“The Last Time I Saw Father”

by Konstantin Nicholas Rega

The train stuttered to a halt. Looking outside the carriage car window, I was shocked to see no station nearby. I asked my father, who sat across from my mother and myself, why we were no longer moving. Father with his burly mustache and almond eyes did not turn to me though, did not reply.

Then the train car doors slammed open as foot soldiers swarmed inside along with a wintery gust of sleet. Instinctively, I nuzzled nearer to mother, her fur stole resting on my blond head. The soldiers waved their weapons about at the civilians and the few military officers also traveling, further shouting at us to disembark at once. Now!

Father stood up, holding out his hand to mother, but when we tried to move forward, one of the soldiers, who had come down the aisle, shoved mother and me roughly back in our seats. He took father though, muttering something foul under his breath as he did. I threw my head against mother and heard her yelp out father’s name.

I did not watch as they rounded up most of the men. I did not look up as the yelling continued from outside the train. I did not turn when mother began to shake, shaking me as if pleading that I should bear witness with her to this rowdy scene. All I could do was continue to hold my eyes to the spot on the floor where the snow from military boots melted and expanded in a slow puddle, hoping it would disappear completely and be replaced by my father’s two feet.