Schatzi shrugged his shoulders.
‘You speak very good English. Did you learn it in school?’
‘No. I listen to the ladies dressed in the white uniforms with red crosses. They speak in English.’
‘How long have you been here?’
Momentarily, he was silent.
‘Two hundred and sixty-one days, eight hours and....’
Schatzi looked at her wristwatch upside down.
‘Ten minutes and thirty-one seconds.’
Naomi considered his response and all she could say was.
‘Wow!’
‘What does ‘wow’ mean?’ he asked innocently.
‘It means ‘that is amazing', it is an expression of surprise.’
‘Wow.’ He repeated and laughed loudly.
‘Schatzi, when I saw you earlier, you were talking to yourself. What about?’
‘I was thinking about Charles Darwin and his philosophy on the origin of species. My father had a copy in German and I read it many times. I can recite many pages from the book. I used to go and sit for long times in the shelter we built in the garden. That was where I was when the bombs fell. Shall I tell you?’
Naomi nodded.
Schatzi then started speaking very quickly in German. Naomi couldn’t understand much of what passed his lips, but enough to realise what he had said was true. He stopped and looked down at his lap as if transferred into another zone forbidden for others to enter.
He then started to speak in Russian reciting pages of Darwin's work.
‘My daddy taught me Russian. I think that is why he was sent to the war in the East.’
She remained silent.
‘Wow, wow, wow,’ he shouted and burst out laughing again.
‘Wow,’ repeated Naomi.
Full of confidence, Schatzi asked Naomi if she had read Karl Marx, John Stuart Mill, Alfred Krieger, then Adolf Hitler’s philosophy about the Aryan superiority.
Naomi was shocked by the last sentence.
‘Do you believe he was right?’ she asked as if talking to an adult with years of experience to make some kind of value judgement.
‘No. No. No. That’s because he was prejudiced by being poor here in Munich and being told by his Jewish art teacher that he had no talent and all around him he saw Jews in businesses making money. He sent my Daddy to fight in Russia. I never saw him again. That isn’t fair.’
Schatzi looked at Naomi for the first time although he didn’t appear to be looking into her eyes but beyond in the distance.
After a moment, Naomi said.
‘Do you want to come with me to see the playroom?’
He again shrugged and nodded his head dismissively.
‘How about you show me around your home?’
Schatzi shuffled his legs to reach the ground and stood up. He wandered down the corridor. Naomi following. Occasionally he’d look back to make sure she was still there. They reached the entrance to the garden. The smell of newly mown grass hung heavy in the summer air. Slowly he walked to a bench overlooking the ornately manicured garden of this former manor house.
He sat down awkwardly again sitting on his hands. She followed his lead, it was not very comfortable but she persisted.
‘Would you like one of these?’ as she opened her hand and bordered him a boiled sweet.
He took one and popped it into his mouth. He sucked it thoughtfully.
‘My mammas and daddy died in the war. Oh, I already told you. Sorry. I am an orphan.’ He suddenly said.
‘I know. How do you feel?’
‘Sad. I liked them very much.’
Sometimes he talked as if an adult, then at others as the child he was. Naomi considered his response.
‘What do you like doing the most?’
‘I like thinking the most’
‘What do you like thinking about?’
‘Us.’
‘What is ‘us’?’
‘You are silly. ‘Us’ is us. You, me, them, people, everyone.’
Naomi was not so astonished, this time, but to hear a 10 year boy utter those words was quite remarkable.
‘Schatzi, would you like to meet my husband, Stuart? We could take you on a little outing if you like.’
‘No!’ He shouted and started shaking uncontrollably.
Naomi put out her hand and took his gently in hers.
‘It’s all right. I understand.’
She withdrew her hand when he had calmed down. She then felt his little fingers stroking the back of her hand. The sensation was something she had never experienced before. It generated an intense feeling of protection for this little boy whom she didn’t know at all but felt belonged to her and her alone.
Chapter 20
Munich Germany 1945
Captain Stuart Campbell listened to his wife’s description of her encounter with Schatzi.
‘I want you to find out as much as you can about this little boy, Stuart, you won’t believe the... I don’t know how to describe the feeling, darling. It was out of this world. I know that seems totally irrational, but that was it.’ She relaxed back into the chair and folded one arm behind her head and looked into space.
Stuart leaned forward and took her hand in his.
‘Darling. This is not easy. I’m dealing with criminals not lost children, but I will ask one of my staff to interview the Matron of the orphanage and see where we go. O.K?’
‘Thank you.’
Sleep did not come easy to Naomi that night. She could not get Schatzi's face out of her mind, however hard she tried. Morning eventually came as a great relief. She had agreed to meet one of Stuart’s army colleague’s wife for a day trip into the countryside. She couldn’t wait for it to be over. However, what she hadn’t anticipated was that her companion was a child psychologist who had spent her career in Great Ormond Street Children’s Hospital in London before the outbreak of war.
Naomi and Ruth spent the whole day talking. Naomi explained to a complete stranger that she and Stuart had been unable to have kids and Ruth had confided that she and her husband had agreed that even if they could they would be reluctant to bring a child into this world because both her and her husband had come from violent and disruptive backgrounds and couldn’t take any more. They loved their work and so it was.
Naomi described the experience of yesterday, in detail. Ruth listened over a long lunch at the Gardens cafe overlooking the ornate garden of what could have been Eden if not for the pinnacles of half destroyed buildings surrounding the square.
‘Naomi, this little boy shows the classic signs of autism.’
‘Autism, what on earth is that?’ said Naomi in confusion.
‘I attended a lecture at the beginning of 1944. I think it was March. It is a new understanding of the lack of social motivation and social intelligence. Your Schatzi sounds like a classic apparently. He didn’t like being held or touched. They remain insensitive to social cues.’
‘Well that is not quite how I saw him. He seemed self-possessed and was articulate.’
‘Yes, what I did learn was that there were very many variants. Sometimes their IQs were low and yet savants, as the professor called them, had amazing talents. Some can specify the day of the week on which any date in history fell, others although unable to read music, can play on the piano any composition after just one hearing. There is something about them that illustrates an important fact about the structure of the mind.’
‘So, are you telling me that my Schatzi may have genius genetics?’ Naomi laughed.
‘Maybe.’
‘Tell me more’ insisted Naomi as she sipped yet another cup of coffee, thinking where do these Americans manage, in all this chaos, to supply coffee, chocolate biscuits and other luxuries that she had been deprived of for so many years.
‘Well, there was Blind Tom, a slave child born in 1850. He could sit at the piano and his little fingers used to take possession of the keys. Tested by musicologists, he could replay compositions of twent
y pages having heard the piece just once, faultlessly. Like Mozart, he could perform on the piano with his back to the keyboard.
‘Another example he gave us was a girl called, Nadia. She started drawing at the age of three. She had a sense of space, an ability to depict appearances and shadow and perspective. Most children even if they can draw cannot perform these details until they are at least three times that age. Then there was Stephen who was plucked from the London school for the developmentally disabled. He could master line and perspective at the age of seven. He could copy the masters but not just faithfully but using his vivid memory he could improvise a Matisse, a Van Gogh.’
Ruth continued to give examples she had heard about. Naomi was intrigued. She couldn’t wait for Stuart to return so that she could see Schatzi again and see if he had a talent she could nurture.
It was late in the afternoon that Naomi and Ruth bade each other, goodbye. Vowing to meet again soon.
Naomi was waiting in the foyer of the hotel when Stuart walked in briskly with his usual air of confidence. She called out shyly. He turned and strode towards her and embracing and kissing the top of her head. He pulled away.
‘Before I forget, one of my lads did some digging. You know how fanatical the Nazis are at keeping records. Well, your little Schatzi, was born in unusual circumstances. It seems the family covered up that the child was their daughter’s. It would have brought shame on a party member and rising Wehrmacht Captain. He was introduced as the parents’ son. Eventually, someone found out and like a good Nazi reported them. Father was sent to the Russian front to face certain death and mother and daughter were disowned by the party and thrown out of their seconded house and left to fend for themselves.’
‘Oh, how awful for Schatzi. Poor fellow. Not a great start.’
Stuart took his wife’s arm and lead her to the terrace.
‘You met Ruth today?’
‘Oh, Ruth was great company. Thank you.’
‘What was so great?’
‘Well, did you know she is a psychologist?’
‘No. I knew she worked at Great Ormond Street and recently prepared a paper on some aspect of child behaviour.’
‘Oh well she didn’t mention that, but it explains a lot. She seemed to know a lot about syndromes called Autism and Asperger. I found it fascinating. That’s why we had a great day.
‘I would like to visit the orphanage again, Stuart. Soon. I want to spend time with Schatzi. Can you arrange it, for tomorrow?’
‘Just go there, they are just happy to have others around. I shall go there in the morning, if that’s all right with your schedule?
‘I have a meeting with my team at nine. Apparently, they have taken more suspected Nazis into custody awaiting interrogation. I will probably be late.
Chapter 21
Auschwitz Poland 1944
Now I had to find a surrogate mother who could be confined for 9 months in Auschwitz. `Impossible’, I hear you say, and I agree but for an unusual event that occurred a year before our liberation.
On 3 March 1944, some ten months before the Soviet army entered Auschwitz and liberated the our family together with more than seven thousand remaining prisoners who were mostly ill and dying, I found a young girl clinging almost unseen to the underside of the steps leading to the first floor of the hospital. It wasn’t unusual for the doors to be unlocked and unmanned these days. Things were changing slowly, imperceptibly to most, but I could see and feel a change of atmosphere. It was not an unusual morning for me when I came to start my 5am shift. I was always looking over my shoulder. It was part of being a German Jew and as usual I did so that morning. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the outline of a body. I looked around to make sure no-one else had noticed it. The moon hovered above the lifeless trees surrounding hospital block and the stairs and hallway glowed white. It was very cold. It was the body of a young women, shivering despite the German trench coat pulled tightly around her, her hair and face were matted with dirt. Her brown eyes wide with fear. I bent down. The girl shrank back afraid of my touch.
‘It’s all right, you’re safe with me, I am a prisoner too,’ I said holding out my hand. I crouched there for some minutes trying to make her feel safe. Eventually, I put my arms under her shoulders and with what little strength I had left was able to pull her upright and guide her upstairs into safety.
Her story was remarkable.
She, her name is Nadine Rekova, and a German officer, Johann Bron were making their way from Stalingrad to find the retreating German army. Their journey had taken them past the Red Army encampments near the Donskaia-Tsaritsa river. Their campfires had help them find their way towards Kamyshevka where they were able to find food and shelter in abandoned ruins of a small village that had been occupied by the German 317st Infantry Division a few days before. It was unsafe for them to remain but for a few precious hours of sleep before continuing into no-man’s land again continuing westwards. They struggled along night after night, freezing weather chilling them to the bone. Johann was now suffering from frostbite and a bout of dysentery which slowed them further. Nadine did her best to encourage him to keep going but the day before she reached the German lines, he refused to move.
He had lost hope and curled up in a disused tin shed and closed his eyes. Nadine was grief stricken when he insisted, she continue alone. She left him with the remaining scraps of food and her best thick woolen blanket hoping he would survive, and they’d meet again, but not really believing it. Without Johann to help when she reached a German outpost, she was taken into custody as a prisoner. It was unusual that a single woman survived, particularly as she was Russian but her story of helping one just one German soldier and her vehement hatred of the Russian regime lead her from one interrogation to another with more senior officers each time. I think her knowledge of the Russian army advance westwards may have spared her. Eventually, she was sent with hundreds of others of all colours and creeds to us in Auschwitz. She did her best to disguise her Russian roots on the journey through Eastern Poland. Times were beginning to become chaotic, even in this camp. Records that were normally immaculate began to breakdown as the gassing of prisoners was given the top priority.
I asked her what she thought had happened to Johann. She shrugged her shoulders and tears fell through the mask of distress. She hoped he’d been found alive but didn’t really expect it.
In the hospital, there was little hope for any of us. I hid her in one of the old disused laboratories that was cluttered with obsolete equipment no-one had thought of getting rid of and told her to stay put. I tried to explain to her that she had no hope of living more than a few hours if she was discovered.
She survived the night and I had come up with a plan to try to save her from the gas chamber.
My next waking hours bothered me greatly. I had an opportunity to make history. Here in this horrible place called a hospital where science held the glove of the devil each day. Was I going to join the band of his followers? I wrestled with my conscience, tossing and turning throughout the night about what was the right thing to do. Save her by imposing on her my relentless quest for scientific progress or try my best to protect her which would possibly mean a few weeks of life and then the certainty of the gas chamber. Could I persuade her to undergo an operation? I had lain awake trying to think of the best way to explain to her how I intended to try to keep her alive and fit. I wandered across the frozen earth towards the hospital the next morning, I had decided what to do, but only if I had her consent. I would explain the procedures, but I would not tell her the whole truth.
I had been horrified by the passing of the Law for the Prevention of Genetically Defective Progeny on 14 July 1933, which legalized the involuntary sterilization of persons with diseases claimed to be hereditary, weak-mindedness, schizophrenia, alcohol abuse, insanity, blindness, deafness, and physical deformities. The law was used to encourage growth of the Aryan race through the sterilization of persons who fell into the quota of being gene
tically defective. One percentage of young people between the age of 17 to 24 had been sterilized within two years of the law passing. All these statistics had been carefully documented and I came across them when I entered University. Remember genetics was to be my chosen area of research before my family lost their status in Munich and came to end our days here.
Early on in Block 10, as this part of the hospital was referred to, I discovered that from March 1941, sterilization were conducted here by Dr Carl Clauberg soon found out that the purpose of these experiments was to develop a method of sterilization which would be suitable for mass use on millions of people with a minimum of time and effort. These experiments were conducted by means of X-Ray, surgery and various drugs. Thousands of victims were sterilized. Aside from its experimentation, the Nazi government sterilized around 400,000 of its own people as part of its compulsory sterilization programme.
Mengele was not involved in these experiments. It was Clauberg’s field and he was reporting directly to Reichfuhrer Himmler concerning the success of intravenous injections of solutions containing iodine and silver nitrate. I saw the bodies of these human volunteers with some horrendous side effects lying hidden stacked behind the hospital buildings waiting their turn in the gas chambers. In the end, radiation treatment, became the favoured choice of sterilization. Specific amounts of exposure to radiation destroyed a person’s ability to produce ova or sperm. Many suffered severe radiation burns during these experiments, so extensive as to cause a lingering painful death.
I had to paint a bleak picture, after all Nadine Rekova was a Russian and would undoubtedly be used in due course. I left out some of the most brutal pictures that still remain in my mind today as I explained all this to her. She shivered at the thought of being a human guinea pig but agreed to my plan. Maybe I overemphasised the alternatives. I don’t know, but to me there was no other way to save her.
My plan was to ask Clauberg if I could carry out an artificial insemination using a surrogate mother. I couldn’t approach him personally, so I pleaded with Mengele to put forward my case. I told him, I thought it would be extraordinary to have this information, particularly for those Nazi’s who wanted children but were unable to. This was their way to help to perpetuate the super Aryan race.
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