I stepped into the hallway and found a door on either side, right side nearest. I paused there, looked inside, and found I was looking at a sleeping room that contained maybe twenty sets of bunk beds—all vacant. So I continued on down to the next door, left.
Slowly I moved my face inside the second door and found a room with a single bed. It was a twin. Along its length was stretched an SS uniform straight out of World War II. I would have known that suit of clothes anywhere. The insignia indicated the rank of lieutenant or Hauptsturmführer. The suit of clothes belonged to Heiss. In my mind there was no doubt.
The room had a closet. It was a closet cluttered with empty hangers and two coats on peg hangers. A pair of shiny black jackboots stood at extreme attention on the floor, obviously awaiting the wearer of the SS uniform. My mind raced. Could Heiss have somehow smuggled a complete uniform out of Poland during the War? Or was this suit of clothes an after-purchase, or maybe war surplus, though I doubted the latter. Whatever it was, I wanted him wearing those clothes when I shot him. That much I instantly grasped about my warrior psyche. He must be wearing the suit of clothes, the hated and loathed and despised and fearsome—yes, fearsome—uniform of the SS officer. I would have it no other way.
So a plan formed in my mind. I walked back into the living area and Rajski strolled up to the table and began moving things around. I asked him not to do that; we didn't dare risk have anyone discover things had been moved—not with the plan I had in mind.
We searched every corner of the room, of the kitchen, of the bedrooms. In the kitchen was a broom closet. When I pulled open the door I was greeted with the burnished black barrel of a well-oiled over-and-under shotgun. I picked it up and cracked the breech. Twelve gauge. Loaded. Two rounds. One for each of the henchmen.
Rajski was given the shotgun and we went over it, making certain he understood how it operated. There was a slide safety, something I had learned about at Gunsite, and we toyed with it until we were certain which position was OFF and which was ON. I made Rajski close his eyes and memorize the slide positions. He would need to be able to slide the safety to OFF and point and shoot in the dark. That was the plan, Stage 1: Rajski would be hiding in the community sleeping room's large closet. With the shotgun. During the night, when he was certain both men were asleep, he would creep out and shoot them. Simple, straightforward, nothing could go wrong. As soon as the blasts had sent Heiss through the ceiling with alarm, I would step out of his closet, point my gun at him, and announce he'd been taken prisoner.
Then it would begin with Heiss at Stage 2. I didn't share the details of this part of the plan with Rajski; with his acute sense of timing and desire for a quick getaway, he might have objected. For myself, I would linger with Heiss. We had much unfinished business between us.
Rajski took up his position in the dorm room closet. We made certain he was securely hidden inside behind a roll of upended carpet cinched around the middle. His shotgun was held muzzle up, resting on the floor beside him. The hinged door was left ajar so there would be no noise when he came into the room during the night. I left him there alone, free to begin the war with the neo-Nazis once he was certain they were asleep.
I then entered Heiss’s private bedroom. Making sure I disturbed nothing, I examined everything there. Beside his bed stood a nightstand with a lamp upon—of all things—a crocheted doily, and a King James Version of the Holy Bible beside it. Ever so carefully, I pulled on the red place marker inside the book. It opened to Revelation 2:9—"I know thy works, and tribulation, and poverty, but thou art rich and I know the blasphemy of them which say they are Jews, and are not, but are the synagogue of Satan."
"Apparently, this one has his theology confused," I whispered, closing the book. I made sure to replace it in the same exact position as Heiss had left it.
There was a small drawer in the table. I opened it and found it to be all but filled with a German Luger pistol snuggled inside its black leather holster. Ever so carefully I freed the gun from the holster and pressed the magazine release. One after another I removed the bullets from the magazine and placed them in my bluejeans pocket. I worked the slide and ejected the round from the chamber. It went into my pocket, as well. Then I replaced the magazine in the handle of the weapon. Whoever tried to fire it would find, to his great disappointment, it was unloaded. “A nice touch,” I thought, and smiled at my handiwork.
Then I opened the empty closet and moved the hangers to the other end of the rod, away from me. Should Heiss come inside the closet before the shooting began, I would be found out and the fight would be on. I dreaded that, and made every effort to flatten myself against the interior forward wall of the closet so as to be hidden by the shadows as much as possible. I ejected the magazine on my pistol, checked its load, and snapped it back. Then I worked the slide to charge it. Now to wait.
We had both made sure we urinated before hiding ourselves away. No sense in being any more uncomfortable than the situation itself demanded.
It was just after noon by the time we were situated in our hiding spots. We would have a good twelve hours to wait, maybe longer. I drew a deep breath, closed my eyes, and began counting the sheep of my dreams: all those faces I remember of Jews being murdered by this man, Heiss. The frightened looks on the faces of the innocent the instant before his bullets found their mark. Yes, I counted through each of them, not to pass the time, but to reassure each of them God's own avenging angel had entered the building. Soon they would be stilled, they would be comforted.
Soon their very spirits would know peace.
As would my own.
Chapter Thirty-One
LODZI STORY 9
It was dark when the trio of men returned from the forest. I, Lodzi, of course, had no idea what they had been up to while away. I hadn't moved from the closet where I had learned how many times per minute my heart would beat while at rest.
According to my wristwatch, it was 7:11 p.m. when Heiss came into the bedroom. Several seconds of rustling cloth could be heard. Then the closet door was pulled fully open and an arm reached inside and removed the hanger from the bar. It then disappeared. Again, more rustling, and a patting sound, as I imagined Heiss patting the front of his uniform with one hand while holding the hangar with another. Sure enough, within moments the uniform was hung in the closet. The arm and hand again disappeared. Then I heard the bed springs squeak as Heiss evidently sat upon the bed, swung his legs up, and leaned back against the headboard when I heard it clap hard against the wall. Then it was quiet for several seconds.
I heard Heiss mutter something in German, something guttural, something I did not understand. I understood very little German when I first went to Treblinka, and during the year I was there, what I learned was mostly commands to follow and curse words repeatedly leveled at my fellows and me. But what Heiss was saying now was none of that. Which was when I realized he wasn't talking to himself, he was reading from his Bible aloud. In German. I was dumbstruck.
No matter how hard I tried or from what angle I approached it, it was impossible for me to understand how Heiss could reconcile his participation in the greatest mass murder in the history of mankind with anything he read in his Bible.
Given this insight, and this new information about Heiss and his Bible, I for the first time realized the man was truly hallucinatory. That, or he was so insane with hatred the plain meaning of books was simply lost on him. Heiss' first layer—the onionskin—was in this manner peeled away before me as I stood inside his closet, inside his bedroom, inside his crazy place.
For a moment, the old terror returned. If I were discovered and captured, the last thing I could expect from these people was reason. I would be brutalized, tortured, maimed, and slowly murdered in the most iniquitous manner they could devise.
My breath caught in my throat as I involuntarily tried to stop breathing so I wouldn't be heard. With no small effort, I forced myself to resume breathing, albeit as quietly as humanly possible.
Once
again the bed springs cried out as Heiss stood. I heard the small drawer in his bedside stand open and close. He then belched, passed gas, and left the room. There was no doubt in my mind. I loathed this man's physical embodiment and I loathed this man's character and thought. As he left the room, he closed the door behind him, and I could hear him call down the hallway to his fellow Nazis. Laughter erupted from the main room at which point there was no further continuity for me, as I could not listen in and tell what they were doing through the several walls separating us.
It must've been four or five hours later. I had stopped checking my wristwatch shortly before nightfall. Now I was simply estimating, and I guessed it was around 11 p.m. when Heiss returned to his room. I could hear clothing being removed, bedcovers turned back, and of course I was aware when the lamp on the bedside stand was extinguished. I listened and made his breathing my own to lessen the chance of him hearing me because of a different rhythm.
Within five minutes he was snoring. I relaxed my own breathing and slumped back against the closet wall. My knees were crying out to be flexed and my lower back was threatening to dissipate into spasm. It was all I could do to continue standing without moving, knowing Heiss' death was three steps and a trigger away. The only thing separating us now was Stage 1.
For the next hour I stood there, my body screaming to move, and waited for the double blast from the shotgun which would launch me. Just about the time I had decided Rajski had fallen asleep, the first shotgun blast erupted. The very walls of the building resonated with the tremendous blast from the gun. As I stepped to the door of Heiss' closet I expected to hear the second blast any second, but it did not come.
Heiss had the drawer open and the Luger in his hand at the same instant I stepped through his closet door and spoke to him.
My voice surprised me, for it was extremely calm and steady.
"Do not move!" I commanded.
Heiss, of course, ignored me. He pointed the pistol directly at me and I heard the snap of the trigger as the firing pin was released. With no blast, Heiss emitted a sigh, a long slough of a sound. "Oh," it said, as reality resolved. His gun was unloaded, and now he knew it. It was a setup and now he knew too.
"You would never stop killing Jews, that much I know about you for sure," I said. "But trust me, brother, you have killed your last one. Do not move."
Just then, I heard a cry from the bunkroom, followed by another shotgun blast. Then I heard Rajski scream out, "Die, you son of a bitch!" A minute later, Rajski joined me in Heiss' bedroom. He hit the wall switch, turning on the overhead light. "Oh my," he said with a flourish. "Another pig caught in our trap. What do you have to say for yourself, Piggy?"
"Take his gun," I told Rajski.
Rajski kept the muzzle of his weapon pointed at Heiss. He reached forward and took the captive's gun with his free hand. "You might like to know, Captain, I found the box of shells in the closet. I have reloaded, and both of my shells are stamped with your name. Move, I beg you, so I am the one elected to end your miserable, failed existence."
Heiss stood there, blinking in the light, trying to understand what had just happened to him. He was wearing long underwear bottoms and a T-shirt that bore—I swear it—a small swastika in black inside a red circle.
Now it was my turn.
“Captain Heiss, please retrieve your uniform from the closet. Put it on."
Heiss' mouth worked, opening and closing, three times, and then his eyes lost their light. It was then he understood.
"I know you."
"Yes, you do," I said.
"You are a dentist."
"Yes I was. And you were a bastard, for want of a more descriptive term. Now put the uniform on."
Heiss paled. "You going to kill me, aren't you?"
"Not yet. I haven't decided yet. Now the uniform, please."
Rajski suddenly lost it and stuck the muzzle of the shotgun against Heiss' forehead.
"That’s twice he's told you to put on the uniform," Rajski said. "I'm going to count to twenty, and when I say nineteen you best be standing before me in your uniform including those pretty black boots I see in your closet."
Heiss immediately turned away to the closet and slipped the trousers from the hangar. I thought I saw his hands shaking as he pulled the trousers on and adjusted the suspenders over his shoulders. He buttoned the buttons and squared his shoulders. Then he lifted the tunic from the hangar and slipped it on. Before he buttoned up, he seized the jackboots, sat on the edge of the bed, and pulled them on without socks. He then stood up, buttoning the tunic, and turned to face Rajski.
"That was sixteen,” said Rajski. "This shotgun leaves a very disagreeable corpse, as you will find in the bunk room. So you are lucky I didn't make it to twenty. At least you are lucky this time. Maybe next time you won't be so lucky."
I resumed my plan.
“Captain, in the bunk room you will find two bodies. Is there a ladder?"
Heiss looked puzzled. "A ladder? I am getting on the roof?"
"Answer the question, please, is there a ladder?"
"Outback there is a ladder. We use it for the walnuts."
I said, "very well. You go fetch that ladder and bring it up to the back door."
Just then, a flash of understanding passed over his face.
"You want me to put the bodies on the ladder?"
"You have read my mind. Congratulations. Now move!"
Without hesitation, Heiss led the way into the bunkroom. There he found his comrades sprawled across their beds where Rajski had blasted them. The clean-shaven one, wearing jockey shorts and a black T-shirt, was stretched lengthwise on his bed. Clearly, he had been shot first. The one with the mustache was sprawled across his bed, as he had been coming to a standing position when the blast ripped away the left side of his chest.
I clasped Rajski across the back. "Well done, friend."
Rajski shoved Heiss between the beds. "Take your swine to the back door, immediately," he commanded Heiss. Clearly Rajski had picked up on what I had in mind and his calm tone said it all: he was going to thoroughly enjoy this.
"My uniform—"
"Nonsense," I said. "Your uniform will be much dirtier by the time we finish with you. Now move these men!"
Heiss seized the taller man by the ankles and yanked him down off the bed. He had been shot in the center of his chest and as Heiss dragged him from the room, he left a skid of red blood the first ten feet, which disappeared over the next ten feet. At the end of the hallway, Heiss shifted his position so he had the man's ankles in his armpits with his back to him. With a lunge forward, he reclaimed his momentum, and dragged the man through the kitchen to the back door.
"I get the ladder now?"
“Yes, you do."
I switched on the back porch light and two floodlights from either corner of the back lot flared in the dark. We were able to watch his every move as Heiss retrieved the ladder where it laid against the back of the house. He dragged the ladder to the back door and stopped.
"Now the bodies?"
"Now you're a mind reader."
With the discontented groan, Heiss dragged his subordinate parallel to the ladder and then rolled him onto its length. The man was now face down, his arms fully extended.
I said, "Now, fetch the other contestant."
Rajski accompanied Heiss back to the bunkroom while I stepped outside and pissed on the body. It was a great relief, in several ways, for it had been twelve hours and it had been thirty-some years. It was time to let it all go. I had just zipped up my blue jeans, when Heiss dragged body number two through the open door.
"They won't both fit on the ladder at the same time," Heiss allowed.
Rajski and I traded a look. This was just going to get better.
"Nonsense, Captain,” I said. "At Treblinka I sometimes managed four bodies at once on a single ladder. Surely two is within your power. A superior member of the superior race should find this to be no challenge at all."
Heiss shook his head. But there was no argument. He rolled the second man on top of the first to where they were now lying back to back.
"Happy now?" Heiss said.
"Let's just say you are moving down the heavenly path," I said. "Surely you remember the heavenly path?" I was referring to the gravel path along which the Nazis had herded one million Jews at Treblinka, on their way to the showers. A hand-lettered sign had been placed along the path that said, in German, "Himmelfahrtstrasse" or "Heavenly Path." Heiss instantly understood my reference. The sad look on his face said he understood not only my reference but also my intentions.
Chapter Thirty-Two
LODZI STORY 10
Where are we going with them?" Heiss said, indicating the bodies of his two Nazi friends, prone upon the camp ladder.
"To the woods, Heiss, to the woods," I told him. "But first you must bring the shovel. Where is the shovel, Heiss?"
At the back door and ten paces to the left stood a small shed. Heiss went to it, twisted the numbers into the padlock, and pulled the lock from the hasp. In the bright back yard we could see a shovel and several other tools, including several axes and long saws. I didn't bother to ask what they kept all that equipment for: I really didn't want to even know.
Heiss selected a long-handled shovel and brought it over, a quizzical look on his face.
"You already know," I told him, and nodded at the two corpses.
Heiss laid the shovel atop the second body.
Now, we were ready and Heiss knew it, as he walked to one end of the ladder and awaited instructions.
Unspeakable Prayers: WW II to Present Day (Thaddeus Murfee Series of Legal Thrillers) Page 19