Utopia page 45: Three stars to separate thought processes

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  • Page 45: Three stars to separate thought processes (gaps between paras, groups of paras)

  • Entire Manuscript on PAGEMAKER

  • Page 73: Every fresh chapter to start on a fresh page (odd page) example page 73

  • Page 74: All such even pages before start of chapter leave blank

  • Page 101: Instead of nine, story name

  • Page 101: Every new story on right (odd) page

  • Page 101: From nine to 1st line, 6 spaces/6 lines

  • Page 109: Because story has finished on an odd page, page 110 will be blank, page 111 will be name of story (new) on odd (right) page, leave page 112, short story on page 113

  • Page 118: Book name on all, except blank pages (extreme left top; italics)

  • Page 119: Story name on all, except blank pages (extreme right top; italics)

  • Font size/type: Times New Roman 10

  • Begin each story with introduction which must be in italics, centre, bold

  • Page 134: Page numbering in centre, no numbering on title of book, work of fiction, and prelude

  • Page 135: From beginning of name of story TO end of page number, 7.2 inches

  • Margins: half inches at top and half inches at bottom

  • Page 136: Width of written matter: 4 inches

  • Page numbering from 1st chapter ONLY.


(A Collection of Short Stories)

Nilanjana Sanyal

Overseas Press




(A Collection of Short Stories)

Nilanjana Sanyal




To my parents

Who taught me that life is beautiful



  1. YURI’s OIL


The destiny of the world is determined less by the battles that are lost and won than by the stories it loves and believes in.  
-Harold Goddard

The historical background of short stories lay in oral story-telling traditions which originally produced epics such as Homer's Iliad and Odyssey. Oral narratives were often told rhythmically, memory devices intended to act for easier recall, rendition and adaptation of the story. The overall arc of the tale would emerge only through the telling of many such sections.

Ancient Fables, tales with an explicit "moral," were said to have been invented in the 6th century before Christ by a Greek slave named Aesop. Known as Aesop's Fables, these tales are a favorite with children of all ages.

In Europe, the oral story-telling tradition began to develop into written stories in the early 14th century, most notably with Geoffrey Chaucer's Canterbury Tales and Giovanni Boccaccio's Decameron. In the late 17th Century, traditional fairy tales began to be published with one of the most famous collections being by Charles Perrault.

Story telling in the United States dates back to Charles Brockden Brown's "Somnambulism" (1805), Washington Irving's Rip van Winkle (1819) and The Legend of Sleepy Hollow (1820), Edgar Allan Poe's Tales of the Grotesque and Arabesque (1840) and Nathaniel Hawthorne's Twice-Told Tales (1842). At one point in time, the demand for stories was so high that writers often used the product to pay off their outstanding debts!

From then on, there was no looking back. When Life magazine published Ernest Hemingway's long short story (or novella) The Old Man and the Sea in 1952, the issue containing this story sold 5,300,000 copies in only two days.

Very often, stories might be used by spiritual and religious leaders worldwide to inspire, enlighten, and educate their followers.

It is this spirit of writing to inspire if not educate that compelled me to consider putting up a short collection intended to engage in such important themes as might have consequences for society. Consider the experience of Leah when one day Nazi soldiers arrived in her hometown to take away her parents and ‘little’ Tom for ever. Personally, I was greatly influenced by

“Anne Frank’s Diary” while writing this story. Or, when an entire island sunk beneath the ocean. Fact or fiction, one might ask? The truth is, fiction cannot be divorced from reality! Our sea levels will rise as a result of polar ice caps melting a strange paradox of the inequalities that exist in our times leading to global warming and other consequences. Ask me, isn’t Tuvalu sinking? Or, consider the strange anomaly that is discrimination on the basis of color of skin. But was Gandhi or for that matter is Mandela not true “flesh-n-blood” (nee real life) heroes? Or, a disabled father’s true love for his son. Are these not human emotions on paper? Or, the official negligence and often apathy meted out to millions of people throughout the world, including innocent children? The ‘Rain gods’ did take away ‘little’ Arsh Muduli to the heavens, but don’t the ‘Rain gods’ actually betray our farmers or take away thousands of innocent children every year.
Consider also the practice of selective sex abortion. Or, innocent girls (or even boys) being lured into dates and then raped or otherwise abused. Consider a situation in which several young girls (and especially in India) get raped by goons inside trains or medical stores while the world simply stares without intervening. I’m sorry I forgot that similar situations are extensively portrayed in our Bollywood films. And Bollywood is all about stardom and Mumbai a place every girl wants to be in with dreams of becoming a heroine. But then, corrupted minds exist everywhere or have I missed the latest ‘Transparency International’ findings?
Consider also the horrors of the Rwandan Genocide, in which millions of innocent Tutsis were put to the Machete by the Hutus in 1994. Consider the brave fight put up by the Manager of a hotel in Kigali in an attempt to protect the residents of the hotel from the massacre.
Or the brave fight put up by one courageous woman, Gillian Moore against a mighty corporation which had turned a blind eye to the repercussions being caused by the effluents being released by their factories in the small city of Quincy, Illinois located along the banks of the river Mississippi.
The aim of this book is not to confuse fact with fiction, indeed which was not something I had in mind when I started writing this collection. But fiction actually cannot be divorced from reality. The main dream behind this project is to highlight that certain inequalities (of race, caste, class, gender and disability) do exist in society and that we as story-tellers (or, writers) have an obligation to fulfill in working to erase these so-called inequalities, otherwise the idea of a perfect society “Utopia” will only remain a dream to be cherished…
The question is…is anyone listening to the story I have just told?

Nilanjana Sanyal


“I’m sorry.” Dr. Tamarov had a grim look on his face.

“But what is the illness, doctor?”

“It’s a condition called Adrenoleukodystrophy (ALD).” “I’m afraid Yuri cannot be cured.”

A distraught mother lost consciousness.


Winters throughout Russia are extremely harsh. Snow cover in southern Russia lasts from 60 to 80 days and from 260 to 280 days in the Far North. Above the Arctic Circle, the land is in total darkness for six months of the year. Winters in Northern and Central European Russia can be very cold. Archangel swings between lacking real darkness in summer to having only a few hours of murky daylight in winter, when January's high temperature averages just -11°C (12°F). Moscow is frozen by the end of November. With an average January high temperature of just -6°C (21°F), snow remains on the ground until early April. Siberian winters are so cold you can hear what some guidebooks call, "the whisper of the stars":  as you exhale, water vapor crystallizes almost instantly, and then bursts with a barely audible tinkle.


“Ivan, what are you doing out there in the cold?” It was getting cold in Moscow.

“Just gone to get some firewood for the hearth.”

“Al right, it’s getting cold!” Lena reminded her husband. “Get in quick before we all freeze!”

“It’s time for dinner, folks!”

“Repeat after me, Yuri…O Father in Heaven…”

But Yuri just kept silent.

“Yuri, we must pray to the Lord because He has given us enough to eat. There are many children like you who do not have food on their tables, remember?”

Yuri could not recite even a word properly.

“O, my God…what has happened to our Yuri?” “Ivan…come here quickly, Ivan!”

“What is it, honey?”

“Our Yuri cannot recite even a word!” “What are we to do in this cold?” “We can’t even take him to the doctor at this moment!” “It’s freezing outside!” There was a volley of statements from Lena.

“Just keep calm, Lena!” “I’m calling up Dr. Tamarov.”


“I’ve examined Yuri thoroughly…but you have to get some blood samples taken and an MRI taken. Only then can I comment.” Dr. Tamarov seemed to have noticed that something was seriously wrong with Yuri.

“An MRI?” Lena and Ivan were petrified.

“Yes…and it has to be done as soon as is possible!” “Otherwise I’m afraid I will not be able to comment.”

“Thank you, Doctor!” “We’ll get an MRI done immediately and the other tests as well.”

“I’ll see off Dr. Tamarov.”

“O Yuri, our precious son!” Lena was crying like never before.

Yuri Petrov, ‘little Yuri’ to his parents was born in Moscow on July 29th, 1957. His father, Ivan worked as an Engineer while his mother was a homemaker. Ivan was one of the designers of the famous “Ostankino Tower” (built in 1967), the tallest structure in Europe and the then third tallest freestanding structure in the world. Ivan was an extremely patient man not given easily to emotions while his wife Lena, a homemaker by profession got emotional easily.

Little Yuri was only ten when he started showing signs of a rare disease including loss of previously acquired neurologic abilities, seizures, ataxia, Addison's disease, and degeneration of visual and auditory function.

It was after he started showing signs and symptoms of a disease when his parents, Lena and Ivan decided to consult Dr. Vladimir Tamarov, one of the city’s leading pediatric endocrinologists who asked for some blood tests and an MRI.


“Well, the results are out…and…”

“I’m sorry.” Dr. Tamarov had a grim look on his face.

“But what is the illness, doctor?”

“It’s a condition called Adrenoleukodystrophy (ALD).” “I’m afraid Yuri cannot be cured.”

A distraught mother lost consciousness.

Ivan however stood his ground.

“So, doctor…what you are telling me is that there is no cure for this condition?”

“Ivan…what I am telling you is that there is no cure for this condition.” “Doctors usually measure very long chain free fatty acids in newly diagnosed males with this condition, as a screening test for ALD.”

“However, going by your son’s report, there just might be a treatment, if not a cure.”

“Well then…we’ll find someone capable of treating our young son’s rare disease.” Ivan was ironical, if not angry inside.

“I wish you every success in your mission!” Dr. Tamarov was however extremely courteous.


It had been three months now and Lena and Ivan had still failed to find a doctor capable of treating Yuri’s illness.

Now they were on a mission to save their child…and finding a cure.

In their quest, they clashed with doctors, scientists, and support groups, who were skeptical that anything could be done about ALD, much less by laymen. But they persisted, setting up camp in medical libraries, reviewing animal experiments, badgering researchers, questioning top doctors all over the world, and even organizing an international symposium about the disease.

They came up with the following facts in the course of their research:

“Adrenoleukodystrophy (ALD), also called Siemerling-Creutzfeldt Disease or Schilder's disease is a rare, inherited disorder that leads to progressive brain damage, failure of the adrenal glands and eventually death. ALD is a disease in a group of genetic disorders called leukodystrophies. Adrenoleukodystrophy progressively damages the myelin sheath, a complex fatty neural tissue that insulates many nerves of the central and peripheral nervous systems. Without functional myelin, nerves are unable to conduct an impulse, which leads to increasing disability.”

The diagnosis is established by clinical findings and the detection of serum very long-chain free fatty acid levels. MRI examination reveals white matter abnormalities, and neuro-imaging findings of this disease are somewhat reminiscent of the findings of multiple sclerosis. Genetic testing for the analysis of the defective gene is available in some centers.

Neonatal screening may become available in the future, which may permit early diagnosis and treatment.

While there is currently no cure for the disease, some dietary treatments, for example, a 4:1 mixture of glyceryl trioleate and glyceryl trierucate in combination with a diet low in VLCSFA (very long chain saturated fatty acids), have been used with limited success, especially before disease symptoms appear.

HSCT, including bone marrow transplant is thought to be able to stop the progression of the X-ALD disease in asymptomatic or mildly symptomatic boys who have a Loes score lower than 9 (an MRI measure of the severity of the disease), though outcomes are markedly poorer in symptomatic boys.

Treatment is symptomatic. Progressive neurological degeneration makes the prognosis generally poor. Death occurs within one to ten years of presentation of symptoms. The use of Lorenzo's Oil, bone marrow transplant, and gene therapy is currently under investigation…”

At the same time, Yuri’s health was deteriorating…


Soon the nurse attending to Yuri left over personal differences with Lena. As Yuri’s condition deteriorated, the nurse left followed by the attendant, because it was simply too difficult to take care of Yuri. Finally, Yuri was left without a personal caregiver with his parents being the only people who would take care of him.

“I can’t take it any more, Ivan…seeing Yuri in this state!” It was a distraught mother speaking.

“Lena, Lena…you must understand…we cannot run away from the situation.”

“I’m definitely not running away from this situation…I’m his mother!” Lena angrily retorted. “Besides, I do everything…his cleaning, his washing….everything!” “What do you do?”

“Lena, we must hold on somehow…I’m waiting for a miracle to happen!”

“You talk of a miracle…I wish I could die, I can’t see our Yuri in this position anymore!”

The frustration was now growing…until

One day…


“Good morning, I’m Dr. Mikhail Gershov.”

“Yes, doctor?” Both Lena and Ivan were now equally curious.

“Can I come in?”

“Well off course, doctor!” Ivan was extremely courteous.

“I used to be known to Dr. Tamarov earlier. He gave me your address…”

“Please go on…doctor!” Ivan was perhaps expecting the miracle.

“Well, I do not in any manner wish to raise your expectations too much, but…”


“There might be a chance that I could treat your son. Dr. Tamarov must have already told you that there is as yet no cure for ALD, but that there just might be a treatment for this condition.”

“We were just hoping, doctor!” “You’re our only hope!” Lena was crying.

“Remember that you both must give tremendous support to each other during this hour of crisis!”

“We do understand, doctor!” Ivan gave a warm hug to Lena.

“Now, if I may…can I see your son for a moment?”

“Sure, Doctor!” “This way.”


“Well, the therapy will consist of adding a certain kind of oil (actually an oil containing two specific long chain fatty acids, both isolated from olive oil) to your son's diet.”

“But for that, you will have to spend a bit calling in an expert from Britain.” Dr. Gershov continued.

“He is an elderly British chemist working for Croda International whom I’m spoken to. He is perhaps the only one who would be willing to take on the challenge of distilling the proper formula. We will be trying to normalize the accumulation of the very long chain fatty acids in the brain that has been causing Yuri’s steady decline, thereby halting the progression of the disease.” Dr. Gershov added.

“Anything for our Yuri!” Both Lena and Ivan now felt somewhat more relieved.


However, there was still a great deal of neurological damage remaining which could not be reversed until new treatments were found to regenerate the myelin sheath (a lipid insulator) around the nerves.


“Yuri…do you feel better now?”

The little boy simply blinked to say yes. After all, that was really all he could do, answer yes or no to questions by blinking.

“Did you like the food?”

The boy once again blinked.

Little Yuri was now sitting in front of the computer after having regained his sight.

“Our Yuri can now see the world!” And the once desperate parents rejoiced bringing an end to the powerful struggle that had spanned over 14 years.


It was the year 1987 and one day before his 30th birthday that little Yuri decided to close his eyes for ever after suffering from the complications of aspiration pneumonia at his home in Moscow, Russia. He is survived by no one else but his father Ivan who still fetches wood for the fireplace during the harsh Russian winters. He has also now given up his job following the death of his wife, Lena of lung cancer on June 22nd, 2001.

The Lord truly works in mysterious ways, doesn’t He…?


“Son, look!”

“Looks like a future species of bird…!” William (Billie) Watson Sr. commented.

“It’s an Eskimo Curlew, a New World bird. Members of this species are to be found only in this part of the world!” It was Billie Watson Jr.

“How about…?”

“NO…we mustn’t, dad!”

“What are you saying, Bill?”

“What I’m saying is that, the Eskimo Curlew or Northern Curlew as it is called is a medium-sized New World shorebird. It is severely endangered and could possibly be extinct…No, we mustn’t kill a curlew…for all the wealth in this world, I wouldn’t do it!”

“For all that we know, this might very well be one of the last remaining among the species!”


Billie Watson Jr. was born in Curlew Creek which meanders from near US 19 between Curlew Rd. and Countryside Mall, westward through Dunedin, through several residential areas including Spanish Trails. Near Curlew Creek, was one of the oldest historical towns south of the Big Bend's Cedar Key. Dunedin Isles was the most significant development beginning during the 1920s. The area south of Curlew and Cedar Creeks was once home to the largest fleet of sailing vessels in Florida, facilitating trade as near as Georgia and as far as Scotland. The downtown area even now reflected the Scottish heritage of its founders.

It was at the age of nine that young Billie formally enrolled in Curlew Creek Elementary School, proving himself as a very diligent and enterprising student. He was also growing up in to a warm and compassionate human being, when financial travails compelled him to quit school for ever.

Billie was born to Belinda Mill and Billie Watson Sr. His mother sang in the local church choir and was a devout Christian. His father on the other hand was a passionate fisherman who loved his job. The problem was, Billie Sr. also loved hunting, and would often go deep in to the forests to hunt and bring home exotic species of birds and animals for dinner. This was the cause of much concern to Belinda who was a woman of strong faith and often disapproved of the horrors of killing and bloodshed. Young Billie was determined to follow in the footsteps of his mother and mostly stayed with her. Belinda often chanted “Nam-Myo-Ho-Renge-Kyo” as a dual follower, both Catholic as well as practicing the Lotus Sutra of her own free will. Her husband disapproved of her Buddhist leanings but wouldn’t ever interfere.

As days passed by, Sr. Watson seemed to be getting more and more involved in hunting as a pursuit much to the annoyance of the local Forest Ranger and the police.


It was one of those unusual days when Billie Watson Sr. decided to evade the local police. The solution lay in taking a trip to Alaska with his minor son accompanying him on the job. Billie Sr. was confident this scheme would work against the local cops, after all their jurisdiction remained confined to Curlew Creek.


She had migrated to Latin America only to return to Alaska in search of a mate. She was however an endangered species, and very soon becoming extinct.


Johann Reinhold Forster had first described the species in 1772. The generic name derived from the Greek "noumenios". "Noumenios" meant "of the new moon", the curlews' thin beak being compared to a thin crescent moon. The specific name "borealis" derived from the Latin and stood for "northern".

At one time, the Eskimo Curlew may have been one of the most numerous shorebirds in North America with a population in the millions. As many as 2 million birds per year were killed near the end of the 19th century. The last confirmed sightings were in 1962 on Galveston Island, Texas and on Barbados in 1963. No confirmed record of this species had been reported in South America since 1939. The Eskimo Curlew was ‘a Vanishing Species!’

This species was fully protected in Argentina, Canada, the United States, and Mexico. Hunting had been outlawed since around 1916.

Billie Watson Sr. was however taking the law into his own hands.


It was the wee hours of the morning on the 23rd of June, 1917.

Watson Sr. had just about managed to book two air tickets out of Florida. They were flying to Anchorage, Alaska where they were scheduled to spend the night at the famous Hampton Inn, and then following a complementary hot breakfast, were to go sightseeing as one of the hotel’s many convenient attractions. No one was aware that Billie Watson Sr. had other intentions in mind, and no one cared to ask!


That fateful morning, little Billie woke up to find his father ringing the alarm clock at 4:00 a.m.

It was pitch dark outside. Watson Sr. informed the hotel manager who could arrange for two tickets on the Alaska Railroad for the duo to be able to see the territory. Of greatest interest to Billie Sr. was northern Alaska (Alaska’s Arctic) especially the Denali, North America’s tallest mountain range. A trip to Denali would give the crook ample opportunity to play his game!


They departed using the Anchorage to Fairbanks Alaska Railroad whereby Bill Sr. scoured the surroundings carefully.

“Ride the rails in luxury and style with GoldStar Service!” A heavy voice resounded throughout the train as the passengers were just beginning to relax and view the scenic beauty.

“Enjoy your ride on the Alaska Railroad, the last full-service railroad in the United States. Sit back and enjoy the comfortable seating and large picture windows. Be sure to keep an eye out for wildlife and magnificent views of Mt. McKinley. On a clear day you will start to get a glimpse of the Mountain within half an hour of departing Anchorage. Three hours into the trip marks one of the most spectacular views of McKinley, and if the weather is good the train will slow to allow passengers to snap a few photos. North of Talkeetna you will cross the startling 918-foot Hurricane Gulch Trestle, towering 296 feet above the creek below. Be sure to have your camera ready, as this is one of the route's best photo opportunities. Before arriving at Denali Park you will pass though Broad Pass, the highest point on the Alaska Railroad at 2,363 feet. Immediately upon departing Denali you will enter the scenic Nenana River Canyon, a popular spot for whitewater rafting. Before reaching Fairbanks, the train crosses the Tanana River on one of the world's longest single-span bridges. It was here, at the west end of the 702-foot bridge, that President Harding drove the final spike completing the railroad in 1923.” It was the heavy automated voice again.

“Please note that the Alaska Railroad operates only one daily train in each direction between Anchorage and Fairbanks, stopping along the way in Talkeetna and Denali Park.” The voice continued.

“On this train there are three levels of service; Standard (also known as Adventure Class), Private Dome (operated by private companies), and GoldStar Dome. Many people prefer the standard class for its single level stability, generous seating and the ability to easily walk between different cars on the train. The Private Dome service is a good value for those looking for full-time Dome seating for improved viewing from the train. The GoldStar Dome is the top-of-the-line rail service featuring the newest rail cars, the largest picture windows and the finest dining options. Alaska Tour & Travel is happy to offer our guests the choice of all three levels of service on most runs. Have a happy journey!” The voice finally added.


Before the arrival of European settlers, the Eskimo Curlew was one of the most abundant shorebirds in the Western Hemisphere. By the late 1880s, the Eskimo Curlew had disappeared almost completely. It was now feared extinct. Its plight served as a tragic example of the devastating potential of human impact upon the environment.


“Son, look!”

“Looks like a future species of bird…!” William (Billie) Watson Sr. commented.

“It’s an Eskimo Curlew, a New World bird. Members of this species are to be found only in this part of the world!” It was Billie Watson Jr.

“How about…?”

“NO…we mustn’t, dad!”

“What are you saying, Bill?”

“What I’m saying is that, the Eskimo Curlew or Northern Curlew as it is called is a medium-sized New World shorebird. It is severely endangered and could possibly be extinct…No, we mustn’t kill a curlew…for all the wealth in this world, I wouldn’t do it!”

“For all that we know, this might very well be one of the last remaining among the species!”

“Where?” “Which way?” “I mean what?” Watson Sr. could not control his excitement. He loaded his pocket rifle and put a silencer inside.

“Come, Billy…time for a quick walk!” And Watson Sr. led his unsuspecting son across the train cars to the deck.

“Daddy, why must we move so fast?”

“Because it’s time for us to alight, son!” An exhilarated Bill Watson Sr. commented.

The train was now pulling into Denali Park.


Watson Sr. and his son were soon making their way past the wildlife sanctuary. The metal detector failed to detect the gun which Watson Sr. had secretly slipped into the luggage. Both father and son soon made their way through without much trouble.


“What a beautiful species of bird!” It was Watson Sr. this time.

The smallest of North America’s curlews, the Eskimo Curlew stood at about 14 inches in length with a wingspan of 27 inches and weighing about 10 and 12 ounces. It had long legs, brownish plumage and a long, decurved bill so typical of all curlews. It could have most closely resembled the fairly common Whimbrel, but was at least one-quarter smaller than this shorebird.
“Father, look!” “The Curlew is feeding on berries.” “Can I also feed her some?”

“We have some more important work to do, son!” And Billie Watson Sr. pulled out his gun.

“No, you mustn’t, father!” “I simply wouldn’t let you do this!”

“Let go of me, Billy. That bird is meant to be mine!”

As the ashes of gunfire filled the spot, the local ranger and his team rushed.

“Would you please put your hands up in the air?”

Realizing that he was outnumbered and so it would be futile to pursue the matter further, Billie Watson Sr. surrendered.

“Is that your son?”

Watson Sr. was not very fond of looking back when there was something to look forward to…

Young Billy had lost his life sustaining multiple injuries which had proved fatal in the process of trying to prevent his father from opening gunfire on an innocent species of bird…


“Nam-myo-ho-renge-kyo” the essence of the Lotus Sutra teaches us that violence of any kind is wrong, and ought to be avoided at any cost. My son was extremely brave, a boy of faith…” Belinda was telling reporters.

“In trying to protect a member of an endangered species of bird, he gave up his own life. And life is precious, every bit of life…”

“As his mother, I’m extremely proud of him.”


Brave ‘little’ Billie Watson Jr. is now no more. He gave up his life for a noble cause. He was buried with full state honors in Curlew Creek and posthumously awarded one of the nation’s highest awards for courage, “The Golden Armor”. His mother received the award on his behalf.


The family has since then moved to New Haven, Connecticut where Belinda lives with young Billy’s maternal grandmother, Michele. She has taken up a job as a librarian and also teaches music at Bloomfield High School, New Haven, CT. Billy Watson Sr. has just been put on parole and is serving a sentence on dual grounds of attempted poaching and culpable homicide. He is probably destined for his new life in a community setting. His son looks after him from the heavens and his wife probably still chants “Nam-myo-ho-renge-kyo” for him…


It was a chilly evening. Michele and her friends Jessica and Debbie were getting ready for their High School Prom when the phone rang.

“Get the phone, Jess.”
“Right, Michele!”
“Hello?” The line went dead.
Suddenly, the lights went off…
“O, my God! It’s him.” “Michele where are you?” “Debbie, Michele…answer me…pleeeeeeease!”
And then as the friends struggled to locate each other in the darkness, someone crept up from behind and slit Jessica’s throat.
Jessica dropped dead on the floor.
“Where did that agonizing scream come from, Debbie?” “Jessie, Jess…sweetie, are you all right?”
There was no reply.
And then the deranged psychopathic sexual predator (whoever he might have been) shot himself to atone for his sin.
“Forgive me, Jesus. I have always lovedddddd Jessica.”
“In case you didn’t know…” Michele and her friend Debbie were now meeting with Chief of Police, Lynn Anderson and detectives John Damon and Matt Kingston at the official Police Headquarters.
“Robbie Stanton was with us in drama class. He was obsessed with our late friend Jessica…” “Little did we know that he would…?”
“I am sorry for you both.” Chief Anderson patted Michele reassuringly on the shoulder. “May I assure you both that there is absolutely no need to be concerned now? We found Robbie’s body lying in a pool of blood beside that of Jessica. He was apparently monitoring your late friend’s every movement from close quarters. In fact, he had escaped from an asylum the previous day.”
“Robbie Stanton is no longer a standing threat. But now that you have lost a friend, I must with complete respect for your sentiments remind you that America is on the verge of devastation. There could be other ‘n’ number of Robbie Stantons waiting to take advantage of many young girls (and gay Predators, young boys) in these turbulent times…therefore you must be careful, girls.”
“And call me if you sense any likelihood of trouble, like attempted date rape or sexual assault or any other attempted sexual felony.”
“May I take your leave now? We have already sent the two bodies for post mortem. A Forensic Expert should be reporting the results of the investigations soon.”
And Chief Lynn Anderson and her team left the premises.
Very few would actually know that Robbie Stanton would soon rise from the dead to haunt the girls forever thereafter…
That was the beginning of our story.


Nazism in World War II... Six Million Jews.... herded into.... Concentration Camps.... Dachau…Auschwitz.... Nuremberg… The Gas Chambers.... Unimaginable...!!!

Leah put back the book she was writing. The plane was touching down at Schönefeld. This was truly a Free Germany. The Germany of her dreams!
Leah had just about managed to survive the Holocaust. But her parents, Judah and Leslie Frankl never did. They probably had to undergo the same horrible fate, of an estimated six million Jews herded into Concentration camps. Those gas chambers must have been horrible. Leah was now a senior researcher at the Free University of Berlin (Freie Universität Berlin) and specialized in History, focusing her attention on Holocaust research. Elderly and bespectacled, Leah represented the “New Voice of Free Germany.” There was nothing to be ashamed of. She had received a grant to conduct an in depth investigation into the subject. And there was a new generation of young scholars waiting to hear from her. And she would know better than anyone else. And she would know better than anyone else. After all, she was one of the few surviving orphans of the Holocaust engaged in research at the university.
"Mommy" cried the young girl’s voice in great panic as she entered the old fashioned cellar. "They’re coming, they’re coming." "Okay Leah we must go now." There was a tension in the room as Leah’s mother panicked. She hurried and grabbed the young girl, woke her father from the study, and grabbed little Tom from his deep slumber in his bedroom.

Leah was now taking a private cab back to the university campus.

The family was in Warsaw, Poland around 1944. A time of Great War. This was the time of dangers for the Jewish people. Hitler’s army was on the move. They were coming. Coming for them, the Jews.

The family rushed into the coble stone streets of the ghetto in which they lived. People were horrified and the children were confused. They were running for their life. Her best friends and even their neighborhood 'enemy’s' families were going crazy trying to escape. The Nazis marched in the background. Perhaps the most terrifying sound Leah had until then heard in her life. They were marching unitedly.
“Hail Hitler!” “Hail Hitler!” “Hail Hitler!”
How loud the noises got as they got closer. The Jewish people were running, it seemed as fast as they ran the Nazis just were always faster. Always faster. They were getting closer now. Leslie knew this would happen, but why was he so scared now? He had prepared himself for this moment for the past couple of months. Perhaps he was scared of the future? Of the deaths. More than anything else, he was scared for his children. Leslie suddenly began to run faster than he ever did before to escape the deafening march.

"Mommy I am scared," said the little girl's brother as his mom tried to rush him along. "I know, I know come-on just hurry up. Please just hurry up!" The mother was now crying because the Nazis were gaining. With the frantic speed of his mom the little boy’s legs couldn’t keep up, but he pushed harder, and harder, as he began to not watch where he was running at all.

Suddenly the little boy tripped over a stone and fell. They were right on there by then. Unable to leave Tom, the mother stopped and bent over to pick up the child. But just as the boy reached up awaiting the cradle of his mother’s arm, an approaching Nazi swept him up. They had Leslie’s sweet innocent little boy! Judah silently cried as she turned her back on her child trying to protect the other. Little Tom was gone, gone for ever.
“Take Leah and run away, Judah!” Leslie had been captured. He was soon to be either shot dead or herded into those imaginable gas chambers…

"Mother where is Tom," said the little girl as they cut a corner into an ally way.

"Leah, my child, God has taken him!" was the only thing she could choke out.

"Taken him where? WHERE IS TOM?" screamed the little girl slowing to a stop.

"He’s gone. I’m so sorry."
“Run, girl run (for your life)!”
“But mommy, I can’t!”
In a fit of desperation, Judah pushed Leah into the nearest pit and beckoned her to keep quiet.
As the mother’s back slammed onto the stone wall of the alley, her legs froze and she slid down into a ball crying. There was a new realization washed over her. At the end of the alley way there was a troop. Mrs. Frankl was trapped, and she was captured.
“Are we done with everybody?” A gruff voice called out.
“Yes, almost Sir!” “Almost everybody!”
“We’ll come back for the rest later!”


The ‘Hand of God’ pulled Leah out of the pit. As she came out a tear rolled down her face. Her parents and brother were gone for ever, but she just couldn’t afford to give up! Each step was a battle. A battle inside herself to keep moving on to her goal. Her body said give up, but her brain was too stubborn to let it. All she wanted to do was to flee Warsaw. Go back before that horrid man named Hitler took over. Go back with her mom. Her blonde, curly haired, tall, beautiful mom that loved her and whom she loved too. But where did she go? What about her innocent little brother that was captured by the cruel terrifying Nazis? What would he do? What was he thinking? And then a terrible question crossed her mind, was she even able to think? More tears started to flow from her face. She was a woman (she had to be now) responsible for her own life. She had to be tough. If not her then who? She knew she had to survive the ordeal she had been put through.

She knew she had to survive…


“I was raped,” she said matter of factly. In the fourth hour of our interview, Leah Leslie Frankl was narrating to her students. She said that she was raped by a Wehrmacht soldier. After running away for her life, she was captured and assigned to a commando (she was unable to recall the name) which had been expanded in the spring of 1944, to “handle” the belongings of the Hungarian Jews. This middle-aged soldier, as she described him, had been on his way back from the Russian front and had stopped off in Auschwitz for a few days. He had been watching Leah, who was nine at the time, and sometimes followed her. One day in November, he caught her in her bunk and raped her.

Leah had been a virgin, innocent, modest, protected before she was picked up and deported to Auschwitz-Birkenau.  She had “never even kissed a boy…never saw my father undressed.”  This rape was her first encounter with sex, but obviously not her first encounter with violence. “It was the deepest kind of humiliation,” she said and one of her loneliest moments. Her friends told her to get washed and forget it.  She had been resilient enough to recover from all the other physical debasements because she had experienced them collectively, as part of a group that had suffered the same humiliations. She suffered the rape alone and was traumatized for decades.  Yet, it was not the most horrific Nazi violation she endured, not nearly as horrific as the murder of her family.

These vignettes speak to the larger issue of sex in the service of violence and survival during the Holocaust. Sexual coercion, whether in the form of rape or bartered sex, was one more humiliation, one more degradation, one more indignity that many Jewish women experienced. Traumatic and horrible, to be sure, but not on the same scale as the horrors of the murder of their families and friends (Sex, Rape, and Survival: Jewish Women and the Holocaust: Myrna Goldenberg Ph.D.)


Leah Leslie Frankl is now particularly fond of one Brigitte; in fact Brigitte and she are best friends. Brigitte was about the same age as Leah when her father had been responsible for the murder of Leah’s family (Warsaw 1944). They have also been assigned responsibilities on the “Nuremberg Tribunal” as in suggesting amendments to the Principles and the Clauses some of which read as follows:

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