by Steven Uhly
Suddenly the door gave way, she fell into a bright room, she kneeled on the floor, her mother was standing in front of her, looking down, smiling, she put her arms around her and pressed her head into her belly and said, Stay.
108
Why should he stay any longer? Josef Ranzner stood in his office, looking out at the River Isar that rushed past no more than a couple of hundred meters away. He looked across the meadows, glimpsed the buildings on the other side of the river, towering above tall trees. This city had always remained alien to him. And yet everything had begun with such promise. But the work for Gehlen’s organization had failed to bring him any fulfillment and even the new post felt like a substitute drug. His cover was no longer secure, Heinrich could have spilled the beans to anybody, the idea of being taken away by the police from his ordinary daily life, from his ordinary marriage, the prospect of being abducted by Jews and tried in Israel, the thought of Emma, who had not dared to ask about the diary, the sight of her tarot cards, the thought of Gudrun, the thought of Karl Treitz, the thought of Anna—Ranzner turned away. All for what? The only sensible course of action would be to look for Anna, but how could he get into Israel without being discovered? Josef Ranzner felt like a caged animal. He could not escape, he could not simply disappear and start again from scratch somewhere else, he could not do anything. But I have paid, Ranzner thought bitterly, pressing his narrow lips together until they almost vanished from his face, I have paid with hunger, cold and hard labor! Others had been put into some sort of job straightaway, without having to endure so much as a single day’s imprisonment. He thought of Rauff and Brunner, Gehlen had helped both of them, put his protective hand over them, given them employment. And so many more who had escaped far more lightly than he. What have I done except serve my country? a loud voice inside him wondered. What else have I done except serve my country all my life long to the present day? Ranzner felt a sense of emotion stir inside, which he had thought long gone. Here I stand, he thought, tall and alone and I can say, I have nothing to reproach myself for! I have always fulfilled my duty, always acted with the utmost conscientiousness, not once was I ever sloppy, not once did I put personal issues above the national interest . . . Anna appeared before his eyes, slim and distinct and unfading. He pressed the heels of his hands against his temples. You, every time! a shrill voice screamed inside his head, Go away, disappear, leave me in peace! You Jewish whore! Why didn’t I kill you? Why didn’t I make a clean break, why didn’t I draw a clear distinction, why, why, why,
“Why!”
He flinched. The walls were thin, his colleagues were at their desks to the left and right, I must be careful, Ranzner thought. But he no longer wanted to be careful, he wanted to be free from the past, wanted only to look forward, just live his own life from now on. He wanted . . . Well, what do I want? he wondered. He looked out of the window of his office, he saw the Isar, the meadows, the tall houses behind the trees, and did not know what else he wanted apart from to see Anna again and to find Karl Treitz. Absurd wishes of an absurd life, he thought, A mad love for a prisoner, a crazed belief in salvation from death. I have nothing, I never had anything, I never will have anything.
Ranzner turned away from the window. He packed up his things and left the office. Ignoring his work car, he took a tram to the station. He sauntered along Goethestrasse where he went into a bar. He drank wine, then whisky. When he began to feel their effect he left the bar and went to another establishment. He paid the entry fee and once inside chose a tall, slim, young woman and accompanied her to the second floor. He stayed all night. The following morning he took the bus from there to the office. From the office he returned there.
109
“You rang yesterday, didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“The ambassador would like to speak to you personally. I’ll put you through.”
“Fräulein Kramer?”
“Speaking.”
“Hello, Fräulein Kramer. My name is Rolf Friedemann Pauls, I’m the ambassador of the Federal Republic of Germany in Israel, which means I’m your ambassador. And I have to say, when I heard of your case I thought, ‘What a brave young woman!’ So I’d just like to let you know that we at the embassy and I personally hope very much that your search is fruitful.”
“Well, that’s very nice of you, Herr Pauls, but I need a little more than that.”
“Just say! We’ll do whatever we can to support you!”
“I’m looking for a way to find Anna Sarfati, which was my reason for coming to Israel. But it turned out to be a mistake. The Israeli national archive has no list of names or current addresses. Do you have any means of finding the information? Peretz Sarfati is in the army, I suspect he’s a high-ranking officer by now.”
“I’m afraid my hands are tied, Fräulein Kramer. When I came here a year ago people were hostile to me, you see. Because of my past, a lot of people in this part of the world regarded my appointment as incomprehensible, thoughtless even.”
“They told me you were with the Wehrmacht.”
“Yes, that’s true, I can’t deny it, nor will I. But I was a soldier serving my Fatherland, which doesn’t automatically make me a criminal.”
“I can’t judge that, Herr Pauls. All I know is that the war made me a German by sending my parents to their deaths. And people like you were part of it all.”
“I am so very sorry, Fräulein Kramer, please believe me. I am in no way implying that I’m innocent. On the contrary, I’m fully aware of the historical responsibility that now weighs down on the German people, and on me too, and it will continue to do so for generations.”
“That’s not going to help me in my search for Anna Sarfati, unfortunately.”
“May I ask why you’re looking for this woman?”
“My reasons are private. From what you’re saying I infer that you have no influence over the Israeli authorities.”
“That is the case, regrettably. They tolerate me here and I’m grateful for that. But I’m afraid I can’t achieve much more than this apart from my contribution to the reparations negotiations.”
“Reparations?”
“That’s what we call it. It’s a terribly unfortunate word, a dreadful euphemism. Of course we can’t repair anything. But we must try to move on from the historical and moral burden and the only way we can do this is by strengthening the friendship between Germany and Israel.”
“After everything that’s happened? Do you really believe it’s possible?”
“Yes, Fräulein Kramer, I’ll tell you honestly and frankly that I do believe it’s possible. I understand your reservations. But neither the Germans nor the Jews can focus exclusively on the past, where there’s nothing that can help us make a better future. We must look forward and hope that time will heal the wounds. And I’m prepared to make my modest contribution to this.”
“If that is your mission then I wish you best of luck, Herr Pauls. But mine is a very different one. Thank you for your time.”
“No, Fräulein Kramer, I should be thanking you.”
“Goodbye.”
“Goodbye, Frau Kramer, and I wish you all the best.”
110
“Anna, is that you?”
“Yes. Ruth? Where are you?”
“We’re in Haifa!”
“You’re here?”
“Hurrah!”
“How did you get this number?”
“Peretz send it to me in Cyprus via the Red Cross. Didn’t you know?”
“No. So what now?”
“We’re going to be in Atlit for a while, that’s directly south of Haifa. The British used the place to intern Jews, and that’s what it feels like too. But the gates are open. We’ve got to stay here a while because there are so many people arriving, it’s unbelievable! There’s just no space anymore, they’ve got to build and build so that we can get somewhere to live as soon as possible.”
“And are you well?”
“Fantastic! Aaron’
s already got a job in the camp administration. We learned to speak fluent Hebrew in Cyprus, which is coming in handy for him now. And I’m sewing uniforms for Israeli soldiers. Oh Anna, I’m so happy!”
“What about your baby?”
“I expect it’ll be born here. But that doesn’t matter anymore. Everything is fine, we’re just so happy!”
“We must see each other.”
“You ought to come here. How are you, Anna? Is everything alright? I heard about your baby. I’m so sorry, Anna! We were all very sad to hear about it.”
“Thank you, Ruth.”
“How about Peretz, how did he cope?”
“It’s alright, he . . . he was really looking forward to this child.”
“François sends his greetings as do the Abramowiczes, and of course Aaron too. Is Sarah well?”
“Yes, she’s fine. She’s doing an apprenticeship with a Yiddish newspaper. Peretz doesn’t like it, he thinks they’re communists, but she’s learning quite a bit and she’s meeting people. I think she’s fallen in love.”
“Anna, I’ve got to hang up now, there’s a queue behind me and my time is up. I’ll call again as soon as I can. My love to everyone! See you soon, Anna, very soon!”
“See you soon, Ruth, I’m really happy for you, for all of you, send my love to everyone, will you?”
111
Oz Almog had an idea. He did not go into much detail, he had two telephone conversations, one with Anat, his wife, the other with the man whose name she gave him.
The following morning he took Lisa in his saffron-yellow Saab. They drove through West Jerusalem, from south to north. Ramat Rachel. Arnona. Talpiyot. Buildings were going up everywhere as if striving to meet a deadline. Oz Almog pointed to the right, The Armistice Line, he said, the shooting there’s becoming more frequent, that’s why we’re driving this way.
The sun sat in a cloudless sky. It was still cool, a faint dampness still hung in the corners of the buildings, in the shadows of the hedges, a fine dew still held the dust on the ground. Lisa looked out of the window.
“Does that work sometimes?” she said.
“Sometimes. But I can’t promise you anything.”
112
The new house was in Tel Aviv’s old town, which is what Peretz called Jaffa Port and the surrounding hillsides, on which houses stood closely bunched together. These buildings appeared ancient, as if they could tell of times long forgotten.
“Who lived here?” Anna asked as she wandered slowly through the rooms that looked as if the owners had gone shopping, and crossed the internal courtyard crowded with pot plants, some withered, some still alive. In the center was a circular fountain, she leaned over its brick wall, the water was crystal clear. The surface of the courtyard was set out like a mosaic. She looked up, above her the expanse of blue sky.
“How old is this house?” she asked.
Peretz smiled. “Do you like it?”
Anna wanted to say Yes, but she hesitated, She walked on through the rooms.
“What sort of patterns are these? And these decorations?”
“They’re Arabic.”
“Does the house belong to Arabs?”
“Not anymore.”
“Where are they?”
“They emigrated.”
“Emigrated or expelled?”
“Emigrated.”
Anna turned round and looked Peretz in the eye.
“Are you telling me the truth?”
Peretz nodded. “They didn’t want to live in a Jewish state, so they left.”
“And you bought the house off them?”
“They just left, Anna, just like that, from one day to the next. Many here did the same. The Arabs hate us, they’ll never come back, or if they do only as soldiers to destroy Israel. The house is the property of the state now.”
Anna said nothing. She looked around, a beautiful, old house. If you looked out of the kitchen window you could see the sea. If you looked out and ignored the pots and pans hanging on the wall beside the window, the plates and cups on the shelves, if you ignored the rusty metal teapot on the old gas cooker. If you ignored the sink still full of dirty glasses.
Peretz watched her and said, “The sun sets in the water, over there.” He pointed past her at the horizon. Anna said nothing, she clasped her arms around her body, it was warm but all of a sudden she felt chilly. Growing impatient, Peretz said, “They won’t be coming back, many more Arabs have left the country since the war. And it’s better that way, believe me, Jews and Arabs can’t live together in the same country, we’re far too different.” He paused, then continued, “You wanted to move out of my parents’ house as quickly as you could. And you didn’t want to live on a kibbutz, even though that might have been the best solution.”
“I don’t want Shimon spending all his week in a communal children’s house, separated from his . . . parents. And from Sarah. That’s all.”
Peretz was quiet. The two of them stared out of the window.
“If you don’t decide quickly someone else will move in here, all the other houses have gone.”
Anna looked at him. “Did only Arabs live here before the war?”
Peretz nodded reluctantly.
“And they’ve all gone?”
Peretz shook his head.
“Those who didn’t want to go stayed.”
“Show me one of their houses.”
“Why, Anna?”
“I want to see one of those houses.”
Peretz clenched his jaw and shot his wife a furious look. Then he pulled himself together and said, “Come here!”
He left the house, marched down the steep alley, Anna following at the double, Peretz strode so quickly, the sun was high in the sky, the people had withdrawn behind protective walls and under shady roofs, an old man with a donkey came up the hill, he had pulled his hat down over his head, his emaciated body was bent, Anna saw the sea below and as far as the horizon, where the sun would set, Peretz charged along narrow alleyways, the houses with Arabic decorations, the patterns in the walls, Anna saw them everywhere. Suddenly Peretz stopped and pointed at a house.
“Here live some Arabs who stayed.”
Anna was out of breath, she was sweating, the sun was stinging her eyes. The house looked sealed up, the shutters were closed, a wrought-iron gate prevented access to the front garden. Anna looked at Peretz.
“Do you want to ring the bell and talk to them? Go on!”
Anna looked from Peretz to the house and from the house to Peretz. Suddenly she turned away and went up the hill, Peretz looked at her, confused, then followed.
“What’s wrong? Don’t you believe me?”
“Yes, Peretz, I do believe you. Let’s take the house.” She wanted everything to be legal, she wanted the Arabs to have left because they had the choice, she wanted to escape Lydia Sarfati’s mistrustful, clueless gaze, she did not want to work in the fields on a kibbutz, she wanted to live in the city, she wanted to show Peretz that she appreciated his efforts, that he had done everything right, she intended to sleep with him soon. She envisaged a new child. A child in Jaffa. Everything’s going to be fine, she thought. She would not heed anything else. She took his hand. Together they went up the hill.
113
It crackled. A gong sounded. A man with a sonorous voice said, “It is twelve o’clock. This is the Voice of Israel. My name is Mordechai Primann. Here are today’s missing persons announcements sent by the Jewish Agency for Israel.
“Sara Rosenbaum from New York, born in Korov, Galicia, Poland, is looking for her younger brother, Jaakov Rosenbaum, thirty-six years old. The last time they saw each other was in the ghetto of Bielsko-Biała in June 1942, before the last transport to Auschwitz. There the family was separated, the men from the women, and Sara Rosenbaum survived. Other survivors have told her that her younger brother also survived, but they have not seen each other since.
“Abraham Gerschenson from Miami, born in Białystok, Byelorussia, is
looking for any surviving siblings. At the end of the war he left the Red Army and returned to Białystok. There he was told that the younger members of his family had escaped into the woods where they joined the partisans, but none of them returned to Białystok.
“Lisa Kramer, née Ejzenstain, originally from Poland, grew up after the war in Lübeck, Germany. As a baby she lost her mother, Margarita Ejzenstain; her father, Thomasz Ejzenstain had earlier been killed by the S.S. Lisa Kramer is looking for Anna Sarfati, who she met in Pöppendorf transit camp, where she was with her grandmother, Marta Kramer.
“Those were the announcements for today. The people being sought can contact us or the Jewish Agency for Israel directly, and if requested we will immediately put you in touch with those looking for you. It is now five minutes past twelve. This is the Voice of Israel. My name is Mordechai Primann.”
Anat Almog switched off the radio. She ran her hand through her thick, brown hair and reached for the pot of coffee sitting in the middle of the round table. She looked at the faces of her two small children in turn—Binah, slender and pale like herself, Erez, tall and strong like his father. Children who were no longer children. Children who had grown up with their father and mother, who thought they knew everything about their parents.
Between them, Lisa. She looked at Lisa, she smiled at her.
“Now we have to sit tight and wait, my dear.”
114
The truth about the randomness of human encounters, the truth that it made no difference whether you met in the street, in the same family, or in bed. The truth of the meaninglessness of the search for meaning, not because there was no meaning, but because the mind led you to believe everything, even the believable lie that meaninglessness is really meaningless and not one of countless havens to which people flee to avoid seeing the randomness, to avoid seeing that randomness allows for no conclusions, none at all. The truth that coincidence and meaning were not contradictions, but complements in a dreadful cosmic harmony. The truth that . . .