On Friday, Julia visits Adolf again for the last payment. When she returns, Suzanne is holding another deportation notice. This one is for the transport leaving on the coming Monday, the 9th.
‘I just have the last chapter to do,’ Suzanne says, wearily.
Equally wearily, Julia returns to Adolf’s quarters. She is angry but now her anger feels crushed under something else. It is as though a great weight has settled on it, taking all the life out of it so that what remains behind is little more than a husk of anger. Julia has never felt like this before.
‘You told me she would be exempt,’ she says.
‘I got her exempted from today’s transport. There’s no such thing as a permanent exemption.’
‘So what can I do?’ Julia asks.
‘Haven’t you wondered why you have haven’t been getting these notices, Dutch girl?’
The thought had flickered from time to time on the edge of Julia’s consciousness but now the realisation flares into life.
‘Yes, that’s right. I’ve been keeping you exempt.’
‘So that you could fuck me?’ blurts out Julia.
‘Does it matter what the reason was?’
‘Please, Adolf,’ – Julia has deliberately never said his name before – ‘can’t you exempt her instead of me? Please?’
He shakes his head.
‘It’s too late for that.’ His voice has suddenly become soft, quiet. ‘You’ll be lucky if I can manage to stop you from getting a summons.’
‘I’ll give you ... I’ll do ... anything.’
‘I’m sorry, Dutch girl,’ he says in a desperate voice. ‘It’s out of my hands now.’
Then he reaches into his pocket and takes out a crumpled, flimsy yellow piece of paper.
‘I got mine today.’
Chapter Forty-one
The End (Suzanne)
The bull Roman and the other man lifted a cross and it thudded into its hole.
‘Yes, that’s deep enough,’ said the bull Roman.
They lifted the cross out again and laid it on the ground.
Overhead, the open sky was blue and clear. The autumn air was warm and scented of woodland. Somewhere amongst the trees, birds were singing.
Sevi, still with her back to Birkita was crying and through the tears, made some incomprehensible sound that could have been her saying her mother’s name.
The bull Roman turned towards the three figures on the ground.
‘Now,’ he said brightly. ‘Who’s first?’
And then, after a few moment’s thought, ‘You, I think.’
Sevi screamed as the two men came towards her. She called her mother’s name over and over again. Galena began to scream too, a sound that quickly became an unearthly wailing, sobbing. It was like no sound Birkita had ever heard before.
The bull Roman picked Sevi up as though she were a doll and carried her to where the crosses were. Birkita strained, lifting her head to see what was happening. She tried to force her hands apart, to snap the rope that held them together but it was impossible – she already knew that.
The bull Roman took out a knife and cut the rope that bound Sevi’s wrists. Then, with him taking one of her arms and his partner, the other, they pushed her down onto the cross. Sevi struggled and screamed and shrieked for her mother. Galena kept on calling Sevi’s name over and over again.
The two men pinioned Sevi to the cross. The bull Roman placed his knee on her forearm and Birkita saw him reach for something. Then she saw a large iron nail in his left hand. He lowered it onto Sevi’s wrist and raised his right arm. It held a square, heavy hammer.
But then he paused. He put the hammer down again, stood up and said to the other man, ‘Hold her’.
The bull Roman walked over to where Birkita and Galena lay. ‘We need a proper audience for this,’ he said.
He straddled Galena and pulled her up into a sitting position, facing her towards where Sevi lay on the cross. He then came to Birkita to do the same. Just as he planted his feet either side of her, Birkita saw a tiny chance. She pivoted at her hips, brought her legs up and smashed her feet as hard as she could into the underside of the bull Roman’s balls. He shouted in pain and stumbled. Clumsily, Birkita got to her feet. The bull Roman hadn’t fallen but he was winded. She could see that as he turned to face her. He clutched his groin, his face was red, his eyes were watering, he groaned.
‘Fucking bitch,’ he said.
With a strength she didn’t think she possessed, with a savagery born of all the humiliations and brutality that she and those she loved had endured at his hands, with a terrible scream, Birkita stepped forward and delivered a second kick to his groin. This one brought him down.
Even as it did, on her peripheral vision, Birkita saw the bull Roman’s partner stand up. He drew a sword and ran towards her.
But then Galena stood up.
Intent on Birkita, it was like the partner didn’t see Galena at all. As he went to run by her, she extended a foot and tripped him. He stumbled, looked like he might actually fall, tried to regain his balance. As he did so, Birkita ran at him from the side that didn’t hold the sword. He looked up, surprised as she closed the gap in a few strides. Then she headbutted him savagely. The man dropped the sword, his hands going to his face.
‘Sevi!’ screamed Birkita. ‘Get the hammer.’
By now the bull Roman was back on his feet. He was panting and his red face was crimson with pain and rage. Birkita lowered her head and charged him like a bull, screaming as she did so. The sound she made was a war cry, a sound she had forgotten, a cry she had learned long before any of this had happened. He fell backwards wrapping his hands around her so that she fell with him into the dust. He gripped her tightly as though they were lovers.
‘I should have hung you on a cross that day too,’ he grunted.
But now Birkita no longer felt entirely human. Like an animal she put her mouth on his cheek just under his eye. She found skin and sank her teeth into it until she tasted blood. The bull Roman bellowed and his grip slackened. Birkita headbutted him again and this time, heard his nose crack. His arms released her and she got shakily to her feet. Her heart was pounding. She was panting as though her lungs would burst. She looked over to where the bull Roman’s partner was. What she saw astonished her.
The partner had picked up the sword again and had been coming for Galena. But Sevi had jumped on his back and Birkita was just in time to see Sevi’s hand bring the hammer down onto the partner’s head. Once. Twice. Three times. Birkita heard his skull break. He collapsed and Birkita knew he was dead.
Sevi jumped down and grabbed the sword. She turned towards her mother. ‘No,’ Galena said. ‘Birkita. Do Birkita’s.’
Sevi did as she was told. She came to Birkita and sawed through the rope that bound her hands. Birkita felt the blade cut her skin somewhere but it didn’t matter. Her hands were free. She grabbed the sword from Sevi.
The bull Roman was on his feet. His face was a mask of blood from the broken nose and the wound gouged in his cheek. He took a step towards her but stopped when he saw the sword. He hesitated. She saw fear in his eyes, something she had never seen before. Then he turned and began to run, his shaky stride becoming firmer after a couple of paces.
He would never have outrun her – even unwounded.
His heavy body and fat legs would not have taken him far. He was built for strength, not for speed. And now Birkita seemed to have the strength and speed of two people.
She allowed him to run ahead of her. His panting quickly became a series of frenzied gasps. He speeded up. She did too, staying about ten paces behind him. He was unable to maintain that pace and he slackened. She slowed too keeping the same distance. It was easy running.
‘How does it feel, Roman?’ she called. ‘Knowing that you’re going to die?’
He tried to speed up again but now, whatever rhythm he had had was starting to falter. Birkita maintained the gap between them.
‘And you�
�re hoping it’ll be a fast death, aren’t you? A quick thrust of the sword. Over in a heartbeat.’
His run had now just become a scurry, his breathing loud and fast and terror stricken.
‘But that’s not what I have in mind for you. Your last days on earth are going to be the longest ones of your life.’
The Roman stumbled and fell. Birkita stopped, waiting for him to rise again. He did and began to run, though now it was little more than slow jogging. He fell again and got up once more. He walked a few more steps, head bowed, his breathing sounding like crying. Finally, he fell again and this time he didn’t get up. Instead he rolled onto his back and looked up at her. His face was a mask of terror.
Galena and Sevi caught up with Birkita and Sevi was sent to bring men from the village. While they waited for everyone to arrive, Galena tied up the bull Roman while Birkita held the sword to his throat. When he tried to push himself onto the sword she knocked him unconscious with several blows of the flat of the blade.
Not just the men but the whole village came.
The bull Roman’s ankles were tied to a horse and he was dragged back to the clearing where the crosses were. By then he was whimpering and pleading for his life in the Roman tongue. Birkita was asked if she wanted to drive in the nails but she was happy to let one of the men do it. The Roman screamed and screamed and screamed until long after the cross had been hoisted.
Birkita was right. It took him the rest of that day, all of the next day and some of the one after to die. Sevi went back to the village with some of the women but Birkita and Galena stayed there. They made no effort to break his legs or do anything to speed him on his way.
When it was done, Galena said, ‘So now what?’
‘Now?’ said Birkita. ‘Now, we go home.’
53
Suzanne has been writing furiously but now suddenly, she stops, puts the pen down and looks at the page. Julia watches her. After a good fifteen or twenty seconds, Suzanne hands the notebook to Julia. With an upwards nod of her head, Suzanne says, ‘Here – you write the last two words.’
They sit, side by side, on Julia’s bunk. It is Saturday night. The train is on Monday.
Julia takes the book, looks at it and is mystified for a moment. Then she understands. Suzanne is offering the pencil to her. She takes it and writes, ‘THE END’ in capital letters. Then she draws a short line underneath it.
For a while neither of them speaks. Julia feels overwhelmed. Birkita’s journey is over. The journey that began in that railway car as they left Westerbork is done.
‘I can’t believe it,’ says Julia eventually.
‘It always seems impossible until it’s done,’ says Suzanne.
‘What are we going to call it?’ asks Julia. ‘We don’t have a title.’
‘You’re right,’ says Suzanne. ‘We don’t. We never have.’
‘Pompeii?’ suggests Julia.
‘It’ll do for now – until we find a better one. A working title. Anyway – that was kind of always the working title, wasn’t it?’
Julia agrees. She takes out the first notebook, the one with the black cover, which was hidden under the blankets and hands it to Suzanne along with the pencil.
‘You write it.’
Suzanne does so, writing on the marbling of the inside front cover, ‘POMPEII’.
‘Now what?’ asks Julia, deliberately echoing Birkita’s last words in the story.
‘Now we have to hide it. Then, when this is all over, we’ll come back for it.’
They put the two notebooks together and wrap them carefully in the oilcloth. Then they snap the rubber bands around the oilcloth to hold it in place. They take it to the washroom and hide it behind the tile. Because Suzanne is taller than Julia, she has a slightly longer arm. Lying on the filthy washroom floor, she pushes the package in as far as she can, until she is all the way up to her shoulder.
‘I hope it will be safe,’ says Julia.
‘It will,’ pronounces Suzanne.
Julia thinks that it will be as safe there as any place that either of them is likely to end up.
That night, lying in bed together, they both still can’t believe that it’s over.
‘Do you think the war will end now?’ whispers Julia.
‘It has to. Very soon, I’d say. You saw those planes the other day.’
And indeed the whole ghetto has seen aircraft like tiny silver birds high up in the sky. It has happened on several days now.
The two girls hold each other. Suzanne initiates lovemaking and Julia is astonished that her lover can feel like doing it. But Julia has seen it before – how Suzanne seems to be able to block out any thought of the future and just focus on now.
Since Julia cannot get Suzanne off the deportation list, she has decided to go with her. She tells Suzanne of her decision first thing on Sunday morning. Julia has also worked out how to do it.
Those being deported are always required to report to the Hamburg Barracks. Here is the so-called ‘sluice’ – the room through which people are processed onto the train. When people are being deported it is forbidden for their loved ones to accompany them to the sluice. It is also very dangerous – for the loved ones. There have been occasions when loved ones, who weren’t on the deportation list, were shoved onto the train and the doors closed.
Julia plans to use this to get onto the train. So both she and Suzanne spend Sunday packing. The book is finished. They just managed to finish it in time. It is as Suzanne said when they lay in each other’s arms the previous night after making love: ‘The gods have been watching over us.’
And it seems like they have. Now, as they leave the ghetto, they will be together.
A desperate atmosphere hangs over the rest of their floor where other people too are packing. There is a silence the like of which Julia has never been conscious of before. There seem to be no words to describe it. In the time she has known Suzanne, Julia has become very conscious of words – just the right word. Maybe, icy or deathlike are the words here. But maybe there are actually no words. Occasionally the silence is broken by sobbing or wailing.
Suzanne keeps talking about after the war. They will come back, find the book and then get a publisher. It will sell millions and with the money, they’ll buy the place that was originally in Julia’s dream and of which they’ve now created such a clear picture. There, they will write more books.
‘I’d really like to write The Murders at the Grand Hotel,’ says Suzanne.
They discuss whether they’ll use their own names or pen names. Should they just pretend to be one author? Could they combine their names into one? Julia Snel and Suzanne Helman. They decide that Julius Snelman has a ring to it – in a ridiculous sort of way. In the end, they are laughing and people look strangely at them as though they’ve lost their minds.
On Monday, they get up early, wash and dress in their warmest clothes. They finish the last details of their packing including whatever food they’ve managed to hold on to. They step out into the street just as it is getting bright. They’ve decided there’s no point in waiting around. Better to get there. Anyway, they might find a better spot in the freight car – against a wall.
Even though it is early, there is already a steady stream of stooped, shabby people, heading in the one direction. They join a long line of people and begin to move forward slowly. They put their cases on the ground and nudge them forwards with their feet.
At the entrance to the courtyard of the Hamburg Barracks, Suzanne shows her deportation notice to an SS man in a heavy coat with a rifle on his shoulder. He waves her past. Julia goes next. She has been rehearsing what she would say in her head. In her school German, she explains that she has just come to see her friend off. The SS man is probably no older than Julia. His face is pink from where he’s shaved earlier.
‘That’s not allowed,’ he says. ‘Get out. Next.’
His tone isn’t unkind – just bored. He probably says this a hundred times a day when there’s a
deportation.
‘I want to go with her,’ Julia blurts out.
Suzanne stands just on the far side of the SS man under the arch of the courtyard entrance. Her face is anxious.
Now, the SS man seems to come alive.
‘You’re better off here, pretty lady,’ he says. ‘Don’t you see that?’
‘But I want to –’
‘Believe me,’ he says.
Gently, he pushes her out of the line.
‘Next,’ he says, his tone as before.
Julia half shrugs and looks at Suzanne helplessly.
Suzanne calls, ‘Look after yourself. And I’ll see you when it’s all over.’
Another SS man begins to push Suzanne into the courtyard.
‘I love you,’ Suzanne mouths.
And then she turns and is gone, her blonde hair swallowed up in moments in the brown and grey crowd of people.
54
Towards the end of October, Julia receives her deportation notice. On October 28th, she makes the journey to the Hamburg Barracks a second time. She is processed through the sluice and boards the train.
The cattle cars are filled and the doors slid shut. The locomotive whistle shrills and there is a hiss of steam. Couplings clank, the wagons shudder and the train begins to move. At first it is travelling at no more than walking pace. But then it picks up speed – somebody would have to run to stay with it now. And soon it is going too fast for anyone to keep up with it at all.
By then it has passed out of the Paradise Ghetto.
55
The Paradise Ghetto was a Potemkin village – a construction built solely to deceive others into thinking that some situation was better than it really was.
But what if our story too was a Potemkin village?
An eraser removes words and a hand brushes the specks of black residue away leaving only tiny indentations in the weave of the paper. A fountain pen draws a line through a phrase. A back button obliterates a sentence. Words are deleted, phrases peeled back, whole sentences are torn up like a partisan attack on a railway track. A ball of paper rolls like tumbleweed down the main street of an empty shtetl. Pages are lifted, like the paving slabs that were taken up in the square in Theresienstadt so that it could be seeded with grass, and these pages fly away in the wind, across the vast plain of Eastern Europe – devoid now of its Jews. Handfuls of pages flop wearily into the bin, leaning against its inside as though exhausted from everything that has happened or drunk, as the Nazi Einsatzgruppen executioners often were.
The Paradise Ghetto Page 34