Anca's Story--a novel of the Holocaust

by Mark Williams

  I watched with mounting horror as this scene unfolded, struck equally by the brutality of the Nazis and by the fearful unwillingness of any civilian to intervene.

  As I focused upon Golda’s and Elone’s plight I felt ashamed at my own inaction, but even though my mind considered possible means of assistance, my body simply refused to respond, ridden by fear, so soon after seeing three men killed before my eyes. If their bodies had been dragged away, their blood still stained the ground, a congealing memorial to their untimely demise.

  By now Golda and Elone were at the side of a wagon, waiting to climb aboard. I watched, mortified, as Golda lifted her little daughter onto the train and threw my hands to my face in horror as the little girl lost her grip on the cold steel and fell to the floor, screaming in pain. As Golda bent to pick her up a Gestapo officer swung at the mother with his rifle, knocking her to the ground. I started forward instinctively, but an unknown hand on my shoulder restrained me and I took control of my anger.

  Now, unbelievably, the Nazi began to set about poor Elone as she lay crying on the floor, screaming abuse at her in German, each sentence accompanied by a vicious kick from his jackboots. So horrified was I by this scene that my eyes seemed to view the events in slow motion, each kick witnessed in obscene detail, my eyes following the action but my other senses dulled, my body somehow unable to respond.

  Elone’s mother screamed at the Nazi as she tried to rescue the child from this brutal assault, but he simply kicked her away and then began again to viciously set about the child, shouting incoherently in German as he did so, each sentence matched by another callous attack with the heel of his jackboot.

  “Nicolae!”

  The name screeched from behind me, the shout breaking the spell and I turned to see my mother screaming hysterically, being restrained with difficulty by several men, fearful for her safety.

  Utterly confused I turned again to the scene across the square and felt my heart all but stop as the subject of Mama’s hysteria became apparent. For there, racing across the concourse towards Elone, my little brother Nicolae was in full pelt, about to launch the might of his six year old frame against the Nazi officer assaulting his friend.

  22.

  For what seemed like an eternity I stood cataleptic, unable to believe my eyes, as my brother ran across the square and threw himself, screaming, at the offending officer, clinging to his uniform and battering the man with his tiny fists.

  It were as if I were in a trance, for I could do nothing but watch, though my only thoughts were to protect Nicolae from harm. Around me the stunned attention of the entire station was focused on this small child.

  As I struggled to grasp what was happening my fears were for Nicolae’s very life, as the Nazi reached down and grabbed my brother’s arms. The next thing I was conscious of I had broken free of the restraining hands on my shoulder and was myself in full flight across the station, running faster than I could ever imagine, screaming Nicolae’s name.

  The officer held the defiant child in the air at arms length, Nicolae’s tiny arms and legs flailing wildly in a futile attempt to release himself. I stopped a few metres from them, not knowing what to do.

  Not knowing what I could do.

  Around us there was silence everywhere, everyone watching, waiting. Even Nicolae’s screams had subsided, his exhausted larynx unable to raise a syllable more, the dawning reality of his predicament introducing terror where anger had previously ruled.

  Suddenly Mama found her own voice and shouted across the station from where she was being restrained, screaming for the officer to put her son down. Even as I turned in her direction I saw an Iron Guard officer raise his rifle and bring the butt down forcefully upon my mother’s head. I watched horrified as blood erupted across her temple and Mama collapsed to the floor. I was too far distant to know the extent of her injury and dared not react for fear the same treatment would be meted out upon Nicolae.

  Still there was silence. No-one dared move.

  Then without warning the Gestapo officer holding Nicolae began to laugh. It was a cold, cruel laugh, as if he found his assault by a six year old boy genuinely amusing. Other Gestapo officers joined in and the atmosphere lightened tangibly as their laughter resounded around the previously silent station, Iron Guard officers hesitantly following suit.

  The civilian crowd looked on in anxious silence, fearful for their and our safety.

  Mine and Nicolae’s eyes were as one, united in fear and apprehension, not daring to move, not knowing what response to anticipate.

  Speaking in loud, barked German, the Nazi addressed his fellow officers to yet more laughter, the joke apparently at our expense, then suddenly he turned and effortlessly flung my brother’s tiny frame into the cattle wagon.

  Screaming Nicolae’s name, I was in an instant climbing aboard to affect his rescue, forcing my way past Elone and Golda, my only thought to reach Nicolae.

  I found him lying dazed on the splintered floor of the truck and tended him as best I could, but found myself being pushed to the rear of the wagon as more Jews were forced aboard.

  Desperately I stood up, holding Nicolae to my chest for fear he would be crushed. I struggled to see beyond the embarking Jews to where Mama had fallen and my heart leapt as I glimpsed her being helped to her feet. The sight of blood running down my mother’s face from a head wound was the last thing I saw as the doors slammed shut, plunging us into darkness.

  ~

  The adult bodies on all sides threatened to crush me, for my twelve years told against me in height and strength. I clutched Nicolae as tightly as I could, unable to move my arms to comfort him, unable to see his face in the darkness to ascertain his well-being. I tried desperately to solicit help of those around me, but none spoke Romanian, or if they did they chose to ignore my pleas. I called out to Golda and Elone, but no reply came, if indeed they were in the same wagon.

  Eventually I heard the sound of engines warming and knew we would soon commence our journey. I prayed it would be short.

  Suddenly the wagon lurched as the locomotive heaved into motion, sending a wave of instability through the train. Around me I felt people struggle for balance and heard screams as some lost their footing.

  A hand clutched my leg, but I dared not let go of Nicolae to reach down and seconds later the grip slowly released. What became of those who fell I could only imagine. I shut their cries from my mind and concentrated all my thoughts on holding my brother steady. Nothing else, no-one else, mattered.

  Eventually the train steadied, gathering speed as we departed Bucharest. Despite the darkness, the overpowering body-heat and the stale air, relaxation was not an option for me, for I knew if I allowed Nicolae or myself to fall we would not rise again.

  As countless hours passed, thirst and a heavy bladder increasingly dominated my needs, for there was no possibility of refreshment or relief in these dire circumstances. As fatigue took its toll, it became more and more difficult to keep my eyes open. I desperately wanted to sleep, for in doing so I hoped to find temporary release from the discomfort, but dared not risk us falling.

  Each time I allowed my eyes to close images of the brutal attacks upon Elone and Mama quickly filled my mind and I found myself sobbing uncontrollably. In my present state of nervous shock I was, I concluded, particularly prone to bad dreams.

  But in truth, as I was soon to realise, the nightmare was only just beginning.

  23.

  Poland, I was vaguely aware, lay far to the north of the Transylvanian Alps, perhaps even beyond the distant Carpathians. Such a tramontane journey at this time of year would have been arduous in the best of circumstances, let alone the dire condition we now found ourselves in.

  I could only guess how much time passed as the early stoicism of my unseen fellow travellers gave way to pitiful moans of suffering as lack of air and water took its toll. Eventually, the noise seemed to subside as exhaustion overcame those around us.

  Too dark to make out any f
orm and unable to move other than my arms, which held Nicolae high, supported by the unwilling bodies on all sides, I could only imagine the cruel reality of the scene unfolding.

  Through the inadequate air vents in the roof of the wagon, towards which all who could do so stretched their bodies to gain some small advantage, the light of day or night could just be determined and I counted four days and nights passed during which we remained crammed together in this dire condition. Stale air and sweat mingled inevitably with the stench of urine and excreta as the journey continued. Unable to move in any way there was of course no possibility of relief other than where we stood, and if at first thankful for the darkness, discomfort soon overcame any feeling of embarrassment or shame, for everyone there, adult and child alike, were similarly obliged.

  My throat was parched, my tongue tumescent, and I knew Nicolae must be suffering similarly, although I could not see him, and dared not move my hands to comfort him for fear he slip between the crammed bodies to a certain death. He had made no sound all this while and I supposed he must be in shock. His torso still convulsed, but less violently than before, and his breathing had eased. Desperate as I was to hear him speak, at the same time I hoped he would not awaken from his trance too soon, to find himself in this fearful plight.

  Around me the incessant low whine of suffering would be broken by louder outbursts as women and children cried out, though in pain or defiance I could not tell, for they spoke languages I could not identify and I soon came to ignore them as best I could. Not once did I hear a word uttered in my native Romanian.

  Infrequently the train stopped, for fuel and water, perhaps even at stations to take on still more people. It was impossible to tell, for little was audible beyond the dull moans of those around me. Each stop was a moment of mixed emotions, first praying this would be the journey’s end that we would be liberated from the obscene incarceration, then fear and despair as we began to move again. For a horrific pattern was emerging which was perhaps ultimately responsible for the survival of Nicolae and myself, though the cost to others was dear.

  As the locomotive took the strain of its procession after each stop, with cold indifference to the suffering it drew in its wake, the train would lurch forward each time, throwing off balance the mass of bodies inside the wagons. In the dark I slowly came to realise that each time some among us fell or collapsed to the floor. Such were the screams of agony that haunted the darkness at these times, and our memories constantly since, I knew those who fell met a certain, slow death being crushed or suffocated.

  Fear now kept me from even considering sleep and I waited anxiously for each stop, steadying myself with Nicolae in my arms in anticipation of the next jolt of the wagon as the journey recommenced. It was this realisation and preparation, I am sure, that served to keep us both alive.

  Many were the occasions an unseen body fell near my feet and desperate hands clutched at my legs, trying to raise themselves from the tangle of bodies below. My reaction was, at best, one of calculated inaction, once even shaking off clutching fingers so small they could only have been a child’s, for the survival of Nicolae and myself was by now my only thought, heedless of the fate of those around me. In this I was perhaps aided by my indifference to their tongue, for had I understood their pleading as they slipped away, I doubt I could have maintained my cruel isolation so easily.

  Even so, I knew I could not continue much longer, for Nicolae grew heavier as I grew weaker and, as the bodies around me fell or were dragged down so I was less able to use others as support.

  Often I wondered if it would not be better to concede defeat and allow ourselves to sink down into the mire of death at our feet, to end our suffering.

  Had I been alone I might have taken this option, for I feared such an end would shortly become us regardless, but I knew I could not make that decision for Nicolae. His survival was paramount, for I had promised Papa I would look after him, and at this time my little brother was completely dependent on my own tenacious grasp of life.

  24.

  The days passed and still my little brother did not awaken from his torpor. At one stage I managed to free my hand enough to trace the contours of his face. His eyes were closed, I could tell, and for this I was grateful, but as my fingers touched his dry, chapped lips and swollen tongue I knew I must do something to ease his suffering. I tried to cry, that my tears might moisten his lips, but my body was too exhausted to respond to my emotions.

  In desperation my free hand squeezed his wet underclothes, my fingers smearing the fetid urine across his lips, moistening the broken skin. I tried to whisper comforting words to him, but could not manage even this simple task, my own mouth so deformed by dehydration. I reached down again and brought the foul moisture to my own lips, savouring the relief it gave.

  Eventually the train fell almost silent, as those around me succumbed to the inevitable. Those standing grew fewer and fewer by the hour, and we found ourselves struggling to keep balance among what I knew must be the corpses of our fellow passengers at our feet.

  Then, soon after I had watched the night’s sable darkness turn to blue dawn through the tiny vent above us, on the fifth day, it happened.

  The sound came first, in the distance, a loud explosion that shattered the silence. From what direction I could not divine, my mind too numb even to register the event clearly. Then the motion of the train seemed to alter slightly. There was a rumbling, then loud crashing sounds and the piercing squeal of metal against metal. Our wagon began lurching from side to side, throwing us off balance and in a second I had lost Nicolae, his body parted from mine.

  Panic overtook me and I managed to scream out his name, diving down, clutching at bodies, desperate to find him, in the darkness unable to identify the bodies beneath me. I grabbed wildly at limbs on all sides, hoping somehow to recognize my brother’s tiny form, acutely aware that many I touched were cold and lifeless.

  Nicolae I knew, had been warm, at least. Alive, if only just.

  I found a child’s body and my heart leapt, but it was cold and I pushed it to one side indifferently as the wagon rocked violently about me.

  Suddenly the floor seemed to rise beneath my feet and I was flying through the air, coming crashing to a painful halt against the roof of the upturned wagon.

  The carriage was flooded with light as the side of the wagon ripped open and for a split-second my eyes, all but blinded by the light of day, registered the scene of carnage around me, a tangle of wounded bodies and filth-ridden corpses, women and children alike, some still alive, just, but many clearly, thankfully, beyond feeling.

  And then pain overwhelmed me, darkness enveloped me, and I slipped into unconsciousness.

  The respite was short-lived. I could not have lain there more than a few minutes when the sound of gunfire penetrated my mind, returning me instantly to cruel reality.

  My eyes opened to the same scene of devastation I had just witnessed, but this time I was not to be blessed with the protective curtain of comatose oblivion.

  The horror of the obscenity before me sank home slowly, my eyes unable to liberate themselves from the magnetic draw of the carnage on all sides. There were few signs of life, and none of the survivors were able to free themselves. I scanned the bodies for some sign of Nicolae, but if he were there among them I did not recognise him.

  In the distance I could hear the staccato sound of machine-gun fire drawing closer, but had no way of knowing its origin or target. I tried to move but bodies were strewn over me in an obscene tangle of bloodied limbs, pinning me down

  As I struggled to free myself, the face of a young child, barely Nicolae’s age, fell down to hang in front of me, lifeless eyes staring from a bloodied skull, the torso wedged above me between heavy timbers that had once formed the frame of the wagon. I tried to scream but no sound came. I tried to back away but my body had not the strength to retreat from this obscenity that hung pendent before me.

  For untold minutes I lay in shock, staring b
ack at these dulled eyes before my own, thankful only that the body was not that of Nicolae or Elone, yet acutely aware they might share a similar fate somewhere beside me.

  The barbarous rattle of machine-gun fire drew closer and I heard the sound of shouts in German between the bouts of firing. Screams were cut short by the staccato bursts but I could only guess at what was happening, as I fought desperately to liberate my body from its prison of tangled corpses.

  Then suddenly my speculation was redundant for a Nazi soldier came into view and without warning began to spray our wagon with machine-gun fire. My body arched instinctively, but I could do nothing but watch in abject horror as the spray of bullets drew closer, sweeping the pile of bodies before me, extinguishing the life of the survivors.

  Even as realisation dawned I was about to die, the machine-gun fire was upon me. A spray of bullets ripped into the lifeless corpse that hung before me in an explosion of flesh and blood.

  Pain seared through me as the bullets found my own body, and my last thought, as blood cascaded over me from the cadaver above, was one of relief that it was, at last, over. Nicolae must surely have perished already and in this certain knowledge death was no longer feared but welcomed.

  Eager now to join my brother, I lapsed, gently, into the dark night.

  25.

  Of nominally Orthodox upbringing, I had no real idea of what the after-life might bring, certain only that it must be better than the existence I had just departed.

  As if to confirm this supposition I felt a pleasing sensation on my lips, for a minute unfamiliar, then recognized to be cool, clean water. I felt the fluid seep between the teeth and onto my tumescent tongue and knew that I must be in heaven, for only there, surely, could one conceivably experience such sybaritic pleasure.