“I am the king,” Rachel said “Everyone will do as I say.”
“You can’t be king,” Abe, one of the boys, said. “You are a girl.”
“So what?” Rachel answered. “I can be whatever I want to be, and if you try to stop me, I’ll bop you in the nose.”
Katja laughed.
“A girl who is a king? That’s silly,” Abe said.
“No, it’s not. She can be queen with the powers of the king,” Katja said.
Abe laughed. “She has no powers; she’s just a girl.”
“Don’t laugh at her.” Rachel said, “Katja will be a knight in my court.”
“This is a stupid game,” Mendel, another of the boys, said. “Girls being kings and knights. You should be our queens and princesses. We should be the kings and knights. Then, when we go off to battle you can give us a handkerchief as a token of your love.”
“That’s the way you see it, Mendel. I am going to be the newly appointed king of Germany.” Rachel stood tall. “And you know why? Because I will be the knight who killed Hitler. That will be the reason I am appointed king.”
“I’m not playing if you are a king,” Abe said “Besides, you can’t kill Hitler. He killed himself.”
“Well, in my game, I killed him.”
Katja smiled. “I’ll be a princess. I don’t mind.”
“You don’t have to be. You can be whatever you want,” Rachel said. “I say so.”
“I want to be a princess,” Katja said.
Mendel smiled at her. “You can be the princess that I am going to marry. I will rescue you from the tower. How does that sound?”
Katja smiled back. “All right.”
“Rachel?” Mendel questioned. “If you aren’t going to be a princess, then how can we rescue you?”
“I don’t need anyone to rescue me. I can rescue myself. And . . . I am not going to be a princess.”
“Fine, have it your way,” Mendel said and smiled at Katja, who was standing behind Rachel.
Katja lowered her eyes.
Rachel stood up with her legs spread apart and her hands on her hips. “So, here is how it’s going to go. We are each going to be rulers of our own countries. And we are all going to go to war. All except Katja. Are you sure, Katja, that you just want to be a princess?”
“Yes, very sure.”
“Because you can be or do anything you want to. I won’t let these boys tell you what to do.”
“I know.” Katja got up and squeezed Rachel’s shoulder. “I want to be the princess.”
“Fine, it’s your choice.” Rachel said.
“I want to be the ruler of Palestine.” Abe said.
Rachel cocked her head. “I should have chosen that. But all right. You be the ruler of Palestine.”
Isaac came walking up on deck. Zofia turned to look at him. The sun burned brightly behind his back illuminating his golden hair. He is so handsome, she thought. And God has blessed us. We are both alive. We are here, and we have found each other again. I will miss Eidel for the rest of my life. But . . . Katja needs me. No matter where she came from, she is just a child. She loves me like a mother, and I love her, too. I will care for her, and I will be the best mother that I can be.
Isaac leaned down and kissed Zofia. All of the children started laughing. “Go on, you silly pumpkins,” Isaac said to the children, pretending to be angry. “Go on with your game and don’t pay attention to things that don’t concern you.”
Zofia patted the bench next to her. “Sit,” she invited. “It’s a beautiful day. There is such a nice breeze off the water.”
“Yes, so there is.”
They sat holding hands and looking out over the aquamarine-colored waters. Soon, very soon, they would be in Palestine. Neither of them knew what to expect, only what they had heard. But no matter, whatever waited for them in Palestine, it had to be better than the memories they had left behind, the memories of Nazi-occupied Europe.
The sun burned brightly during the days, and because of the relentless heat most of the men had discarded their shirts. The women had rolled up their sleeves and removed their stockings. However, at night a cool breeze swept through the dilapidated vessel, bringing relief from the sizzling afternoons. Because the ship had far more passengers than it was built to carry, the toilets had begun to overflow. The nauseating smell flooded the boat, and the clean sea air did nothing to dispel it. In the heat of the day, the odors were the worst, and often Zofia felt as if she might be sick. It had become a regular sight to see one of the passengers vomiting over the side of the boat. The overcrowding also affected the sleeping arrangements. Everyone slept in rows on the deck, and privacy was difficult to find.
However, even with all the problems on the ship, the passengers were filled with joy, hope, and expectation. Talk could be heard among the broken and torn refugees, talk of a force that had grown within them as a result of all they’d endured. A force declaring that nothing would stop them from building their homeland. And . . . soon, they would arrive in a land that, until now, had existed only in their hopes, in their prayers. The vision of a land of their own had carried them through the horrors of the camps, the deaths of their loved ones, the illnesses, and the loss of everything they owned. The dreams of a real Jewish homeland had kept them alive against unfathomable odds, and now these dreams were about to become a reality.
Or so they believed . . .
Chapter 13
“Dolf Sprecht, you are free to go.”
Manfred stared at the French prison official. Over the past three months, he’d grown used to being called Dolf Sprecht. To the world, Manfred Blau was dead, and that was as it must be in order for Manfred to escape Spandau and help the Reich rise again.
What amazed Manfred most was that none of the guards had noticed the switch. They read the number on his uniform and just assumed he was Dolf Sprecht. Of course, ODESSA had arranged Dolf’s murder on the eve of the first of the month, just before the countries in control of the prison changed hands. He had executed ODESSA’s plan under the change from American to British control. And it had gone incredibly smoothly.
Manfred should not be surprised. How many of the prisoners in the concentration camps had he recognized by anything but name or number? After a while, their suffering faces had looked all the same. They all seemed to be masses of bones, bones that jutted against the skin so sharply it seemed as if they would cut right through. All of those terrible faces had become a blurry vision that haunted him late at night when he tried to sleep. He had nightmares of the lines and lines of stinking, walking corpses on their way to the gas chambers, limping slowly and staring at him. He could smell their unwashed flesh, as the foul odor of their burning bodies poured like the rapids of a wild river right out of the smokestacks of the crematorium.
If only Christa’s father had not tried to hide his Jewish friends. As hard as Manfred tried to forget the past, to release the thoughts concerning his father-in-law and how the old man had ruined his life, everything bad always reverted back to that stupid old bastard. If not for Dr. Henenker, Manfred would have worked in the offices of Dr. Goebbels, comfortable and safe, throughout the entire war. What a wonderful job he’d had, what a wonderful time it had been in his life. Manfred had won the friendship of the powerful and respected Dr. Goebbels, Hitler’s Minister of Propaganda. Goebbels had mentored Manfred, treated him like a son. And every day Manfred had made connections, rising rapidly in the party. What a bright future he’d believed awaited him. Damn his father-in-law.
“Here are your release papers, Sprecht.” The French guard handed Manfred a pile of documents.
Manfred took the papers. Then silently, he turned and headed out the door of the Spandau Prison . . . a free man.
Over the course of the last three months, he’d received instructions as to what he must do as soon as he was released. These directives had been carefully smuggled in to him, and he’d memorized them and then chewed and swallowed the paper.
Manfred would miss Albert Speer. They had become friends. Speer was a man of honor. To Manfred, he represented a perfect example of a man of the superior race. Speer made it clear to all of the other prisoners that after the war had ended, he had refused to run or commit suicide. Speer said that he was no coward and that if he had not believed that what he was doing was best for the Fatherland, he would not have been a part of the Nazi party. Therefore, he would not run. He would stand up for what he knew to be right. Speer, a talented architect who had become Hitler’s Minister of Wartime Production, was a man who had won Manfred’s admiration. However, emotions must not cloud Manfred’s judgment. There was no time for sentimentality, so Manfred Blau, now known as Dolf Sprecht, left the prison without saying good-bye to his only friend.
He only had a few hours to meet his contact at the train station in Berlin, from which he would travel to Hamburg. Apparently, his departure location had been changed at the last minute. He’d only received the information the previous night. That was probably done intentionally to keep anyone from trailing him. Manfred would be leaving out of Hamburg the following night on his way to Argentina. Before the war had ended, the Perón government had made agreements with Hitler and ODESSA that if the Nazis lost the war, they would be welcomed into Argentina. From what Manfred understood, several of the high- ranking officials of the party were already living in South America. Adolf Eichmann and Dr. Mengele were there. So was Konrad Klausen, the man who would contact him within a few days of his arrival in South America with further instructions.
Chapter 14
Shana and Zofia became friends. They sat on the deck watching the children play one hot afternoon a few days after the ship had set sail.
“Where are you from, Shana?”
“We came from Romania, my sister and I. We had two brothers and our parents. They were all killed.”
Zofia nodded, not wanting to continue questioning.
Shana wiped the sweat from her brow. “We lived on a farm. Rachel and I were fortunate. Our neighbor had agreed to hide my sister and me. My parents had arranged it by offering them money and crops before things got out of hand. But, even though Rachel and I were not killed, we saw it all. We saw everything, including the murder of our family.”
Again, Zofia nodded. She took a handkerchief from her bra and wiped her face.
“Rachel and I were in the barn just across the field from our home. That’s where the neighbors kept us. Inside the barn was a cellar. During the day, we often stayed down there. But one afternoon, we needed to see the sunlight. The darkness of the cellar had become unbearable. I told Rachel that we could spend a couple of hours upstairs but then we must return. It was dangerous for us and for the neighbor. We were sitting quietly, enjoying the light when we saw the soldiers come riding in on a truck. There were maybe six or seven of them. I don’t remember. I wanted to run out and warn my parents. But I couldn’t. If I had left Rachel she would have run right after me and then . . . well . . .”
“Yes,” Zofia said. There was silence for a few moments. “You did the right thing.”
“Dear God, the guilt I feel . . . I hope I did the right thing. The first thing we saw was the Nazis shooting our cows. I was shaking. Rachel was standing beside me. Her little heart was beating so hard that I was sure I could feel it against the side of my body, but she didn’t say a word.”
From across the deck Shana and Zofia heard Rachel say, “No, Mendel, this is how you play this game.” The other children sat watching. Shana gazed upon her sister.
“She is such a strong little girl.” Tears came to Shana’s eyes.
“That’s good. Especially with everything she has been through.” Zofia said.
“We were still watching out the window, Rachel and I. As you know, barns do not have glass windows like in the city. The windows are just openings in the walls.”
“Yes, I know.” Zofia said.
“Then two Nazis pulled my mother out of the house. She screamed and screamed. Sometimes at night I can still hear her screaming. My father came running from the field with my two brothers. The boys were only nine and ten. But one of them rushed to the Nazi who held my mother and tried to fight him. My brother was shot and killed instantly. Then one of the other Nazis shot my other brother and my father. I heard Rachel gasp. I knew we were too far away for them to hear us, but still, I put my hand over her mouth so she would not cry out. Then all of them . . . all of them . . . they raped my mother . . . they raped her until she stopped screaming. She just lay there.
I felt the tears from Rachel’s eyes fall on my hand that still covered her mouth. My throat was as dry as sandpaper. I wanted to look away, but I could not. This was my family. These people were all that Rachel and I had in the whole world. The Nazis were laughing, whooping and hollering. Rachel trembled in my arms. I knew we both wondered the same thing. Was our mother alive? Then we got our answer. One of the Nazis, a tall one with very short, blond hair, shot my mother. I could not see his face, but I heard the gun shot. She never made a sound. By now Rachel’s whole body was trembling so hard that I felt she might have a seizure or something. I turned her away from the window, and held her in my arms as the Nazis got into their car and rode away.
Once we were sure that they were gone, we both ran outside to see if anyone from our family was still alive. My mother’s housedress was pushed up immodestly to her waist. She was naked. I saw the horror in Rachel’s eyes. I pulled my mother’s dress down covering her nakedness in an attempt to preserve whatever dignity she had left. Then I checked each of them. They were all dead. I turned away from the terrible scene to look at my little sister. She was vomiting profusely; her face flushed red and covered with tears and sweat. She was all I had left in the world. I went to her and held her while she emptied the contents of her small stomach. Then I took her in my arms and we both wept. From that day ’til now, I have been her mother as well as her best friend, and she has been mine.”
Zofia had heard horror stories before. Everyone had one in the DP camp. But each person’s experience still shocked her as much as the first. There was nothing to say. There was never anything to say to the survivor. “I’m sorry,” was all Zofia could muster. Her comment seemed so trivial, she felt ashamed.
“Children are remarkable,” Shana said, smiling as she patted Zofia’s hand. She seemed to know how inept Zofia felt at that moment. “Look at how she can laugh and play and go on living. I thank God for that every day.”
Zofia nodded. “Yes, children heal very well. They seem to recover faster than we do.” Zofia thought about Katja.
“Perhaps they forget.” Shana said.
“We can only hope that they do.” Zofia answered. She was glad that Shana did not ask for her story. She had not yet made one up that included Katja and she was not going to tell Shana the truth about Katja. She was never going to tell anyone. Katja would have a new start as a Jewish girl in Palestine.
For a while, they sat silently, side by side, their hands folded neatly in their laps, looking like twin tattered dolls, both of them lost in thought, caught in a web of memories. Then Rachel came running over to Shana. “We want to go to the captain’s station, where they steer the boat. The captain said it would be all right with him,” Rachel pleaded with Shana. “Can we?”
Shana’s shoulders dropped. She didn’t want to discourage Rachel’s natural curiosity, but the boat was so crowed, and she wanted to keep a close eye on her sister.
“I’ll be with them,” Mendel said. “I’ll watch out for them. I’m ten, I’m older.”
“I’m older than you. I turned thirteen two months ago, so I am pretty grown up, and I will make sure that both Katja and Rachel are safe.” Abe said.
Zofia sighed. She was not keen on letting Katja out of her sight either.
“Please, Mama?” Katja pleaded. “We’ll be right back. I promise.”
“Why don’t I go with you?” Zofia suggested.
“No, Mama, I’m not a baby. Please. You’re
embarrassing me.”
Zofia looked at Shana. Shana shrugged her shoulders.
Just then Yossi Harel walked by. Everyone knew that he was a member of the Mossad, the Israeli secret service. Yossi attracted their attention with his air of confidence as well as the fact that he was handsome, muscular, and incredibly sexy. Yossi walked up and smiled at the children.
“Mr. Harel,” Rachel said, “Will you please take us to see the place where the captain steers the boat? I know if you are with us, our families will let us go.”
Shana’s mouth fell open. Her little sister certainly had some nerve.
Yossi let out a laugh. “You are one bold little girl,” he said, smiling. “All right, I’ll escort you and your friends to the wheelhouse, but we must be quick. I have things to do.”
Rachel’s face broke into a huge smile. “Can we meet the captain?”
“If he is there of course you will meet him,” Yossi said.
“Now may I go?” Rachel asked, her long black curls flipping as she turned to look at her sister.
Shana just shrugged. “I suppose,” she said.
“Mama? Can I go with them?” Katja asked.
Zofia nodded. “Please be careful.” she said.
“No need to worry. I’ll have them all back here in fifteen minutes,” Yossi reassured her. “Come on all of you . . . So, what are your names?”
“I’m Rachel.”
“Abe.”
“Mendel.”
“Katja,” she said, as she followed right behind Rachel and then turned to glance back at Zofia, who smiled and nodded at her.
“You are the future of our Jewish race.” Harel smiled, patting Abe’s back. “Come on then, all of you; let me introduce you to our captain. Do you know his name?”
“No, what is it?” said Rachel.
“I know.” Abe smiled.
“You do? Huh? Nu, what is it?” Yossi said.
“Ahronovitch,” Abe answered. “I heard him say his name when he made an announcement.”
The Promised Land (All My Love, Detrick Series) (All My Love Detrick Book 3) Page 7