Chapter: 48
Albert Kandinsky suddenly jolted the car to an abrupt stop and said, “Sir, we have arrived in the village Sainte-Mère-Église.”
I slowly woke from my hellish dream and saw the beautiful town of Sainte-Mère-Église in front of me. I noticed that the children were playing in the towns green as Mr. Kandinsky helped me into my wheelchair. I sat there for a moment as I ponder how much prettier the town looked since the last time I was here.
The late spring sun caressed my scotched face with warmth that I haven’t felt in years. The fragrance of the sea swirled around us as we pass by the warm and charming people of this small French village.
My favorite white linen suit and a white vest with copper buttons caressed by scarred body while a pair of shiny leather shoes caresses my feet.
My friend wore a Brunello Cucinelli designed blue pin striped suit. A pair of cufflinks crafted from Russian brass bullet shells. The souls of Albert’s feet were caressed with Oxford leather shoes.
Albert’s usual tough outer expression slowly melted in the warm sun. The salty breeze whisked away the black clouds of hate that had engulfed Al’s soul for the last forty years.
Tears of joy trickle from Albert’s eyes as we joyfully revisit the town where we first met. Though the moment only lasts a second, I could see the warmth and charm that Mr. Kandinsky once had as a young boy, before the horrible war, rejuvenate in his soul.
For that brief moment, I could see past Albert’s war torn shield that cloaked his innocence soul. Tarnish, scorn and beaten by age, Albert's once strong impenetrable shield was now fragile. Beyond Al's fragile shield, buried deep in his soul lingered love and his real name; a name I haven't spoken in forty years; Robert Dubinsky.
Mr. Albert Kandinsky slowly pushed me along the rue Des Ecoles' quaint café and stores that line the streets of this tourist filled town. Forty years ago the village of Sainte-Mère- Église was besieged by the evil clutches of the German Third Reich. During the D-day invasion American and British troops, attacked the German Forces at the nearby Normandy beach.
I banished a smile when I saw the statue of the Airborne soldier dangling from the steeple of the Église Notre-Dame-de-L'Assomption church. The villager's erected the statue of a paratrooper dangling from the church’s steeple as a tribute to American heroes who liberated the town forty years ago.
We entered the church and quietly walked towards the confessional on the left side of the church. Bright sunlight shined through the stained-glass windows and created a colorful light display that danced on the floor of the church. “Mr. Kandinsky does this church bring back any memories?”
“I rather not remember those dark times.”
“Yes, I understand, but this is where our friendship started so many years ago.”
“Yes, sir, but this is also where the deception, lies and treachery started.”
I slowly bow my head, “Yes, that is the truth my friend, but if it wasn’t for the priest, both of us would be dead.”
Kandinsky's jaw clenched in rage and his eyes blazed with hate.
“Relax Mr. Kandinsky; we are here to say hello to our old friend.” I looked into Albert’s deep blue eyes and saw only malaise. Though Alberta looked more like a ferocious giant rather than a middle age man, his body was riddled with burns and scars. His scars were more then skin deep. Lurking in his sole were painful scars that would never heal.