The White House

by O’neil Sharma

  There would be no justice, he thought, they win again. As he ambled he became convinced that there was only one course of action open to him. It might not be justice, but it would be something. Having concluded he was no killer, he decided he had to become one. There was no other way. His pace had direction and force now. He stepped into the phone box, got out his cheat sheet and dialled a number. It was picked up almost instantly.

  ‘It’s me. Listen, can you pick up Aisha today? I have something to do.’

  Saul listened. She must have heard something in his voice.

  ‘I’m fine,’ he said, his eyes welling up. ‘I’ll tell you everything tonight, when I brush your hair. I have to go now. Bye.’

  He hung up the receiver blinking to clear his eyes. Taking a deep breath he turned and opened the door to find Steffan waiting for him.

  ‘I want to talk to you,’ said Steffan.

  Saul spotted Torsten jogging across the road to meet them but kept walking until Steffan physically stopped him.

  ‘You were going to tell me something and I want to hear it. Don’t forget this is a murder investigation and I can make this official if you prefer?’

  Torsten arrived out of breath to find Saul stonewalling his boss. Steffan changed tack.

  ‘Were you crying in there? Who did you say goodbye to? Your wife?’

  That hit home. An almost imperceptible flicker crossed Saul’s face and Steffan knew he had done enough. All he had to do now was wait for the wall to crumble.

  ‘I’m not saying anything in front of him,’ said Saul looking at Torsten.

  ‘I’ll tell him anyway.’

  ‘That’s your choice.’

  Steffan communicated his apologies silently to Torsten.

  ‘See you back at the office,’ said Torsten leaving.

  Steffan turned to Saul.

  ‘Let’s go for a walk,’ he said.

  One of the things Steffan loved most about the city was the river. Berlin was a city that was crisscrossed by the Spree and it’s tributaries. In the summer the lakes surrounding the city were the perfect place for family picnics and swimming. His children - two boys, so far - shared his love for the water and he was keen that they learned to sail as soon as they were old enough. Growing up in Frankfurt, this was something that he never had the chance to do. The heat had even made the river lazy and as they walked Steffan had the impression it had stopped flowing altogether. They had been walking for ten minutes now.

  ‘I don’t have all day,’ said Steffan. He watched as the old man seemed to return from a very far away place. He knew that Saul had committed somewhere in his mind to telling him what he knew; he had seen that look a thousand times before. Saul just didn’t know where to start. What Steffan knew and Saul did not, is that it did not matter where one started a story the beginning would always reveal itself in the right place.

  ‘I always believed that people will do the right thing,’ Saul began. ‘I believed that even when I was at Auschwitz.’

  ‘You were at Auschwitz?’

  ‘We all were: Mark, Isaac and me. We were all Sonderkommando.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘We were forced to help the Nazis in the mass extermination of our own people.’

  ‘You killed Jews?’

  ‘No! It was always the SS that threw the gas in. We did the dirty work and there was nothing special about it,’ said Saul making a play on the meaning of the German word ‘Sonder’. ‘I worked mostly at crematorium II making sure they undressed quickly and went calmly into the gas chambers. When it was done we dragged the bodies out to a lift that went to the furnaces.’

  ‘And then you burned them up?’

  Saul gave a slight shake of his head.

  ‘Others did that. We all had jobs like in any factory. Some removed jewellery, hair and gold teeth others had to smash up the leftovers into ash. While this was happening we would make ready for the next batch. Everything was cleaned and washed down; all their clothes were removed: there could be no trace left for the next victims to suspect anything was out of the ordinary. We used to hose the bodies down so they would slide easily along the floor; it also washed all the shit and blood off.’

  ‘How could I not know about this?’

  ‘We lived and worked with the bodies. A dirty secret, separate from the camp.’ Saul closed his eyes. ‘Opening that door was like looking into hell. Some embracing their loved ones, you had to really struggle to tear them apart sometimes. Children and the weak always on the bottom.’

  ‘You didn’t try to help them?’

  Saul’s eyes flew open defying Steffan.

  ‘How? There was no way out of it. The deception was perfect, nobody believed they were going to die and why should we put them through that stress at the last moment? The SS were very clever about things. When we first started with the Sonderkommando all we dealt with were the dead bodies. They killed us too, except we died inside. Only then would the SS let us in the undressing room. It’s the only time we saw people alive and by then we knew there was no help for them.’

  ‘No one fought back?’

  ‘No, they were real lambs to the slaughter. We revolted once, but crematorium II was cut off from the others so we never got involved. It failed of course. It’s the only reason we lived.’

  Steffan needed to sit. He walked to a bench and Saul followed him over. It had never occurred to him that the SS would need help to murder all those people, but it was obvious when he thought about it. Who else would do the horrid disposal work? Not the SS that was for sure.

  Saul sat next to him and continued his straight reporting of past events. There was no emotion in his voice and that told Steffan all he needed to know: these men were victims themselves. Saul described the atrocities in the same way he had heard children talk about being sexually abused by a parent or witnessing a murder. At some point the mind detached itself from the emotional content so that the events could be itemised and recalled like a shopping list. Of course, all victims these days got counselling.

  ‘I tried to do the mathematics once. Five furnaces with three doors, say four bodies at a time, that’s

  about sixty in half an hour, give or take two thousand in twenty-four hours. That was just crematorium II. There were three others.’

  ‘Isaac wrote about The White House.’

  Saul nodded recalling the image of the building.

  ‘Before the crematoriums were built Jews were murdered in two bunkers. They were essentially converted farmhouses. Bunker II happened to be white and became known as The White House.’

  ‘So you knew when we talked the first time!’

  ‘No. I wasn’t sure until today. The bunkers were closed when the crematoria were built, as they were too small. But they reopened between May and

  September 1944, due to heavy flows of Jews from Hungary. Isaac and I were sent to work there. It was madness. We were burning people in open pits. You could smell burning flesh all the time. There was one member of the SS,

  Manfred Fuchs: The worst sadist we ever saw and when you are in hell, that’s saying something. Once a baby somehow survived the gas. He put his boot heel to its neck. He used to like to play target practice with us or have someone get contraband for him and then kill the man for carrying contraband. But he excelled himself at The White House. They had run out of Zyklon B, so Fuchs decided to burn people alive. The SS formed a chain and as the victims left the undressing room we threw them into the path where they were beaten all the way to the open pits. Fuchs was possessed, beating people and throwing them in, beating us for not being faster. I would have jumped too if it wasn’t for Isaac.’ He paused for breath. ‘I saw him today, in your office. He goes by the name of Helmut Wunsch.’

  ‘Helmut Wunsch? He’s the Kriminaloberat!’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So, I know the man and that can’t be.’

  ‘I think Isaac recognised him, told Mark and now they’re both d
ead.’

  ‘You just can’t accuse a senior officer. Do you have any idea what he’s done for this city?’

  ‘Their deaths required some knowledge of what we did. Isaac was a dentist and had his teeth pulled. Mark was a stoker-’

  ‘And was burned.’

  Steffan lit a fresh cigarette and drew deeply from it.

  ‘Shit. I should fucking arrest you. What was your plan for after you killed my boss?’

  Saul was spent.

  ‘I thought as much,’ he took another drag. ‘But now I know, what will you do?’

  Saul turned to Steffan.

  ‘Now I’m going to see if I am right about people.’

  CHAPTER 29

  By the time Saul arrived home the family was finishing dinner. They greeted him politely but the barriers were still up. Only Aisha seemed to have forgiven him.

  ‘Opa! I saved you some dinner.’

  ‘Thank you,’ he said and added a lie, ‘I’m starving.’

  He sat down next to her and started to eat pasta with pesto only to find he was indeed starving. Feeling better he looked up and gave Hannah a smile. She reciprocated: not quite all forgiven but a start. Aisha tipped up her ice cream bowl and drank the melted remainder.

  ‘Aisha, get ready for bed. I’ll come in a moment,’ said Hannah.

  ‘Can Mira read me a story today?’

  ‘I would love to,’ said Mira.

  Aisha ran out of the room.

  ‘Don’t run,’ shouted Hannah after her.

  ‘How was your day?’ said Aaron.

  ‘I went to the police and told them,’ said Saul.

  ‘What?’ said Mira.

  ‘We have no proof,’ said Aaron.

  ‘Let them find it. I can’t do this anymore.’

  ‘But you said you never even met him. How can you be sure-‘

  ‘Hannah was right. This is not our problem,’ he stood. ‘I’m tired’. Saul left the room leaving the others to deal with the consequences of his actions.

  ‘Ooooma!’ called Aisha from her room.

  ‘At least we are talking sense now,’ said Hannah happy at last and leaving to investigate Aisha’s problem.

  Mira, lost in her own thoughts was startled when Aaron hugged her.

  ‘What shall we do now?’ he asked.

  ‘Why don’t we have an early night too?’ she smiled and kissed him.

  #

  Helmut Wunsch sat in his office watching himself defending the action of his officers and ensuring the press that they were doing all they could to find those responsible for the murder of the two Jews. They faded down on his voice and the newscaster reappeared and moved the subject onto the safety of the Jewish community in Germany. He normally liked press conferences but this one was upsetting as he knew he was lying - more than was acceptable anyway.

  Helmut sipped from a tumbler of whiskey. He turned the television off just as Steffan knocked on the door and poked his head in.

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘Come in.’

  Steffan took a seat but did not light up. His boss was a non-smoker. He was about to speak when he was cut off.

  ‘Drink?’ said Helmut.

  Steffan shook his head, there was something about Helmut’s voice that always reminded him of eating hard boiled eggs and talking at the same time. Besides he had no idea how one could drink whiskey without grimacing. Once he had been to a tasting and the tutor had told them all about the flavours, the aromas and hints of wild berries that one could taste in a good whiskey: Steffan had only tasted liquid pain and decided that beer was good enough for him. The tutor had said ‘it’s a taste you have to grow into’. Steffan doubted this wisdom. In his experience people were fully formed by the time they were teenagers and what they did and what they liked were already determined; the first experience was usually all that was required to convince one that something would be part of ones life. If you did not have that first experience, you could go your whole life not realising that you were meant for something else. The idea that one should try as many things as possible was one that he wanted to imprint on his boys – with the proviso that it should be legal – as crime was no exception to the rule. Fortunately most people did not try crime and if they did the stress usually proved too much.

  ‘I think the political connection is a dead end and I don’t think this was the work of neo-Nazis. They normally just smash windows and beat people up. It’s a big jump from there to torturing old concentration camp victims,’ said Steffan watching his boss closely.

  ‘They were both in concentration camps?’ That eggy voice asked.

  ‘Auschwitz. I got that confirmed today.’

  Helmut was pensive.

  ‘Well, most members of the Jewish community of that age would have been somewhere. What about this gangster?’

  ‘Rudi Pascal. Certainly not beyond him. He’s linked to numerous gangland killings but is trying to go more up market these days.’

  ‘Looking to clean his income stream. Is he connected to the other victim?’

  ‘Ramek? Under investigation. He certainly has his fingers in many pies, but even so the motive is missing.’

  ‘But you’re assuming the motive is financial?’

  ‘Yes. Isaac Blum took out large amounts of cash from his account. Mark Ramek’s dealings are a little harder to read, given the scale of his business and his lawyers being a pain in the ass.’

  ‘I’d offer to read the case file, but it’s been a long time since I did any police work.’

  ‘On the contrary. I’d welcome the view from a fresh pair of eyes. I’ll have it copied for you.’

  ‘Very well.’ He paused. ‘You know I try my best to shield my officers from the politics. I’ve always viewed that to be my job, but being forced to take retirement is not how I want to end a lifetime of service. Do I make myself clear?’

  ‘Yes, sir. Goodnight.’

  Steffan made his way to his desk, collected his things and went to meet Torsten. They agreed it was better not to discuss this in the office and hence, Torsten was waiting for him in the car.

  ‘Well?’ said Torsten.

  ‘If he’s a liar he’s the best I’ve seen.’

  ‘What do we do?’

  ‘Nothing we can do. Let’s keep this to ourselves for now.’

  ‘Do you think it’s too late to get transferred?’

  ‘Where to? Miami Vice?’

  ‘If they gave me a Ferrari, why not?’

  ‘If you wore white you’d disappear.’

  #

  Saul felt good as he brushed Hannah’s hair. The barriers were down and he could feel that she was on his side again. He was still a little disturbed by the ease at which he had told his story to Steffan. The man was a complete stranger and yet once he had started he found he could not stop. He trusted this young German and felt confident that he would make the right choice.

  ‘I was thinking, Saul. Did you get a second opinion?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Maybe we should?’

  ‘What good will it do?’

  ‘Maybe you don’t have it?’

  ‘Alzheimer’s. You can say it.’

  ‘But you have been so good lately. You remember things, you’re speaking better. Maybe you just have what those American soldiers have, this post traumatic stuff?’

  He stopped brushing and slid off the bed to be next to her on the floor. He wanted to say that she was wrong, that his hallucinations had been getting worse but it was not entirely true, things had been better. But the doctors had told him that there would be no sudden drop into the abyss; he would rise and fall and plateau but always on a trend downward. He imagined not existing but remaining in plain sight.

  ‘Perhaps you’re right,’ he said. ‘Why don’t you make an appointment?’

  He smiled at her and she smiled back, her eyes as childish as they had been all those years ago. He stroked the side of her face a
nd studied her beauty, wanting this to be the enduring image of his life.

  CHAPTER 30

  Swimming was impossible: the pool was packed with families all trying to find a section of water their children could play in. Surely, at some point they will turn people away, thought Saul as he lay on a lounger sunning himself. He looked across the three outdoor pools of Olympic Stadium and could not fathom why the water was not simply overflowing.

  In the distance he could see the queue for the diving boards where thrill seekers jumped from the five-meter board and where teenage boys tried to impress teenage girls and each other. Closer to home, in the shallower pools before them, Aisha was riding on Aaron’s back and jumping off each time he tried to dunk her head under the water. Saul was hungry, Mira had been gone for what seemed liked hours.

  ‘If we do this again we do it on a weekday,’ said Saul.

  Hannah did not answer and he looked over. How could she sleep with all this noise? He spotted Mira, stunning the men, who stole glances at her in her bathing suit, heading back with a tray full of drinks and chips. He sat up in anticipation.

  ‘Come and get it,’ Mira said to the two in the pool and Aisha scrambled out of the water and ran soaking wet to Saul, sitting on his lap before he could stop her. The cold water a shock to his overheated skin.

  ‘You’re cold!,’ his voice rising an octave.

  Hannah passed him a towel and he dabbed her as best as he could. Aaron joined them and they settled down to eat the snacks. As to be expected Aisha dipped her chip in a big dollop of mayonnaise that dripped onto Saul’s leg before it reached her mouth.