"Go straight ahead to the woods," I told him. "And don't you dare drop a body to the ground. If you do, you will be whipped. Now go! You have been warned."
Without looking behind him, Heiss picked up the end of the ladder and gingerly stepped forward. He then glanced back and, satisfied the bodies were going to remain where he had placed them, began dragging his cargo to the woods ahead.
When we reached the spot where the light disappeared behind us, Heiss stopped. He was breathing hard.
“Captain!” I demanded. "Did I say stop? If we were so lucky as to have a whip you would be feeling its lash this instant!"
"Sorry," Heiss panted. "They are heavy."
"You should try it from sunup to sundown," Rajski spat at him. "You'll be a better man for it. If not a little less happy with your lot in life, however."
Heiss turned his back to us, centered himself between the feet of the ladder, and again lifted his load. He was once again moving through the dense trees, dodging this way and that, until we were a good fifty meters inside the woods.
"Here's a good place," I finally said. "Halt!"
Heiss immediately released the ladder and bent forward, hands on knees, trying to catch his breath. Then he turned his head back to Rajski and myself.
"Please," he began. "If it's money—"
"Nonsense!" I cried. "Not another word, Captain. There is no bargain to be made. Now, start digging."
"I am digging a grave, yes?"
"You are digging a grave, yes. A large grave."
"Large enough for two bodies, yes?" His hopeful tone was laughable, but no one smiled.
“Captain, I'm just getting started. Make it large enough for at least four. No, six. That's how many members of my family you ripped from me." I didn’t actually mean to kill more. Not at that point. I said it to impress him with his own evil.
"And another eight for me!" cried Rajski. You could hear the pain in his voice. Even as he spoke, I had to swallow hard to keep my tears out of sight of this monster.
"That will take all night—a week," said Heiss.
I said, “Did anyone say anything about a time limit? You've got a year, Heiss. That's how long I worked for you. I expect no less from you now."
Without another word, Heiss took up the shovel and pushed it into the damp ground with his jackboot. Push, lift, dump. Push, lift, dump.
And so it began.
While the excavation proceeded, Rajski drew me aside.
"I like what you said," he whispered.
"I am thinking about it. Seriously thinking about it. Or maybe it’s just my anger talking.”
"We're going to kill fourteen more of these bastards?"
"Eleven. They will only owe us eleven after tonight."
"When will we start?"
I nodded. "Like I said, the idea is forming in my mind tonight. I am thinking, 'Why not?'"
"Agree. We will do this together?"
“We would. If we went ahead.”
"Where do we find the next ones?"
I pointed at Heiss' back, bent to the shovel. Rajski slowly nodded. "Got it," he said.
"Yes, you do."
"There will be a list someplace."
I smiled. Even in the dark of the woods, Rajski knew I had smiled.
"Yes," he said, responding to himself. "A list, indeed."
* * *
Six hours later the sun came up. Rajski had found twigs and we had drawn straws. Just then, our gravesite was as wide as two coffins and as deep as Heiss' waist. All in all, we had to admire the man. He had certainly put his back to it. Of course the ground was soft, and damp, and gave itself up in large clumps.
Heiss was still fully dressed in his SS uniform. The front of his clothing was smeared with mud where he had come in and out of the hole to move the pile of dirt farther away, much to his chagrin when what had been done had to be done yet again.
Finally we called a halt to it. It must've been eight o'clock in the morning by now, Heiss' uniform was drenched with sweat and almost unrecognizable, his hair matted on his head, and he was hardly able to stand when we called him out of the pit.
"You've done well," I told him. "Now I am going to give you a choice. It's not a choice you're going to like. But I drew the short straw. The first choice is this: you can die with a bullet in your head, clean and expeditious. Your second choice is this: you can be thrown alive into the pit, your two friends on top of you, and we will cover you with dirt while you are yet alive."
"You wouldn't dare," Heiss hissed at me across the early morning light. "It's not in your Jewish blood to treat your superior in such a manner. From this moment on, I refuse to comply."
With that, he sat cross-legged on the earth, all but collapsing in a puddle of exhaustion. So, I thought, my bluff had been called. I really couldn't blame the man, at that point he had nothing to lose.
"Captain, where do you keep the list of your party members?"
"What party would that be?"
"The Chicago Nazi Party! We have followed you and we know there are many of you in Chicago and we know you are a leader. As such, you have a list. I am requesting a copy of the list and I am doing so nicely. But nice ends right now. So let me ask again, where is the list?"
"I know of no such list."
"Mr. Rajski, your belt?"
Just then, Heiss' face paled as the blood drained away. The belt was a Nazi form of amusement, inflicted on the recalcitrant. No sooner had I asked, but Rajski had his belt off and encircling the throat of our SS officer. With his right boot, Rajski planted a powerful kick between Heiss' shoulder blades and sent him sprawling headfirst on the wet grass. Rajski then planted the same boot on Heiss' back and pulled the belt tight, all in one motion. This was the technique the Nazis had taught us when we were refusing to give up the hiding place of other Jews. They simply choked it out of us. Now the tables turned.
"Once again, where is the list?"
I nodded at Rajski and he let up on the belt.
"Go to hell!" Heiss cried, whereupon Rajski immediately jammed his foot harder into the man's back and with the belt choked off his air supply. I stood there and counted slowly to thirty. As I counted, Heiss writhed and kicked, but all to no avail as Rajski had dropped and planted both knees in the man's back and used his upper legs as leverage in curling the man's head up off the ground and choking him.
I turned away.
At Treblinka, I had devised a routine. It consisted of counting my fingers, my toes, my eyes, and my teeth. Whenever the Nazis mishandled me, and I managed to crawl away, I would run through my routine. If the count was the same as the last time, then I could happily pass out from whatever pain had been inflicted. What I would've done if the count had yielded an odd number, still to this day I don't know. But my point is, at that time that morning, I performed my routine. This was the first time in over thirty years. But I understood the necessity of it: this time my pain was emotional, and it was self-inflicted. No one—I mean absolutely no one—loathed inflicting pain on another human being as much as I did. The justice that begged to be conjured up out of the wet grass and early morning light more than offset that loathing, however. That justice was mine to create or to deny. The only question was, was I able?
"Thirty," I said, completing my count to thirty while Heiss' air supply was compromised. "Captain, the next time the belt tightens around your neck there will be no count taken. You will be choked until you pass out and then you will be thrown into the pit alive. If you regain consciousness, you will find your comrades sprawled on top of you, your mouth filled with dirt, and your lungs crying for air. If you think I'm kidding you, refuse one more time to tell me where I can find the list of the other members of your party. Now talk!"
Rajski released the tension on the belt. Ever so slowly, Heiss came around. Then he was fully conscious, his mouth to the side, gasping for air, but alive. Had he heard me? I wasn't sure, so I repeated what I had just said. This time, I saw the whites of his eyes and I knew finally I had impress
ed on him the reality of my hatred. He was about to die and he knew it. The only question just then was the question of suffering: how little or how much?
Then he spoke.
"Look inside the Webster's dictionary in my office. You will find the inner portion of the book cutaway. Inserted within is a small address book with phone numbers. It is the only list in existence."
I sat down beside him on the grass and extended my arms behind me for support. My pistol was in my lap. Rajski stood behind Heiss, shotgun muzzle pointed at the man's back.
"Captain, I have one more question for you. Your answer will mean nothing in terms of your life expectancy. My question is this: why do you hate?"
"Because hate is a human emotion. I am human."
"When I was young, I hated no one. I had to learn how to hate," I told him. "This makes me think hate is not an emotion. Hate is something we all must learn. When did you learn to hate?"
"Your kind? I have always hated Jews. I was born hating Jews. I will die hating Jews. Does this answer your question?"
I pulled a blade of grass and put it between my lips. It was very sweet and very real. It did not taste of love, and it did not taste of hate. Which is why we all keep coming back to nature, I am certain of it.
"It answers that question, but it doesn't answer another question. Five years ago Palestinian terrorists went to Munich to kill my people at the Olympics. Answer this for me if you will: is the Palestinian hatred of the Jew the same as the Nazi hatred of the Jew?"
Despite himself, Heiss half-smiled. As he did, a string of spittle proceeded from his mouth to the grass. Just then, I wanted to shoot him more than I have wanted anything in my life. But I didn't. I wanted to hear what he had to say. Perhaps I was thinking that in obtaining understanding from our sworn enemies we might be able to change something about ourselves or about our condition to render us less disagreeable to the world.
"The Palestinians hate the Jews for the same reason I hate the Jews."
"And that would be what?"
"That, sir, will forever remain the Jewish Question."
"Nonsense!" Rajski cried. "Nazis and Palestinians hate Jews because they have no one else to hate. Their politics requires a whipping boy. That's all the Jew is to you or to the Arab."
My tone softened. "Captain, if you have a last prayer to make, I request you make it now. After you do, I am going to request you throw your friends' bodies into the grave. As you do, I'm going to shoot you and push you in along with them. My technique will be humane."
Heiss pushed himself up on his hands and pulled his knees up under him. With great effort, he stood and made his way to the ladder. He pulled and pushed the topmost passenger over the side of the grave. I climbed to my feet and peered down. The body was lying on its side, it's arm curled under its head, as if it were asleep. Just then, Heiss dragged the other body graveside and stood up and stared at me. I nodded. As he rolled his friend into the grave, I walked up to Heiss' back and jammed the muzzle of my pistol against the back of his head. My finger began to squeeze the trigger, then stopped. I backed away one step. Heiss swiveled his head and looked into my eyes.
I shook my head. "Cover your people up," I said to Heiss. To Rajski I said, "we're finished here."
Rajski's face immediately contorted. Within seconds it was burning with rage. He calmly walked up to Heiss and jammed the shotgun barrel into his back. I stepped beside him, and seized the barrel of the gun, pulling it up and away from Heiss in one motion.
"I have changed my mind," I said. "He will live."
Rajski began to level the shotgun at the enemy again. "Like hell he lives!" he cried.
I seized my friend by the shoulder. "Stop! I have been wrong. Killing is not going to stop hatred. We must look for a better way. Now put the gun down, because we're taking him to the Consulate. Let Israel have him.”
Heiss turned and faced us. The look on his face was one of incredulity. He was astonished. "What?" he said. "You Jews aren't men enough to kill one tired old German?"
For the third time, Rajski raised his shotgun and aimed at the man. Again, I swept the barrel away and this time jerked the gun out of Rajski's hands. I shook my head.
"Think what you will, we are done here."
I took Rajski by the wrist and pulled him away. Without hesitation I took the shotgun with me, because I knew fingerprints would be found all over its stock and barrel and I wanted to prevent that. We continued through the woods in this fashion, me pulling and Rajski resisting. Rajski was actually larger than me, and had he been serious about resisting my will he could easily have pulled away and done what he felt was necessary. But he was deferring to my judgment. Between the two of us, it was always my judgment that settled disputes. It had always been that way ever since I led him through the breach in the fence at Treblinka.
We swept across the ankle deep grass in the front of the encampment and I felt the sunlight on my shoulders, warm and reassuring. Then I heard Rajski gasp, and I halted.
"What is it?"
Rajski held up his hand. It was then I could see he was sobbing. He shook his head and I looked away.
"I am sorry Kaleb, but you're just going to have to trust me. We have just won the war."
"My family's revenge has been lost. I have failed them."
"You have survived. You have carried your family's bloodline into a new world and you have fathered children of your own. Your family continues because of you."
I then walked ahead of Rajski, and to my great relief, he followed.
We climbed over and through the fence and arrived at my truck. It looked decrepit and old sitting there on the gravel road, though it was neither. I wondered if the world was going to look different to me in that respect thereafter. I opened the door, slid the shotgun behind the seats, set myself inside, and turned the key. The engine started up; Rajski settled in beside me, and I dropped it into drive. At that moment, with Rajski all but out of control, I wanted only to leave that place and take Rajski with me.
We began moving along the gravel road and hadn't gone twenty meters when suddenly the memory of those young girls crowded all thought out of my mind. As real as if it were happening before me, I saw them standing there in the snow and ice, nude, crying, vulnerable, and utterly without hope. I slammed my head against the steering wheel and cried out in my anger and shame. I put the truck in park and left it running. "Wait here," I ordered, and I let myself out.
Within seconds I was running back along the road, jumping over the fence, and dashing for the front of the building. I tried the front door and it swung open. I stopped, concerned that by now Heiss would have armed himself. The last thing I wanted was to be Jew number 1,000,001 on Heiss' list. When I stopped and froze just inside the door, my hearing returned and I realized Heiss was speaking in the kitchen. In that same instant, I conceived he was speaking on the yellow wall phone I had earlier noticed there. I crept up to the adjoining wall where I could hear what was being said.
"Yes, of course I know who they were," I heard him saying. "The one I remember from Treblinka and the other must have been there, too. He was the one who shot Bernhardt and Remarch. Of course they were Jews, I am certain of it. The leader's name is Lodzi Ashstein."
A pause followed. I can only guess at what the other party had said by Heiss' remark that followed.
"We will kill both of them, we will kill their wives and children, and we will kill their friends. I make that vow."
The image of the freezing girls again came into my mind and I swallowed hard against the bile it brought up in my throat. This could not really be happening, not after I had just given him his life. But it was. In that instant, I knew for certain there would never be an end to the hatred.
Stepping around the corner of the wall, I walked straight up to Heiss, put the muzzle of my pistol at his ear, and pulled the trigger. The gun roared, Heiss fell to the floor, and the phone leapt from his hands as the coiled cord retreated.
I plucked the p
hone out of the air where it was dangling, and put it to my ear.
"What is your address?" I said into the mouthpiece. "I have something for you."
I replaced the receiver in the cradle and stepped over to the sink. I spun the faucet, freeing all the hot water possible, and scrubbed my hands with the bar of yellow soap. I then swiped off a square of paper towel and dried my hands. Then I committed the unpardonable sin as I would learn years down the road. My DNA was on the towel and on the phone. But at that time in history, these things were unknown to me.
I turned and stepped over Heiss and ran from the building, back across the open field, through the walnut grove adjoining the road, and climbed up and over the fence. I retraced my earlier run on the gravel road and jumped in my truck.
"You killed him?"
"I did. I did kill him."
"Good, I will sleep tonight in my own bed, and if he comes into my dreams again I will remind him he is dead and he has no place there."
"Eleven more. They owe us eleven more."
I looked out the window. A small deer flashed alongside my truck momentarily and then angled off through the woods.
"Twelve," I said. "Today they have killed my soul."
Chapter Thirty-Three
Bibby was deep inside Grandfather's closet when he heard someone enter the room. He froze. Up until then he had been searching for the uniform that had so terrified him when Isaac had pointed it out. He remembered it was black, and he remembered there was a double lightning bolt on the collar. Isaac had said it was the SS of the Schutzstaffel. Bibby wanted to make certain and decided he needed one more quick examination before they hit the library for more information. After all, it was his grandfather and he was his father's father, which meant Bibby had the Nazi's own blood in his veins. Isaac had said it. Which was unthinkable, having Grandfather's blood, if the story and the SS stuff were all true.
Grandfather's phone rang and the visitor put it on speaker. Bibby stopped breathing, afraid he would be found out. But he couldn't avoid hearing the conversation.
As clear as if he were in the room himself, his Grandfather shouted at the man.
Unspeakable Prayers: WW II to Present Day (Thaddeus Murfee Series of Legal Thrillers) Page 20