Long Lost Brother

by Don Kafrissen

  “Oh, my Isaac,” she whispered against his ear, “I have never felt such love. Thank you, thank you, thank you!” She kissed his neck and ears and face. Rising up and looking him in the eyes she confided, “I thought I was broken beyond hope, a worthless whore. Will you allow me to stay with you, my love?”

  He kissed her gently on the quivering lips, “Do you want to stay with me as much as I want you?”

  “Oh, yes, yes,” Deborah smiled, and began kissing his face again.

  They slept, and in the morning made love again. After a steamy bath, they set out to find out if there was an airplane they could take back to Europe. Fortunately Gustavo Cramer Airport had recently been paved and DC3’s were able to land. The hotel clerk called the airport and learned that a flight to Sao Paulo was scheduled at noon. Deborah and Isaac hurriedly grabbed some meat pies and bottled sparkling water from a street vendor and hailed a taxi, which took them the nine kilometers to the aerodrome.

  As they waited for the flight, Isaac noticed a man in a dark blue suit standing against a wall reading a newspaper, hat pulled low, a cigarette in the corner of his thin mouth. Several times Isaac caught him looking at them. Was he just imagining this? The last time he looked up, the man was gone.

  From Sao Paulo they took a series of flights to the Azores, Lisbon and finally Brussels. After checking in with Seymour and giving him most of the diamonds, they went back to their rooms.

  Madame LeDuc greeted them warmly, “I am so glad to see you again, Mr. Rothberg, and Miss Eisenstein.” With a toss of her head, she held out a picture to Isaac.

  “What is this?” he asked squinting at the black and white photo of a woman and man holding a small child.

  Proudly she said, “That is my daughter, Hanna, her husband and their little baby, a boy named Eli.” She looked at Isaac and innocently asked, “You remember my daughter, Hanna, don’t you, Mr. Rothberg?”

  Isaac smiled inwardly and said, “Of course I do. Quiet girl, wasn’t she?” Isaac fondly remembered the hellion that was Hanna, his first lover.

  After they had slept, they went to the office to give a full report to Seymour. He was busy clearing his desk, packing papers in cardboard boxes. Mrs. Katz was helping him and frowning.

  “What’s going on, Seymour?” asked Isaac.

  “What’s it look like? I’m closing up shop.” He straightened, a hand on his hip. “Oof, my back is killing me. Must have been one beating too many, eh?” Collapsing into a groaning swivel chair he looked at the couple standing hand in hand before him. “So? What the hell do you two lovebirds want?”

  “Why are you closing up? I brought you those gems. There should be enough in there to keep us going for years.” Isaac was bewildered and a little angry.

  Seymour squeaked the chair up and down a few times and then grinned. “And I thank you, my young friend. Just enough for me to retire on, eh?” Then he narrowed his eyes and said, “And I don’t suppose you kept a few for yourself?”

  Isaac shrugged, hands uplifted, “Well,” he dragged out, “my family were jewelers.”

  Seymour nodded and muttered, “Gonif.” Then he clapped his hands and advised, “Go, you two, go get married, settle down, take up art or bocce ball or something.” He swept his had around, indicating the boxes. “I’m donating our research to the West German Bundesnachrichtendienst.”

  Isaac leaned over him and yelled, “Are you insane? That agency is full of old SS and Gestapo. For all we know, some of them might even be in our files!”

  “Tough. Got a better idea? Israel doesn’t want them. They already have all of old Wiesenthal’s files. He was better than we were at collecting layer upon layer of info.” He hauled himself to his feet, rounded on Isaac and put a hand on his shoulder. “Kid, I’m tired. I’m not young like you two. I’m going to get married and find a nice quiet place to settle down. After I cash in some of those gems,” he hesitated, “then, well, I dunno.” He reached back on his desk and yawned, “A call came in for you a couple of days ago from Saul in Chicago.” He thrust the paper into Isaac’s hand. “Give him a call before I get the phones shut down.”

  Isaac took it absently,” So who’d marry an old kocker like you?”

  Seymour smiled sweetly and held a hand out. Mrs. Katz put her hand in his. “Why, Gloria here.”

  Before Isaac could say anything foolish, Deborah stepped forward and hugged them each in turn. “How wonderful. I am so happy for the two of you. We both are, aren’t we, Isaac?” she asked archly.

  “Yes, yes, of course,” he exclaimed, pumping Seymour’s hand, then giving Mrs. Katz an awkward hug. Mrs. Katz had been a strong, yet distant office manager, and Isaac had been a little afraid of her.

  He moved to the only other desk with a telephone and dialed the operator, getting a long distance connection after a few moments. He gave the number in Chicago, forgetting the time difference. The transatlantic telephone cable had been completed only in the previous year, 1956, and already you had to book time. He was informed that the call could be placed within the half hour, and the operator would call back. He sat and brooded, wondering what Saul wanted. Had he found another SS guard or Gestapo officer?

  Deborah went out to get them sandwiches at the Litvak Café. Isaac absently said, “Give my regards to Kajus. Tell him I’ll stop in soon.”

  Fifteen minutes later the phone rang. Through some static, he heard the operator say, “I have your party in America now. Go ahead, please.”

  “Hello? Hello? This is Saul. Is Isaac there?” The voice was faint and tinny.

  Isaac almost hollered, “Yes, Saul, it is me, Isaac here. What do you want?” he spoke clearly and slowly.

  From the other end was silence, then, “Isaac, you must come to Chicago as soon as you can. It is very important.”

  Isaac frowned, looking up at the returning Deborah, “Why, what is wrong?”

  “Just come. I will pick you up at the airport. Call me when you land. Very, very important.”

  Before he could ask any more, the connection severed. The operator came on, “I’m sorry, but that call has broken off. Please try again later. Thank you.” And she disconnected too.

  Isaac shrugged and hung up. “What is it, Isaac?” Both Seymour and Deborah were looking at him.

  “Saul says I have to come to Chicago, America right away. It is very important.” He folded the paper and put it in his wallet. He sighed, “I thought we would have some time to relax, get to know each other a little better.” He grinned at Deborah and wiggled his eyebrows.

  Seymour rolled his eyes and grunted, shaking his shaggy head. “There’s a guy down on Sainte Agathe who will give you a good price for gems,” said Seymour. “A guy named Brinton. He’s from Amsterdam. Here’s his street number.” He scribbled it on another piece of paper, tore it off and handed it to Isaac. With a glint in his eyes, he cackled, “You did keep some good ones, didn’t you?”

  Isaac just smiled. They sat, and the four of them ate warm sandwiches and poured wine into paper cups.

  Chapter 40

  Deborah made the arrangements, and three days later, they were on their way to Chicago. Isaac bought a copy of the New York Times to read on the plane. “It looks like this will be the last of the propeller-driven planes,” he told Deborah. “They’ve been testing aircraft with those jet-propelled engines that the Nazis invented. Thank God they didn’t get them into the war early. The V-1 and V-2 rockets were bad enough.”

  Isaac wore a dark blue suit, white shirt and red striped tie that Deborah had selected for him. His hat was on the rack above them. Deborah wore a comfortable deep maroon jumper dress, flat shoes and a blouse with ruffled cuffs. They looked like a comfortably married couple. Isaac was then thirty-five and Deborah was thirty-two. They were flying into Midway Airport in Chicago in March, a snowy, blowy month.

  They flew in a BOAC Super Constellation, a multi-turbocharged version of the same airplane that Isaac had flown a few years before. Deborah was new to all this service and was en
joying herself immensely. After an hour in the air, they were handed menus and selected their meals. The stewardess was a beautiful young woman with a wide smile, wearing a snug pale blue uniform with a cute hat perched on her dark hair.

  “Do you think I’d make a good stewardess, Isaac?” Deborah asked.

  “Of course, my dear, but you’re too old. You see, they are retired when they reach thirty-five, or they get married.”

  She stuck her nose in the air, “Well, that means I would have three years still.” Then she giggled, and Isaac squeezed her arm. This beautiful young woman who sat next to him, giggling, would never be mistaken for a camp survivor, though she occasionally wore dresses or tops that didn’t entirely cover her tattoo. She often used makeup to cover it.

  It was cold and windy when they landed in Chicago. They bundled up and could even feel the wind buffeting the terminal building. The heating system was working overtime trying to keep the building warm. Isaac called Saul, and they waited for him near a door. He’d told them what make of car he was driving, but Isaac had no idea what a Buick looked like. Shortly, a large dark car capped with chrome trim pulled up in the waiting lane and blew its horn. Isaac looked and saw a hand waving.

  “Come, Deborah. Our carriage awaits,” remarked Isaac with a very British accent. He carried their bags to the long car and waited for Saul to exit and open the trunk. It flew open by itself. Isaac could only shake his head. America, he muttered to himself.

  Deborah was already inside shaking Saul’s hand. “This is Deborah Eisenstein, Saul. She’s, um, my friend.”

  Saul cocked an eyebrow at him, but before he could comment, Isaac asked, “So what is so important that we come to Chicago right away? Find me another SS Officer?”

  Saul sighed as he put the big car in gear and pulled out into traffic. “Nothing so simple, my friend. I shouldn’t even be telling you. Lawyer/client privilege, you know.” He glanced at Isaac past Deborah. “Let’s wait until we get to my place and get a glass of wine in us. This ain’t gonna be easy.”

  Isaac nodded, “All right.” The car plowed through the night, its headlights poking holes in a swirling cloud of snow. It took a half hour to get to a large house in a neighborhood replete with large houses. “Pretty nice, Saul. The lawyering business must be good.”

  Saul laughed, “It has its days.”

  “Do you specialize?” Isaac was curious about his friend.

  “Mostly investments, estate planning, portfolio organizing, that kind of stuff.”

  “You never did criminal law?” Isaac asked, digging now.

  Saul lost his smile. “Why? Do you need a criminal lawyer?”

  Isaac held up both hands, “No, no, at least not yet. Have you got a target for me?”

  Saul shook his head. “No. I’m afraid I’m done with that part of my life now. Let the authorities handle it.”

  He shut the engine off and helped Isaac carry the suitcases from the car. A plump woman with upswept hair opened the door as they approached. She offered a warm smile as she took Deborah’s hand. “Come in, my dear. Saul didn’t tell me that Isaac was bringing a friend.” She helped Deborah off with her coat. “I’m Mary, Saul’s wife. And you are?”

  They introduced themselves, and Saul asked Mary to show Deborah her room while he and Isaac went into the den to talk. Isaac settled himself into a leather loveseat while Saul poured them each a tall glass of red wine.

  After Saul sat in a matching leather armchair facing Isaac, he started, “I had a client come to me with some investment money a few months ago. Nothing to get excited about, but he said he was a survivor and I agreed to place it for him.” Saul leaned forward, forearms resting on his knees.

  Isaac put his glass down, knowing this was what he was here for.

  Saul said softly, “Isaac, he said his name was Herschel Rothberg.”

  Isaac sat up straight, shocked, and bewildered. “That can’t be, Saul. He was killed in the camps.”

  “I asked him about it. He told me the same stories about his family that you did.” Saul reached a trembling hand out and whispered, “Isaac, he is your brother.”

  Isaac collapsed back into the soft sofa, expelling a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “Mein Gott, Saul, take me to him. Please.”

  Saul shook his head. Absently Isaac noted that his friend had put on weight and his hair was thinning. They were no longer kids.

  “Tomorrow. I need to show you something first. Then we’ll see.”

  Isaac just nodded and stood. He gulped the rest of his wine. He was shaken badly and desperately needed time to think. He hurried out and up the stairs. Deborah was waiting for him in the doorway to a large room. In the center was a high bed with elaborately carved dark wooden head and footboards. The room was comfortably decorated with a matching high chest of drawers, makeup table and end table.

  She was already in a pair of flannel pajamas lent to her by Mary, and an extra pair of Saul’s was laid out on the bed. Isaac stumbled in and collapsed back on the bed, a forearm over his eyes. He was pale and looked stricken.

  “What is it? What terrible news did Saul tell you?”

  Isaac just shook his head and muttered, “My brother. Alive.”

  She stood beside the bed, hand over her mouth, then fell to her knees and rested her head beside his. “But this is wonderful news, yes?” She placed a hand against his face, stroking his stubble softly.

  “Yes. No. I don’t know,” he whispered. “I am so used to thinking him dead, that I have forgotten even what he looks like, what they all looked like.” He sat up suddenly, “How can this be?”

  “Will you call him? Will you see him tonight?” Deborah asked anxiously.

  He shook his head, “No, Saul said he would take me to see him tomorrow. I need to sleep. We both need to sleep.”

  “Go,” she said, “Go bathe. I will be waiting.”

  He did as instructed, and came back to the bed, but it was a restless sleep with long-forgotten images flashing through his mind: images of their family, images of him beating Herr Bruger’s head to a pulp. Bruger had been one of the men beating and raping his mother and sister. And finally the last time he’d seen his younger brother, Herschel, on the platform being loaded into a stinking cattle car, taking him to a camp to be killed. How had Herschel, a child, survived? For that matter, how had he survived? But he had, along with many others.

  In the morning, Mary Goldman served them a hot pancake breakfast. The snow had stopped and the sun was shining. Isaac wolfed his breakfast down, eager to see his grown brother. He asked Saul a million questions: Was Herschel healthy? Was he married? Did he have children? Was he working? To all these questions, Saul related what he knew from the two meetings he’d had with the young man. He was stalling and kept looking at the clock. Finally he carefully folded his napkin and announced that it was time to leave.

  Isaac helped Deborah on with her coat and they went to the big Buick, waving a goodbye to a fretting Mary Goldman.

  The roads were clear and the ride took only fifteen minutes. Snow frosted the trees, and everything looked clean and new.

  Finally, coming around a corner, Saul parked the car across the street from a school. There was a line of cars dropping off children. Saul pointed at a dark green panel truck with a sign on the side saying ‘N&R Construction, Chicago, Il.’

  “See the truck? The man driving is your brother. He is dropping his son off at the school.”

  As Isaac grasped the door handle, Saul reached an arm across Deborah and stopped him. “Wait, look.” He pointed at a man getting out the passenger door and folding the seat back so that two boys could get out. Both boys were about the same age, Isaac guessed about eight or nine. The two men waved at the boys, who scampered away waving back. The men had their arms over each other’s shoulders and were grinning.

  Isaac frowned, “Who is that? A co-worker of my brother’s?”

  Saul expelled a breath and touched Isaac again. “That is Herschel’s brother, H
ans.”

  “No, no, that’s not true. We had no other brother, just Herschel and I. You must be mistaken.” Again he reached for the handle, and again Saul stopped him.

  “Isaac, that man, Hans, was a guard in the camp where your brother was a prisoner. He saved Herschel’s life. Later, Herschel saved his life. They thought you all were dead. They became brothers” Saul watched his friend carefully.

  Isaac looked at him vacantly, “A guard? He was a Nazi?”

  Saul nodded. “It was near the end of the war. They were just children.”

  Deborah said, “Just go see them, Isaac. Let them explain.”

  Isaac glared out the window, “I will kill him. A Nazi camp guard?”

  Deborah stiffened, “No, you cannot. Look at them. They love each other. You can share that.” The two men were playfully sparing, faking punches at each other until a car behind their truck honked its horn. They smiled and waved to the woman behind them.

  Angrily Isaac turned to look at her, “Friends? With a camp guard? I would rather be dead.” He turned and watched the two men enter the truck and begin to drive away.

  “Now,” urged Saul. “Go.”

  Isaac just sat. As the truck turned a corner and went out of sight, Isaac said in a cold voice, “Take us to the airport, please, Saul.” For the trip back to the house, both Deborah and Saul implored him to reconsider. Isaac said not one word.

  They silently packed. Saul suggested they stay another night, just to think things over. Isaac just shook his head. He had devoted his adult life to killing SS guards, officers and Gestapo agents. He could not understand what had happened to his brother. He could not forgive, could not forget the past.