Like Lightning by Evangeline Golden

It’s a fine day for a game. Though the sky is dreary– columns of smoke rise from the building above– the weather is just chilly enough to motivate us to stay moving, focused. We arrived at Mauthausen earlier this afternoon. One of the men had been waiting for us at the station. Our walk to the field was short, the town small but warm– comfortable. The people are nice here. The fuẞballfield is conveniently placed at the end of the main street– the bottom of the hill.

The field is not empty. The local team waits for us there– warming up already. Beyond them is a group of small buildings surrounded by a wire fence. We walk down closer to the field. They greet us, smiling– friendly. Their uniforms white with dark circles on the front– signature lightning bolt shapes in the middle. I hear they are good. Athletic, stocky, well-fed.

The clouds break– sun shines into my eyes. I squint, waving at them. They gesture for us to join them down in the field– warm up before it starts. The clouds move back across the sun, and I can see again. A man from the other team beckons me– I walk to him. I point to the fenced-off part of the field and ask what it is– I can see now that there are bodies huddled on the other side of the fence. “Krankenlager,” he says. I see.

He turns his attention back to the practice. Someone had called to him. I look up– the smoke continues to climb through the sky. The wind flits across my face– ruffles my hair. The fence again. I squint– look closer. A figure stands near the fence. I walk closer. It’s not far. There are a few small buildings enclosed by the wire. If I were closer, I know I would hear the hum of electricity running through it– lightning like the uniforms.

I hear the shouts of my teammates as they warm up– the sounds fade away from my mind. Even more distant are the clanks of metal on rock echoing– I suppose– through the quarry. Josef told me about it on the train ride here. For a moment, though, I am separated from all of that. The buzz of the electric fence becomes the only thing I hear. The figure standing near the fence stares back at me. Spindly, weak arms dangle from a ragged, empty torso. I wonder if they are cold out here. Everything about him looks empty but his face. The cheeks are sallow– jaw jutting out unnaturally sharp. But its eyes. I am too far to know for sure, but I feel their gaze piercing through me. Far from empty. Overflowing with experience– exhaustion– emptiness. We both just look outward– outside of ourselves– through the fence– into each other.

We stay like that for a moment. I hear a shout behind me– turn around. They are starting soon. I gesture to say I will join. One of the guards on the opposite team eyes me curiously, maybe wondering what I find noteworthy about this place. I am not sure. I turn back to the figure. It has gone– melted into the mess of bodies. Collapsed maybe. There is a pile along the side of the nearest building. Bodies– so many. Spindly, bony limbs poke out, barely recognizable from here. I watch the sun touch that sickly, empty skin– remember how it warmed my face. My seat on the train was near a window. I remember smiling to myself. Josef had traded with me so I could have the window seat. We are in good spirits today– we recently won a game. We are looking forward to this one. I look up at the sky and watch as the smoke seems to almost believably blend into the clouds.

The way the figure stared at me unsettled me. The krankenlager, I remind myself. Sick camp. They are ill. We are healthy. We are not the same– I know. I stand here on one side of the barbs– they, the other. I neither live nor die here. I came here on a train for a game.

But somewhere among the bodies, a small hand pokes out. Five fingers on it– like mine. I see it in my mind even after I have turned away– almost in more detail now. The hum of electricity fills my head– escalates to a cacophony of barbed wire. The sun shines in my eyes– I blink– shake the noise from my head. A shout from my teammate. I must take my place in the game. I am the forward.

The ball is passed back and forth between players. I watch attentively, waiting for my time to strike. It inches closer to me, and I am ready for it. A flash of white uniform blurs in my periphery. Suddenly, I hear it again– electricity– the buzz. Two lightning bolts on the uniform– letters– SS. I glance away from the game for a moment– think back to the fence– the other side of it. I feel the same emptiness well up inside me once more. A shout from my friend. I am zapped back into myself– my body– my eyes– the fuẞball in front of me. Now! I kick the ball.

Evangeline Golden

Image: Appendix: Map of Mauthausen concentration camp including the sports field and sick camp. Michka B, CC BY-SA 4.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0&gt;, via Wikimedia Commons,