The Mascot

by Mark Kurzem

  “What did you think about this story?”

  “Nothing really,” my father replied. “I told you before. I let people say what they wanted to. I wasn’t going to make any trouble about it. Only one thing was certain: these stories were very far removed from the truth that I have told you.

  “The afternoon wore on and I remained seated in the armchair. The commander was reading through documents at his desk. Suddenly he shouted my name, and I jumped to attention.

  “He leaned back and pushed his chair away from his desk and called me over to sit on his knee. Yet again he went over the story, only this time he made me repeat it after him, word for word. He made it clear that I was to keep to it as much as possible. For the next few days, he didn’t take me out in public.

  “Then one day I was sitting quietly in his office, coloring in my book, when he suddenly quizzed me on his version of events to make sure I’d remembered it. I recited it verbatim. ‘Perfect,’ he exclaimed, clapping his hands together.

  “After that, he began to take me out to cafés again to see how well I performed in public. Unsurprisingly, a child in an SS uniform attracted a lot of attention, and people would approach us, curious to know more about me. I’d ignore them and go on eating my ice cream or eels, until the commander gave me a nudge or a pinch under the table, and I’d swing into action like a puppet.

  “I’d put my spoon down and stand and recite as naturally as I could what I’d been taught. If I was in the mood, I’d sing a few notes of one of the songs the soldiers had taught me.”

  “Do you think Lobe knew the true story of your capture?”

  “I don’t think so. I know that when he brought me to base camp for the first time, Sergeant Kulis told the commander that the soldiers had found me wandering alone in a forest on the perimeter of a village. Kulis had made up this story when he first took me out of the firing line and decided to let me live. If he’d told the commander the truth, then the commander would have suspected I was Jewish, and my fate would’ve been sealed. Even though none of the other soldiers knew I was Jewish or had any reason to want to protect me from Lobe, inexplicably, they all stuck to Kulis’s story as well.”

  “This story covered up their deeds,” I said contemptuously. “They portrayed themselves as kindly rescuers instead of the barbaric murderers of innocent people they truly were.”

  These last words shocked my father. His face reddened.

  “But Sergeant Kulis wasn’t like that,” he offered. “Despite everything he’d done that I despised, there can’t be any doubt that he tried to protect me. He warned me to hide my Jewishness or I would be killed. If he hadn’t wanted to protect me, he could’ve returned me to face the firing squad. And I believe that he never told a soul about my true identity. And the other soldiers, though they didn’t know I was Jewish, were kind to me. They protected me because I was a child.”

  “The question is, Dad, would they have been quite so kind if they knew you were a Jewish child?”

  My father was grim-faced.

  After several moments I pressed on. “You must have had a very strong and determined character to have kept it hidden from Uncle and Auntie while you were living under their roof.”

  “I don’t think strength had anything to do with it,” my father answered. “It was fear, son—pure fear! Fear of discovery. Fear of saying the wrong thing. I’d made that mistake once; after the party at the Dzenises’ on my first night with them, when I said that I wanted my own brother and sister. I had to be certain never to do that again.”

  I immediately regretted the way I had cross-examined my father. He had suffered awfully under this conspiracy of silence about his identity. “Terrible,” I said in a sympathetic tone.

  Perhaps buoyed by this, my father appeared to relax and was suddenly eager to continue.

  “Where was I?” he said, thinking aloud. “That’s right. Commander Lobe was satisfied that I had mastered my routine. He then started to take me on visits to hospitals and clinics to boost the morale of sick and wounded soldiers. I’d tour the wards with him. He trained me to commend the patients, saying, ‘Father Latvia thanks you for your courage and wishes you a speedy recovery.’”

  My father gave an ironic laugh. “I was a child, but even I could see how empty those words were. I remember one time saying that nonsense to a soldier who was bandaged from head to toe. I could only see his eyes staring out at me. He wasn’t going to recover, and even if he did, I wondered what condition he’d be in for the remainder of his life. There were many sad cases like him. I felt ashamed of my words.”

  My father rummaged in his case again. He passed me a small scrap of tattered paper.

  I drew it close to my eyes. It was an article that had been torn roughly from a newspaper. The print was too faded to read, but the photograph above it was distinct enough for me to discern an image of my father in full military uniform, sitting on Lobe’s knee and posing among bandaged soldiers and other dignitaries and officials. Standing to one side was the figure of Uncle, who seemed to be watching over the boy.

  “Amazing,” I said. “Where did you get this?”

  “The commander tore it out of the newspaper for me. You can see, it says 1943 at the bottom of it.”

  “You’ve had it all this time?”

  “Yes. Here in my case.”

  My father patted the lid of the case tenderly, as if stroking a pet. But the case’s persona had irrevocably changed for me by this stage. So magical to me when I was a child, it now seemed malign. I had a sudden and almost uncontrollable urge to snatch it from my father and bury it. But the impulse to dispose of the case died away as quickly as it had come and, in its place, I found a question forming in my mind. Why hadn’t he told us this story before?

  “Worse was to come. One particular day when we had no tours planned, the commander sent me back to Uncle’s office at Laima. I was glad to be back with Uncle. I was tired of being the commander’s little windup doll. With Uncle, it was exactly as it had been before: I sat quietly at my desk.

  My father on a hospital tour, sitting on the knee of Commander Lobe. Mr. Dzenis stands to the right in a black suit.

  “Suddenly the door flew open and in marched the commander. He never bothered to knock. He saluted quite casually and flopped himself down on the edge of Uncle’s desk. Then he helped himself to a cigarette from Uncle’s tobacco box.

  “The commander was in an excited state, telling Uncle that a group of military officers would be arriving shortly that same day and that arrangements needed to be made for an experiment. Uncle seemed flabbergasted.

  “Then the commander began to explain, and I could tell that Uncle was not pleased with what he was hearing. But the commander’s voice conveyed that he would not harbor any objections.

  “Their exchange was interrupted when a group of officers strode confidently into the room, about four of them Latvian, as well as a German in command. One of the Latvians was called Osis and the German had a name that sounded something like Jackal or Jekyll. They had a strong air of authority about them in their fine uniforms decorated with colorful medals.

  “These men were only in Uncle’s office for a short time before they headed off into the factory. I must have had some curiosity because I decided to tail them. They went into one of the storerooms upstairs at the rear of the factory.

  “I managed to get close and see through the crack in the doorway. One of the officers was pointing at a diagram of what seemed to be a truck or tank. I soon grew bored of spying on them. I had no idea what was up.

  “A few days later, the same officers reappeared with Commander Lobe. They were immersed in serious conversation and didn’t even bother to greet me.

  “All of a sudden the commander had stopped speaking midsentence. The room went quiet. I went on pretending to study, but I couldn’t resist my curiosity and raised my head a fraction to see what had happened.

  “The commander was standing, as if frozen to the spot, in the center o
f the room, staring intently at me. In the next instant he became animated. He clapped his hands together and gave a little jump, like an excited child. He sprang across the room and, in a single movement, he lifted me up out of my chair and high into the air, shaking me like a trophy he’d just won. He planted me on top of Uncle’s desk and began to speak excitedly to the other soldiers.

  “Almost immediately, upon hearing what the commander had said, the others began to nod their heads enthusiastically. All except Uncle, who became angry, almost apoplectic! I’d never seen him like that before.

  “The commander simply raised his hand to silence Uncle. Then he turned to me again and, with his face only inches from mine, said, ‘Do you want to help me on a very special project?’ His tone was dramatic and heavy, so of course I nodded vigorously, eager to make myself useful. I hesitated to look directly at Uncle since I was going against his wish. Suddenly, the commander grabbed me by the waist and lifted me off the desk. Then he turned and strode toward the door with the officers following behind. I managed a brief and furtive glance back at Uncle, who looked deeply troubled.

  “When we reached the rear steps of the factory that overlooked the yard, Commander Lobe put me down. I had a good view of the entire space. I was surprised because the courtyard was overflowing with people of all ages—old people, babies, women, children, anybody you could imagine. They stood quietly with their bags and cases as if waiting for a bus to take them on a journey. Only the babies were restless and crying.

  “I tugged at the commander’s jacket. I wondered what they were here for. I didn’t like the atmosphere. I wanted to go back to Uncle.

  “He glanced down at me and gave me a broad smile. He put his arm around my shoulder and led me down the steps. We joined the other officers, who’d dispersed among the crowd, inspecting them. Once we were in the thick of it, I was too tiny to see much at all, so I simply followed the commander, imitating the sharp and stern look on his face.

  “Suddenly the gates into the yard clanked open with a screeching sound, and two gigantic transport trucks rumbled in and came to a halt.

  “Soldiers guarding the crowd started to bark orders for everybody to get into the trucks as quickly as possible. Chaos broke out. People pushed and shoved to climb on, while trying to drag their belongings with them.

  “I was disoriented and a little frightened by the mayhem and I drew away to the perimeter of the crowd. It was then that I noticed a little boy—he must have been only a year or two younger than me—standing nearby. He was crying. He must have become separated from his mother or whoever he was with. I wanted to do something for him, so I reached into my pocket and pulled out one of my chocolates from the secret stash.

  “I held it out to the boy. He seemed very surprised, and his crying faded to a whimper. Then I could see how thin he was; his eyes protruded desperately from his gaunt face. Tentatively he put out his hand and then he snatched the chocolate greedily like a starving animal. ‘He’s just like me,’ I thought, ‘when Sergeant Kulis offered me a scrap of bread in the schoolroom.’

  “I felt so sorry for him. I knew what it was like, the pit in your belly that gnawed away at you. I passed him another chocolate, which he accepted more graciously this time. Then I passed him another chocolate and yet another one, pacing them, so that his stomach would accept the chocolates and he didn’t become sick. Then I noticed something that had escaped my attention up until then—the boy was wearing a yellow star on his jacket. By then I knew what that meant: he was Jewish. He was even more like me than I had imagined. He could have been my little brother. I was tormented. ‘Should I feed him more?’ I said to myself. ‘Or should I ignore him?’ If I showed him any kindness, the soldiers might become suspicious of me.

  “‘Or should I help him to escape?’ I turned away from him in anguish. Instinctively, I looked toward the fence to see if there was a gap in it. For a moment, I imagined that we could both escape together, through the gap in the fence, as I had done by myself, in my village. But I knew that this time it would be impossible. I remained with my back to the boy.

  “That moment has overshadowed my entire life,” my father said in a low voice. “I don’t want to sound dramatic, but I carry his image with me, like it’s been imprinted on my retina. Frequently I wonder if he survived, if he grew into a man. I wonder if he remembers that day when I turned my back on him. It was as if I had turned my back on my own reflection at that moment. The questions always come down to that in the end.”

  My father was subdued. I felt helpless to console him.

  “I noticed that one of the German officers was looking at me. He’d observed what had gone on between the boy and me. He flashed a big smile at me, and at the same time he began to speak with the other officers, who all nodded.

  “They, too, stared across at me, confronting me with their smiles. At that moment I noticed Uncle standing at the rear door of the factory. He looked worried and disapproving.

  “Then I heard the German officer call out my name loudly above the din. Snapping his fingers at me, he ordered me to join him. I pretended that I couldn’t hear him and stayed where I was. Instead, I glanced across at Uncle. He, too, had seen the officer summon me. I hoped that he would rescue me from this situation, but he only indicated with his eyes that I shouldn’t resist the soldiers.

  “I went over to the German officer. I still had no idea what he wanted. He snapped his fingers yet again, and this time one of the soldiers stepped forward with a big paper bag. The chief officer thrust it into my hand. It was full of Laima chocolates. I was surprised. I thought that I’d been mistaken about his intentions and that the chocolates were a gift for me. I began to bite into one of them, but he gave me such a slap that it shot out of my mouth.

  “‘Not for you, idiot,’ he said harshly. Then he led me over to the rear of one of the trucks and had me stand at attention there. He gave an order for the crowd to form a line leading to the truck. Immediately I grasped what was required of me: I was to hand out a chocolate to each person in the queue as they climbed onto the truck.

  “Commander Lobe joined us, and he told me that I should make sure to give every person a big smile as I presented their chocolate. It seemed that my job was to pacify them before their journey, especially the children, who loved the chocolates.

  “So that’s what I did—on and on throughout the afternoon. My jaw ached from smiling.

  “I didn’t notice Uncle’s presence again until the end of the afternoon when he reappeared on the steps. He still seemed very disturbed, not only by what was happening generally but at what I was doing. He signaled angrily for me to join him and took my hand firmly. Without a word to anybody, we walked back into the factory.

  “However, as we climbed the stairs to Uncle’s office, the commander’s voice boomed out from behind us, ordering us to stop. He was seething with anger and told Uncle to release me. Uncle refused, and I felt his grip tighten on my hand.

  “Commander Lobe tried to break Uncle’s grip, but Uncle pushed me behind him. Both men were keyed up, and there was a tense exchange of words. It was a terrifying standoff. Then Uncle uttered something—I didn’t hear what—to the commander, who drew back, visibly shocked. The commander retreated down the stairs, and Uncle strode to his office, dragging me in his wake. For the moment at least, Uncle had won.

  “When we reached his office, he told me sharply to get back to my books and to keep my head down, even if the officers and Commander Lobe returned.

  “Before long, the sound of the trucks leaving reached my ears, and shortly after that Commander Lobe and the other officers came in. They made themselves comfortable wherever they could find a place. The commander ordered Uncle to get beer and schnapps for everybody. Uncle ordered it but refused to join them in their celebrations. As the men became drunk, their attitude toward Uncle harshened. They criticized him for protecting me. The German officer warned Uncle in no uncertain terms that his behavior wouldn’t be tolerated a second time.
With that, the party came to an abrupt end. As he was about to leave, the German officer turned to me and said, ‘Morgens’—tomorrow. I realized that my job was not yet over.

  “Uncle was subdued that evening as we headed home. He remained silent and preoccupied over dinner, too. Later, I lay awake all night, worried about my terrible duty, although I hadn’t any idea of what lay in store for those people.

  “The next morning I was bleary-eyed. My senses were dull from lack of sleep. It was probably better that way. One of the officers came to collect me from Uncle’s office. But I had no choice. I knew what was in store for me, and I wanted nothing at all to do with it.”

  “How many times did this take place?” I asked.

  “Three times, perhaps. There were no more trucks after that.” My father paused. He appeared relieved to have finally spoken of the incident. The tightness around his mouth loosened slightly.

  “That must have been the idea that Lobe hit upon in Uncle’s office—the presence of a child would calm the crowd—and then the chocolates became an added touch after I’d been noticed with the boy.” My father looked guilt-ridden. “At least the chocolates seemed to make it easier for them.” My father was speaking through the eyes of the boy he had once been.

  In the next breath he suddenly turned against himself. “A chocolate for their journey!” he exclaimed. “What idiocy am I talking? I did sense that something dark was going on, but Commander Lobe had told me that they were being relocated to another part of the country. But they killed them, didn’t they?” He struggled to control his hysteria.

  “Little children. Younger even than me or my brother and sister. They took them away to concentration camps or to forests—to isolated forests—to be massacred—to be robbed of their lives—their dignity—that was their final destination!”

  My father flinched involuntarily, as if trying to dodge a blow. He took several deep breaths, trying to calm himself.

  “The women and children and old people at Laima were innocent. Their only crime was to be born Jewish. Somewhere inside me I must have registered what their fate, as Jews, would be. After all, Sergeant Kulis had warned me to hide my Jewishness because it meant death. That was my only crime, too.”