Post by Hendrick Davidson on Mar 29, 2010 16:48:15 GMT
Approved!
-JT
Account E-Mail: padre (that's the account name)
Name: Hendrick Davidson
Nationality: Finnish American
Character History:
Tumultuous times were gripping Europe as the First World War raged on and the effects of the "War to End All Wars" were also felt in Finland. The crisis of the Russian Empire had set to motion an already explosive situation and soon the Reds and Whites were caught in a brutal battle for control. It was 1918 and the members of the Davidson family residing in the coastal city of Turku now found themselves in a precarious situation. The Reds would surely target the head of the family, Rikhard Davidson, a professor of philosophy, for being an intellectual instead of belonging to the worker class. Worried that his wife and two small sons would end up in the middle of the deadly conflict, Rikhard was forced to flee Finland, taking his family with him. They ended up making their way to the United States, where they settled into living in Shippensburg, Pennsylvania.
Rikhard's education and knowledge secured him a job teaching philosophy, making enough money to support the family. His sons, Fredrick and Hendrick, grew used to the American way of life, although their parents always made sure that they were aware of their roots and where they had come from. Things seemed to be going quite smoothly until the Great Depression swept over the country, causing for Rikhard to lose his job. He still tried to do the best he could as a husband and a father, taking on various different jobs and scraping together a meager living for his family. As these opportunities became lesser and lesser, the Richardson family simply returned back to the basics, making a living off the land. Where as Fredrick was more easily adapting to this new way of living, Hendrick was not quite so delighted with having to do manual labor just to survive. Both of them still did what was necessary to help their parents in bringing in the daily bread and the simple life on the farm at least served to make them healthy and they learned that things in life certainly did not come for free.
As close friends as the twin brothers were, there were clear differences in their way of thinking and doing things. Fredrick relished at the chance of going hunting, where as Hendrick, being the more thoughtful and quiet one of the brothers, could not even bring himself to kill a living being. He still heartily accepted the meat procured from these hunts, something which resulted in a good amount of playful jeering from his brother. Hendrick was more interested in his father's words concerning philosophy than history, as meaningless as it might have seemed in a world where philosophy hardly could guarantee anyone a living. Hendrick often escaped the harsh world around him, dreaming of other places and quietly regarding the world around him. He did not shy away from farm work - he knew quite well that everyone had to do their tasks around the farm for the sake of others, but whenever he could, he would be found spending his time in deep thought or reading books. He would often question his father about various philosophical questions, questions that Rikhard often found amusing but also somewhat heart-warming, for the boy had a very innocent and kind manner of trying to understand the world around him. This also worried Hendrick's father and he was afraid that the boy's gentle nature could be easily misused by someone.
Even though Hendrick was a dreamer and a thinker, he did not shy away from sports. In fact, running and playing baseball were some of his biggest passions and he grew to be just as healthy and able-bodied as any other boys of his age. He would still hopelessly lose any playful fights against his brother, but it did not really bother him - they were as close as any brothers could be and their father knew that as long as the boys travelled together, they would keep each other from getting into any serious trouble. As the boys grew older, the differences between them were not always quite so obvious and in his teenage years Hendrick displayed something of an aggressive spark after the boys at his school confronted him about his rather timid nature. Hendrick was used to having Fredrick by his side and when he found himself alone and forced into a corner, the bullies witnessed an entirely new side to Hendrick. As the boys kept teasing Hendrick and testing the limits of his apparently endless patience, someone went as far as to punch the boy forcefully enough to make his nose bleed. Young Hendrick, not quite used to being faced with such odds on his own, flew into a sudden and unexpected fit of rage, fighting the young ruffians away with his fists. Afterwards he was not sure if the boys ran away because he was such a formidable opponent or merely because they were so surprised they did not know how to react, but he survived the ordeal with a few bruises and a bleeding nose. His brother Fredrick was naturally furious after finding out that his brother had been attacked, but Hendrick felt ashamed by his outburst and pleaded for his brother to forget about the whole thing - he could not understand what had snapped inside of him, but he was certain he never wanted to experience that burning, hateful feeling inside him ever again.
Hendrick had naturally always been a very inquisitive boy, but the more he delved into this surprising moment of blind anger, the more convinced he was that his answers would be found in religion. He did not dare mentioning the event to his father, but he felt safer discussing his various questions with the local minister of the community. The kind and sharp-eyed minister saw a lot of potential in the boy and he urged Hendrick to pursue theological studies. The boy became a regular attendee at the local church and found immense peace and meaning in the Christian religion. His studies were now concentrated on philosophy, theology, psychology and literature and soon he was taking part in an internship at the local parish. If he had not felt so before, now Hendrick was absolutely sure that he was meant to become a spiritual leader, giving hope and comfort to people, helping others and dedicating his life to serving God. His decision hardly seemed to surprise his parents, it had always been clear that Hendrick would find his meaning in the more spiritual and philosophical field instead of tending to the farm.
Things changed quite rapidly when news of the Winter War reached the ears of the Davidson family. Fredrick had always been more true to his roots than his brother and it was clear right away that he would be returning to Finland to fight for the country the family had been forced to leave so many years ago. Hendrick, now a sworn pacifist, could in a way understand his brother, but it still pained him greatly to watch his brother leave to whatever grisly fate the war had in store for him. He knew better than to try and persuade him out of it and the only thing he could do was to ask for God to keep his brother safe amidst the ice, blood and bullets that now filled the usually serene Finnish forests.
He could have never guessed how soon he would follow in his brother's footsteps, making his way out of the United States. He did not travel to Finland as his brother had, but instead headed for Britain, volunteering to help the Allied war effort there in the only way he could, bringing comfort and hope to the soldiers and the civilians as a full-fledged priest. He might have not been one to pick up a weapon, but at least he could provide help to others and bring the word of God to people when they most needed it.
Writing Sample:
The cold London air felt uncomfortably humid on Hendrick Davidson's skin, as if some invisible ghost of the old city was trying to desperately grasp hold of him. The mere thought made the man shiver slightly, even though he full well knew it was merely his imagination and nothing else. It was merely the thick air from the sea that made him feel so uneasy, but he had trouble shaking the feeling off. It didn't help that so many of the lamp posts now stood dark. In the dark all the sounds of the nocturnal city felt sharper, more emphasized. Even his unhurried and carefully measured footsteps sounded unnaturally loud and when Hendrick coughed, the sound echoed from the damp walls of the buildings and changed into something almost inhuman. The light-haired man squinted his eyes uneasily and adjusted the thick, black overcoat he was wearing. London was a strange place, but then again, he was visiting the city at a very obscure time, too.
Hendrick Davidson was a man of God and it was the only reason why he now found himself in England. It was a strange experience for a man who had never really traveled anywhere outside the comfortable safety of Pennsylvania. Of course, the family had originally moved to the United States from Finland, but Hendrick could not hope to remember how it had been living there - he and his brother had been mere toddlers when they had been forced to leave the country. As much as Hendrick felt like a total stranger in this country, he knew he was never alone, never truly lost as long as he had his faith. He pulled the collar of his coat up to fight the chill of the damp air, observing the few other people who were still making their way to their homes at this late hour. Hendrick silently mused that it was good, at least, that he had ended up in a country where he understood the language. It would have been quite difficult to spread the good word if it had happened in some other country and even though his American accent gathered some inquisitive glances, at least it served to make people pay more attention to his words.
The man's lips curved into a small, wry smile and he chuckled quietly to himself. Things could happen in strangest ways, sometimes. Surely it had been God's guidance that had led him to this place when he had been so certain he would never leave Pennsylvania. Either that... or his foolish and youthful enthusiasm. Maybe the two were not even completely unrelated? Maybe he had just needed a reason, just a small nudge in the right direction? At least he could make a difference here. War awakened the fear and terror in people's hearts and that was when they needed comfort and consolation the most. Each day the citizens heard news of their loved ones falling in one of the battles raging in Europe right now and each day new, young soldiers left their homes to face an unknown fate. The good Lord's word would soothe their tormented souls and help them get through these difficult times - Hendrick had the responsibility of making sure that the message reached all the people who needed hope and God's love.
A sudden, wailing sound pierced the night air and Hendrick stopped dead in his tracks, that ominous, beastly scream of the air raid siren chilling his blood and making his heart pause for a few beats. It was not the first night he had heard the sound and certainly that was one of the reasons why the city seemed so ominous and quiet, but he had never been in the middle of an actual air raid himself. The American turned around to see a group of three people running past him, telling each other to hurry, to run faster. Hendrick did not know the city nor this particular area he had been travelling through and the man took a few, faltering steps after the small group of people. For a moment he felt as if his feet were frozen in place and as if the horrible wail of the air raid siren had bewitched him, forcing him to stay there even at the cost of his own life. He shifted his other foot, fighting against the paralyzing fear and then he suddenly could move again. All the sounds were louder, almost painful in his ears and he could hear the roar of bomber engines over the distressed call of the air raid siren. Somewhere in the back of his mind he seemed to have a lot of time to think and he wondered if the warning had been given too late. The bombers were already here - he could discern the rumble of their engines and the booms and strange, muffled cracks that followed in their wake.
Someone pushed past Hendrick and the American seemed to wake up into the reality. He hurried after the older man who clearly knew where they were heading, almost stumbling in his steps a few times, fear burning in his lungs and in the pit of his stomach like some vile, acidic poison. The old man turned at a corner and made his way past a broken wrought-iron fence and Hendrick realized they were now at someone's back yard. Several people were pushing at each other as they all tried to get inside the small shelter. It looked like nothing more than a mere cellar and part of it was aboveground, but apparently it was the best they had. Something compelled Hendrick to slow down and instead of running, he stopped and glanced around to see if more people were headed towards the shelter. He could see the skyline blazing red and orange towards the eastern part of the city and the mere sight mesmerized him. It all seemed so unreal and he could not help but stare at the sight. He had been so safe from the effects of the war before and now... people were dying in the city around him, buildings were crashing down and he found himself running for his life.
A hand grabbed the dark cloth of his coat and Hendrick was pulled somewhere inside the makeshift shelter, the reinforced door slamming shut behind him. The old man Hendrick had seen running past him just moments ago, regarded him with a stern and almost disapproving look. "Go on," the man grunted, poking Hendrick on the arm to emphasize his words.
Hendrick managed to mumble some form of befuddled thanks to the man and he descended the stairs, hearing the faint sounds of destruction echoing outside even through the thick door. The steps took him to a rather simple, rectangle shaped room and even in the dim lighting he could see that it was filled to the brim with people. He wondered how they all had managed to find shelter so quickly, but they must have been more knowledgeable about their surroundings than Hendrick was. The man stopped at the root of the stairs and he let his eyes wonder over the fearful faces, there would have been hardly any room for much more people inside the shelter. He could see old men and women, a few young soldiers in uniforms and mothers holding their children closer to them, murmuring comforting words to them to keep them from crying. The dull booms of the bombs were drawing closer and Hendrick could feel the floor shaking under his feet. The collective fear of the people in the bunker was so thick, Hendrick could almost feel it crawling on his skin.
A loud thump shook the foundations of the bunker more vigorously this time and a small girl started crying listlessly, not understanding why they had to endure such a terrifying ordeal in the middle of the night. Hendrick felt someone touch his hand and as he shifted his gaze, his eyes were met by a pair of much older and paler eyes surrounded by wrinkled skin. The old woman nodded at Hendrick, her gaze both pleading and trustful at the same time. "Please," the woman said quietly. People huddled fearfully closer together when the shelter shook more violently, dust raining down on them from the ceiling. Hendrick stared at the woman for a moment and suddenly felt very foolish for having just stood there. He nodded, placing his other hand gently over the old woman's and she smiled at him. Hendrick moved his hands to let down the collars of his long overcoat, the clerical collar appearing almost unnaturally white in the dim lighting of the cellar.
Hendrick stepped towards the middle of the room, his blue eyes now determined. The fear that had resided in them just moments ago had vanished completely. The man kneeled down on the dusty floor, crossing his fingers, not even noticing the fact that dust rained down on him and that the child wailed louder again. At first Hendrick's voice was merely a dry croak, but then the words found their way out almost on their own. "...my guardian dear, to whom God's love commits me here. Ever this night be at my side. To light, to guard, to rule and guide." The people in the shelter were now staring at Hendrick, as if they were not quite sure of what they had just heard. The young priest was kneeling in the midst of them, his black clothes now partly covered in dust, his fingers interlocked, his blue eyes void of fear. Lights flickered when another bomb made the entire room shutter, but Hendrick did not even flinch. Instead, he raised his voice again and this time it was clearer and louder than before. "Angel of God, my guardian dear, to whom God's love commits me here. Ever this night be at my side, to light, to guard, to rule and guide."
The old woman kneeled slowly next to the priest and as the bombs fell over the old city, they prayed together. They prayed not only for themselves, but for their families, for the people caught in the middle of the turmoil of the German bombs and for their husbands, sons and relatives fighting on the front each day. The dust fell on them, the lights kept flickering on and off and the earth shook violently, but the comforting mantra and it's steady, consoling rhythm slowly dominated over the feeling of fear. Hendrick repeated the small, simple prayer again and again, until the people inside the bunker started picking up on his words, repeating them with him, creating a choir of various different voices, each of them seeking shelter in the power of the prayer. Every time the sounds of destruction were heard louder, they raised their voices, as if to muffle the hostile sounds out, to erase them from existence.
Hendrick kneeled in the middle of them all, his strong voice carrying over all other sounds and even over the mad cacophony of explosions, true and unyielding. "...to light, to guard, to rule and guide. Amen."
The words were not his own anymore. He was but a humble messenger.
-JT
Account E-Mail: padre (that's the account name)
Name: Hendrick Davidson
Nationality: Finnish American
Character History:
Tumultuous times were gripping Europe as the First World War raged on and the effects of the "War to End All Wars" were also felt in Finland. The crisis of the Russian Empire had set to motion an already explosive situation and soon the Reds and Whites were caught in a brutal battle for control. It was 1918 and the members of the Davidson family residing in the coastal city of Turku now found themselves in a precarious situation. The Reds would surely target the head of the family, Rikhard Davidson, a professor of philosophy, for being an intellectual instead of belonging to the worker class. Worried that his wife and two small sons would end up in the middle of the deadly conflict, Rikhard was forced to flee Finland, taking his family with him. They ended up making their way to the United States, where they settled into living in Shippensburg, Pennsylvania.
Rikhard's education and knowledge secured him a job teaching philosophy, making enough money to support the family. His sons, Fredrick and Hendrick, grew used to the American way of life, although their parents always made sure that they were aware of their roots and where they had come from. Things seemed to be going quite smoothly until the Great Depression swept over the country, causing for Rikhard to lose his job. He still tried to do the best he could as a husband and a father, taking on various different jobs and scraping together a meager living for his family. As these opportunities became lesser and lesser, the Richardson family simply returned back to the basics, making a living off the land. Where as Fredrick was more easily adapting to this new way of living, Hendrick was not quite so delighted with having to do manual labor just to survive. Both of them still did what was necessary to help their parents in bringing in the daily bread and the simple life on the farm at least served to make them healthy and they learned that things in life certainly did not come for free.
As close friends as the twin brothers were, there were clear differences in their way of thinking and doing things. Fredrick relished at the chance of going hunting, where as Hendrick, being the more thoughtful and quiet one of the brothers, could not even bring himself to kill a living being. He still heartily accepted the meat procured from these hunts, something which resulted in a good amount of playful jeering from his brother. Hendrick was more interested in his father's words concerning philosophy than history, as meaningless as it might have seemed in a world where philosophy hardly could guarantee anyone a living. Hendrick often escaped the harsh world around him, dreaming of other places and quietly regarding the world around him. He did not shy away from farm work - he knew quite well that everyone had to do their tasks around the farm for the sake of others, but whenever he could, he would be found spending his time in deep thought or reading books. He would often question his father about various philosophical questions, questions that Rikhard often found amusing but also somewhat heart-warming, for the boy had a very innocent and kind manner of trying to understand the world around him. This also worried Hendrick's father and he was afraid that the boy's gentle nature could be easily misused by someone.
Even though Hendrick was a dreamer and a thinker, he did not shy away from sports. In fact, running and playing baseball were some of his biggest passions and he grew to be just as healthy and able-bodied as any other boys of his age. He would still hopelessly lose any playful fights against his brother, but it did not really bother him - they were as close as any brothers could be and their father knew that as long as the boys travelled together, they would keep each other from getting into any serious trouble. As the boys grew older, the differences between them were not always quite so obvious and in his teenage years Hendrick displayed something of an aggressive spark after the boys at his school confronted him about his rather timid nature. Hendrick was used to having Fredrick by his side and when he found himself alone and forced into a corner, the bullies witnessed an entirely new side to Hendrick. As the boys kept teasing Hendrick and testing the limits of his apparently endless patience, someone went as far as to punch the boy forcefully enough to make his nose bleed. Young Hendrick, not quite used to being faced with such odds on his own, flew into a sudden and unexpected fit of rage, fighting the young ruffians away with his fists. Afterwards he was not sure if the boys ran away because he was such a formidable opponent or merely because they were so surprised they did not know how to react, but he survived the ordeal with a few bruises and a bleeding nose. His brother Fredrick was naturally furious after finding out that his brother had been attacked, but Hendrick felt ashamed by his outburst and pleaded for his brother to forget about the whole thing - he could not understand what had snapped inside of him, but he was certain he never wanted to experience that burning, hateful feeling inside him ever again.
Hendrick had naturally always been a very inquisitive boy, but the more he delved into this surprising moment of blind anger, the more convinced he was that his answers would be found in religion. He did not dare mentioning the event to his father, but he felt safer discussing his various questions with the local minister of the community. The kind and sharp-eyed minister saw a lot of potential in the boy and he urged Hendrick to pursue theological studies. The boy became a regular attendee at the local church and found immense peace and meaning in the Christian religion. His studies were now concentrated on philosophy, theology, psychology and literature and soon he was taking part in an internship at the local parish. If he had not felt so before, now Hendrick was absolutely sure that he was meant to become a spiritual leader, giving hope and comfort to people, helping others and dedicating his life to serving God. His decision hardly seemed to surprise his parents, it had always been clear that Hendrick would find his meaning in the more spiritual and philosophical field instead of tending to the farm.
Things changed quite rapidly when news of the Winter War reached the ears of the Davidson family. Fredrick had always been more true to his roots than his brother and it was clear right away that he would be returning to Finland to fight for the country the family had been forced to leave so many years ago. Hendrick, now a sworn pacifist, could in a way understand his brother, but it still pained him greatly to watch his brother leave to whatever grisly fate the war had in store for him. He knew better than to try and persuade him out of it and the only thing he could do was to ask for God to keep his brother safe amidst the ice, blood and bullets that now filled the usually serene Finnish forests.
He could have never guessed how soon he would follow in his brother's footsteps, making his way out of the United States. He did not travel to Finland as his brother had, but instead headed for Britain, volunteering to help the Allied war effort there in the only way he could, bringing comfort and hope to the soldiers and the civilians as a full-fledged priest. He might have not been one to pick up a weapon, but at least he could provide help to others and bring the word of God to people when they most needed it.
Writing Sample:
The cold London air felt uncomfortably humid on Hendrick Davidson's skin, as if some invisible ghost of the old city was trying to desperately grasp hold of him. The mere thought made the man shiver slightly, even though he full well knew it was merely his imagination and nothing else. It was merely the thick air from the sea that made him feel so uneasy, but he had trouble shaking the feeling off. It didn't help that so many of the lamp posts now stood dark. In the dark all the sounds of the nocturnal city felt sharper, more emphasized. Even his unhurried and carefully measured footsteps sounded unnaturally loud and when Hendrick coughed, the sound echoed from the damp walls of the buildings and changed into something almost inhuman. The light-haired man squinted his eyes uneasily and adjusted the thick, black overcoat he was wearing. London was a strange place, but then again, he was visiting the city at a very obscure time, too.
Hendrick Davidson was a man of God and it was the only reason why he now found himself in England. It was a strange experience for a man who had never really traveled anywhere outside the comfortable safety of Pennsylvania. Of course, the family had originally moved to the United States from Finland, but Hendrick could not hope to remember how it had been living there - he and his brother had been mere toddlers when they had been forced to leave the country. As much as Hendrick felt like a total stranger in this country, he knew he was never alone, never truly lost as long as he had his faith. He pulled the collar of his coat up to fight the chill of the damp air, observing the few other people who were still making their way to their homes at this late hour. Hendrick silently mused that it was good, at least, that he had ended up in a country where he understood the language. It would have been quite difficult to spread the good word if it had happened in some other country and even though his American accent gathered some inquisitive glances, at least it served to make people pay more attention to his words.
The man's lips curved into a small, wry smile and he chuckled quietly to himself. Things could happen in strangest ways, sometimes. Surely it had been God's guidance that had led him to this place when he had been so certain he would never leave Pennsylvania. Either that... or his foolish and youthful enthusiasm. Maybe the two were not even completely unrelated? Maybe he had just needed a reason, just a small nudge in the right direction? At least he could make a difference here. War awakened the fear and terror in people's hearts and that was when they needed comfort and consolation the most. Each day the citizens heard news of their loved ones falling in one of the battles raging in Europe right now and each day new, young soldiers left their homes to face an unknown fate. The good Lord's word would soothe their tormented souls and help them get through these difficult times - Hendrick had the responsibility of making sure that the message reached all the people who needed hope and God's love.
A sudden, wailing sound pierced the night air and Hendrick stopped dead in his tracks, that ominous, beastly scream of the air raid siren chilling his blood and making his heart pause for a few beats. It was not the first night he had heard the sound and certainly that was one of the reasons why the city seemed so ominous and quiet, but he had never been in the middle of an actual air raid himself. The American turned around to see a group of three people running past him, telling each other to hurry, to run faster. Hendrick did not know the city nor this particular area he had been travelling through and the man took a few, faltering steps after the small group of people. For a moment he felt as if his feet were frozen in place and as if the horrible wail of the air raid siren had bewitched him, forcing him to stay there even at the cost of his own life. He shifted his other foot, fighting against the paralyzing fear and then he suddenly could move again. All the sounds were louder, almost painful in his ears and he could hear the roar of bomber engines over the distressed call of the air raid siren. Somewhere in the back of his mind he seemed to have a lot of time to think and he wondered if the warning had been given too late. The bombers were already here - he could discern the rumble of their engines and the booms and strange, muffled cracks that followed in their wake.
Someone pushed past Hendrick and the American seemed to wake up into the reality. He hurried after the older man who clearly knew where they were heading, almost stumbling in his steps a few times, fear burning in his lungs and in the pit of his stomach like some vile, acidic poison. The old man turned at a corner and made his way past a broken wrought-iron fence and Hendrick realized they were now at someone's back yard. Several people were pushing at each other as they all tried to get inside the small shelter. It looked like nothing more than a mere cellar and part of it was aboveground, but apparently it was the best they had. Something compelled Hendrick to slow down and instead of running, he stopped and glanced around to see if more people were headed towards the shelter. He could see the skyline blazing red and orange towards the eastern part of the city and the mere sight mesmerized him. It all seemed so unreal and he could not help but stare at the sight. He had been so safe from the effects of the war before and now... people were dying in the city around him, buildings were crashing down and he found himself running for his life.
A hand grabbed the dark cloth of his coat and Hendrick was pulled somewhere inside the makeshift shelter, the reinforced door slamming shut behind him. The old man Hendrick had seen running past him just moments ago, regarded him with a stern and almost disapproving look. "Go on," the man grunted, poking Hendrick on the arm to emphasize his words.
Hendrick managed to mumble some form of befuddled thanks to the man and he descended the stairs, hearing the faint sounds of destruction echoing outside even through the thick door. The steps took him to a rather simple, rectangle shaped room and even in the dim lighting he could see that it was filled to the brim with people. He wondered how they all had managed to find shelter so quickly, but they must have been more knowledgeable about their surroundings than Hendrick was. The man stopped at the root of the stairs and he let his eyes wonder over the fearful faces, there would have been hardly any room for much more people inside the shelter. He could see old men and women, a few young soldiers in uniforms and mothers holding their children closer to them, murmuring comforting words to them to keep them from crying. The dull booms of the bombs were drawing closer and Hendrick could feel the floor shaking under his feet. The collective fear of the people in the bunker was so thick, Hendrick could almost feel it crawling on his skin.
A loud thump shook the foundations of the bunker more vigorously this time and a small girl started crying listlessly, not understanding why they had to endure such a terrifying ordeal in the middle of the night. Hendrick felt someone touch his hand and as he shifted his gaze, his eyes were met by a pair of much older and paler eyes surrounded by wrinkled skin. The old woman nodded at Hendrick, her gaze both pleading and trustful at the same time. "Please," the woman said quietly. People huddled fearfully closer together when the shelter shook more violently, dust raining down on them from the ceiling. Hendrick stared at the woman for a moment and suddenly felt very foolish for having just stood there. He nodded, placing his other hand gently over the old woman's and she smiled at him. Hendrick moved his hands to let down the collars of his long overcoat, the clerical collar appearing almost unnaturally white in the dim lighting of the cellar.
Hendrick stepped towards the middle of the room, his blue eyes now determined. The fear that had resided in them just moments ago had vanished completely. The man kneeled down on the dusty floor, crossing his fingers, not even noticing the fact that dust rained down on him and that the child wailed louder again. At first Hendrick's voice was merely a dry croak, but then the words found their way out almost on their own. "...my guardian dear, to whom God's love commits me here. Ever this night be at my side. To light, to guard, to rule and guide." The people in the shelter were now staring at Hendrick, as if they were not quite sure of what they had just heard. The young priest was kneeling in the midst of them, his black clothes now partly covered in dust, his fingers interlocked, his blue eyes void of fear. Lights flickered when another bomb made the entire room shutter, but Hendrick did not even flinch. Instead, he raised his voice again and this time it was clearer and louder than before. "Angel of God, my guardian dear, to whom God's love commits me here. Ever this night be at my side, to light, to guard, to rule and guide."
The old woman kneeled slowly next to the priest and as the bombs fell over the old city, they prayed together. They prayed not only for themselves, but for their families, for the people caught in the middle of the turmoil of the German bombs and for their husbands, sons and relatives fighting on the front each day. The dust fell on them, the lights kept flickering on and off and the earth shook violently, but the comforting mantra and it's steady, consoling rhythm slowly dominated over the feeling of fear. Hendrick repeated the small, simple prayer again and again, until the people inside the bunker started picking up on his words, repeating them with him, creating a choir of various different voices, each of them seeking shelter in the power of the prayer. Every time the sounds of destruction were heard louder, they raised their voices, as if to muffle the hostile sounds out, to erase them from existence.
Hendrick kneeled in the middle of them all, his strong voice carrying over all other sounds and even over the mad cacophony of explosions, true and unyielding. "...to light, to guard, to rule and guide. Amen."
The words were not his own anymore. He was but a humble messenger.