The Picture

The page has yellowed with age, and the edges show the wear and tear of the countless fingers that have lifted and held them. The book itself is starting to fall apart, its binding creaks and complains with every movement. Printed on the page of the open book is a simple, black and white photograph.

The photograph is easily identifiable as being much older than 30 years. The almost surreal quality of being completely two-dimensional is all-pervading to the senses. The very scene that it attempts to record seems unreal and lifeless.

Yet the photograph displayed is indeed effective, beyond the ability of the simple Brownie camera used to form its existence. One could look into the photograph and see a story of horrific atrocities, sudden terror, and of vast sorrow. The very qualities that belie its age also assist in verifying the integrity of the story shown within.

A large field, lined with trees, was the stage set for the scene. A few blurry, man-like shapes can be seen in the background, their apparent activity now frozen in time. The subtle shades of gray fail to lend to the clarity of the view, but where the image's aesthetic continuity is lost; the imagination can take over and easily identify the marks and craters of explosions.

The main figure of the scene kneels huddled; hands clasped in front. The hues of her dress and jacket have been lost --melted into the black and gray of the lifeless reproduction. Her hair was most likely a lovely yellow in life, but is drab and unimpressive as it floats from her head on an invisible and timeless breeze.

The young girl appears no older than twenty or twenty-two; but her face shows the sorrow of an aged saint or martyr. Her eyes are half-closed, and expressionless, while her mouth is open and motionless, caught in a mournful wail by the camera's shutter. With a little imagination, it can be imagined that at the time she was rocking back and forth in sorrow.

Her entire face shows the horror of a war she didn't choose to be involved in. Hidden within the lines of mourning can be seen the history of a madman determined to conquer the world, as his troops advance across Europe and East Asia. In the numbing shock showing in her eyes appears the vision of millions of people, used and cast aside like garbage, only to fuel the fervor of carelessness, hatred, and cruelty.

Directly before the woman, in the foreground of the photograph, lies the body of another young girl. Her face is still and almost peaceful amid a confused scene of panic. The features and hair, although stained with dark smears of blood, hold a familial semblance to the mourner. The only compelling thought that germinates from the mourner's appearance is: "She should not have died!"

The entire picture and the story behind it --the living and the dead-- are all disgraced by only a brief and uninformative paragraph of explanation. A Historian's haste has lost an entire story from the past: "A Polish peasant girl mourns over her sister who was killed in a Nazi strafing and bombing run. The nearby immigrant train was mistaken to be carrying supplies to the Allied front."

Overlooked and passed off as unimportant by historians, the picture holds an insightful look into the sins of war, and more specifically, those who cause war. Whether a madman in Germany with a hatred for other races, a tyrannical king forcing his taxation, or crooked politicians unwilling to admit ignorance in tactics: War will happen. And war will bring the death of the innocent along with the guilty.

Some view war as a thing to avoid and shrink from. Others glorify it in toys and films. But war will come, and with it will come countless horrors and death. To fight can be wrong, but to not fight for what is right is worse. Those who avoid all war should read the thirteenth chapter of Job; those who search for war should read the twelfth chapter of Paul's letter to the Romans.

We must defend the cause of right and truth, but with every war will come death: that of the innocent Polish peasant girl; the rich and the poor; and our sons and our daughters. There is much we could learn from the records of history that we all too often fail to see.