‘ “But it is written on medical-report paper?”
‘ “This boy, Isaac Goldstein, he is working in the infirmary as a floor sweeper, I think he is stealing this paper from me.”
‘ “You are telling me this music, it is composed by this boy? Impossible!”
‘ “I think so, maybe, maybe not, maybe he has learned it and is copying it out.”
‘ “I don’t think so,” Pietrowski says, “If he is caught by a guard or a kapo he would be killed. Why would he copy music if such a thing will get him killed? For a boy this is remarkable, he understands everything. The violin, ja, maybe he can do it, if he plays well he can write za part, but the uzzer parts, he knows already how they work together for orchestra, the different timbres, remarkable!”
‘I shrug my shoulders and spread my hands like so, “But now he is dead already it does not matter if he is a thief.”
‘ “Professor,” Maestro Pietrowski says to me, “maybe one day we will get the chance to ask the Almighty why? Why must a young Jewish boy like Isaac Goldstein die? We are His chosen people! Why must God create a boy like this and then let him die?” He is holding up the paper with the music in the air so maybe God can see it. “In Paradise they will play a concerto to welcome us when we are comink there. Maybe already they have played this one for the boy. Why not? He does not need to be ashamed of this music.” He waves za music in front his face, “For a young boy to compose this, he is a genius, make no mistake, maybe even a young Brahms, no less.”’
Morrie spreads his hands. You can see Professor Block and Mr Tompkins cannot take their eyes off him. ‘So now I have Dr Mengele’s greatest desire, twins, one a genius, the other normal, and I must keep this secret from him and also za whole camp.’ Morrie looks at Block, I must break the rules. How can I do this? Emmanuel and Zachariah they are identical, I cannot tell who is what one, not one thing is different, not even a mole or a measurement, even the length of the forefinger is the same. Even if Mengele doesn’t know he has here his greatest desire, he will still want them for his experiments, he will still mutilate them.
‘So I am keeping Emmanuel and Zachariah in the infirmary until two young boys the same age die in the children’s huts.’Morrie spreads his hands and shrugs, ‘Ach, it is not a long time to wait, every morning we are taking the corpses to the ovens from the children who have died in the night. Then I am writing the death certificates for them in the name of Emmanuel and Zachariah Moses and I am taking the names of the two dead boys, Isaac Farfel and Mendel Horowitz, and I am giving them to Emmanuel and Zachariah. So now they must learn their new names.
‘I am lucky, because Emmanuel and Zachariah are just comink from the cattle train to za infirmary, they are not yet tattooed on their arm. So I take the numbers from the arms of the two dead children and I am tattooing the same number for each one on za twins. Then I tie the dead boys in two sacks and put an infection ticket on each sack and send the death certificates for Emmanuel and Zachariah Moses to the administration with my report, which say the twins have died of typhus and they must not be examined because of infection and must be burned immediately. I tell them I have written post-mortem notes for Dr Mengele, so there will be no trouble.
‘If Mengele sees this he will be very angry, he must have all dead twins identified by his administration staff, the numbers on za arms must be checked against the twin register. But he will not kill me because he has the postmortem notes for his records of twins and also I have taken za numbers in the twin register that would have been given to Emmanuel and Zachariah Moses and I have put them in the post-mortem report and ticked them in za twin register. Mengele is a fanatick about za records, everything for twins must be written down. For him, when is written down somethink, it becomes za truth.
‘Now I have still two identical boys with different surnames and it is not so hard to see they are twins,’ Morrie smiles, ‘that here is something funny buggers goink on. So I send Zachariah, who is now Mendel Horowitz, to one hut far away from the infirmary and I keep Emmanuel, who is now Isaac Farfel, in za hospital. I tell them they must not meet or they will die.’ Morrie takes a deep breath and looks first at Mr Tompkins and then at Professor Block and then down at his clumsy boots. ‘I am operating on Isaac to change his features, to make for him a new face.’
Sarah gasps as Morrie says this and she can also see the complete surprise in Professor Block’s face. ‘Plastic surgery? You are a plastic surgeon, Dr Suckfizzle?’
Morrie shrugs, ‘At the university in Kraków before the war we have been working on plastic surgery for some years, this is well known. If you can check the record you will see it is true. I am a surgeon for children and sometimes is coming in a baby or a child with a deformity. Sometimes the knife and skin-grafting can repair this, sometimes we must break the bones and reset them, sometimes it only makes a little difference, but enough so that child will grow up a bit normal. Sometimes even, we are managing a small miracle. You know this, Professor, the most common birth deformities to the infant head are the mouth, za chin and sometimes za nose. So now I am working on Emmanuel Moses so he can be Isaac Farfel. He is a beautiful young boy and what I am doing is a crime against the work of the Creator, because he cannot keep his beauty, I must destroy it with my surgeon’s knife. My scalpel must make him different from his twin, it is their only chance to survive.’
Sarah cannot contain herself any longer, ‘Did it work?’ she blurts out. Then she looks worried because she’s not supposed to say anything. But I think Professor Block and Mr Tompkins also want to know and so she is not even given a dirty look.
Morrie bends down slowly to open his battered leather briefcase and from it he withdraws a manila folder which he places on the desk in front of Professor Block. ‘Take a look, please,’ Morrie says.
Block opens the folder slowly and both Mr Tompkins and Sarah instinctively move a step closer to look. Inside are what appear to be several yellowing pieces of paper. The heading of the first one, in German, reads:
MEDICAL REPORT
But the word ‘Medical’ has been crossed out and above it, in a childlike hand, is written:
musical .
MEDICAL REPORT
What follows are twelve pages of music, each of which Professor Block lifts and turns over very carefully so as not to damage them. When he turns the last page of music, underneath he finds a postcard with the same handwriting as some of the margin notes on the pages of music, though perhaps now the writing is rather more practised, the hand no longer that of a child but of a young adult.
‘Take,’ Morrie says, indicating Professor Block should remove the postcard. ‘You can read German, Professor?’
Professor Block nods his head and picks up the postcard. Sarah can see that on the side facing her is a black and white picture of a building with what appears to be Hebrew lettering running across the top.
‘You can read for all,’ Morrie now says, indicating Mr Tompkins and Sarah with a sweep of his hand. For the moment he seems to have forgotten that the two of them wouldn’t understand German.
Professor Block reads silently for a few moments, then nods and looks up at Sarah and Mr Tompkins. ‘I will do my best to translate it for you,’ he says to the two of them. He begins to read, slowly at first and then with increasing confidence.
Tel Aviv, Israel 15 May 1948
Dear Professor Zukfizzleski,
I hope this finds you. The refugee records say you have survived. Zachariah and I are in Israel (only yesterday it was Palestine) and we are well. He is now the handsome twin but I am the talented one. I have been accepted at Rubin Academy to study composition at the advanced level. Also I am 2nd Violin, Israel Philharmonic Orchestra under the great Bronislaw Huberman. I have great hope that your faith in me will be justified. I owe you my life, but my face could be better!
My deepest respect & shalom,
Emmanuel Moses
/>
(alias Isaac Farfel)
We all laugh. Emmanuel Moses has not lost his sense of humour. There is silence as Professor Block puts the postcard back and quietly closes the folder. Then he turns to Sarah. ‘I will try, Miss Maloney, you have my word. But I must ask you not to expect too much, the University Professorial Board is usually very conservative and there are those among them who may not approve of women medical practitioners or pregnant first-year students. I must warn you, they are even less likely to think of your present condition as helpful to the cause of your gender. My hands are tied, the rules specify that I cannot permit you to attend lectures until the board has met and decided your case.’
‘I will teach her until then,’Morrie says, ‘She will not be behind when she is comink in.’
The professor nods and looks at Morrie, ‘If she is granted permission, I must stress this, Miss Maloney.’ He looks up at Morrie, ‘You may consider your own interview is concluded and you may take Miss Maloney home, I’m sure it has been a long day for her. My congratulations, Mr Suckfizzle, you are accepted in the Faculty of Medicine, I only wish I could do the same for Miss Maloney, but alas, despite your plea, I must abide by the rules.’
Morrie looks at Sarah, who is fighting hard to hold back her tears. She knows she mustn’t cry because that will prove something about women not being suitable to practise Medicine and, besides, she’s half-expected this decision all along. A place like Melbourne University isn’t going to bend the rules for any student, let alone a country girl who shows up seven months pregnant. Morrie puts his arm around her and leads her to the door, which is being held open by Mr Tompkins, who hasn’t said a word all along.
Morrie turns at the door. ‘When we will know this, Professor?’ he asks.
Professor Block shrugs and half rises, it is plain to see that he is acutely embarrassed and has his hands folded as if in apology. ‘I don’t know, Mr Suckfizzle, but Miss Maloney cannot miss more than two weeks of lectures or she will not be included in this year’s intake.’ He unclasps his hands and shrugs.
‘And za board, they will meet before this?’
‘I can’t rightly say, it’s up to them, though I expect they’ll appoint a subcommittee composed mostly of the Medical Faculty. Those are the rules I’m afraid.’ Morrie doesn’t know the expression, but Sarah knows she has been caught between a rock and a hard place. But like her, what Morrie does know is that Professor Block is inferring the Professorial Board or any subcommittee it appoints isn’t likely to convene within two weeks.
‘This is anuzzer rule that you cannot break, eh, Professor? Two weeks then everything for Sarah is kaput?’
He allows Sarah to go ahead of him to the door of room 18. He stops and turns, ‘It is a matter for your conscience, Professor, but it is not a matter of life or death for you. Sometimes za hardest decisions are the ones that will not harm your position but only your character.’
‘I think that was uncalled for, Mr Suckfizzle,’ Marcus Block, still half standing, calls out, ‘You are an undergraduate and are expected to show a modicum of respect!’
As they leave, Mr Tompkins, his lips drawn thin, says to Sarah, ‘I have your address, Miss Maloney, you will be notified by letter in due course.’
Sarah has the good grace to say, ‘Thank you, sir.’Then she turns and smiles sweetly, ‘And, of course, that will be well within the two weeks, Mr Tompkins?’ She tells me later that inside she just wants to crawl away and bawl her heart out.
Tompkins ignores this remark and closes the door without calling the name of the next student.
‘Well, that has truly set the cat among the pigeons!’ Mrs Barrington-Stone exclaims when Sarah calls her from the telephone on the corner outside their Carlton terrace. ‘I can’t say it comes as a surprise, my dear, we’ve known all along that we could have a fight on our hands. A proper brouhaha. I have made out a list and will begin calling people tonight. I shall visit you in three days, by which time we should have a plan of action.’
Sarah, despite her disappointment, laughs, ‘Taking the spoon out of the sink. The beginning of the Grand Plan?’
‘Spoon out of the sink?’ What on earth are you talking about, my dear?’
‘It’s an expression we use in our family, actually it’s “taking the spoon out of the sink before you turn on the tap”, that’s the total expression. It’s a Maloney thing,’ Sarah goes on to explain. ‘You have to be sure you’ve taken all the precautions, done everything you can to ensure a successful outcome to a project, if you are to prevent an unsuccessful outcome caused by your own lack of forethought.’
‘Why that’s splendid, girl! I shall have to remember that. Yes, that’s precisely what I’ll be doing, taking the spoon out of the sink before we turn on the tap. After all, this review committee is bound to be composed of a bunch of self-important, pompous old men. The good ones never have the time to sit on committees. But they’re only men, my dear, and they do have wives. It is my experience that men, even the most exalted ones, are seldom heroes to their wives, who I feel sure can be made to see the woman’s point of view in all of this. Although, I must admit, I often despair at the way women simply give in to their rather stupid husbands. We’ll need the review committee names though. Do you think your professor may be one of them?’
‘I doubt it,’ Sarah replies. ‘He didn’t sound as if he was, but said he’d try to help.’
‘Well, that’s something at least. Anyway, leave it to me for the time being, one way or another we’ll ferret them all out. Nothing is achieved without persistence, eh?’
‘I’m about to run out of money on the phone,’ Sarah says, alarmed. ‘The warning beep has just gone!’
‘Quick, give me your number, the number of the telephone box, and I’ll call you back.’
Sarah does as she’s told and picks up the receiver when it rings a few moments later. ‘By the way, we have a new recruit to the cause,’ are Mrs Barrington-Stone’s opening words. ‘Though it’s hard to see how he can help us, but such a nice man.’
‘Who is he?’ Sarah asks, wondering what the difference is between this particular man and the ones Mrs Barrington-Stone has so recently blitzed.
‘The sergeant at the police station in Yankalillee, very fond of your family. Nothing but praise for you all.’ ‘I’m sure not all!’ Sarah laughs.
‘Well, yes, I must admit, he did exclude your father from his eulogy. Very attached to Bozo, says he’d be proud to call him his own son. I met him when he came to see me about my aeroplane. I can’t imagine why I haven’t met him before now. It seems I flew rather too low on the day of your departure. Against the aviation rules. I told him I knew that and that I was very sorry and it was most careless of me. I asked him if he was going to fine me.’
Well, things didn’t turn out quite as easily as Mrs Barrington-Stone seemed to think they might. For a start, even though she seemed to know almost everyone of importance in Melbourne, finding out the exact composition of the subcommittee was proving to be a very difficult task. We had assumed that the committee would be made up of prominent business and professional people, which turned out to be quite wrong. Its members were always academics and in this case the Medical Faculty. A search through the members of the Melbourne Club showed several professors listed with only one belonging to the Medical Faculty. A few discreet enquiries revealed that the Professor of Medicine was, to say the least, a notorious reactionary and would never have entertained the idea of allowing Sarah to enrol. None of the other academics felt they could help, covering your own arse being the first rule of academia.
As she promised, Mrs Barrington-Stone had flown down to have a meeting with Sarah and Morrie and had brought Big Jack Donovan along for the ride. He took the opportunity to visit his mate at Russell Street police station, Kevin Flanagan, the sergeant in charge of the new Olympic boxing training venue. Sergeant Donovan had started his career as a
traffic cop working out of Russell Street which is where all the traffic for Melbourne and the State of Victoria was coordinated.
Mrs Barrington-Stone managed to get to the University Chancellor, Sir Arthur Dean, who is a judge. His advice to her has been that it was not a matter for the vice-chancellor, George Paton, to deal with, that even if he were to be persuaded to admit Sarah, which, in his opinion was highly problematic, the politics involved were much too delicate. ‘Medical chappies, very prickly, don’t like interference’ were his exact words. If the vice-chancellor interfered personally, the academics on the review committee were likely to see themselves compromised. ‘Besides, madam, I’m not at all sure I approve of Miss Maloney’s behaviour myself,’ he’d concluded.
‘I think Sir Arthur may have been the wrong man to ask,’ Mrs Barrington-Stone announces at their meeting in the Carlton terrace. ‘I’d quite forgotten that he is a Presbyterian and superintendent of the Malvern Sunday School as well as the chairman of the council of Presbyterian Ladies College. Not quite the background that’s likely to elicit sympathy for our cause, even though he does have two daughters of his own.
‘I’m also told we’ll find the BMA in there somewhere among the medical academics, a reactionary organisation if ever there was one and plenty of money and clout to see off anyone threatening their nice cosy little public-schoolboys’ club. No, we simply have to get the names of the academics within the Faculty of Medicine and try to approach them individually. We must avoid, if possible, male doctors looking after male doctors, the closed-shop policy of the BMA I simply can’t imagine what happens to nice young men when they put on a white coat, they behave like little tin gods and when they eventually become specialists and decide to do a little teaching, they are quite impossibly pompous and vainglorious. It really is time to bring more women into the profession.’ She turns to Sarah, ‘This Professor Block, is he on our side? You said he was, if I remember correctly?’
‘I think so,’ Sarah says tentatively and then gives Morrie a questioning look.
Four Fires Page 30