Liberation

Until the day I die, I'll never forget those glassy, unblinking eyes.

Our regiment had arrived on a Thursday morning to liberate the camp. We knew it would be bad, but we had no way to comprehend the reality of all we would see.

Davidson and I were sent to a medical complex on the west side of the camp with instructions to bring back any possible war criminals. Snaking through the corridors from office to office, we found them all deserted. The officers and doctors had all fled when the siren sounded. In one office, a painting behind a large oak desk caught my attention. A regal looking man stared down from the painting -- "Oswolt" was the name written at the top of the canvas. Oswolt looked concerned, and I followed his gaze through the door of the office and into the open door of the examination room across the hall.

I saw the doll first, lying face up on the floor, her glassy eyes staring at the ceiling. Next to her, a dangling arm, small enough that I could have circled it with my finger and thumb. It could have belonged to my little sister, Nancy, except that Nancy was in school in Ohio, and the owner of the doll was dead on a metal table.

Approaching the table, I could see that the girl had been injected with something. The side of her neck bulged blue and bulbous. Some blood had dried under her nose, and what might have been a trickle of vomit clung to the corner of her mouth. I wanted to bring her out of the camp, to at least give her a proper burial, but just as I was about to say something, a voice addressed us from Davidson's radio. We were to return to the main gate immediately.

I picked up the doll, expecting her eyes to close as she moved. They stared straight ahead, and when I laid her down on the table, two sets of eyes were frozen in time. I could just never get that out my mind.

Image: Portrait of Oswolt Krel by Albrect Dürer