An hour later, Katya came in with a man flanking her on each side. Her face was stiff with fear, but when she saw Max, she looked relieved. She couldn’t hide her confusion, though. When Max explained the situation, her face grew even stiffer. She, a German, was now surrounded by Jewish Nazi hunters. Max told Feldman to get everyone out of the room. Simon vociferously refused, but Feldman persuaded him to leave. Now it was only Max, Katya, and Maria in the room. Katya frowned at the sight of the blood in a plastic bag and the blood transfusion tube hanging from a coatrack.
“She’s in horrible shape. We can’t do anything here.”
“We can try our best.” Max took out the medical equipment from his bag and instructed Katya to make preparations for the IV drip. Though Maria’s blood pressure had managed to recover via the blood transfusions, she was unconscious and terribly weak.
“Raise her legs. I don’t want to put any strain on her heart.”
Katya folded a blanket and put it under Maria’s feet. Max removed the gauze on her abdomen and chest, and examined her wounds again. Her abdomen showed traces of bleeding from the sutures, but the bleeding had almost completely stopped. However, they had no way of knowing how her insides looked without opening her up, and they couldn’t examine her chest at all. While her ribs didn’t appear to be broken, her lungs might have been damaged.
“Apart from the bleeding,” Katya said, “her chest will be fine for now. That’s just eyeballing it, though. We need an X-ray to see her internals. All we can do is disinfect her abdomen and re-suture it. But if her internal organs are damaged, the rest is for God to decide.”
“I agree with that assessment, except for that bit at the end.”
The treatment was completed in about an hour. They opened her sutures halfway to drain the accumulated blood. That alone would ease her suffering a great deal.
The door opened, and Feldman and Simon came in. Impatience was written all over Simon’s face.
“This is just an emergency measure. You need to send her to a hospital as soon as possible,” Max told Feldman.
They could hear the noise of activity outside. It had gotten light out.
“When can we finally talk to her?”
“If you try it now, then the answer to that question is never. I promise you’ll have her by tomorrow morning.”
Feldman and Simon talked for a while, but they resigned themselves and left the room.
“You also do clinical work?” Max asked Katya, who was staring at him.
“I wanted to be a doctor at first.”
“You are a doctor. A great one.”
“But there are some afflictions that just can’t be cured, no matter how good a doctor you are. I hit that wall eventually. Just like you.” Max sat down and rubbed his eyes.
“You should rest. You didn’t sleep last night. Your eyes are bloodshot.” Katya checked to see whether the door was closed, and set up the cot that the men had brought.
“But before you go to sleep, please just tell me what the hell’s going on.”
“Don’t ask me anything now. I’ll fill you in when the time comes.”
“I was awakened by a call at four o’clock in the morning and was blindfolded by mysterious men and taken to a seriously injured woman. Two days ago, you had me run a DNA analysis on a hand that was soaked in formalin in a glass vial. The next day, the laboratory was blown up and the hand was stolen. The explosion caused an assistant to need seven stitches. If I had walked into the lab five minutes earlier, who knows what could’ve happened? This isn’t normal, Professor. All of these things should be reported to the police.”
Max was silent. His thoughts were racing too. He was the one who wanted to ask a million questions.
“And this patient?” Katya turned to Maria. “She’s not normal.”
“Indeed. These wounds were more than enough to kill someone, but she’s clearly recovering.”
Katya stood up and closed the blinds.
“I’ll wait, but only because you want me to, Professor.”
“I appreciate that,” Max murmured in reply.
“Go to sleep. I’ll wake you if anything happens.” Katya moved her chair to the side of Maria’s bed and sat down.
Max lay down on the cot and closed his eyes. He was tired but stirred up at the same time. When he opened his eyes slightly, he could see Katya’s seated silhouette. He didn’t hear any noise from the next room. He closed his eyes again. The events of the last few days flowed through his mind. Explosions, a dismembered hand, Nazi war criminals, an SS general—all things that occur in a world that was alien to Max. And they had swooped in on him all at once. What do I do? There’s just no way I can do enough. Eventually, his consciousness clouded over, and he sank into the realm of dreams.
A noise startled him awake. A shadowy figure was next to the bed, holding a penlight to Maria’s face.
“Who . . .”
The shadow jolted. “It’s me,” came Katya’s voice from within the darkness. She was reaching out to check the IV drip. Katya drew closer to whisper to Max. “She’s regained consciousness.”
Max got up off the cot and went to Maria’s bed. He turned on the bedside lamp and took her pulse, which was much stronger than it had been a few hours ago. Her condition had stabilized, thanks to the blood transfusions and intravenous drip. Yet she had recovered so quickly that those alone weren’t enough to explain it.
Maria’s eyes opened. At first she looked frightened, but when she saw Katya, her expression softened. “Aska . . . ,” Maria’s lips quivered.
“Are you trying to say something?” Katya put her ear closer to her lips. Maria was barely conscious.
“You shouldn’t overdo it,” Max said, but the door opened at that moment.
Light flooded into the room, and there stood Simon. At Simon’s signal, the men came in and pushed Max and Katya away.
“Stop!” Max shouted.
One of the men pricked Maria’s arm with a needle.
“You promised to wait until tomorrow morning. She still hasn’t recovered enough.” Max tried to stop the man, but couldn’t.
“We waited long enough. We can’t wait any longer.” Simon stepped in front of the bed. Feldman was standing behind him.
“You’ve been waiting for sixty years. What’s a few more hours?”
Maria moaned. Her eyes opened, but her line of sight didn’t shift until, slowly, it did. Her lips trembled, but she didn’t seem as frightened as before.
“She’s back with us,” said the man who’d administered the injection.
“And the truth serum?”
“It should already be working.”
Feldman signaled to the man to back off, and sat down close to Maria.
“Wie heißt du?” he asked her. “What is your name?”
“Dona . . .” Max didn’t know whether to classify it as a moan or a murmur.
Feldman looked up at Max and Simon. “You’re Dona. Not Maria. Dona,” he repeated, just to make sure. “Don’t worry, Dona. We’re on your side. Don’t be afraid to answer our questions.”
Dona didn’t answer. Her eyes were drifting as she stared up at the ceiling.
“Who taught you German? You do know German, clearly.”
“Master . . .” Dona’s mouth barely moved.
“Master?” Feldman turned to Simon, who gave him a look that said keep going.
Feldman drew closer to her. “Who is your master?”
“General . . .”
“General?”
“What is your relationship with Gehlen?” asked Simon from behind.
“Master . . .”
“Dona, are you saying you’re Gehlen’s servant?”
Dona shook her head slightly.
“I . . . wife . . . General Gehlen’s wife . . . ,” she struggled to speak.
“’General’? What do you mean?”
“Yes . . . General Gehlen. Husband. Master . . . Great man . . .” Her voice was faint and hoarse.
/> “Gehlen was a colonel in the SS. When did he get promoted!?” Simon leaned forward.
“Quiet,” Feldman said. “How old is he?”
“I don’t know . . . not that old.”
“How old are you?”
“I don’t know . . . I’m not that old . . .”
“Where did you meet him?”
“My . . . village . . .”
“Where is the village?”
“Far . . . past the sea . . . in the forest . . .”
“Where!?”
Dona’s breathing became rough. Her face contorted with pain.
“Enough!” Max shouted. “She’s at her limit.” The hand on his arm squeezed, and Max’s face contorted as well.
“Where is the village? Europe?”
Dona shook her head slightly.
“Africa?”
Dona closed her eyes. She stopped moving.
“Is it America? South America?”
Her eyelids moved.
“Where in South America? Argentina?”
Again, her bleary eyes drifted skyward.
“Chile? Peru? Colombia?” Simon said from behind. But they couldn’t read anything from Dona’s expression.
“Brazil?”
Her eyes suddenly stopped swimming.
“Brazil it is.”
“Brazil?” asked Feldman, just to make sure, and Dona nodded faintly.
“And we’d been searching Argentina and Chile,” Simon said to no one in particular. “Where in Brazil?”
“Jungle . . . deep, deep jungle . . .”
Feldman turned to look at Simon. It was clear to see how excited he was. Simon put a hand on Feldman’s shoulder, and Simon and Feldman switched places.
“Uaupes, Codajás, Óbidos, Goiás?” Simon rattled off some place names, but Dona didn’t respond.
“Flowing river . . . big river. Deep, deep inside . . .”
“The Amazon?”
“Place where no one come. For long, long time, no one come.”
“What was Gehlen doing in such a place?”
“Suddenly . . . soldiers came . . . people with guns . . .”
“How many people. Ten? Twenty?”
Dona shook her head. “More . . .”
“Thirty people?”
“More . . .”
The men looked at each other. Dona unclenched her hand.
“Fifty people?”
“First time . . . I see so many people . . .”
“Is that the first time you saw white people?”
“Long ago . . . before I was born, there were some. Most stayed in the village, and died there.”
“What kind of white people were they?”
“They came to spread word of God. They built houses and lived there. They worked with the villagers . . . the whites who got married . . . my dad, my mom . . . taught their children their language and letters . . .”
“Sounds just like the Jesuits,” said a voice from behind.
“When was all this?” asked Max leaning forward. “A hundred years ago? Two hundred?”
“Long ago . . . so, so long ago . . .” Dona’s voice was fading.
“What a bunch of . . .” muttered one of the men.
“Tell us about the large group of white people that came to the village.” Simon pushed Max back and grabbed Dona’s shoulders. Her eyes opened slightly.
“Thirty-four whites . . . twenty Brazilians . . . they brought many things with them.”
“What kind of whites?”
“Gold hair, brown hair, blue eyes, all wearing the same clothes. Black clothes. Long boots . . .”
“Nazis,” Simon said, his voice quivering. “And SS at that. Some that escaped abroad ended up there. Were there no women among them?”
“No. All were men. Young men . . .”
The room was dead silent; everyone strained their ears to make out Dona’s faint voice. Max could swear he could hear his own heartbeat.
“What happened to those men?”
“The whites ordered the Brazilians . . . they started building big houses. They recruited us, too . . .”
“Big houses? What kind of houses?”
“Big houses . . . with many beds . . .”
“Dorms,” said one of the men. “They wanted to make it their new base.”
“The things they brought . . . they brought to the building . . . we couldn’t enter. We couldn’t even get close . . .” Dona closed her eyes.
“When was this?” Max heard himself ask.
“Long time passed . . . Everything changed. The Brazilians who brought the things . . . they died soon after. The number of whites became smaller and smaller . . .” She was breathing easier now. Her speech was becoming smoother. Yet they still couldn’t hear her very well.
“Did anyone else come?”
“Whites . . . after years and years, a few left, then came back. From then on, the whites left many times per year . . . many Brazilians would . . . come with things. Many things . . .”
“So, they had contact with the outside world,” said a voice from behind.
Dona closed her eyes again.
“And then?” asked Simon.
But Dona’s mouth didn’t open.
“Answer me!” Simon shouted.
“Get the exact place out of her,” Feldman said.
“Where did you live in Brazil?”
Dona’s lips were shaking. She took a slow breath.
“What was the biggest town nearby?”
“There is no town . . . the village . . . in the jungle . . . flowing river, people’s bodies . . . big red flowers blooming . . . eating people . . .” Her voice gradually tapered off.
“She’s dead,” someone muttered.
Simon looked back. Feldman signaled the man holding Max with his eyes, and he relaxed his grip. Max bent over the bed, took her pulse, and put a stethoscope to her chest. Her heartbeat had stopped. Then he pressed firmly on the center of her chest, once, twice, three times, four times . . . he listened through the stethoscope again; her heart beat anew. “Her pulse is weak. Needs a cardiotonic.”
Katya took out a syringe and an ampoule from her bag. Max pricked Dona’s chest with the needle.
“The name of the village!” asked Simon, leaning forward.
“Deep, deep forest.” Dona moved her mouth feebly, but they couldn’t hear her.
Simon grabbed Dona’s shoulders and put an ear to her mouth.
“Stop! Do you want her to die?” Max said quietly but urgently. He pushed Simon’s arms off Dona. Simon was breathing hard, his shoulders rising and falling with each breath; he was worked up. The man behind Max put a hand on Max’s shoulder, but Feldman waved at him to stop.
“Will you will let us handle this?”
“I told you, tomorrow morning.”
Feldman signaled the men behind him to leave the room. He put a hand on Simon’s back and got him to his feet; together, they strode out the door. Only Max, Katya, and Dona remained in the room. Dona lost consciousness, and her breathing grew erratic.
“Those people, I swear. They’re no different from those thugs.” Katya looked at the door.
“They’re just anxious. She did say she’s the wife of a Nazi war criminal.”
“I understand most of what’s going on, but this poor woman’s wounds . . . they’re not the ones who did that to her, are they?”
“She was a victim of the Dörrenwald explosion. And don’t worry, I’m confused, too.”
“I know. I just pray that our actions aren’t aiding and abetting a crime.” Katya sat in a chair by the bed and looked at Max.
“It’s three o’clock. I’ll sit here and look after her until the evening. Go get some rest.”
Max lay down on the cot. A heavy sensation spread throughout his body, and his head began to hurt. He closed his eyes and tried to clear his thoughts, but Dona’s words kept swirling in his mind. It was all so contrary to the history he’d known. But there had to be something t
hat tied the details of Dona’s account together.
He could feel Katya staring at him within the dimly lit room. For some reason, it provided him with a sense of comfort he hadn’t felt in a long time. Before long, he dozed off.
CHAPTER 6
When he woke up, the rays that had been shining through the blinds had disappeared. The bedside lamp cast the room in dim light. Katya was asleep and she was breathing audibly but softly, her upper body leaning against the foot of the bed.
Max got up, and took Dona’s pulse and checked her breathing. Katya’s eyes opened.
Just then, the lights went on, and a man entered carrying a tray filled with two identical meals: potato and leek soup, bangers and mash, and coffee. After placing the tray on the table, he walked over to Dona.
“She’s still in critical condition. Don’t even think about talking to her yet,” Max said.
The man frowned a little, but said nothing and left the room. Katya got to her feet and shot Max a worried look.
“She’s all right. She’s sleeping soundly,” he whispered.
Katya put her hand on Dona’s forehead and looked surprised. “Her fever’s down, and her pulse is normal. Her resilience is unbelievable.”
“She’ll wake up before long.” Max took a sip of coffee. It cleared the fog in his mind, and he grew more alert.
Katya sat beside him. “Her name is Dona, right? Is what Dona said true? Did Nazi war criminals really manage to escape to Brazil? The war ended sixty-three years ago. It happened before she was born. But she talked about those events as though she’d witnessed them with her own two eyes,” she whispered, leaning closer to him.
“All we know for sure is that something happened in the village she used to live in.”
“Is that what those guys are looking into?”
“They’re hunting war criminals. And that’s what her husband, Gehlen, is.”
“The General, right? But if he were really a Nazi war criminal, he’d be ancient by now.”
“He’d be 111.”
“If Gehlen’s her husband, then . . .” Katya stared at Dona.
Dona was 37 according to her passport, and her complexion fit that age. She didn’t have any gray hair, or missing teeth. And while her voice was hoarse, it was not the voice of an elderly woman. She perhaps seemed a little more mature than 37, but her given date of birth was not implausible.
The Gene of Life Page 6