by Jirí Weil
Nevertheless, he’d appear in his office every morning in a clean uniform with decorations, clean-shaven and fresh as a daisy, or so it seemed. He’d shout at his staff, tell them to work faster. The operation in the Protectorate was almost over. There were about three thousand people left who were protected by marriage to Aryans. He hadn’t got the nod from the highest police officer of the Reich about them yet, but he had no doubt that their time would come. And finally there were these twelve here. He no longer needed them. All the Jewish property was already stolen and stored in warehouses; gaining the property of those protected by marriage was an unlikely prospect, as they had hidden it, or what remained of it, with various relatives long ago. Now he could send the twelve off to the East, while the chimneys of the crematoria were still smoking. The war might be lost, but his task in the Protectorate was virtually completed.
But he told those twelve nothing. Let them work to the last moment. Indeed, he spoke to them more kindly than he did to his own staff. He must allay their fears, lull them, until it was time to strike.
Slowly Dr Rabinovich grew reconciled to his new helpers, and grumbled at them only when he saw them handling the sacred articles as if they were ordinary goods. Even now the shipments continued to come in, to be entered in a ledger, given over to teams of skilled workers and stored in warehouses. The new workers soon learned the ingenious and rather simple system. But they didn’t try to work quickly. Production was decreasing, but in no way dangerously.
The head of the Central Bureau, however, seemed to be losing interest in the museum lately. Whenever Rabinovich tried to submit his accounts, the head of the Central Bureau just waved his hand. These days he often talked to Rabinovich about the Holy Writ, about the Talmud and the Cabala. He posed cunning questions touching on certain passages in the Talmud that might appear to be judgements against Christianity. He didn’t really care about Christianity – he had left the church long ago, as all members of the SS were ordered to do. But he liked to show off his knowledge. He took pleasure in embarrassing the ‘learned Jew’. Rabinovich answered the questions humbly and evasively – he didn’t know the purpose of the questions and whether they contained some trap for him. But the head of the Central Bureau was apparently only enjoying himself, because he dismissed Rabinovich graciously. He even patted him on the shoulder. Of course, he never offered him his hand, even when he was in a good mood.
After dismissing Rabinovich he smiled maliciously. They were ready to strike. The net was drawn so tightly that none of the twelve suspected a thing. Otherwise those who had helped in the robbery might try to hide some secret records of the transfer of assets achieved by torture, records of the jewels and gold, of currency in the hands of those who were considering escape abroad if the Reich was possibly to collapse. But not a single trace of the thefts must remain – that was his major concern. That was why the journey of these twelve must be short and swift.
In the Rabinovich household, life proceeded as if nothing had changed, as if so many tens of thousands hadn’t gone into the unknown. Although his sons weren’t allowed to go to school, he was able to tutor them himself in the evenings. Life went on, grey and colourless. It was a waiting game, a battle against time. Few people with stars appeared on the street these days.
One evening they were sitting at the table eating potato pancakes fried in margarine and drinking rose-hip tea. Suddenly there was a loud banging at the door. That was strange. They had a doorbell, after all, and nobody came visiting at such a late hour. Rabinovich opened the door. There stood two SS men with pistols who screamed at him to pack his things, up to fifty kilograms in weight, and to be ready in precisely one hour, or else. A van would come for them and they mustn’t be one minute late. The SS men brandished their pistols and slammed the door behind them.
Rabinovich’s wife began to cry. So this was the end. What about all the promises the head of the Central Bureau had made to him? Was this his reward for faithful service? Rabinovich consoled her. They couldn’t be calling them for the transport, because they were sending a van for them. They were probably going to take them to the fortress town, where he’d have various privileges again. The head of the Central Bureau must have decided that the Rabinovich family would be better off there. Who knew what bad things were about to happen in the main city? In the ghetto he would belong with the prominent ones who weren’t sent to the East.
‘How can we pack up all our things in an hour?’
Once again Rabinovich calmed her down. They could take only the most important things, in any event, so an hour would suffice. And if a van was waiting for them in front of the house they wouldn’t have to drag around their heavy baggage. All the while he suspected that a worse fate awaited them. A night summons never meant anything favourable, and the deadline of an hour meant that the SS men were in a hurry. If they were doing things quickly, that was always ominous.
But maybe they were just playing tricks. They loved the kind of trick that terrified people. And besides, the head of the Central Bureau had promised him protection. But could he believe him? Not long ago they’d suddenly arrested a certain manufacturer and inventor and sent him and his entire family away, even though he had been designated an ‘honorary Aryan’. They had emptied out his apartment with lightning swiftness that time, and the things they didn’t want they sent to the museum. He himself saw the family albums and read the letters from the new authorities with whom the family had maintained friendly contact until the last moment. But the manufacturer owned stocks, gold and jewels, and that sealed his fate. Rabinovich, however, had no assets whatsoever. There was nothing to plunder in his poor apartment.
Precisely one hour later, Rabinovich and his family walked down the steps. The other tenants watched them through opened doors. Outside, the van was waiting, covered with a canvas roof. It looked a bit too big for his family and their baggage. The chauffeur in an SS uniform stood next to the van and motioned them to climb the plank into the back. When they got inside they saw several other people huddled there in the midst of their baggage. The van filled up as the chauffeur stopped in various streets. More and more people with baggage kept entering. When the van was filled to bursting, the chauffeur started abruptly and began to pick up speed. As the van hurtled along, the baggage bumped against the travellers and the children cried with fear.
Although it was too dark to distinguish their faces Rabinovich knew at once who they were: the very eleven who had remained after all the rest had gone. And he was the twelfth. They were all terrified and no one spoke a word. The noise of the engine would have made talking impossible in any case. He knew they were as protected as he was, but he had scorned these fellow workers because they served Mammon, because they helped track down stocks and shares, gold, jewels and valuable paintings. Now he was riding in the same vehicle with them, now he was forced to travel with them to an unknown destination.
Night had fallen by the time the van reached the station at the outskirts of town. All the transports to the fortress town as well as to the East left from this same station. Nobody knew to which trains the trucks of the transport would be attached along the way, not even the railway men. At the platform stood six SS men. As was their custom, they screamed, ‘Los, schnell!’ at the people getting out of the van and pushed them along, together with the children and baggage, towards the long freight train. An old dilapidated passenger carriage with high steps leading to it was attached to the train. They had to scramble up the steps with all their baggage, urged on by the SS men and their whips. The windows of the car were boarded up and it was dark inside. The SS men closed the door behind them and stood guard outside. A long period of waiting began. They lost track of time – perhaps it was already morning.
It wasn’t until they were inside the train that the people began to talk to one another. They complained about the broken promises of protection. They told about various big shots, generals and magistrates to whom they had delivered valuables and who had spoken to them so
graciously, so cordially. They exchanged names of people from secret offices whose task had been the evacuation of Czechs. They had all been in touch with such important people. Surely these people wouldn’t abandon them after they had been provided with so many valuables, surely they would save them at the last moment; surely a fancy limousine would appear any minute now and a general would step out, all covered with medals and decorations, and say, ‘This person performed good services for the Reich. I demand that he and his entire family be released.’ The SS guards wouldn’t dare disobey such a command, for this person’s rank would be so high that even the head of the Central Bureau would be unable to stand up to him.
These were the fairy tales they told each other in the boarded-up railway carriage in the midst of their crying children. Yet it was clear to them all that they had been sacrificed, that no one would stand up for them. They could only hope that their journey would end in the fortress town and not in the East. But even that hope was faint. Only now did they realise that they were too deeply implicated in the robberies, that those who had received money, gold and precious things by means of their help must get rid of them now, in order to use their stolen riches in peace.
Rabinovich listened to these conversations and felt bitter that he had to travel with people whose acts were so obviously wicked. But didn’t he belong in their category as well? Though he hadn’t provided his masters with gold and jewels, still he had helped them. At their command he had gathered together the confiscated sacred articles and created a museum for the amusement of the enemy. He had entertained visitors arriving from the murderers’ main city. He had violated the most important religious commandments and committed the worst sins. Now he must pay the price, for he had blown the ram’s horn to amuse the Reich minister. He had allowed himself to be used in identifying a statue, he had committed the sin of false idolatry by re-creating a Seder in the museum. He had desecrated everything he touched, he had violated virtually all the commandments in order to save his family. And because sins must be paid for in this world, his punishment had caught up with him. The words of the prayers would no longer help him, the consolations of the Psalms would no longer work. His tribe would be wiped out and nobody would be left to say the prayer for the dead in his memory. But perhaps God would have mercy on him, for he had not sinned with any evil intent.
Suddenly they heard the door screech, and it was as if their impossible dreams were about to be fulfilled. The door to the carriage opened abruptly. Which of them would be freed at the eleventh hour? Which of them had so powerful a protector coming to his aid? They couldn’t see what was happening outside, since the windows were boarded. Then the door opened and they all saw two Czech troopers enter the train with a man in chains. No, it wasn’t a general coming to intercede for any one of them. It was a prisoner who seemed to be coming to join them directly from prison, because he had no baggage with him. The troopers unchained him under the watchful eye of an SS man and then left without a word. The door was slammed shut again. Another noise was heard outside – they must be sealing up the car again. Daylight was beginning to come in through the cracks of the window boards, allowing them to make out the features of the prisoner.
He introduced himself at once and rather cheerfully to the company: ‘My name’s Otto Pokorny and they brought me here straight from prison. I was caught for having false papers. Of course, I was doing something else also, but they never found out about that.’
None of the others answered him, none of the others introduced himself. The helpers of robbers felt they were too lofty to speak to a common criminal. Dr Rabinovich, who didn’t even want to speak to the others, looked at the new man scornfully. As if those bankers’ flunkies weren’t bad enough, to throw in a person like this!
But Pokorny was undaunted by their silence. ‘You can’t imagine what it was like, six months of solitary, just going to Bredovska for hearings and sitting there in a bunker. I never heard a single word the whole time, only people yelling. So talk to me, for goodness’ sake, tell me who you are and where we’re going!’
For a while nobody answered. Then one of the eleven began to speak. He explained what important positions they had all had, and how they had been protected, and that they were sending them away only now, to the fortress town, no doubt, where they would have important work to do.
He suddenly paused, for he realised that this one was also going with them. If such a person was being sent with them, then they must be going to the East, for there’d be no place for such a person in the fortress town. They’d never have released him from prison if they hadn’t been preparing a worse fate for him. And that same fate must be awaiting them as well. But perhaps they were going to the ghetto, after all. They’d drop them off there and send Pokorny to the East by the next transport.
Otto Pokorny didn’t notice the pause and began to ask questions: What was the news from the front? What were the chances that the Germans would lose the war soon? Then everyone began to speak, except Rabinovich. They told Pokorny about German losses on the eastern front, about Italy’s capitulation, about the destruction of German cities. The news was encouraging. They gave the news eagerly, providing details and anecdotes. It was as if they had become aware of Pokorny’s presence only then and were accepting him as part of their group.
In prison Pokorny had received only rotten vegetables and watery soup for meals and his stomach was contracting with hunger. Now that the car was sealed, they all began to eat ravenously. They didn’t have to be afraid that someone might burst in. They had plenty of food with them and warm clothing. They even had cigarettes. He would have liked to ask them for a piece of bread, but he was sure they wouldn’t share it with him; the food was for themselves and their children.
The waiting went on endlessly. But now there was enough light in the car. One of them looked at his watch, which they hadn’t taken from him in their haste, and said that it was ten o’clock. At eleven the train began to move.
They moved along slowly, but couldn’t figure out in what direction. All they could hear was the clacking of the buffers. Perhaps they were rolling through fields where people were working, or passing by factories where people were standing at machines. Perhaps they were going by little towns where women were standing in queues with their shopping baskets, or roadside taverns where farmers were idling at the bar drinking bitter beer. They didn’t know where they were going and they were afraid to touch the window boards. Their escorts were travelling in a better carriage somewhere, maybe the very next one, and looking out of the window.
The freight train came to a stop at the end of a line far from a station. They stood there for a long time and could hear carriages being uncoupled: their carriage and that of their escorts were probably being attached to another train. Again an endless wait. Outside, they could hear the voices of railway men – they were still in their native country.
It was almost evening when the new train began to move. It was a goods train again – they could tell by the clacking of the buffers. It moved along as slowly as the previous one. At night they remained standing on a side line somewhere. They could feel the two carriages being uncoupled. All night their carriage stood at an unknown station. They were unable to sleep, because it was almost impossible to breathe in their boarded-up car. A little air came in through the cracks and they took turns standing near them and lifting the children towards them.
The night passed thus in uncertainty. The former helpers of robbers had long since lost their self-importance. Now they were friendly to Pokorny – one of them even gave him a slice of bread. The worst thing was the lack of water. Nobody had thought to bring a thermos. There had been a small reserve of water in the lavatory, but that was soon exhausted. The children cried, ‘Drink! Water!’ That was when those who had continued to have the highest hopes finally understood that they had been sold down the river and that only the smallest speck of hope remained. That tiny snippet of hope was the fortress town. Earlier they had been afrai
d of it. The very thought of going there had been enough to evoke dread and fear of the transports. Now they dreamed of it as of the Promised Land, where they would meet their friends and relatives, where they would be among their own people and would share the same fate with them. They no longer dreamed of enjoying higher privileges. They would be happy with any work whatsoever.
In the morning their carriage began to move again. Their thirst was becoming unbearable. But even worse was the uncertainty about where they were being taken. None of them dared try to widen the crack in the window boards and look out. Only Pokorny was willing to give it a try. Nothing daunted him. He had come from prison. He knew his fate was sealed, he knew he had nothing to lose. He offered to find out where they were. It was the right moment – the SS guards were still asleep. Surely they had been fortifying themselves with liquor at some tavern during the night.
If the SS men were to discover that someone was looking out through a crack they would punish everyone, not just the offender. That was their method of punishment. All were tormented by the lack of air and by thirst. They watched with passive approval as Pokorny set to work. With a borrowed knife he managed to widen a crack. Everyone waited impatiently to hear what he could see.