James Grippando - Afraid of the Dark

“It was a barn. I met Joseph there. Eight of us, in hiding. Joseph was with his mother.”

“Petrak was her maiden name,” said Jack.

“Yes. One week before massacre, we all hear it not safe to stay in Lidice. Not safe for Jews. Not safe for a Petrak. We leave in time.”

It finally made sense. “My grandfather got confused at the end. He told me he was Jewish.”

She smiled sadly. “He was,” she said, “and I was a Petrak. Now go. Go and do your grandfather’s wishes.”

Andie urged him forward with her eyes, as if to say this was his moment.

The sculpture overlooked a valley, and the walk to the spot was entirely downhill. But it didn’t make it any easier for Jack. As he trudged through the snow, he was thinking of his grandfather. He was thinking of his friend Neil, too.

He stopped exactly where Eliska had told him to stop. A wisp of wind grabbed the fresh snow and covered his shoes with powder. He dug the canister from his coat pocket and removed the top.

“I’m a Petrak,” he said as he released some of the ashes into the wind. Then he remembered Neil’s family name before fear of the Nazis had changed it to Goderich.

“And I’m a Goldsmith,” he said, watching the remaining ashes scatter.