Fiction Short Story

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Fiction Short Story

by Philip Madden

The Messenger Boy

This humourless Austrian with the intense blue eyes and odd moustache, would have been an object of amusement, if he were not so serious about the mad rubbish that spewed from his hate-filled mouth.

For the last two hours Gabriel had had to listen to this cheap demagogue rant about Jews, Communism and German destiny. High on his platform with the Nazi swastika behind him, he bellowed on and on, infecting the audience with his own rage until they could contain themselves no longer. Gabriel had fought the urge to Seig Heil along with the rest of them; he focused his attention on the one he had come to seek out.

His eyes scanned the faces, all of which were trained on the Furher, who was banging his fist, while his face played gymnastics with his features.

There were all different types of people here, fat burghers, tall and gaunt Rhinelanders and stern Prussians. Most of them were fair-skinned and blue-eyed, the ideal Nazi type. All that is, except one.

Gabriel had not noticed him before, and he cursed himself for having missed it, but there he was, the one he was looking for.

He was short and swarthy with a student's intellectual face. An idealist. He had no business here with these fanatics.

Gabriel moved through the throng towards him. He was standing a few rows back so it was not difficult to get near him. The maniac on the stage had just scored another cheer from the crowd, "SEIG HEIL, SEIG HEIL!" Gabriel noticed the student was sweating profusely. He did not observe the tall figure come and stand next to him; he was focused on the Jew-baiter on the stage. He didn't notice Gabriel lift his hand and put it on top of his head, until it was too late.

He saw line after line after line of German soldiers, each wearing the swastika, marching over Europe. He saw them swaggering under the Arch de Triomphe in Paris; he saw them invade Russia, murdering and raping on the way. Entire villages were burned to the ground while children were lined up to be shot in front of their screaming parents, who were held down by laughing Nazis who beat them every time they tried to look away. He saw bombs falling on London, houses burning and people sleeping in underground railway stations with mothers trying to comfort crying children while the old folk told stories. He saw camps filled with starved bodies, piled high one on top of the other. He saw blonde-haired, blue-eyed youths marching on the skulls of the destroyed, making way for the superior German race.

He saw America, rising untouched and safe on the other side of the sea. He saw the mushroom cloud, the most potent symbol for the next fifty years, ascending over a Japanese city where half of the population had been vaporised.

He saw the end, with America ruling the world, Germany destroyed and defeated, Britain victorious but bombed and bankrupt.

He saw American movies, music, clothes, food, attitudes and prejudices shipped around the world, colonised and controlled...

He came to himself. He was aware that he was in a stadium packed with bodies. There was the smell of sweat and body odour hanging in the air. His head hurt and his legs wanted to give way. A hand fell on his arm, strong and tight; it stopped him from falling over. Somewhere a voice was droning on in a high pitched and hysterical tone, inviting the world into his vision of hell on earth.

"You came here to kill him," whispered Gabriel in Hebrew into the student's ear.

Immediately, fear gripped him and he turned to face the figure that was holding his arm. He looked into a pair of eyes that seemed to capture his soul.

"I am not here to hurt you only to show the historical value of the mistake you were going to make," said the voice. "Look Jacob, look at the kingdom of God."

And he did look, he looked deep into those eyes and saw a land drenched in sunlight and abundance, over which flew the blue and white Star of David.

This land was theirs; they had been exiled for so long. For many centuries had they, the chosen people of God, wandered amongst the lands of the Christians and Muslims, hated and disrespected at every opportunity, and now their troubles were over, they had been allowed to come home.

"If you kill him, your people will never see Israel again. You can believe what I say."

"Who are you?" whispered Jacob.

"I am the one who He trusts with messages to all his chosen children."

Jacob's eyes widened and he emitted a little screech. Gabriel touched him on the forehead. Jacob felt a peace flow through his body, but still the madman on the stage was whipping the crowd up into another crescendo of emotion. Before the wave crashed, Gabriel took the gun discreetly from Jacob's pocket and slipped into his own.

"I must be going now Jacob. Peace be with you."

Jacob, with drunken eyes watched him slip away through the crowd. Suddenly, the whole place exploded into a recital of slung-out salutes and chants of, "SEIG HEIL, SEIG HEIL, SEIG HEIL!" Jacob began to laugh and joined in. He looked at the odd man on the stage, arm outstretched, and eyes wild with a fanaticism, focused on some holy duty. Jacob almost loved him. We will go home, he thought, we will go home. "HEIL HITLER, HEIL HITLER!" Jacob was lost amongst all the other lunatics who had lost themselves in a cause.

Gabriel stepped out into the fresh, cold air of the street. There was nobody on the street, but at a signal from Gabriel, a car pulled up. It stopped and the window of the driver's side was wound down. Gabriel looked past the driver into the shadowy darkness of the back seat.

"Well?'" growled a voice in the shadows. Gabriel could make out the outline of a thick frame sitting there.

"It is safe. The message was delivered. Now it is up to your lot to make sure everything else happens."

The figure moved forward, almost into the light. "Do not interfere with things you know nothing of. Do not presume to know our duty, Messenger Boy."

This time the figure did move into the light and Gabriel saw the pits of damnation, the surrender of hope and the death of faith in those orbs that passed for eyes.

Disturbed, he pulled away, back into the street. Suddenly the car kicked into life and drove away. Gabriel was glad to see it go. He never got on with the players on the other side of the game and was happy when, after performing his jobs and making sure they knew what to do, he could remove himself from their company. He looked over his shoulder, back at the stadium he had just left. Another bleat of Seig Heils and Heil Hitlers had broken out. He thought about Hitler and why he had been singled out for the task ahead. Who could take him seriously? With that moustache and that cheap ideology. But then he remembered what Beelzebub had said, "Do not interfere with things you know nothing of, Messenger Boy." And for the first time Gabriel understood why he was only a messenger.

Overhead the clouds hung low and rumbled angrily. A storm was about to break.

© Copyright 2003 Philip Madden

About the Author:

Philip Madden is an Englishman currently living and working in Turkey. He has had poems and stories published in a number of magazines.