Henry had started to exit but realized something was not quite right, so did a double-take. He returned and asked, “Is everything ok?”
Lisa sat all the way up and tucked her knees under her arms, holding her legs tightly in a position her father with his lengthy appendages would have found unbearably uncomfortable, but his daughter with years of gymnastics found to be extremely comfortable. She had wanted to talk to her father about something all day and now had the opportunity.
She lifted her chin off her knee cap and said, “Dad, when Pop Pop was going through the stroke, he started speaking in a really weird language. Do you know what it was and why he would do that?”
Henry, who had not really remembered her telling him this during the frantic phone call, had to refresh his memory. He replied, “I don’t know, honey. Strokes affect the brain in weird ways. We won’t know until Pop Pop wakes up.”
Lisa replied, with slight trembling in her voice, “Ok, Dad. I really hope Pop Pop is going to be ok.”
Henry replied with the same emotion in his voice. “I do too, honey. I do too. Try and get some sleep. Pop Pop is being looked after by amazing doctors. He’s going to be fine.”
She knew what he said was just what loving fathers tell their worried 13-year-old daughters, but she also knew that Pop Pop may never be the same again, that he may never wake up and that he may die. This lay heavy on her mind. She lay back down, still with her knees tucked up to her chest, and lay on her side, cuddling her legs.
“Good night, Dad.”
Henry walked over to her, leaned over and kissed her forehead, and said, “Good night, sweetie.”
Lisa replied, “Good night,” and closed her eyes and pretended to sleep for a while until she finally succumbed to her exhaustion and fell deeply asleep.
Lisa awoke in the morning around 8 am. The phone was ringing and had stirred her out of deep sleep. She heard her mother pick the lineup. She got up and slipped her feet into her Little Pony slippers that she had received on her seventh birthday. They still fitted, and even though they were a bit childish, she loved those slippers. She had religiously worn them every weekend, especially on Saturday mornings when she was allowed to watch cartoons.
She proceeded to walk down the stairs ready for Saturday morning, just as she had done for almost every Saturday morning for six years. When she got down, her mother had just got off the phone and was putting on her coat in a frantic mood, with Henry standing near her impatiently.
“What is going on?”
Gwen looked over and saw her daughter, as she checked her pockets and purse for the house keys.
“Hi, honey. That was the hospital. Pop Pop woke up. He is going in and out of consciousness, but they want immediate family there to see if this calms him down. Can you look after the boys until we get back?”
Lisa replied, “Yes, sure. What do you mean ‘calm him down’?” She was worried about Pop Pop.
“We don’t know, but apparently he woke up this morning around 7:45 am and became very agitated while mumbling incoherently. He was continually agitated until he passed out again.”
Lisa, wondering about the incoherent mumblings, asked, “Do you know what he was mumbling?”
Gwen, mildly frustrated with such a specific question, looked at Lisa with a mild sense of displeasure and replied, “Honey, we don’t know much. Your dad and I have to get to the hospital to talk with the doctors, and hopefully, we will be there when Pop Pop wakes again so we will know more answers then.” She reached over and kissed Lisa on the forehead and gave her a half hug. Henry was already in the car waiting for her. She looked her daughter in the eye and said, “Be good now and keep an eye on your brothers.”
“I will, Mom.”
Gwen and Henry sped off. They arrived at the hospital and walked directly to the ward where Pop Pop was. They saw the same nurse as the night before, who looked more tired than any human they had ever seen. She led them into Pop Pop’s room and spoke with impatience. They could tell she was close to finishing her double shift.
“He keeps waking up every hour or so and mumbles, then falls back to sleep. The doctor will be here shortly to talk with you.”
They sat in the uncomfortable chairs waiting watching Pop Pop. His chest rose and fell like an old squeezebox to a metronome. He was pale and looked frailer than he had ever before. The beeps from the cardiogram echoed from the machine and emphasized each second that passed.
Suddenly, Pop Pop awoke. His eyes stared violently, as though he were having a nightmare. He started mumbling. Henry got up and placed his hand on his father’s shoulder. Speaking loudly, he said, “Dad, it’s Henry. You are going to be fine. Calm down!”
Pop Pop recognized Henry and murmured his name, “Hem, Hem, Hem,” and he became very agitated.
Henry looked at Gwen. “I think he’s saying my name.” Pop Pop became more agitated. Henry put his hands on his shoulders to help calm and slightly restrain Pop Pop. Pop Pop reached out with his left hand and grabbed Henry’s arm, pulling him in close with a strength that surprised Henry.
Pop Pop mumbled, “Ich bin kein schlechter Mensch…. Ich bin kein schlechter Mensch…. ICH BIN KEIN schlechter Mensch!!” Then he passed out.
Chapter 4.
December 24th, 1945
“Psssst, Tex, get over here,” Joe whispered, crouched down behind the corner of a building. Tex, who was covering his back on the other side of the alley, checked to make sure no one was coming, then ran down the alley limping, with his head ducked, until he reached Joe. He’d clearly been hurt.
When he reached Joe, under his breath, Tex said, “Fuck, my leg hurts. I’m really missing French pussy now.”
Joe was part of the 82nd Airborne Division. Their operation had been a pivotal aspect of D-Day success. However, no other regiment had suffered such devastating losses. Less than one year from D-Day, only 3,000 from the original 13,000 remained. Joe Harper was now a captain, promoted from First Lieutenant, and was in charge of soldiers, but had seen his group constantly changed as losses and consolidation occurred. No other division had been in the thick of it more than they had, and the psychological impact had taken its toll. Every man had lost a good friend. Everyone had taken a life. Everyone had fought. They were now in Germany, closing in on Hitler. They were winning, at a great cost, but they were winning.
Joe had been part of the fighting to liberate Paris earlier and now was well within Germany, fighting town to town, which was proving a slow and dangerous process. Every small town was littered with snipers and ambushes. It was a huge fight, but the allies had the resilience and were pushing forward, albeit with huge losses, but still moving forward. The allies had set up a western front and were planning their final push to Berlin to finish the war. The weather had unfortunately made progress slow and surveillance had failed, due to poor weather, to show a giant collection of German soldiers getting ready to attack. For four days, the allies had been attacked by nearly 410,000 German soldiers, 1,400 tanks, 2,600 artillery vehicles, and over 1,000 aircraft, surprising the allied army in the largest battle of the war, The battle of the bulge.
Joe and Tex were tired; they had been forced to retreat for the first time in the war when the 8,500 men of the 82nd airborne were overrun by 43,000 German soldiers. Tex had been shot in the leg and the bullet had gone straight through. He had refused to quit the front and continued to fight with Joe. Over the year, Tex had started taking more and more risks. His feats of “bravery,” or more like stupidity, according to Joe, were legendary within the division. For example, the time he ran with only five bullets in a Luger he had acquired from a dead SS officer he’d shot and a grenade and stopped a tank and four German soldiers on foot. He’d shot all four soldiers and threw a grenade in the cabin in a perfect throw, according to witnesses, with one bullet to spare. Or the time