STANDING TALL

A family waited, silent. It was a big family: three grandparents, mom, dad, two boys, two girls, and a great-grandfather in a wheelchair. Beside them were bulging suitcases. Everyone faced the sea. Except the father. He was still, staring at a line of men with rifles crossed over their chests. Behind that line were clumps of soldiers laughing and smoking.

“Turn around,” a scraggly-haired blonde soldier said.

“I won’t,” the father replied. He stared ahead.

“Now.” Nothing from the father. No in the family turned to watch, but their heads twitched. “If you don’t, I’ll shoot.”

Again, the father remained still as if a mime waiting to perform in a public square.

“I’m serious. Really.”

The tallest of the children, a teenage boy with acne and greasy hair, tugged on his father’s elbow. “Please Dad.” His father didn’t answer. He understood turning would be another win for the enemy. He was leaving. That’s what they wanted. Interesting how they wanted it on their terms. He wanted them to see the humanity in him and his family. One of the grandmothers, dressed in a shabby skirt and frayed blouse, distracted the children by pointing out the screeching seagulls that darted above and around the family.

The father, Szymon, had slandered the government, specifically an army general. This wasn’t the first time and since it wouldn’t be the last, it was time to go, His wife, who now rubbed their youngest child’s head, had pestered him about standing up for what was right. He thought he had: he’d kept running his mouth.

A month ago, she said, “Stop complaining and do something. Our children – with big ears – are watching, learning to deal with a problem by whining. Is that what you are? A whiner? Is that what you want?”

He didn’t know what he should do, but he knew what he wanted: to protect his family, to give them a life better than the oppressed one he had lived. His wife wanted the same thing except she kept quiet. He hadn’t said, ‘but isn’t that teaching something as bad, to ignore changing the evil around you?’ Instead, he kept quiet.

The soldiers parted. Goose stepping on the dock, asking “Where is this gowniarz” was the general, in full dress uniform, medals clanging as he marched. “This mother fucker suffers right now. Maybe he dies.” That drew a gasp from the family. Not the father. His expression remained unchanged.

An officer pointed with his rifle at the father. The general laughed. “A tough guy, huh? He will face his killer, is that it? We shall see.” The general’s hand rested on the butt of his sidearm, still holstered.

Szymon had dealt with these sorts before: all talk. If he were going to kill him, he would have done it. No threatening. No performance. Action right away.

A crowd had gathered, mostly tourists from the bars and cafes along the waterfront. Szymon could see them behind the groups of soldiers, whispering, some frowning. Most acted as if it were a parade.

“Before I kill you, maybe you’ll tell me why the defiance?” The general chuckled as he unstrapped his pistol.

An old salt shuffled emerged out of the onlookers. His skin was weathered, leathered, and wrinkled. “You’re gonna kill him, so why do you shoot me.” He stepped around the line of rifled soldiers.

“A hero, I see. A martyr. Like I need another one,” the general said, projecting to the rest of the crowd and family. “You know what I say, ‘If one is good, two is better.’” He chortled.

The salt didn’t move. He stood as still as Szymon. As if reading each other’s mind, they stared at each other, ignoring, and defying the general.

“Back, you,” the soldier with the pointing rifle said.

The salt didn’t move.

The teenage son turned around, now facing the salt and soldiers. He edged closer to his father.

“Back with your family,” the general yelled.

The kid didn’t flinch. He stared straight ahead.

A couple from the crowd joined the salt. The great-grandfather spun his wheelchair away from the sea.

Like a virus, the crowd stepped forward, interspersing themselves around the clumps of soldiers, like statues in a park.

Szymon’s wife leaned down to the youngest’s ear and whispered, “Do you want to be like Father?” He nodded and spun around, struggling to keep a straight face. Soon, the entire family was facing in the same direction as Szymon.

The general shook his head and took his hand off the pistol handle. He turned and headed back through the soldiers, not marching as he had when arriving.

The soldiers seemed to relax, everyone eyeing everyone else, the family now all standing tall.