The God Who Sees - Chapter 3

“You don’t want my name?”

I had returned to the small device and pressed the button again.  I had no reason to think that it wouldn’t simply replay the interview I’d already heard, but as I was still in the room, I figured it was worth a try.  Instead of the woman’s voice I heard a man who was speaking with a distinct dialect — was it German?  Not being an expert in dialects, I couldn’t be sure but it was strong in his deep baritone voice.

“I never heard of an interview where you don’t want a name.”  He didn’t sound upset, just puzzled.

The interviewer, whose voice was louder in this recording but still not distinct, made some sort of statement and it must have satisfied the man because he said, “Oh.  I see.  Well, I suppose that makes sense.  Okay.  So.  Your first question?”

I waited while the interviewer asked her question.

“That’s your question?”  Again, the man sounded more confused than anything else.  I heard more muffled speaking and then he said, “Interesting.  I don’t know if I have an answer for that.  Let me think a moment.”

There was a short silence and then, “I don’t know.  I guess it would have to be, maybe blue.”  He paused.  “For the sky.  During the...hardship...I didn’t know if I would ever see the sky again.  Seeing it, it reminded me I was still alive.  That I had to keep going.”

I heard surprise in the interviewer’s voice when she asked another question.

“You didn’t know?  I thought that’s why you wanted to do this interview.”

More speaking, more surprise.

“No, no, it’s all right, it’s all right.  I talk about it.  I want people to know.”

Melody made a response (I decided I couldn’t keep thinking of her as “the interviewer” and although I couldn’t hear her voice distinctly, I decided she reminded me of a “Melody,” so that’s what I chose to call her).

“Yes, that’s fine, fine.  This is your interview, young lady,” the man said in a very kind voice.

Melody asked another question.

“Fictional?”

She clarified.

The man paused briefly and then replied, “Possibly Sherlock Holmes.  Such a mind, that one.  Maybe he could explain some things to me.”  I could hear a slight catch in his voice.  Not bitterness or resentment.   Something else that I couldn’t quite identify.

Melody was quiet for a moment, then she made a tentative query.

“I don’t think so, no.  No, that would be something Elie Wiesel said.  ‘Indifference is the opposite of love.’  I’m probably not saying it exactly.  But you know what I mean, yes?  What he was saying?  Too many people kept to themselves in Poland and Germany and...well, you see.  You see what happened.  Not speaking up, not standing up, and so many dead.”

An intense silence followed.  I wondered if Melody would want to continue.

“So.  You have more questions, yes?” the man said gently.

Melody’s response was soft, subdued.

“I’m happy to.  I’m sorry to make you uncomfortable.  That’s never my intention, I hope you understand.”

Not for the last time I wished that Melody had a microphone, too.  I’m not sure what she said, but the man made a noise of agreement.  She cleared her throat and then asked another question.

It sounded like the man sort of grunted before saying, “I don’t have an answer for that one.  What do you think it should be?”

Melody laughed, a clear and bright sound.  The man’s laugh was rich and throaty, coming from deep inside his body.  I found myself laughing along with them.

When Melody gave a brief answer, the man said, “See?  Not an easy thing to find an answer to, eh?”  She laughed again.

“Maybe the next one?”  He paused to listen, and I heard him make “Mmm,” noises before responding.  “My father.  Tall, strong, dependable.  An oak, he was.  Taught me how to be a man, how to take care of family.  Right up until...the end.”  His voice trailed off.  He sniffed.  He coughed.  Melody said something to which the man responded, “Thank you.”

Another quiet question was asked.

“Yes, I’m ready.  What’s next?”

While Melody asked her question, I thought about the fact that the man hadn’t felt the need to stifle his emotions.  I wondered if living through the kind of pain it seemed he had lived through made him less self-conscious.

“I’m not sure there’s anything strong enough for that one.  Maybe being caught up in a thunderstorm inside a tornado while an avalanche is falling on your head.  Throw in a volcanic eruption in the midst of a hurricane and it might be close.”

Melody’s comment came in an even more subdued voice, if that was possible.

“Sometimes it’s not easy to think of it in such dramatic terms.  It was just my life and it was what it was.  We didn’t wake up one day and the world was like that.  It happened slowly.  Little by little.  Small steps taken that no one noticed or didn’t think of as significant at the time.”  He was silent for several moments and I could hear him breathing.  “But I suppose when the totality of it hit, it was like nothing else and words fail.”

Both of them fell into silence again.  Not an uncomfortable silence, more a moment of mutual compassion.  Melody’s voice broke into the stillness.

“You do what you must.  You’re still alive, right?  You do what you must.”  There was a strength in his voice that made me weep.

When Melody spoke again, she sounded almost apologetic.

I was taken off guard by the man’s hearty laugh, more of a guffaw.  I let out a little yelp and then joined him, partly out of embarrassment (although I’m not sure why I was embarrassed when there was no one else around) and partly because his laugh was so infectious that I couldn’t help myself.

“Young lady,” the man said when he had controlled himself, “I have been asked more questions than I can count, but never that one.  Never that one!”  He laughed again and I could hear Melody giggling.

“A chocolate chip cookie.  Because who doesn’t like chocolate chip cookies?”

The three of us laughed together.

Melody said something while still laughing.

“Oh, just one more?  That’s too bad.  I can’t wait to hear.”

Again, Melody sounded almost apologetic.

The man chortled again.  “Not quite what I was expecting.  But a good one.  Good one to end with.”  He paused and I assumed he was collecting his thoughts.  There was a quiet rustling.  “Don’t ignore the past.  But don’t let it have undue influence on who you become.”

Melody made another comment.

“Well, like I said, you do what must be done.  I survived.  I lived.  So many others didn’t.  When my daughters were born, I wanted to make sure they valued life.  That they understood what a gift it was.  Never take anything for granted and look deeper at what’s really going on in situations.  Always look deeper.”

I wasn’t sure what Melody asked, but I hoped it was similar to what I was wondering.

“That’s hard to say.  I do think that if we were more keen to find out what’s really going on inside people, maybe some things could be prevented.”

Melody responded and the man said, “You’re very welcome.  Thank you, young lady.  Always a pleasure to talk with people like yourself.  Anytime.”

The recording stopped and as before, I was curious to know what the man looked like, but instead of trying to find a photo that would match his voice, I focused on hearing his voice in my head.  What must it have been like to have him for a father?  Then I remembered one of his answers and I laughed, suddenly craving chocolate chip cookies.