I do not own Ratched.
I do not own my angel boy Huck.
Huck Finnigan Lives Again: A Ratched Fairytale
Miriam Inger
"My name . . ."
She sits, the young woman in her long sleeves, Huck now knows, hiding the shameful numbers inked onto her forearm forever.
". . . is Miriam Inger."
A week and a half it has been.
"I am 27 years old."
And now they are here.
"Before the Nazis took us, my family lived in a small village in Belgium, near the ocean."
Miriam Inger.
"Then they took away our humanity. They erased us and took us away to the work camps."
The reader from Beulah Olive Thatcher Finnigan's library.
"My mother, my father, my sisters and I were at Ohrdruf."
The quiet one.
"We worked carrying debris and rocks out of the escape tunnels the Nazis were building for themselves."
And now they know why.
"On the day of our rescue, the Nazis were marching us to Buchenwald. When a prisoner fell behind or stopped to help another, they would shoot them and leave the bodies where they fell."
She sits with them.
"I was walking, my feet were cold because I had no shoes. I was wondering if the Nazi soldiers were going to kill us when we got to Buchenwald."
In the warm, bright California sunshine.
"I walked alone. All my family had already died."
And still she seems to just quell shivers.
"American soldiers found us before we got to Buchenwald. They came out of the trees and started shouting and shooting. I took hold of another woman and ran and hid."
Still sits in on herself.
"When the shooting stopped, we came out of our hiding place. We were afraid the soldiers would rape us but we had been raped before and did not want to be left alone with the dead."
And speaks so quietly . . .
"The soldiers did not rape us or hurt us or the other prisoners in any way. They gave us food, blankets, from their packs."
. . . she can barely be heard.
"They were crying like babies even though they had just killed the soldiers like animals."
Miriam Inger.
"Some of the prisoners grew sick with the food, we had not eaten in so long. It hurt us."
This woman who has come to speak.
"The soldiers took us with them to a displaced persons camp where we were told we were free. I didn't know what that meant anymore but they gave us food and nurses looked at us and gave us medicine and wrote down numbers."
To him who may listen, may hear.
"I stayed in Germany until I found passage on a boat to America. I took care of others who were sick from the voyage but I never told them my story. I did not want to speak of it."
Martin Harrison. Head Nurse Finnigan beside him.
"I have lived here in America for four years. I clean rooms in the college, my husband works in a factory. When I become pregnant, I will stop working and raise my family."
Nurse Miller supportively flanking Mrs. Inger to the right.
"I come to Mrs. Finnigan's library to read when I am done working before I go home. Books are one of the first things the Nazis took from us."
Husband Eben protectively to her left.
"They did not want us to read or think. I read as much as I can now. I read for the prisoners who died, I read for my family."
They sit quietly, all.
"I remember thinking that if I survived, if I lived, I would never speak to anyone of the camps, of what happened, ever again."
And listen to her tale.
"But Mrs Finnigan asked me to come here. She told me why. Told me of you, Mr. Harrison. Miss Miller told me as well."
Listen to this survivor.
"And so I have broken my promise to never speak of it."
Reach out to another survivor.
"Because I know myself and other the survivors of the camps will always be grateful to the soldiers that came out of the trees and saved us."
A survivor who may not be a survivor for very long.
"It is not your fault the boy died. You would have stopped it if you could. I am certain of it. Just like the others."
If he continues on his current path.
"You tried to help him and could not have known. And I am certain that you are a good man who does not deserve to suffer so."
The thin man.
"Please . . . believe this. For I believe it to be true."
Who has sat quietly throughout the duration of Miriam Inger's recounting.
Sat.
Not moved or spoken.
Simply sat, tears silently tracking down his gaunt face.
And now that the story has come to its end, he but murmurs four quiet, seemingly sincere words.
"Thank you. Mrs. Inger."
Yes, ladies and gentlemen, the United States was actually once respected and revered on the world stage.
I once knew a man from Belgium whose apartment building was bombed during WWII. He was just a little boy at the time and he and his family were trapped in their bed under all the rubble and he said that the first person that they saw was an American soldier coming to rescue them.
I know the bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki were awful and unforgivable. I know other atrocities were committed against innocent people as well.
I'm not trying to rewrite history. I think it should be faced and spoken of so we can learn from it and try and do better.
There were however people doing some good to help. So that's what this focus was on.
Thanks to DinahRay and Conbird for so graciously reviewing the previous chapter. :)
