At night the straw crawled with lice, and as Aaron’s hair grew back, constant itching plagued him. One night as they lay side-by-side, Aaron turned to Saul.
“Where did you live before this all started?” Aaron asked.
“Oh, I lived right in the town of Munich. I worked as a barber. I had two beautiful daughters and a wife who drove me crazy, but I loved her. I loved her so much.”
Tears filled the old man’s eyes and in the darkness Aaron could see them shining, and instantly regretted that he’d asked.
“My wife, oh, how she could cook, let me tell you. I can taste that roast chicken even now - the crispy skin and the meat so moist. She could bake too. Every Friday night she baked a challa for the Sabbath. And my girls, oy, how I miss my fagellas, my little birds.” A sob choked from deep within him. “They might all be dead - my babies, my wife - I don’t know, Aaron, I just don’t know.”
“They’re all right. I’m sure of it,” Aaron tried to be reassuring.
“Yes, I hope so. You should have seen their faces when the Nazis arrested me. The Gestapo came to my house early in the morning, maybe six o’clock or so. I had just got up for work. In the kitchen my wife had my breakfast ready. All of a sudden, we heard a banging so loud on the door that my wife tripped and almost fell. She held on to the corner of the counter as I opened the door. There they stood, three Gestapo men. They burst into my dining room. They gave me five minutes to gather what I could, say goodbye and leave. I had no idea that it would be forever. They told me I would only be taken in for questioning and returned later that day. As I prepared a bag, my wife broke into sobs. My daughter, Esther, fainted. Little Elke watched with wide eyes, her hand balled up into a fist covering her mouth. I am haunted to this day, by their faces. I don’t know what has happened to my wife and my girls. I am afraid, though, that we will never see each other again. I am afraid that I will never leave this camp alive.”
“Don’t say that, Saul. If you say it, it will be true. You have to stay strong and keep believing.”
For a few minutes Saul fell silent and Aaron felt sure he had gone to sleep. Then he spoke, “What about you Aaron? Did you have a wife? Children?
“No, no wife or children. But I had a girl, a very special girl who I would give my life for. If I survive, I will plead with her to be my wife.”
“Now it is you being pessimistic, my friend. You must not say if we survive; you must say when we survive,” Saul said.
“You are so right, Saul. You are so wise.”
“What kind of work did you do?”
“I worked as a doctor’s assistant and attended medical school.”
“Ah, that is very impressive. Maybe when this is all over you will open a practice right down the street from me. You will marry and have children and our families will be friends. We will have Sabbath dinners together. Yes?”
“Of course, Saul. Of course.”
One brisk January afternoon on his way to bring a note to the Gruppenfuhrer, a lesser officer, from one of the Kapos, Aaron witnessed an atrocity. He’d seen many appalling acts committed by the Nazis, but this one, perhaps due to the nature of the victim, stayed branded in his mind. The victim wore the six-pointed Star of David. One of the oldest men in the encampment, he had the appearance of a beaten-down dog. The guards were dressed in heavy coats, scarves and hats to shield them from the cold, while the old man had no winter gear, just a thin gray striped uniform. He stood hunched and shivering in the snow. What little hair he had stuck out from his head in white tufts. The pants and shirt he wore hung off of his gaunt body. One of the SS men shoved him into the center of what became a circle. The others gathered around and began pounding the man with clubs. Blood poured from his nose as one of the guards hit him across the face. He fell to the ground, but the kicking and beating continued. Aaron stood frozen, holding himself back. If he made any move to defend the prisoner, he would surely be killed. After several blows to the man’s stomach and back, blood spurted from his mouth and his legs trembled. Screams of pain and terror echoed through the camp until, at last, the man’s leg shook one final time and then he lay still. Aaron, although he had seen the SS carry out horrific things in the past, still could not comprehend their cruelty. And he felt guilt and shame that he could not have helped the prisoner. But even worse, for some reason, the old man brought back memories of his father, so old and so weak.
When Aaron returned to his place at the machine beside Saul, the older man saw the distress in his face. In a whisper he asked him what happened.
“I saw something today it made me ashamed to be a human being.”
“Here, we see these things every day. Listen, son, you must stop looking and try to believe that we will soon be free of this place. The Allies are gaining ground. It is said that the Nazis will lose the war.”
Daily, prisoners died of starvation and typhoid. At night, the sounds of the sick rang through the camp as they coughed and vomited. In the morning, bodies covered in scarlet lesions lay unmoving, dead; each carried out and tossed on a pile like a sack of manure. The men had grown so feeble that they did not linger long once the disease took hold. Aaron could not help but reflect on these people. Every one of them had been born to a mother who labored to bring them into the world, loved them, nursed them, and cared for them in sickness. Many had wives and children. Some, those who wore the pink arm bands, were homosexuals. These gentle and thoughtful chaps had often proven themselves to be sensitive, kind and talented individuals. All of the dead men and who they were in their lives before this horror constantly preoccupied him. In his mind’s eye, he saw them as they were before this all began. He assumed some had been teachers, fathers, musicians, friends and lovers. And now they’d been reduced to a meaningless mass, burned and disposed of in a large community oven.
One afternoon, while on his way to roll call, Aaron over heard some of the non-Jewish prisoners talking.
“I care for the rabbits. The cages are in the back over by the fence,” one of the gentile prisoners said.
“Yes, I heard about this. The SS keep them there to show the world what a model camp Dachau is. Now that’s a fucking yarn.”
“You’re not kidding.”
“But, you know, I have grown fond of the animals,” the prisoner said, smiling.
Rabbits, Aaron thought to himself. We are starving. At night I will try to steal a rabbit for Saul and me. Meat will bring us strength. The non-Jewish prisoners had access to the canteen. The Nazis allowed them to receive money from outside sources to buy sauerkraut, oatmeal, tinned fish, or jam when available. Non-Jews sometimes could also be awarded additional rations if they worked harder. But these privileges were never extended to Jews.
Jacob, one of the prisoners, belonged to the camp orchestra. He played the violin for the officers. The SS allowed him to practice in the evening and this entertainment had fast become something that many of the men lived for.
Hauntingly beautiful melodies echoed through the barracks, bringing some of the men to tears as Jacob moved the bow over his strings.
The camp had grown dark. The guards remained on patrol, but few stood outside in the winter. Once they believed all of the men were asleep, they went into an office for a cigarette and a cup of schnapps.
When the camp appeared to be virtually deserted by the guards, Aaron crawled on his belly along the snow-covered dirt until he reached the rabbit cages. His hands stiff with cold, he reached into his pocket for the pin he’d brought with him. He pushed the pin carefully into the keyhole and turned it. He had picked plenty of locks in his life before Dr. Blumgarten. The padlock clicked and then clicked again, as it fell open. Aaron began to reach in to the rabbit cage, and as he did, someone moved toward him from behind.
“What are you doing?”
Aaron felt his heart drop as he looked up into the angular face of a boy not more than seventeen. The boy stood tall, with false bravado. But Aaron could see he did not feel strong or confident. In fact he had no id
ea what to do.
“Please, let me go; I only wanted some food,” Aaron knew he could kill the child, if he so chose. Even starved, his strength far exceeded that of this boy. But Aaron had spent too many years as a healer to take a life so casually. His judgment of human nature told him that the young guard did not have the cruel temperament he’d seen in so many of the others.
The lights reflected off the boy’s wheat-blond hair as he stared down at Aaron. Trying to appear in control, but trembling, he donned a voice of authority.
“Get out of here. Go, immediately. Get back to your barracks.”
Showing the youth the respect that he fought to command, Aaron quickly returned to his barracks.
With his mission to find food fruitless, Aaron watched as Saul grew weaker. Often the older man stumbled or forgot things he’d known only hours before. Aaron began to worry when Saul worked the machine in the factory. Cutting metal was dangerous business, and Saul did not seem as alert as he once was. It came as no surprise when one morning Aaron rose to find his friend ablaze with fever, his cough and rash indicative of the dreaded typhoid. Without medication, Saul would surely die.
At that moment, against all sane judgment, Aaron decided to go to the camp hospital and meet with the doctors. He’d heard gossip about them amongst the other prisoners, but he refused to believe that any physician could be a cruel sadistic killer. A gruesome revelation awaited him.
Chapter 32
T
he camp hospital could be found housed in a large white building made of wood slats. A light dusting of virgin snow soaked into a pair of shoes that Aaron wore; he had taken them from the feet of a dead prisoner several nights before. Logic told him he treaded on dangerous ground, but with Saul’s life hanging in the balance, he could see no other way. Pulling open the heavy oak door, he entered. A long corridor ran down the center of the building; on either side were rooms where patients lay covered in white sheets. The hospital appeared like any other hospital he had seen, until he reached the room at the end of the hall. There, in the corner, stood a six-foot by eight-foot tank filled with water. Attached to the inside of the tank he saw a thermometer, the temperature read at freezing. Inside the tank the bodies of two men and a woman, who’d turned a pale blue, floated naked and unconscious.
“Who are you and what are you doing here?” A deep baritone voice sounded from behind Aaron. He turned to see a man wearing a white coat and a shinning silver stethoscope.
“My name is Aaron. I am a doctor.”
The man in the white jacket snickered, “Indeed and a prisoner as well. Not only an inmate, but a stinking Jew.”
Aaron’s throat closed, he suddenly found it difficult to swallow. He’d counted on the doctor to show some degree of humanity; he now knew he’d been wrong.”
“I am Doctor Rascher, and so pleased to make your acquaintance. So, Jew would you like to participate in the fun?” Doctor Rascher indicated the tank with his right hand. “Gruppenfuhrer Zitman, come now and prepare this prisoner. We will take these others out and see if they can be revived. I hope you’ve done an accurate job of documenting the time, Herr Zitman.” Then, turning back to Aaron, the doctor beamed, his white teeth gleaming in the fluorescent lights. “What we are doing here, you will be interested to know, Jew doctor, is we are freezing these participants within seconds of their death, then we revive them if we can. This is a very important experiment for the German soldiers. You see we have many pilots who go down in icy water. Here we learn what to expect as far as their survival rate. I am sure you would like to help the cause, and even if you wouldn’t, well, you came here so we wouldn’t want you to waste the trip.”
The doctor turned to his orderly, demanding he strip the clothes from Aaron’s body. Within seconds, Aaron stood naked, his clothes torn, his shoes pulled from his feet. Two guards grabbed him on either side. He fought with all of his strength, and it took two more, four in all, to restrain him. In the end they submerged him in the tank of icy water. At first the pain was excruciating. Aaron felt as if his skin would freeze off. But he refused to cry out. Tears came to his eyes and he shivered, his body shaking uncontrollably. But after a time, his nervous system went numb, and mercifully, Aaron passed out. When he awoke, he found himself wrapped in a blanket. Dr. Rascher stood over him.
“You are a strong one. This is good for the experiment. Warm up, Jew, then we do it again.”
The experiments continued. Three times they revived and re-submerged him until he lost consciousness. After surviving the third time the doctor seemed to gain a sort of respect for him.
Aaron lay quaking on a cot as Dr. Rascher entered the room.
“You did better than any of the others. Most die after two submersions in the tub. Too bad you are a Jew. You would have made a good air force pilot for Germany.” Dr. Rascher snorted, “So, since you’ve proved yourself worthy, I’ve decided that you will be spared. You will serve as my assistant.”
Too weak to speak, Aaron watched the doctor as he left the room. Then he fell into a deep slumber.
When he recovered, Aaron’s assignment was to administer medications to the patients that Dr. Rascher had infected with malaria. He sighed with relief that he would not be required to inflict any torture because he would have had to refuse. It sickened Aaron to know that healthy people had been purposely given a sickness by this insane excuse for a physician. The SS planned the testing of new medications for the disease, Dr. Rascher explained. Each of the patients had previously received a hefty dose of the infection, and now the doctor awaited the onset of the illness. Once the patient began to show symptoms, Rasher expected Aaron to give each one the tablets that had been indicated on their chart. Then Dr. Rascher demanded Aaron keep proper notes indicating the effects of each of the drugs. Aaron realized that he had an advantage by working in the hospital. Here he had an opportunity to help those that he came in contact with. As soon as he discerned which medications proved effective, he intended to make sure that all of the victims were treated with them. He would fill out the charts as Rascher required of him, but the only drugs he planned to administer to anyone would be those he knew to be successful in curing the disease. The other pills, he would dispose of.
The doctor appreciated Aaron’s neat and efficient record keeping, and unaware of his true intent, Dr. Rascher grew to like him the way one values a loyal pet.
“You are not bad for a Jew, Aaron. I must say, I am glad you did not die. You’ve proved quite useful here.”
“Thank you, sir. May I make a request?” Aaron asked.
“Go ahead.”
“May I take some of the drugs to treat a friend of mine who is in the men’s barracks? He suffers from typhoid, sir.”
“Hmmm. What is it about you Jews that you expect so much? I give you a little and you want the whole farm,” Dr. Rascher said as he took a deep breath. Then, sighing, he looked at Aaron, “Oh, very well. I am far too soft with your race. But sometimes you people can appeal to me.” He shook his head, marveling at his own generosity.
“Thank you, sir. May I go there tonight?” Aaron had not returned to the barracks for nearly an entire week. His meals had improved dramatically, and he’d slept in a bed at the hospital, in the malaria ward. As long as he worked under the direction of the doctor, his attendance at roll call ceased to be mandatory.
“Yes, but be sure to be here first thing in the morning. I will let the guard know that you are to report directly to me.”
“Yes, sir, I will, and thank you.”
“I am far too charitable,” Dr. Rascher said as he patted Aaron’s head and left. He’s all right for a Jew, the doctor thought.
The day dragged on, but when night descended upon the camp, Aaron left the hospital and headed for the barracks with a vial of pills tucked into his pocket.
Across the courtyard he strode. The bitter wind bit at his skin. Due to his ice water experience, he had become overly sensitive to cold. As quickly as possible, he raced to find Saul to a
dminister the medication. Sleeping men lay closely packed together, and except for snoring, all was still. Carefully, Aaron stepped over resting bodies until he came to the area where he and Saul had always retired for the night. In their place he found strangers.
He shook the man who lay upon the straw where Saul had slept. “Where is the man who used to sleep here?” Aaron asked.
“I don’t know, I moved here because I noticed an open space.”
A coworker Aaron knew from the factory lay awake a few feet away. Hearing the conversation he fixed his eyes on Aaron. He felt relieved that the darkness hid the pain in his face. “Aaron, I am sorry. Saul got very ill. He passed on.”
Aaron let the bottle of pills he’d stolen drop from his hand and slumped down to a squat. His head hanging low, he sat for a while as his tears flowed freely. He had lost the only friend he knew at Dachau, and he had not even been with him when he died.
Chapter 33
The Outskirts of Munich
P
etra and Siegland found themselves overwhelmed with work. The soldiers who occupied the house required food, clean bedding, and clothing. To make matters worse, Petra had missed her period again. Now she had no doubt that she was pregnant. Her breasts had begun to swell, and she was finally getting over the morning sickness. Siegland had noticed it too. She did not miss the golden glow that had washed over Petra’s face. Once again, Petra found herself a mixture of emotions: joyous to be with child, but constantly worried about the future - not only hers, Aaron’s and the Bruchmeiers, but the baby’s as well. She dared not attempt to look for Aaron. She could not risk being followed. She would not unwittingly lead the SS to the man she loved. So instead she stayed close to Siegland, and prayed nightly that her lover was safe.
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