From the little she remembers of her childhood, Dita recalls that peace smelled of chicken soup left cooking on the stove all night every Friday. It tasted of well-roasted lamb, and pastry made with nuts and eggs. It was long school days, and afternoons spent playing hopscotch and hide-and-seek with Margit and other classmates, now fading in her memory …
The changes were gradual, but Dita remembers the day her childhood ended forever. She doesn’t recall the date, but it was March 15, 1939. Prague awoke shaking.
The crystal chandelier in the living room was vibrating, but she knew it wasn’t an earthquake, because nobody was running around or worried. Her father was drinking his breakfast cup of coffee and reading the paper as if nothing were happening.
When Dita and her mother went out, the city was shuddering. She began to hear the noise as they headed toward Wenceslas Square. The ground was vibrating so strongly that it tickled the soles of her feet. The muffled sounds grew more noticeable as they got closer to the square, and Dita was intrigued. When they reached the square, they couldn’t cross the street, which was blocked off by people, or see anything other than a wall of shoulders, coats, necks, and hats.
Her mother came to a dead stop. Her face was strained and suddenly aged. She grabbed her daughter’s hand to turn back, but Dita’s curiosity was strong. She yanked herself free of the hand that was holding on to her. Because she was small and skinny, she had no trouble wiggling her way through the crowd of people on the sidewalk to the front where the city police were lined up, their arms linked.
The noise was deafening: Gray motorcycles with sidecars led the way one after another. Each carried soldiers in gleaming leather jackets and shining helmets, with goggles dangling from their necks. They were followed by combat trucks, bristling with enormous machine guns, and then tanks thundering slowly down the avenue like a herd of menacing elephants.
She remembers thinking that the people filing past looked like the mechanical figures from the astronomical clock, that after a few seconds, a door would close behind them, and they would disappear, and the trembling would stop. But they weren’t automatons; they were men. She would learn that the difference between the two is not always significant.
She was only nine years old, but she felt fear. There were no bands playing, no loud laughter or commotion.… The procession was being watched in total silence. Why were those uniformed men here? Why was nobody laughing? Suddenly, it reminded her of a funeral.
With an iron grip, her mother caught her again and dragged her out from the crowd. They headed off in the opposite direction, and Prague became itself again. It was like waking up from a bad dream and discovering that everything was back to normal.
But the ground was still shaking under her feet. The city was still trembling. Her mother was trembling, too. She was desperately pulling Dita along, trying to leave the procession behind, taking hurried little steps in her smart patent-leather shoes.
* * *
Dita sighs as she clutches the books. She realizes with sadness that it was on that day, not the day of her first period, that she left her childhood behind. That was the day she stopped being afraid of skeletons and old stories about phantom hands, and started being afraid of men.
2.
The SS began their inspection of the hut with scarcely a glance at the prisoners, focusing their attention on the walls, the floor, and the surroundings. The Germans are systematic like that: first the container, then its contents. Dr. Mengele turns around to speak with Fredy Hirsch, who has remained standing almost at attention all this time. Dita wonders what they’re talking about. Few Jews could hold a conversation with Mengele, or Dr. Death as he is called, with such assurance. Some say that Hirsch is a man without fear. Others believe the Germans warm to him because he is German. Some even suggest his impeccable appearance hides something unsavory.
The Priest, who is in charge of the inspection, makes a gesture Dita can’t interpret. If the guards order them to stand to attention, how will she hold the books without them falling out?
The first lesson any veteran inmate teaches a recent arrival is that you must always be clear about your goal: survival. To survive a few more hours and, in this way, gain another day that, added to other days, might become one more week. You must continue like this, never making big plans, never having big goals, only surviving each moment. To live is a verb that makes sense only in the present tense.
It’s her last chance to leave the books; there’s an empty stool just a meter away. When they stand up to form lines and the guards find the books there, they won’t be able to accuse her; all of them and none of them will be guilty. And they won’t be able to take all of them to the gas chambers. Though, without a doubt, they’ll shut down Block 31. Dita wonders if it would really matter. She’s heard how some of the teachers initially questioned the school: Why make the children study when there’s little chance they’ll leave Auschwitz alive? Does it make any sense to talk to them about polar bears or drill them on multiplication tables, in the shadow of chimneys belching out the black smoke of burning bodies? But Hirsch convinced them. He told them that Block 31 would be an oasis for the children.
Oasis or mirage? Some of them still wonder.
The most logical thing would be to get rid of the books, to fight for her life. But Dita hesitates.
The sergeant stands to attention in front of his superior. When he hears the order, he shouts out,
“On your feet! Attention!”
And then the commotion really begins as people start to stand up. It’s the moment of confusion Dita needs. As she relaxes her arms, the books inside her smock slip down to her lap. But then she grips them against her body again. With each second she holds on to them, her life is more at risk.
The SS order silence; no one is to move from their spot. Disorder irritates the Germans. When they first set in motion the Final Solution, the bloody executions gave rise to refusals among many of the SS officers. They found it difficult to deal with the mayhem of dead bodies mixed in with those who were still dying; with the arduous task of having to kill again, one by one, those who had already been shot; with the quagmire of blood as they stepped over the fallen bodies; with the hands of the dying coiling around their boots like creeping vines. But this has ceased to be a problem. In Auschwitz, there is no chaos. The killings are routine.
The people in front of Dita have stood up, and the guards can’t see her. She reaches under her smock and grabs hold of the geometry book. As she holds it, she feels the roughness of the pages. She runs a finger over the furrows of the bare spine.
And in that moment, she shuts her eyes and squeezes the books tightly. She acknowledges what she has known right from the start: She’s not going to abandon them. She is the librarian of Block 31. She asked Fredy Hirsch to trust her, almost demanded it. And he did. She won’t let him down.
Finally, Dita stands up carefully. She holds one arm across her chest, pressing the books to her body. A group of girls obscure her, but she is tall and her posture is suspicious.
Before beginning the inspection, the sergeant had given an order and two SS guards disappeared inside Hirsch’s cubicle, where the rest of the books are hidden. Though the hiding place is secure—the books fit in a dugout beneath a wooden floorboard so perfectly as to be undetectable—Dita knows that Hirsch is now in great danger. If they find the books, nothing can save him.
* * *
Mengele has moved away, but Hirsch continues to stand stock-still as the Germans root around his cubicle. Two SS guards wait outside, relaxed, their heads tilted back. Hirsch remains upright. The more they relax their posture, the more erect he’ll be. He’ll take any opportunity, no matter how small, to demonstrate the strength of the Jews. They are a stronger people, and that is why the Nazis fear them, why they must exterminate them. The Nazis are winning only because the Jews don’t have an army of their own, but Hirsch is convinced the Jews will never make this mistake again.
The two SS men com
e out of the cubicle; the Priest holds a few papers in his hand. It seems that this is the only suspicious thing they’ve found. Mengele gives the papers a cursory look and disdainfully hands them to the sergeant, almost allowing them to fall. They are the reports on the operation of Block 31 that Hirsch writes for the camp high command.
The Priest tucks his hands back into the worn sleeves of his greatcoat. He issues his orders in a low voice, and the guards spring into action. They advance toward the inmates, kicking aside any stools in their path. Fear erupts among the children and the newly arrived teachers, who give way to sobs and cries of anguish. The veterans are less concerned. Hirsch does not move. In a corner, Mengele stands removed, observing.
When the pack reaches the first bunch of prisoners, it slows, and the guards begin their search. They inspect the prisoners, frisking some, moving their own heads up and down in their search for who knows what. The prisoners pretend to look straight ahead, but they cast sidelong glances at the inmates next to them.
The guards order one of the female teachers to step out of the line. She’s a tall woman who teaches crafts. In her class, children create small miracles out of old string, wood splinters, broken spoons, and discarded cloth. She doesn’t understand what the soldiers are saying; they shout at her and shake her, before returning her to the group. There’s probably no reason for it. Shouting and shaking are also part of the routine.
The guards move on. Dita’s arm is getting tired, but she pulls the books into her chest even more tightly. They stop at the group beside hers, and the Priest lifts his chin, ordering a man out of the line.
It’s the first time Dita has paid any attention to Professor Morgenstern, an inoffensive-looking man who, based on the folds of skin under his chin, must once have been chubby. He has close-cropped white hair and wears a faded, patched jacket that is too big for him. A pair of round glasses sit in front of his myopic beaver-like eyes. Dita has difficulty hearing what the Priest is saying to him, but she sees Professor Morgenstern hold the spectacles out to him. The Priest takes them and examines them; inmates aren’t allowed to keep any personal effects, though glasses for a shortsighted person are no luxury. Even so, the Priest examines them carefully before holding them back out for the old man. When the teacher reaches for them, they fall, smashing against a stool before landing on the floor.
“Clumsy idiot!” the sergeant yells at him.
Professor Morgenstern calmly bends to pick up the broken glasses. He begins to straighten, but a pair of wrinkled origami birds fall from his pocket and he bends again to retrieve them. As he reaches down, his glasses fall to the ground again. The Priest observes this clumsiness with barely contained irritation. Angrily, he turns on his heel and continues the inspection. Mengele misses nothing as he watches from the front of the hut.
Dita senses the SS approach, though she does not look. They stop in front of her group, the Priest directly opposite Dita, not more than four or five paces away. She sees the girls trembling. The sweat on her shoulders is icy cold. There’s nothing she can do: Her height makes her stick out, and she’s the only one not standing to attention, clearly gripping something with one arm. The Priest’s eye is ruthless, inescapable. He’s one of those Nazis who, like Hitler, is intoxicated by hatred.
Though she looks straight ahead, Dita feels the Priest’s gaze piercing her, and fear forms a lump in her throat. She needs air; she’s suffocating. She hears a male voice, and she’s already preparing herself to step out from the middle of the group.
It’s all over—
But not yet. It’s not the voice of the Priest, but a much more timid one. It’s the voice of Professor Morgenstern.
“Excuse me, Sergeant, sir, do you give me permission to go back to my place in the line? If it’s all right with you, of course—otherwise I’ll stay here until you give me the order. The last thing I’d want to do is to cause you any kind of trouble.…”
The Priest looks angrily at the insignificant little man who has dared to address him without permission. The old professor has put his glasses back on, cracked lens and all, and still standing out of line, he looks dopily toward the SS officer.
The Priest strides toward him, and the guards follow behind. For the first time, he raises his voice.
“Stupid old Jewish imbecile! If you’re not back in line in three seconds, I’ll shoot you!”
“At your service, whatever you order,” the professor replies meekly. “I beg you to forgive me, I had no intention of being a nuisance. It’s just that I preferred to ask rather than committing an act of insubordination that might be contrary to the rules, because I don’t like behaving in an inconvenient manner, and it’s my wish to serve you in the most fitting way—”
“Back in line, idiot!”
“Yes, sir. At your orders, sir. Forgive me once again. It wasn’t my intention to interrupt, rather—”
“Shut your mouth, before I put a bullet in your head!” yells the Nazi, beside himself.
The professor, bowing his head in an exaggerated manner, steps backward, returning to his group. The enraged Priest does not notice that his guards are now behind him, and as he turns abruptly, he barrels into them. It’s a spectacular scene: Nazis bounce off each other like billiard balls. Some of the children laugh quietly, and the teachers, alarmed, elbow them to be quiet.
The sergeant looks to Mengele, who despises nothing more than incompetence, before he angrily thrusts his men aside and resumes the inspection. As he walks in front of Dita’s row, she clenches her numb arm. And her teeth. In his agitation, the Priest thinks he’s already inspected this group and moves on to the next. There are more shouts, more shoves, the odd search … and the soldiers move slowly away from Dita.
The librarian can breathe again, though the danger has not passed: The guards remain in the hut. Her arm aches from holding it in the same position for so long. To distract herself from the pain, she thinks of how fate brought her to Block 31.
* * *
It was December when Dita and her family arrived in Auschwitz. On their very first morning in the camp, before the morning roll call, her mother bumped into an acquaintance from Terezín, Mrs. Turnovská, who had owned a fruit shop in Zlín. The encounter was a small joy amidst the misery. Mrs. Turnovská told Dita’s mother of the barrack-school for children. There, they held roll call under cover, out of the wet and cold, each morning. There, they didn’t have to work all day. Even the food rations were a little better.
When her mother said that Edita was fourteen—just a year too old to join the school—Mrs. Turnovská told her that the director of the school had convinced the Germans he needed a few assistants to help maintain order in the hut. In this way, he’d taken on a few children aged fourteen to sixteen. Mrs. Turnovská, who seemed to know everything, knew the deputy director, Miriam Edelstein, from her hut.
The women found Miriam walking quickly along the Lagerstrasse, the camp’s main avenue, which stretched from one end to the other. Miriam was in a rush and in a bad mood; things hadn’t gone at all well for her since her family’s transfer from the Terezín ghetto, where her husband, Yakub, had been chairman of the Jewish Council. When they arrived at the camp, he was put with the political prisoners in Auschwitz I.
Mrs. Turnovská sang Dita’s virtues, but before she could finish, Miriam Edelstein cut her off: “The quota for assistants has been filled, and many people before you have asked me for the same favor.” With that, Miriam set off in a great hurry.
But just as she was about to disappear down the Lagerstrasse, she stopped, then returned to the spot where she had left the women. They had not moved.
“Did you say that this girl speaks perfect Czech and German, and that she reads very well?”
In celebration of Hanukkah, the camp was staging a performance of Snow White and the Seven Dwarves, and the prompter who would remind actors of their lines had died that morning. And so that afternoon, Dita entered Block 31 for the first time as the new prompter for Snow White
.
Thirty-two huts, or barracks, formed camp BIIb. They were in two rows of sixteen, lining either side of the Lagerstrasse. Block 31 was the same as those other rectangular barracks, divided by a horizontal brick stove and a chimney, which stood on the foot-flattened dirt floor. But Dita realized that there was one fundamental difference: Instead of rows of triple bunks where the prisoners slept, there were stools and benches, and instead of rotten wood, the walls were covered with drawings of Eskimos and Snow White’s dwarves.
Cheerful chaos reigned as volunteers worked to transform the dismal hut into a theater. Some arranged seating, while others transported colorful costumes and cloth decorations. Another group rehearsed lines with the children, and at the far end of the hut, the assistants positioned mattresses to form a small stage. Dita was struck by the bustling activity: Against all odds, life stubbornly carried on.
They had prepared a small compartment for her at the front of the stage, made out of cardboard and painted black. Rubiček, the director of the play, told Dita to pay particular attention to little Sarah, who forgot to say her lines in German when she became nervous, switching unconsciously to Czech. The Nazis required the performance to be in German.
Dita remembers her nerves before the play began, the weight of responsibility. The audience included some of the top officers of Auschwitz II: Kommandant Schwarzhuber and Dr. Mengele. Whenever she glanced through a hole in her cardboard box, she was astonished to see how much they laughed and clapped. Could these be the same people who sent thousands and thousands of children to their death each day?
Of all the plays performed in Block 31, the December 1943 version of Snow White was one of the most memorable. When the performance started, the magic mirror stuttered at the wicked stepmother, “Y-y-y-you are the most beautiful, my q-q-q-queen.”
The audience erupted in laughter, thinking it a joke, but Dita was sweating inside her cardboard shell. The stammering wasn’t in the script.
When Snow White was abandoned in the forest, the guffaws stopped. The part was played by a young girl with an air of sadness. She looked fragile as she wandered, lost, pleading for help in her tiny voice, and Dita felt a knot in her chest. She, too, was lost, surrounded by wolves. Little Snow White began to sing, and the audience went completely silent. It was only when the prince—the broad-shouldered Fredy Hirsch—came to her rescue, that the audience came to life again, applauding their approval. The play ended with a huge ovation. Even the impassive Dr. Mengele applauded, though he didn’t remove his white gloves, of course.
The Librarian of Auschwitz Page 2