by Lily Brett
Ruth and Edek got into the taxi. Zofia stood in the street and blew kisses to Edek. Walentyna stood beside her. In the car, Ruth could hear Zofia’s kisses. Mwah, mwah, mwah was the sound Zofia’s kisses were making. Zofia stood in the street and blew kisses until Ruth and Edek were out of sight.
The Polish Airlines flight from Kraków to Lódz was almost empty. There were only two other people in first class, and ten or fifteen people in econ-
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omy. Ruth had booked first-class seats to give her and Edek some breathing space. “I don’t want Poles breathing down my neck,” she had said to Edek.
She looked at Edek. He looked bright-eyed and buoyant, but he must be tired. She was exhausted and she hadn’t had a late night. The image of Zofia blowing kisses to them all the way down the street came into her head. It had been a sweet image. The two women, one blowing kisses wildly, and the other standing primly beside her.
“You must be tired, Dad,” she said to Edek.
“I am not tired,” he said. He looked at Ruth. “Who would imagine I would go back to Lódz? What would Rooshka say?” Ruth was glad that Edek was thinking about her mother. “Don’t be frightened, Ruthie,” Edek said. Ruth felt worried. Edek had reassured her one time too many. He must be reassuring himself, she thought. She tried to allay her worry. Whatever it was that was or wasn’t in Lódz, they would be out of there, very promptly, and on their way to New York.
“Why don’t you have a short nap?” Ruth said to Edek.
“I do not need to have a nap,” Edek said. “I am fine. I got my book.”
He held up the book he was just starting. As Blood Goes By.
“Oh, Dad,” she said. “You choose the worst-sounding titles.”
“This is very good,” Edek said. “I can see already it is a good book. It is about a man what one day finds—”
“Don’t tell me any more,” Ruth said. “Please.”
“We are flying at an altitude of twenty-three thousand feet,” the pilot said, in Polish and English. “You can move about the cabin if necessary but we recommend that you remain in your seat with your seat belt fastened.”
Ruth checked her seat belt. She checked Edek’s seat belt. They were both securely fastened.
She looked back at Edek. He had fallen asleep. Ruth was surprised.
Edek never slept during the day. As Blood Goes By had dropped to the floor. Edek must be exhausted, she thought. She looked at him again. He was out of it. It must have been some night he had last night, she thought.
Chapter Sixteen
R uth felt a change in the plane’s atmosphere. It startled her. She had been daydreaming. Thinking about the Union Square farmer’s market, and what she would buy there. She looked around. Everything looked normal. There had been no announcements from the flight deck.
No turbulence. No series of beeps from the captain to the crew. It had been a smooth, uneventful flight. Still, she felt bothered. She felt sure she could sense a movement in the air. The usually still, artificial air of airplanes was moving. The normally dormant, stiff air of all flights definitely had a ripple.
She could even hear a flurry, a flicker of wind. She listened carefully. There was definitely a stirring, a ruffling.
She looked at Edek. He was still asleep. As Blood Goes By was still on the floor. The two other passengers in first class were sitting, motionless, in their seats. Neither of them looked worried. She listened again. She could hear breathing. Labored breathing. She could also feel jerking and twitching. “I can hear you,” she said suddenly. “I can hear your mouth opening and closing. I can hear saliva sticking to your gums. Semidry suction noises.
Are you not well?” There was no answer. “I can hear your bones,” Ruth said. “I can hear creaks and clicks. Are your bones giving you trouble?”
There was no reply. The air was still shuddering. Still unsteady. “I know you can hear me,” she said.
She remembered how unnerved she had been when she had first heard
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those words. Now, the words were coming from her. She wasn’t unnerved now. She was not even nervous. “I know you can hear me,” she said again.
There was no answer. She felt uneasy. Why was she summoning him? Why was she calling out to him? She wanted to let him know, she thought, that she had the upper hand. That he couldn’t surprise her anymore. That she could detect his presence.
“I know you hear me,” she said with more force. Neither of the other two passengers looked up. Edek stayed asleep. “I know you can hear me,”
she shouted. “Why are you hiding? What are you frightened of?”
“I am not hiding,” said Höss.
“You were hiding from me,” Ruth said. “Why have you turned into a wallflower? You’re not known for being shy and retiring. A shrinking violet is not what people think of when they think of you.”
“You think people do still think of me?” Höss said.
“I hope so,” said Ruth. She thought Höss was pleased with this answer.
She could feel his pleasure. It displeased her. She wanted to needle him, not please him.
“I know you did not intend your previous remark as a compliment,”
Höss said.
“It isn’t a compliment,” Ruth said.
“You and I have a different understanding of where history will place me,” Höss said.
“History has already placed you,” said Ruth.
“This is recent history you are speaking about,” said Höss. “This will change.”
“I don’t think you’ll ever be seen as a hero,” Ruth said.
“We will see,” Höss said.
“If you’re such a big hero, why were you hiding?” Ruth said. Höss snorted. “You think you can hide from me?” Ruth said. “I can sense your presence. I can detect the smell that accompanies you, too.”
“The smell is faint, no?” Höss said.
“So you know what smell I’m talking about,” Ruth said.
“Of course,” said Höss.
“The smell of burning flesh,” Ruth said. “It still adheres to you. It’s still stuck to your skin.”
“I thought it was still possible to smell it,” Höss said. He sounded glum.
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“I couldn’t identify it at first,” Ruth said. “I thought it was just your presence that was making me feel bilious.”
“I cannot remove this smell,” Höss said. “Day and night, awake and asleep, I am surrounded by it. I am drenched and steeped and congested with that stench.”
“It must have seeped into your soul,” Ruth said. “Burning flesh can do that.”
“This is why you do not eat meat, yes?” said Höss.
“Meat being grilled or fried or seared reminds me of burning flesh,”
Ruth said. How could she be reminded of something she’d never seen, never witnessed, never smelled? she thought.
“It is not necessary to have experienced something directly in order for it to be part of your memory,” Höss said. It was easy for him to give her a flip answer.
“What do you know?” she said.
“If I knew so little you would not bother with me,” Höss said.
“You think it’s my choice?” Ruth said.
“I know it is your choice,” said Höss. He made a blowing noise. “The smell is very strong today,” he said.
“Why are you bothered by the smell of burning flesh?” Ruth said. “It should remind you of happier times.”
“It is not so strong, the smell, where you are,” Höss said. “If I could come closer, you would be overwhelmed. Sick to your stomach.”
“You’re absolutely right,” Ruth said. “If you could come any closer, I would be sick to my stomach. So you can’t come any closer?” Ruth said.
“That’s interesting. I’m glad there’s a limit imposed on how close you can
get. I’m glad the distance isn’t arbitrary.”
“Nobody from Zweites Himmel’s Lager is able to come closer than this,” Höss said.
“Thank God,” Ruth said. Höss breathed out in exasperation. “Why do you insist on thanking God?” he said.
“I have to thank somebody for the fact that you can’t close the gap between us,” Ruth said. Ruth was startled by what she had just said. How could she even imagine that the gap between her and Höss was so small it could be closed? The thought shocked her. She and Höss were miles apart.
Physically, morally, temperamentally. She had to stop speaking as though
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they were close. The thought of being close to Höss made her feel sick.
Clogged and blocked. As though Höss had invaded her. She wished she could go for a walk. Get some fresh air.
She opened her mouth. A loud burp came out. And then a fart. A large fart. She felt better, but embarrassed. The passenger in the seat closest to her had looked up. He looked surprised. “Excuse me,” Ruth said to him.
He nodded. She felt uncomfortable. Uncouth. People traveling in first class rarely burped or farted. She looked at Edek. He was sound asleep. She hoped her fart didn’t smell.
“You can’t smell anything in Auschwitz now,” she said to Höss. “That stench of bodies burning that spread for miles has all gone.” Höss didn’t say anything. Ruth could feel Höss’s reluctance to discuss her visit to his old stamping ground. His former place of employment. His former home.
“I thought you would be interested in my trip,” she said. There was silence.
“Is this not something that you want to discuss?” she said. Höss remained silent.
“There is no sign near the gallows, where you were hanged,” Ruth said.
“I thought there might be a plaque that said: ‘Rudolf Franz Ferdinand Höss, commandant of Auschwitz, was hanged here.’ But there wasn’t.”
Ruth thought she heard the sound of someone gagging. “The gallows were quite close to the kitchens, weren’t they?” she said.
A choking noise came from Höss. It had a liquid sound. Like a gurgle or ripple.
“Is this painful for you?” Ruth said.
Höss swallowed. “It is not an easy memory,” he said.
“The hanging?” she said. Höss started coughing.
“Yes, yes, yes,” he said, through a series of coughs.
“You have a sore throat?” Ruth said.
“I am fine,” Höss said, and coughed again.
“Something else that surprised me, in Auschwitz, was the sign, ARBEIT
MACHT FREI, ” Ruth said. “The sign was small. In photographs it always looks so big. I think the sign should have been bigger,” Ruth said. “It was out of scale with its intentions.”
“The intention was to appear harmless,” Höss said, “and in this regard the size was appropriate.”
“I guess so,” said Ruth.
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“Auschwitz today is not what it once was,” Höss said. His voice had a renewed buoyancy. Almost as though he was amused at what Auschwitz had become.
“It’s almost a circus today,” Ruth said. “There’s a cafeteria, tourist buses, Polish schoolchildren thrilled to be getting a day off school. They should have built a separate museum and left Auschwitz as it was. Like Birkenau. The tourists who go there are kept busy reading the literature around the exhibits. They go from one room to another reading. The reading takes the place of feeling. They can’t feel the place.”
“And they are warm,” Höss shouted. “They have put in heating.” He roared with laughter. Ruth lifted her heel. Höss stopped laughing. What was she doing talking to Höss? Part of her couldn’t believe she was talking to Rudolf Höss again. She couldn’t believe she had encountered him on a plane. On a Polski Airways flight between Kraków and Lódz.
She wanted to ask Höss where he had been since she had last heard from him. But she was reluctant to appear curious about his patterns and habits. She assumed that he could move around the world.
“I went to Baden-Baden for a few days,” Höss said. So he did know what she was thinking.
“To your birthplace,” she said. “You’ve probably still got relatives there.”
“Possibly,” said Höss.
“Did any of your children settle there?” Ruth said.
“I will not discuss my children,” Höss said.
“I think they must have changed their names,” Ruth said. “Whether they were in Baden-Baden or another part of Germany.”
“Please leave my children out of this,” Höss said, his voice rising.
“So you went to Baden-Baden for old times’ sake?” she said to Höss.
“Yes,” Höss said. “My movements are restricted compared to the residents of Himmel,” Höss said. “But compared to you, I can move anywhere.
You are restricted.”
“It’s a restriction I can live with,” Ruth said. Höss shrieked.
“This is a pun, is it not?” he shouted. “You are restricted because you live, still.” He roared with laughter. Ruth put her hands over her ears. It didn’t dim the laughter.
“I really have got you hooked on language, haven’t I?” she said to Höss.
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“Yes, yes,” he squealed.
“It’s better than being hooked on many other things,” Ruth said. “It’s better than being hooked up to the gallows.”
Höss’s squeal stiffened. It turned into a different squeal altogether. It became a shrill, pointed squeal. The squeal of a rodent. You could feel the long thin tail and sharp, whiskered nose of something verminous behind that squeal. The squeal gave Ruth goose bumps. She rubbed her arms.
“You are not comfortable?” Höss said. She detected a pleasure in his voice at her discomfort.
“How do you get to the different places?” Ruth said.
“You merely will yourself to be there,” he said.
“Really?” said Ruth.
“I can go almost anywhere I wish,” Höss said. “With the exception of Himmel. Of course. For example, I traveled to Lódz to be with you.”
“To be with me?” Ruth said. “You meant to meet with me. Not to be with me. I may meet you, but you are never with me. Do you understand that?” She raised the heel of her foot.
“I understand,” Höss said. “My purpose on that particular journey was to meet with you. After all, who in his right mind would go to Lódz for no particular reason?” Höss emitted a conspiratorial guffaw. It made Ruth feel queasy. A shared view of Lódz didn’t make her and Höss bosom buddies.
Why had she used the word “bosom”? Bosom conjured up images of Zofia.
She and Zofia certainly weren’t bosom buddies either.
Why was she thinking about Zofia? She was sure they wouldn’t see Zofia again. Why was she so hostile to Zofia? she thought. What did she have against her? That she was Polish? If that was the reason, it was extremely unfair of her. Was she annoyed at Zofia for leaping into bed with her father? Leaping? Why use the word “leap”? It was so judgmental. And how did she know who was doing the leaping? It could have been Edek.
Although, she decided, it was more likely to be Zofia.
She had to cut these thoughts about leaps. Too many visions of Edek and Zofia in various stages of leap were creeping into her head. It didn’t matter who initiated the leap. It was not something that she should hold against Zofia. Young people leaped into bed with strangers all the time.
Young people had one-night stands. Why shouldn’t Edek and Zofia have a T O O M A N Y M E N
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one-night stand? She felt ashamed of her hostility toward Zofia. It was definitely out of line.
“I am on a journey at the moment,” Höss said, interrupting her thoughts. Ruth was annoyed. She would much rather be thinking about Zofia than Höss.
“This is a journey with a higher end in mind,” Höss said.
“A good cause.”
“What do you mean?” she said.
“I think you know,” Höss said.
“I have no idea what you are talking about,” Ruth said.
A stewardess came by with a basket of oranges. She gave Ruth an orange. The stewardess looked at Edek. “I’ll take an orange for my father, for when he wakes up,” Ruth said. The orange came nestled in a napkin.
Why were they passing out oranges? Fifteen years ago when she had flown with Polski, they had passed out oranges. She had assumed the food shortage, then, had contributed to the small scale of the snack. An orange was an absurd thing to serve on a plane. It was impossible to peel an orange or prize apart the segments without a mess, when you were sitting in an airplane seat. And this was first class. An orange must be the standard refresh-ment served on this flight, she decided. Unless the caviar and the petit fours were coming later.
“Why do you not eat your orange?” Höss said.
“Because I can’t peel it without making a mess,” she said.
“You should eat it,” he said. Ruth was astonished. Now, Höss and her father were ordering her to eat. “You like fruit,” Höss said. “I noticed that you prepared bananas and pears for yourself for your trip to Auschwitz.”
So, he could see her even when she couldn’t detect his presence.
“I am everywhere,” Höss said.
“That’s what I feared,” Ruth said.
“I was in Auschwitz myself, the day you and your father were there,”
Höss said.
“I’m sure you were,” she said. “Did it make you homesick?”
“I do think about my time there much of the time,” Höss said.
“Good,” Ruth said.
“I was reluctant to leave Auschwitz,” Höss said. “Reluctant to leave my job as camp commandant. But in November 1943, I was offered a promo-
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tion. The move did not appeal to me. I had become totally absorbed with Auschwitz because of the very difficult complications of the job. But one cannot refuse a promotion. So I accepted the job of head of Department D1 in the Economic Administration Head Office.”