The-most-beautiful-girl

2008-01-12T05:24:22Z

Wyywwqf:

I feel I owe cherry and myself recording the days , good and bad, we shared; the smiles and the tears we took to heart.

Time erases everything of [http://www.yqyb.org.cn yqyb]. my memories of cherry have been already fuzzy, and they at some point in the future will only be found at some corner of my mind covered with dust ,or even worse ,beyond recognition. I know if i don't act now I might regret losing them one day.

I am not very much of a writer, I remember that going through essay writing part was always a nightmarish experience during my school days. I can only try my best to find the bits and pieces in my relationship with cherry, but i can not put them together in a chronological order or organized fashion.

here is a day that stood out:

cherry had been in this new city thousands miles away from her home [http://www.jjyp.net.cn Jjyp], perhaps, for months. despite others helped and were helping her a lot: her mom's friend found her a place close to her school to live in ; a chinese student who happened to be taking classes from the same teacher was her personal translator now , otherwise cherry 's piano classes with the teacher would be impossible for her terrible english; and I of course was trying to take care the rest of her worries. cherry missed home.

I could somehow understand that cherry missed her family , the people , or the mere hustling in [http://www.lpsp.net.cn lpsp], for she 's got few people to talk to but for the girl and me and she was never a person who could go through a day quietly on her own.. so that one day she wanted to go to the chinatown , which was located downtown, hoping to experience the missing part of her life since the day she came to this new country. i reluctantly promised her that i would come with her that weekend.

it was saturday finally, cherry was a smart girl in many aspects-- she could see my unwillingness on my face, I never liked a crowded place, especially it was filthy as well( such a hypocrite i was) but she just pretened not seeing it at all, she was really eager to go to the chinatown. to buy some preserves was just one reason of the trip.

here we were at the [http://www.yybj.net.cn yybj] subway station, just as cherry dropped a ticket and was ready to push the turnstile to get in, i said: " i am not coming." " why? you said yes," cherry managed not losing her cool for maybe just two seconds, and it was silence between us. all of sudden , cherry exploded . what followed was storm and lightning, i was literally yanked onto the escalator leading to the exit and then passing round glass-walled waiting area for picking-up and dropping-off passengers. I knew cherry well when it came to her temper, i knew there was nothing i could do but try not to make a scene on my side , i just let her yell at me, kick me and punch me. there were people watching us all the way , then we were onto the parking lot after crossing the driveway . " embarassing" was the only word on my mind and I just did not want it to get it any worse, hoping this was going to end as quietly and quickly as possible.

now both of us were standing beside my car, i tried to drag her into my car so that it was kind of a little private, at least that's what i thought. then came the climax of our drama: a security guard in uniform. materized from nowhere( he must have come from the complex , which was right beside the parking lot ,which housed a few government [http://www.txcp.net.cn txcp] agencies as well as a few private enterprises ) , as we both watched this guy approach us in surprise and trying to figure out " what the hell this guy is going to do to us?" . the man walked straight towards me and stopped a few feet away asking" i was told that you were hit, are you ok?". his sympathy was not unfounded , besides the accounts he was given by the others who witnessed eariler on, he must have seen a small part himself , and last, look at the two guys standing in front of him: i was a guy of average height by chinese standard and thin while cherry was a tall girl and seemed to overpower me easily with the big bones she inherited from her father in her body. all of a sudden, i found myself trying to fight my tears back, but it was not because i was overwhelmed by this guy's overflowing sympathy for me on his face and in his voice, i was simply overcome by the feeling of embarrassment . " how could this be happening , i looked like being beat up by a girl and this guy came to my rescue!"

the well-intentioned security guard left and cherry ended all this by telling me" i was scared!" , and i said , lucky it was not a police officer.

It.is.cold

2008-01-12T00:18:56Z

Wyywwqf:

It is cold, so bitter cold, on this dark, winter day in 1942. But it is no different from any other day in this Nazi concentration camp. I stand shivering in my thin rags, still in disbelief that this nightmare is happening. I am just a young boy. I should be playing with friends; I should be going to school; I should be looking forward to a future, to growing up and marrying, and having a family of my own. But those dreams are for the living, and I am no longer one of them. Instead, I am almost dead, surviving from day to day, from hour to hour, ever since I was taken from my home and brought here with tens of thousands other Jews. Will I still be alive tomorrow? [http://www.jxsb.org.cn jxsb]Will I be taken to the gas chamber tonight?

Back and forth I walk next to the barbed wire fence, trying to keep my emaciated body warm. I am hungry, but I have been hungry for longer than I want to remember. I am always hungry. Edible food seems like a dream. Each day as more of us disappear, the happy past seems like a mere dream, and I sink deeper and deeper into despair. Suddenly, I notice a young girl walking past on the other side of the barbed wire. She stops and looks at me with sad eyes, eyes that seem to say that she understands, that she, too, cannot fathom why I am here. I want to look away, oddly ashamed for this stranger to see me like this, but I cannot tear my eyes from hers.

Then she reaches into her pocket,[http://www.fzpg.net.cn fzpg], and pulls out a red apple. A beautiful, shiny red apple. Oh, how long has it been since I have seen one! She looks cautiously to the left and to the right, and then with a smile of triumph, quickly throws the apple over the fence. I run to pick it up, holding it in my trembling, frozen fingers. In my world of death, this apple is an expression of life, of love. I glance up in time to see the girl disappearing into the distance.

The next day, I cannot help myself-I am drawn at the same time to that spot near the fence. Am I crazy for hoping she will come again? Of course. But in here, I cling to any tiny scrap of hope. She has given me hope and I must hold tightly to it.

And again, she comes. And again, she brings me an apple, flinging it over the fence with that same sweet smile.

This time I catch it, and hold it up for her to see. Her eyes twinkle. Does she pity me? Perhaps. I do not care, though. I am just so happy to gaze at her. And for the first time in so long, I feel my heart move with emotion.

For seven months, we meet like this. Sometimes we exchange a few words. Sometimes, just an apple. But she is feeding more than my belly, this angel from heaven. She is feeding my soul. And somehow, I know I am feeding hers as well.

One day, I hear frightening news: we are being shipped to another camp. This could mean the end for me. And it definitely means the end for me and my friend.

The next day when I greet her, my heart is breaking, and I can barely speak as I say what must be said: "Do not bring me an apple tomorrow," I tell her. "I am being sent to another camp. We will never see each other again." Turning before I lose all control, I run away from the fence. I cannot bear to look back. If I did, I know she would see me standing there, with tears streaming down my face.

Months pass [http://www.fzpg.org.cn fzpg] and the nightmare continues. But the memory of this girl sustains me through the terror, the pain, the hopelessness. Over and over in my mind, I see her face, her kind eyes, I hear her gentle words, I taste those apples.

And then one day, just like that, the nightmare is over. The war has ended. Those of us who are still alive are freed. I have lost everything that was precious to me, including my family. But I still have the memory of this girl, a memory I carry in my heart and gives me the will to go on as I move to America to start a new life.

Years pass. It is 1957. I am living in New York City. A friend convinces me to go on a blind date with a lady friend of his. Reluctantly, I agree. But she is nice, this woman named Roma. And like me, she is an immigrant, so we have at least that in common.

"Where were you during the war?" Roma asks me gently, in that delicate way immigrants ask one another questions about those years.

"I was in a concentration camp in Germany," I reply.

Roma gets a far away look in her eyes, as if she is remembering something painful yet sweet.

"What is it?" I ask [http://www.xxyd.org.cn xxyd].

"I am just thinking about something from my past, Herman," Roma explains in a voice suddenly very soft. "You see, when I was a young girl, I lived near a concentration camp. There was a boy there, a prisoner, and for a long while, I used to visit him every day. I remember I used to bring him apples. I would throw the apple over the fence, and he would be so happy."

Roma sighs heavily and continues. "It is hard to describe how we felt about each other-after all, we were young, and we only exchanged a few words when we could-but I can tell you, there was much love there. I assume he was killed like so many others. But I cannot bear to think that, and so I try to remember him as he was for those months we were given together."

With my heart pounding so loudly I think it wil1 explode, I look directly at Roma and ask, "And did that boy say to you one day, 'Do not bring me an apple tomorrow. I am being sent to another camp'?"

"Why, yes," Roma responds, her voice trembling.

"But, Herman, how on earth could you possibly know that?"

I take her hands in mine and answer, "Because I was that young boy, Roma."

For many moments, there is only silence. We cannot take our eyes from each other, and as the veils of time lift, we recognize the soul behind the eyes, the dear friend we once loved so much, whom we have never stopped loving, whom we have never stopped remembering.

Finally, I speak: "Look, Roma, I was separated from you once, and I don't ever want to be separated from you again. Now, I am free, and I want to be together with you forever. Dear, will you marry me?"

I see that same twinkle in her eye that I used to see as Roma says, "Yes, I will marry you," and we embrace, the embrace we longed to share for so many months, but barbed wire came between us. Now, nothing ever will again.

Almost forty years have passed since [http://www.fzfz.org.cn fzfz] that day when I found my Roma again. Destiny brought us together the first time during the war to show me a promise of hope and now it had reunited us to fulfill that promise.

Valentine's Day, 1996. I bring Roma to the Oprah Winfrey Show to honor her on national television. I want to tell her infront of millions of people what I feel in my heart every day:

"Darling, you fed me in the concentration camp when I was hungry. And I am still hungry, for something I will never get enough of: I am only hungry for your love."

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The-most-beautiful-girl

It.is.cold