The Last Letter

In a slow theatrical sweep, the morning sun introduces the Norfolk Pines bordering the beachfront. One last cavernous yawn shakes off the dawn shadows. Zoltan sits on the sand in the shade of the beach house, the oncoming wind blowing sand across his bare feet.

He reaches into the pocket of his jacket and takes out the ancient leather pouch. He remembers his first job at the boot factory in Budapest almost 70 years ago. For a whole month, he secreted away small leather scraps, carefully concealing them in his underwear, always aware of the watchful eyes of the disznó factory foreman. He traces his fingers across the soft, worn surface, fingering the faded letters he branded into the leather when it was still fresh. E.N. His darling Eva.

The pouch is bound with a thin, frayed leather strap. He unties it and takes out a bundle of tattered letters, jaundiced with age, folded and unfolded so many times they will not survive much more handling. Aware of the increasing morning breeze, he holds them firmly to his heart, where long ago he transferred their contents.

Around him, new light has brought a few people to the beach. Walkers, joggers, and those who can’t bear to miss a moment of sunrise, like him.

He picks a letter from the bottom of the pile.

October 10

My dear heart. This is my second month in Walldorf camp. They brought more than 1500 of us here. There is no-one left in Pàpa. They told us we must build a concrete runway for the new Nazi planes. I don’t know why they chose women for this work. Perhaps it is another experiment. To see how much we can take before they break us. I long for the days until we will be together. I pray this letter finds you safe. 

October 31

…some of the girls are mere children. One of them, Lily is just fourteen. She is constantly by my side. She tries to cling to me but I tell her the guards will beat her if she stops working, even for a second. The poor child, her parents were shot in front of her in Auschwitz but they spared her and she was sent here. It is so cold but they refuse to give us coats, so we try to make shawls from potato sacks. The soldiers say we need to work harder to keep warm, and those who protest soon learn not to. 

November 18

…we must dig the frozen ground with broken spades and blunt picks. Yesterday there was a bombing attack in a nearby field, but we were not allowed to take shelter. Some of the women are so ill with exhaustion and fever they cannot stand. Two of them fainted yesterday and were taken away. I shed tears as I write this because I have heard talk that those who cannot work will be shipped back to Auschwitz. I pray they slip quietly away in their sleep instead.

Zoltan slips the letters back into the pouch. His joints protest as he rises, but he carries his frail 86 year old body across the sand with a young man’s dignity. He begins the walk homeward along the promenade. Three old friends sit in the beach house coffee shop sipping their first brew of the day in readiness for their early morning swim, as they do every day. Their rowdy greetings warm his heart, and they beckon him to join them, but today he only wants to drink the sunshine, and walk.

At the end of the promenade, he stops to rest on the sandstone wall facing the ocean, the salty air sticking to his skin. He recalls the last letter. He doesn’t need to read it – he has carried it in his heart for a lifetime.

December 20

It is just after dawn. I too have fallen ill my dear Zoli. I have tried to hide my weakness but I fear I cannot work another day. I know the end is near for me. Lily has been caring for me, bless her. She tries to make me eat a few morsels of extra food from her own bowl, but my belly rejects it all. She writes this, for I can no longer sit up. They will come for me when they discover I am not at roll call. I wanted to tell you that it is only for you that I continue to breathe. You are in my heart every moment, as I know I am in yours, and for this reason alone, I have no fear. I wonder where you are, and pray that these letters find you safe until one day, we are together again.

Your love, Eva

At 7.15 a.m. December 20th, 2008, Lily Szabó answers the door to the home she has shared for almost 50 years with her dear friend ZoltanNémeth.

She knows, even before the uniformed police officers speak, that Zoli and his beloved Eva are together at last.

- THE END -