. They shot my Luftwaffe down without a moment’s hesitation.”

The woman squinted her eyes. “D’you remember anything?”

“Only crashing, in the waves—felt like landing on cement.”

“Good heavens,” said the woman.

The man’s expression hadn’t changed.

“There’s nothing else you remember?”

“No. That was it,” said the man. He then looked around the living room. “I’m sorry. I don’t remember how I got here.”

“I see,” said the woman.

“Or the last time I was on firm ground.”

“Good heavens.”

“But I do have this vague memory. Of meeting a sailor on a boat. He had offered me his hand.” The woman nodded, fully intrigued. “But this could’ve been a dream.”

The woman squinted her eyes again. She knew a majority of what was being told to her was a lie. A good lie, she admitted, but still a lie.

“D’you remember if you’ve any family?”

“That, I do. I have a wife and a daughter.”

“How old is she?”

“My wife?”

“No—your daughter, sir.”

“She’ll be three in December.”

“Oh, that’s good.”

“Indeed. The second before I crashed into the water, the image of her came to my vision. It was so clear as if I was looking at a portrait of