Soldier's Son

22. Pilgrimage

22 Utrecht, en route to Margraten, The Netherlands August 2000 In piecing together mydad's story,Inow makean important journey,as my brother did before me, a pilgrimage to Europe to visit my dad's grave at the American Military Cemetery near Margraten,The Netherlands. My wife, my niece, a good friend, and I board the train at two in the afternoon.Wepass out of this college town with its medieval heritage. We sip Cokes, eat snacks, and talk easily. But the journey, a long-awaited pilgrimage, is at the back of my mind. {298} PILGRIMAGE PILGRIMAGE { 299 } I see those parentheses, that gold star. I smell those mothballs. Amsterdam is just down the track. It's filled with backpacking students, a dizzying number of bicycles, and grass. Cafes spill onto sidewalks. Vacationers eat and drink, and smoke endlessly. South of Amsterdam, farm after look-alike farm passes in the window.Under cloudy skiessheep and cattle grazein small pastures bounded by deep, water-filled ditches. We arrive at and depart punctually from industrial sections of fair-sized cities and from edges of small towns, ringed by well-tended garden plots. So, this is Holland. Land of sturdy wooden shoes. Land of great rounds of cheese. But for me, land of the living dead. Off and on for over fifty years I've peered into those parentheses. I've stared at that gold star. I've smelled those mothballs. He was captured, killed, and buried in Europe. He rose again from the dead in my recurringquestions and theories about his short life and its violent end. During the two-hour ride, I thumb through pages printed from the Internet, pausing to look at the gauzy { 3OO } PILGRIMAGE picture of the American Military Cemetery. The train wends its wayto die country's southernmost region, a jutting finger of land bordered on the east byBelgium and on the west byGermany. At Maastricht, a typical Mercedes taxi makes the seven-kilometer trip westward to Margraten. At the cemeteryentrance the engravedinscription on the exterior wall, taken from General Dwight D. Eisenhower's dedication of the Golden Bookin St.Paul's Cathedral in London, reads: HERE WE AND ALLWHO SHALL HEREAFTER LIVE IN FREEDOM WILL BE REMINDED THAT TO THESE MEN AND THEIR COMRADES WE OWE A DEBT TO BE PAIDWITH GRATEFUL REMEMBRANCE OF THEIR SACRIFICE AND WITH THE HIGH RESOLVE THAT THE CAUSEFOR WHICH THEY DIED SHALLLIVE A Dutch attendant greets us warmly, almost reverentially . He graciously offers sympathy for our loss, eagerly provides computer-printed data on our "family PILGRIMAGE { 3O1 } member," carefully outlines the history of the cemetery, and slowly but purposefully leads us toward the gravesite. My brother, Pete, made this visit, alone, a dozen or more years ago. He took pictures for us. I don't recall questioning him about anything but physical details of the area. And he remained his stoical self. Now,I wonder what he thought when he viewed this scene. The skies have cleared and the late-afternoon sun slants at our backs. We walk along the rectangular reflecting pool of the Court of Honor past still more engraved memorial statements about bravery and honor and gratitude. IN MEMORY OF THE VALOR AND THE SACRIFICES WHICH HALLOW THIS GROUND The side of a building displays three maps in bright blues and greens. Captions provide a historical outline of the progress of the Allied victory in the closing { 302 } PILGRIMAGE months of the war. Dates. Place names. Troop units. Strategic and tactical moves. I search for information about how the three thousand Americans buried here died. Just wherewasthis costly skirmish? What maneuvers led to my dad's capture? Understandably,the narrative focuses on the successful battles that eventually thwart the German counteroffensive, providing no details about the lost battles. Ahead of us, a loi-foot-high memorial tower bears this inscription, a free translation of Pericles's oration, as recorded by Thucydides: EACH FOR HIS OWNMEMORIAL EARNED PRAISETHATWILLNEVER DIE AND WITH IT THE GRANDESTOF ALL SEPULCHRES NOT THAT IN WHICH HIS MORTAL BONESARE LAID BUT A HOME IN THE MINDS OF MEN Climbing the steps from the memorial to the graves, I feel it coming. Arrivingat the top of the steps, I seefor the first time the vast expanse of brilliant white crosses in a verdant sea of grass. PILGRIMAGE { 303 } The scene carries...