The heads of prone bodies bounce and bob in tune with the steady jolt of the train’s clank and clatter. And the prison train half full with wounded, starved, and apathetic inmates rattles on and on.įaint rays of early dawn filter through the cracks of the cattle car. There are no words for the events of yesterday, the sudden bliss of liberty, the brief, intoxicating gasps of freedom, the sudden reversal, the shooting, the bloody corpses in the cornfield. His breath is an uneven series of faint eruptions through partially opened lips. Bubi is lying on his back with closed eyes, motionless. Mommy and I huddle together, hoping with our mutual body heat to form a shield of protection against the bitter cold in the boxcar. The train keeps rolling among high mountains and dark forests.
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