The Willow Tree: A Novel

by Hubert Selby

  then starting the descent through the cool refreshing air, feeling an exquisite ecstasy as she floated free of the flames and ugliness….

  and all was quiet, even the air rushing past her silent, the streets below tranquil, and most blessed of all was the quietness in her head…no screams of pain and anguish, no defending against the onslaught of demons too many in number and fury to be defended against, just simple, peaceful quiet, so happy to know that the flames were out, that she wouldnt have to spend eternity in hell, that the baby jesus had forgiven her for being so ugly and bad like dirt and she would sing a song to him, she promised, she would sing a song to him, all she wanted to do was sing and sing and sing…now and forever….

  Moishe sat in his chair, hands tented against his lips, staring in front of him for many minutes, Bobby sitting a few feet away, quiet, watching, waiting, then Moishe tapped his mouth with his hands and lowered them and adjusted himself in the chair, So—looking at Bobby—the tattoo…ya, the tattoo….They continued looking at each other, but Moishe was obviously also looking past Bobby, past his apartment, past the Bronx….Bobby watching Moishes face, mostly his eyes, knowing Moishe was gettin some things sorted out, doing his thing like he always do, and he just leaned forward, arms resting on thighs, looking at Moishe, occasionally blinking his eyes, not wanting to rush him but giveim his space….

  In time Moishe lowered his gaze and looked at Bobby for a moment, seeming to absorb the friendliness and understanding in Bobbys expression, then smiled softly, tenderly, from deep within his heart, a smile so filled with acceptance it could only come from overcoming great pain. So…the tattoo—he was quiet for a moment, then leaned forward slightly and spoke directly to Bobby—You know what was a Concentration Camp?

  Bobby shrugged, I see some things on television, like in movies and stuff.

  Moishe nodded his head, Ya—Moishes eyes rolled back in his head for a moment—There was always the smell of death…always in the nose, even walking through snow, always the smell of death—Bobby watched and in a moment Moishe shook his head—everyone is having a tattoo, you become a number…thats all, a number only…no name, no person, no heart, no memories, no life…no you…only just a number on your wrist…and also some place on a piece of paper and so its like paper being thrown in the trash, nothing more because its only a number thats burned with the rest of the trash and—Moishe shook his head and waved what he was saying away—Enough, enough—Moishe redirected his gaze toward Bobby to help him concentrate, You know what they call World War Two and the Nazis?

  Yeah—nodding his head—like I said, the movies.

  Ya….But that wasnt always my country. But I didnt notice the change. I hear the Nazis are growing, but—shrugging—in my town not much is changing. Me and my partner—Moishe suddenly hesitated and his eyes clouded over momentarily—my partner Klaus had small business…what you call…contractor…plumber, electrical, we do little jobs…in homes, but we have also a truck so is good the business. We do fine. I have lovely wife and son and Klaus and…then suddenly theyre coming in uniforms and arm bands and taking me away. I dont know why. Then they tell me Im a jew—Moishe shakes his head, looks vaguely mystified and shrugs—Just like that Im suddenly a jew, an enemy of my country. I tell them, everyone, Im a German, Im loving my country, how can I be a jew, but they knock me down and drag me away and soon Im stuffed in a cattle car on my way—Bobby squinted and leaned forward more as once again Moishe retreated within himself for a moment, tilted his head back and closed his eyes….Many days we/re on that train, just only a little food…and so hot and no water and soon the smell so bad it burns like fire and no room even for the dead to fall down—Moishe slowly opened his eyes and stared at the wall behind Bobby as if he were trying to free his mind from the horror by burning it into the wall—so theyre just standing there, eyes staring like alive, but no tears from their eyes…shit, piss, but no tears O God, and we are so many days on the train, no food, no water, no air just bodies cramped and jammed together puking on each other—Moishe shook his head in pain and disbelief—who knows how long on that train. When it stops we dont even know, our bodies are still crushing into each other—Moishe was silent for a moment, Bobby staring, mouth open—we/re there so long…and when suddenly they finally opened the door the light is like barbed wire ripping our eyeballs…we try to raise our hands to shield our eyes but we cant move we/re so close pinned against each other and just closing eyes doesnt stop the pain ach such pain…such pain—Moishes voice weak and mournful—the light, I cant say how much pain, and when they dragged us out, those not living started falling over…one, sometimes two at a time like tenpins…slow as if the body wants to deny, even now, that it is dead and as long as it stands it can believe….Moishe was quiet for a moment as if in mourning—then we were jammed into trucks and again men are puking on each other, vomit oozing down necks and so much pain from the bouncing throwing us around like kittens in an iron maiden….Moishe slumped in his chair, staring at the floor between his feet

  O god, and we hadnt even reached the camp…the camp—Bobby continued to stare at Moishe, crushed with disbelief, trying to understand the horror of what Moishe had said, and the expression on his face, An you mean like you aint never been no jew? They just railroad your ass???? Moishe looked at Bobby for a moment, I dont know what is railroad—shaking his head. You know man, like they framed your ass—Moishe still looking quizzically at Bobby—like the man, he dont like your ass he bus you an say you did somethin you dont do an you goes to jail. Moishe continued looking at Bobby and then started nodding his head slowly, Ya…ya, is all lies. Bobby was shaking his head, Damn…damn! Aint that some shit!!!! An they jus haul yo ass away an fuck you over? Moishe nodded his head…They took everything…house, business…everything…and send away my wife and son. She has brother who lets them live with him—Moishes face is pinched with pain—For years Im not knowing if theyre alive…8 years Im thinking theyre dead. Wow! aint that a muthafucka. Damn! An you be locked up all that time. Moishe nodded his head. Bobby was still shaking his head in total disbelief, Damn, that be a muthafucka Mush. They jus be draggin yo ass away an take every thin…damn!!!! Moishe took a deep breath, Klaus is having a cousin in the Party and they want the business for themselves, so….They were both silent for a moment, Moishe overwhelmed by his memories, Bobby by the monstrous injustice…losing everything because somebody say you be a jew. He glanced up at Moishe from time to time, then inwardly shrugged again trying to believe that that could happen to a white man even if he were a jew. Bobby was confused but he knew Moishe be straight, that he wasnt bool shittinim. In time Moishe raised his head slightly and looked at Bobby, So, I survive the trip and become a number, a blue number on white skin. Bobby blinks as he stares at the numbers, Yeah, aint that some shit…on white skin….

  Marias casket was closed. Sealed. Inside were her remains…the bones, hair, burned flesh, covered in her newest dress, rosary beads wrapped around her fingers. Impossible to know if she was still singing.

  Isabella stared at the wood, knowing her baby was inside but still not believing…not totally, not that any death, even expected, is believed with the awareness of the simple fact of death. How much knowledge must change in the blood? How many facts purged through kidneys and liver…and time…long, relentless, interminable and torturous time???? Can a mother, or anyone, look at a piece of wood and tell themselves their 13 year old daughter is inside and will never scream, laugh or…or….What is flesh of flesh when the flesh is sealed away from sight??? packaged in a tight fitting wooden box that reflects the dim light of the room but knows nothing of what it contains? Bones, flesh, bones flesh….Yes, Marias bones and flesh, but what of Isabellas dreams…what of Marias dreams…those little bubbles of train rides, of tv and alone with Bobby, and some vague tomorrow that would make everything alright and make everyone happy…life as a christmas tree with eternal tinsel and lights and colorful decorations that shimmer and dazzle, and the Angel on the top, the very tipp
y top looking down on everything…everything…the tree, the presents, the people, the Baby Jesus and his Blessed Mother Mary, the baby jesus who would make everything alright and even the snow flakes falling from the sky like slices of coconut would sing and Maria would sing and dance and sing and dance and sing and sing and sing, but now her song is muffled, baffled by the box that Isabella and her mother stare at trying to find their baby and Isabella stares, paralyzed, a few feet from the box, Marias box, her last box and not the one Isabella was thinking of when she thought of giving Maria a present, perhaps this Christmas she would buy her a little stereo and put it in a box, she wouldnt know, but Isabella knew what was in this box but how can she believe, how can she believe she is going to bury her baby? How can that be???? I buried my young husband, isnt that enough for one life—she closed her eyes for a moment, feeling the tears, trying to see the Blessed Virgin who knew how it felt to see her own child dead…but yours returned, only three days you were alone with no child to cling to your hands…only three days so what do you know about me??? what can you know about me??? and the old one who no longer mutters the prayers of a lifetime. We did not even see our Maria a last time, nor will we ever. We sat for endless hours, days in a strange place of much moving and noise and held her little hands, feeling her flesh on my flesh, hearing her tears and cries, but seeing only bandages. I stare at the box and think, think really hard about Maria, but I cannot remember when last I looked into her eyes…when last I saw the smile on her face. What is it I have done to bury my own child…to not have seen her one last time as she was, to have no memory of her smile, her sparkling eyes??? to see only bandages wrapped around and around that sweet face O God, God, God, God, God…—Isabella finally started falling forward and was able to move her feet so she could fall across the box, cleaning it with her tears, hugging it with her arms and warming it with her breast, hearing her sobs pound against the wood, feeling the wetness of her cheek, trying to hear her daughter, to feel her daughter, to somehow know that Maria was inside this box, this piece of wood that didnt care who was lying across it or was locked within it, it was just there to keep mother and daughter separated for ever…for all eternity…no last look, no last word or touch, shes just gone O GOD GOD GOD GOD HOW CAN THIS BE…how can this be??? and Isabellas words were muffled as she tried to bury her face in the wood, hoping desperately that if she hugged the wood hard enough her baby would feel it, her baby would know that her mommy was here just like always, that her mommy loved her…O God, she loved her baby, but I dont know what I did to have her taken from me like this…what can a mother do to have her baby yanked from her arms by first the madness of children then the curse of death? Am I to be punished for all eternity because I could not feed my children and I came here so we could live…we could at least have food? Is that my crime in the face of God? Is it like the old one forever says to me, We should not have come to this land of ugly words and madness? Does Maria pay for my sins???? O Blessed Virgin let my child live as yours did. Dont leave me alone, deserted in the jungle of noise and craziness. Bring Maria back to me. She is just a baby. She needs her mommy O dear God…GOD, GOD!!!!—pounding on the box, her tears splashing on the shiny finish, shimmering in the light, rolling over the sides and to the floor like tiny pearls,

  her mother standing stiff, mouth clenched tight, closed to whatever may come in and to whatever might come out, the silence going deep, deep within her, to the core of her heart and beyond, the coldness of silence eating its way through her. She listened to her daughters screams, watched her pound the box, heard the tears hit the box over and over and remained unmoved and unmoving, retreating deeper and deeper within herself, the silence consuming her. In time friends took Isabella off the coffin and led her out of the room and soon the old woman was alone still standing in the same place, hearing the muffled sobs and voices in the distance, but unaware, aware only of the cold, deep silence within her, a silence she vowed never to break.