For those who read the first version of this story "Unexpected":
From this chapter on forward, there will come the most changes in the story up to now. I practically rewrote the whole thing from scrap because I really didn't like the dialogues and stuff. It was really soppy and childish and I got irritated by it (this is why I don't need any negative criticism, I already do it to myself!). But, the storyline and plot remain the same. The base is the same, so don't worry about it. I just wanted the story to be more adult, mature and realistic. The original dialogues simply didn't fit this new story's version, anyway…
Well, just sit back and enjoy. If I didn't disappoint you till now, well, I don't think it will happen now ;)
Warning: AU –Second World War
M-Rated!Contains coarse language, violent imaginary related to the context of war, and sex.
I do not own South Park. I do not own anything. I wish I was that f* genius!
THIRD PART – POST-WORLD WAR II – DENVER - OKTOBER – 1946
I'm pacing in Denver's train station's waiting hall. On my right hand I'm holding a train ticket, on my left's a suitcase. I look at the main timetable hanging in the middle of the ample hall. My next connection only arrives in half an hour. I look around till I spot an empty bench. I sit down and watch the busy comings and goings in the station. Business men rushing around, women gossiping while their children run around playfully. Teenagers reading comics to kill time. Some men stand while smoking a cigarette, others pace slowly while waiting for the train.
I close my eyes and listen to the sounds surrounding me. Sounds of machinery, people chatting, children laughing, a baby crying. Sounds of life. I realize the contrast today has with the day I was deported to Dachau. It was exactly four years ago. Only four years ago. Yet and strangely, the memories of this day, just like the time I spent in the camp; seem somehow very distant. It feels like it belongs to a past very far away, a lifetime ago. Above all, I find it difficult to recognize myself in the teenager suffering of cold, hunger and anxiety. When I look back, it feels like I'm looking into somebody else's past instead. Even though the memories are all mine and I remember well how scared I once felt, the sounds of screams of despair, the stench of rotten air in the camp, the sickness I felt every time I burned a body; it just… doesn't feel like me anymore. Sometimes I have the feeling that it wasn't me who went through all those horrifying things. I don't recognize myself in that past, because I can't understand, I can't believe I survived it all. Because I'm sure that now, I couldn't go through all of that again. Not a second time. Germany, the Holocaust, the concentration camp… It doesn't feel like it was my life, but a previous one. Because it all feels so far away. So distant.
An electronic voice in the hall shakes me from my reveries. It announces the train's arrival and I get up with a bouncing heart. I look at my suitcase. There are few belongings inside of it. Some clothes, music papers, a photograph of my family and my most important possession, my violin. Fear and excitement are mingled. From today on, I'm starting my own life. I'll pursue a career in music. The Manhattan School of Music accepted my application. I head to the train. And pay farewell to my family in my mind and heart.
…
It was about a year ago when we moved to the States. We stayed first at my aunt's house in Connecticut for about three weeks. I rejoiced the day I departed from my unpleasantly awkward cousin, who is, by some twisted irony, also called Kyle. I swear, if there is somebody who has the talent to awaken a person's immoral hidden and dormant tendencies, that's my cousin! I'm sure even a saint or angel, as sweet and patient as it would be, would go crazy from my cousin's gluey behavior and weird collection of allergies and tics.
So, we moved in July last year to New Jersey, for God knows the reason why. It was a complete disaster, since this place had some strange effect on people living there. Ike and dad were somehow unaffected by it, but mom and I, we got completely mad. My mother was having fights with other housewives all the time. She would lose her temper and start screaming insults and curses while making exaggerated wild and obscene gesticulations. In the end, she and the other women would become physical. As for me, I wasn't much better. It was like if there was this strange force inside of me that I could not control and made me say and do horrible things. I kept getting myself into trouble all the time. There were all kinds of gangs and I was a loner, which meant I was an outcast, therefore a victim for bully. Only, I was apparently even more violent with words and blows than the other guys, and so I ended up sending young men daily to the hospital with broken noses and ribs. I have no idea from where all that adrenaline came, all I know was that each time somebody tried to bully me or harm anybody else, I'd see red.
It's not strange mom and dad decided New Jersey wasn't the indicated place to stay. It simply wasn't safe neither healthy anymore. So my parents sought the most peaceful, therefore, boring imaginable place to move to: South Park. A small town in the state of Colorado. It was in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by snowy mountains, with a lot of cattle and folk that knew each other all too well. But its quiet and simple appearance was nothing but an illusion. In the space of one year I've witnessed the strangest illogical happenings in this small town, all because of Ike. He became friends with three other kids and they got themselves in all kinds of bizarre misfortunes all the time. I had to rescue my brother and his mindless friends from aliens, Governmental conspiracies, messed-up celebrities or delusional characters. You name it! Once I even came across some disturbing Christmas talking animals in the edge of the forest! After a year of living between absolute boredom and absolute madness, I decided to leave South Park.
My parents were shocked, of course. They could not understand I wanted to leave this quiet and safe town (seriously, don't they ever look around them?). Mainly, they couldn't accept the fact I wanted to separate from them again. But how could I pick up the pieces of my ruined life and start a new one when everything was decided by them? How could I move on when I could not speak of the past, of the camp, of Eric? How could I act joyful while I felt, and still feel, incomplete all the time? Feel a piece of my soul fade away by each passing day I hear no news about him? I'm slowly crumbling apart. Because I cannot talk about Eric. Not to them. They'll never understand. They'll never accept. So instead, I told them I was 21 years-old and I thirsty to see more of the world. I told them I wanted to take on the lonely path and see where it will take me to. I told them, the future has its doors open for me, but not in South Park. And they ultimately respected my will, even if it hurt and even if they disagreed.
And so, here I am, at the station of Denver, ready to step on the train that will take me to New York. The past is distant. The future is awaiting me. And meanwhile, I will wait for his return.
…
Kyle stepped on the train and took a seat by the window. He watched the landscape move and change as the train crossed several different states. His thoughts lingered back to Herr Cartman. They often did. Herr Cartman was the reason behind his obsession in following the news about the Nazi's trials. He was the reason Kyle read all the newspapers and articles he could get his hands on. He listened to radio reports and sought for any other kind of sources of information about the capture of influential Nazis. Herr Cartman was the reason the Jew's heart pumped faster every time he heard or read somebody was captured. Because quite some Nazis had been arrested shortly after the end of the war. They were sentenced and punished in the long trials of Nuremberg*. But many others were still in the Black List to be hunted. And SS-officer Eric Theodore Cartman was among them. His essays were well known by the United Nations, as well as the horrors he led and allowed to happen in Dachau.
The redhead was ashamed and sickened by himself. He was, most of all, divided. Kyle wanted the capture and death of sadistic Nazis. He had been highly frustrated and enraged when he first heard that those who deserved to be judged and executed the most, were the ones that gave themselves easy deaths. Hitler, Goebbels and Himmer had committed suicide. He thought it was both cowardly and unfair. So, his anger was instead redirected to the many others that escaped Germany and were probably living happy lives in secrecy. It made his blood boil. He hated them to no end and wished them all the world's worse horrors and sufferings. But then he reminded himself Herr Cartman was one of these sadistic Nazis. And his heart sunk miserably, because he didn't want the fat Nazi to be captured. Kyle didn't want him to die.
For this reason, Kyle often wondered how he could ever wish for justice. After all, he did pray every day for Herr Cartman's safety. He wanted him to live on, by his side, without ever stepping before a judge. Kyle wanted one of the most perverted Nazis to survive unharmed. Most of all, Kyle feared what would happen to Herr Cartman if he was to be captured. The redhead had long realized persecutions would carry on until the world had shed enough blood and tears to match the horrors the Nazi did to the Jews. Victims of the Holocaust had suffered so much that they wanted, they needed, to see their perpetrators being punished. They wanted justice. And then Kyle wondered. Was it really justice they sought? Or was it revenge? He often wondered how thin the line was between justice and revenge. Because the descriptions of the executions on October 16 still gave him the chills.
They were ten. Ten Nazi sentenced to death and executed by hanging. It was opted to use the long drop because it would give a fast and clean death. The condemned were to die of a broken neck. But the reality was quite different. Some died agonizingly slowly. According to the newspapers, some took between 14 minutes to choke to death to as long as struggling for 28 minutes. Kyle knew people called this justice and many still thought their deaths were still too kind compared to the atrocities they made others go through. But for Kyle, this felt wrong. They were cruel and barbaric. This went too far. But most of all, his greatest fear was that Herr Cartman should meet a similar fate. He still didn't hear any kind of news about the "monster of Dachau". He told himself, no news was good news. But the uncertainty consumed his heart and soul. All he could do was wait. And hope Herr Cartman would find his way back to him.
…
Kyle closed his orange coat when he stepped out of the train. The air was cold and chilly. After asking for some indications, the redhead found a cheap guesthouse and checked in. Afterwards, he decided to explore a bit of New York and soon he stood in the center of Manhattan. The redhead could not help and stare at the tall buildings with great awe. The young Jew never had seen such a place before and was very impressed with the towering landscape. During two days, Kyle spent his time walking randomly in different streets, squares and neighborhoods. He fell in love with Central Park, which quickly became his favorite place in the city. He also enjoyed to look at the Statue of Liberty from the other side of the water. He mostly relished sitting by the Hudson River. The waters calmed him down, allowed to clear his mind and think over all kind of life matters. Although Kyle loved this small leisure time he allowed himself to have, on the third day, he decided to go job and room hunting.
Kyle figured out finding a job wouldn't be too difficult. He continued his work as a bookkeeper in a grocery store back in South Park, from which he received a good reference. Mainly, Kyle was open to all possibilities in the job market. He figured out anything would be good to begin with. He could always search for something better later on or simply work his way up. Besides, he doubted he would have to do anything as laborious as breaking stones in the cold, or as depressing as carrying dead corpses. So, early on the third morning, Kyle was diligently reading the "Classifieds" on the newspaper while he drunk his coffee. The receptionist had told him about this small but cozy café owned by a Jew, and therefore frequented mostly by Jews, just a few blocks away from the guesthouse. He was so focused in drawing circles around announcements that he didn't notice the café's owner had walked over to his table.
"Sorry to disturb you, young man, but I was wondering, you're new here, right?" The owner kindly asked. Kyle would swear he heard a caring and paternal undertone in the man's voice, but could read the curiosity in his eyes.
"Yeah, I just arrived two days ago." Kyle answered with a hesitant smile.
"You are not American, are you?" The man knowingly asked. "You're English is perfect, but you do have an accent. German, I'm guessing."
"Your guess is right." Kyle spoke in a low voice and shifted uncomfortably on his chair. He hoped other customers weren't eavesdropping and, above all, that this conversation wouldn't take the course he was certain it would take.
"A holocaust survivor." The café's owner stated in a whisper. He bended over so only Kyle could hear him. "Quite many like you have passed through my café." His last words sounded sad and mournful. "Your family?"
"They all made it out alive, thank you. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must go." Kyle hurriedly said while he got up. He knew he was being rude. But the caring and concerned man's voice was making him feel uneasy. He did not wish to talk about the past, the war and the camps to a perfect stranger. He didn't need the pity neither the indulging.
"Before you leave, please allow me to give you some advice. I've lived here all my life and I know this city's challenges. It's nothing compared to the hell you went through in Germany, but it's also not the dream city many picture it to be." The man calmly spoke, while he gently guided Kyle to sit down on his chair again. The redhead consented mildly reluctant. He watched a bit warily as the café's owner took a seat opposite him. "Now listen carefully to what I'm about to tell you. In New York, you really have to work hard to get what you want. Competition is very high. You don't imagine what people are able to do just to achieve their goals, their ambitions. There are many friendships that are destroyed because of a promotion. Whatever you seek in this city, keep this in mind. Always act self-assured, but remain humble. Politeness and a smile always win points, in any situation. Be honest, but chose your words wisely and keep most of your thoughts and opinions to yourself. It's a beautiful world out there, but it's also pretty harsh." The man concluded and stoop up. Kyle felt a bit guilty for misinterpreting the man's intentions earlier and realized the café's owner was clever and had already figured out he was alone and job hunting.
"T-Thank you, Mr?"
"Cahan, Joshua Cahan." Kyle smiled and handed his hand to shake the man's. Mr. Cahan afterwards turned around to face his wife. "Lucy, this young man's coffee is on the house."
"Oh, I could not…" Kyle started but Mr. Cahan gestured him to stop.
"The next time you'll enter this café, you'll have a job. Then you'll pay your bill." Mr. Cahan solemnly spoke. "And if you ever need anything, don't hesitate coming here, okay?"
"I don't know how to thank you." Kyle said, feeling truly grateful.
"Just take care yourself." The café's owner said and the redhead nodded with a sincere smile. He was about to exit the establishment, when he stopped and turned around.
"By the way, my name is Kyle Broflovski."
The young Jew exited afterwards the café with the newspaper on his hand and walked away, down the street. Joshua Cahan smiled both happy and worried. He had told the truth when he said many survivors of the Holocaust had come to his café. Most of them weren't as lucky as this boy, whose family survived. Many were alone and lost. Others bitter and angered. But they all had something in common. They all carried the same haunted look mixed with hope in their eyes. Just like this young man with auburn curls. He truly hoped, with all his heart, Kyle Broflovski would succeed in his life and find happiness in this magnificent city.
A/N
*The Nuremberg trials (held in the city of Nuremberg, Germany) were a series of military tribunals, held by the Allied forces after World War II, most notable for the prosecution of prominent members of the political, military, and economic leadership of Nazi Germany. The "the greatest trial in history" was held between 20 November 1945 and 1 October 1946. The Tribunal was given the task of trying 23 of the most important political and military leaders of the Third Reich. Not included were Adolf Hitler, Heinrich Himmler, and Joseph Goebbels, all of whom had committed suicide several months before the indictment was signed.
The death sentences were carried out 16 October 1946 by hanging using the standard drop method instead of long drop. The U.S. army denied claims that the drop length was too short which caused the condemned to die slowly from strangulation instead of quickly from a broken neck but evidence remains that some of the condemned men died agonizingly slowly taking from between 14 minutes to choke to death to as long as struggling for 28 minutes.