Catherine said softly, “She doesn’t want to personalize the experience.”
“That’s what I think, too, but I have to know who she is. ‘Tell me your name and where you’re from,’ I say forcefully.
“‘I am Lucyna. My home is in Nowy Targ.’
“‘Are you Jewish, Lucyna?’ I say.
“She swallows hard, averting her eyes, and begins to unbutton the top of her gown, exposing her breasts. Tears are forming and rolling down her face.
“‘Stop undressing,’ I say, taking out my picture of Beka. ‘I’m looking for a girl. This one.’
“She doesn’t know what to make of me. Taking the photograph, her eyes move back and forth between my face and the picture. She nods. ‘I know her. She came with me last week. She’s here.’
“‘Where is she?’
“‘Please, your honor, I’m just a peasant girl. I don’t really know what others are doing. I will be happy to please you. Please don’t ask me questions, for I have no information to give.’
“I grab her wrists. My face is inches from hers. ‘She’s my sister, Lucyna. Her name is Beka. I’m not a Nazi. I’m a Jew, like you. I’ve come to get my sister.’
“Tears stream from her eyes and she blinks several times. I let her hands go and she wipes her eyes. ‘You’re a fool,’ she says. ‘The only way out of here is in a wagon.’
“‘Where is she, Lucyna?’
“She hesitates, then nods and says, ‘I’m a condemned girl anyway.’ She takes my hand and leads me into the hallway, whispering, ‘She was taken earlier today by a young SS officer named Rolf. He has a bad reputation among the girls – mean and violent – he likes it rough. He’s been in the corner bedroom for two days.’
“I open the door to the corner bedroom where Rolf is propped up on the bed, his back against the headboard. He’s a stocky man with a massive hairy chest and powerful arms. He has close-cropped blond hair. He sits alone in his boxers and sleeveless undershirt, soaked down the front with what I assume is sweat and dribbled whiskey. He holds the neck of a bottle of brandy in his left hand. His uniform, boots, pistol and knife lie in a heap on the floor by the side of the bed. He smiles broadly and holds up the brandy bottle as we walk in.
“‘Hellooo, Hauptscharfuhrer,’ he slurs. Brandy spills from his lips and down his shirt. ‘Did you bring me another tasty morsel?’
“‘All in good time, my friend. I was hoping you could tell me about a pretty young girl you were with earlier.’ I show him the photograph.
“He snorts. ‘This one,’ he says, ‘is gone. You wouldn’t want her anyway. Fucking cold bitch.’
“Listening to him talk about my sister sends fire through my veins. It takes all my effort to restrain myself.
“‘Do you know where she is, my friend?’
“He sits up, tries very hard to focus and points at Beka’s picture. ‘Let me tell you about this one. She almost ruined my whole weekend. Fucking bitch,’ he sneers, ‘didn’t want to be touched.’
“He snorts again. ‘So I decide to teach this Jewish sow a thing or two about the Master Race.’ He reaches down and picks up his knife from his pile of clothes. ‘You’d be surprised how romantic they become when they feel the cold of my blade on their soft white tits.’ He laughs and flips the knife up in the air. It lands on the end of his bed. He takes a swig of brandy. ‘Besides, there’s something erotic about debasing those arrogant Jewesses, don’t you think? It gets me all excited. So, I grab this bitch by the hair, lean back, spread my legs and point at my crotch. “Come and taste the German High Command,” I say. “In your dreams,” she says and then she spits at me. Can you believe it? This fucking Jew spits at a German officer. I let her go to wipe my face.’
“He tips another swig of brandy, wipes his mouth with the back of his arm and slurs, ‘She backs up toward the door, so I jump off the bed with my knife. “Oh you’ll take it all right,” I tell her, “all eight inches of it, and then I’m going to carve my initials in your lily-white ass.” I grab at her, but she’s quick and darts away. I swing my foot and manage to trip her and she goes tumbling across the floor. Now I’ve got her cornered and I’m going to take her right there on the floor, but the wild beast spins away from me. She jumps up and looks at me with these crazy eyes. “This is one Jewish girl you won’t violate,” she says and she flings herself out the window. Two stories down. Stupid bitch. She hit the cement below and broke her skull wide open.’ He snort-laughed and took another swig. ‘Serves her right. I’m only sorry I didn’t get to do it myself.”‘
Ben paused his narrative. His jaw tensed. “Everything is a blur – I’m operating on animal instinct. I grab Rolf’s knife from the bed and fly at him, my right hand tight around his throat, my left pressuring the tip of the knife over his heart. His eyes are wide with fear, his body is still. ‘That lovely girl was my sister,’ I say, inches from his vile face. ‘You want romance? Here’s a kiss from Beka Solomon.’ I push the knife deep into his chest, twisting it up and then down, holding his throat until he stops convulsing.
“Lucyna stands frozen in the center of the room. ‘We’re dead,’ she says.
“‘Help me get him into the closet,’ I say to her, ‘and I’ll take you out of here.’
“We pull him into the closet and cover him with bedding.
“‘Your hands,’ she says. I look down at my shaking hands. They’re covered in red. I dash to the bathroom and wash his filthy blood down the sink.
“His pistol is lying on the floor. I stick it in my belt, grab Lucyna and lead her from the bedroom to the staircase, pretending to stumble like two drunks, my arm around her waist, to all appearances my courtesan for the night. I take a bottle of vodka off a table near the door and, swinging it around, walk out the front door sauntering like I own the place, me in my uniform, Lucyna in her nightgown. Winking at the sentries, Lucyna and I wobble and giggle through the portico and out toward the woods, another sick Nazi off to get his jollies.
“We make our way down to the car, and thankfully, the keys are on the seat. I quietly drive down the stone pathway back to the road.”
A lump in Ben’s throat put a halt to the narrative. He placed his palms flat on the table and nodded his head. Looking into Catherine’s eyes, he said, “And that’s what happened to my sister. It’s my fault, Catherine. I never should have left her.”
“I’m so sorry,” she said, gripping his forearms. Her face flushed, her eyes full of tears, Catherine put her arms around the wiry old man, hugged him tightly and buried her head on his shoulder. He patted her back. They rocked together.
“It was never your fault, Ben. You can’t continue to blame yourself. Please. If you’d have been there at the cabin, you would have also been arrested.” She gently lifted his chin. “I’m honored that you shared your story with me, Ben.”
She gathered their coats from the brass coat tree, handed Ben his parka, pushed her arms through the sleeves of her camel coat and wrapped a cream wool scarf around her neck. “Would you take a walk with me? I think we could use a breather.”
Raw November winds, the Alberta Clippers, churned Lake Michigan like an agitator in a washing machine, lifting the whitecaps and slamming them down on the sandy shore. Park district workers busily constructed wooden snow fences along the edges of the beachfront to keep impending winter snowfalls from blowing and drifting over adjacent Lake Shore Drive. Catherine and Ben walked briskly and without conversation past the Oak Street beach and back again. By the time they finished their walk and returned to the office, it was dusk and Ben was breathing hard.
“Whew. That’s more exercise than I’ve had in a while,” he said.
“It was a therapy walk for me,” Catherine said. “I needed a few degrees of separation. I hope you didn’t overdo.”
“I’ll be okay. The years have taken their toll, I’m afraid. There was a time when I could walk, and did walk, for days.” He poured a cup of hot tea and wrapped his hands around the mug. Ben shivered, making r
ipples in the surface of the tea. “But then, that’s another chapter of my story.”
“Do you feel up to continuing, because I’ll go a while longer if you want to.”
“Full speed ahead.”
Catherine nodded and prepared to take notes.
Zamość, Poland 1941
“Leaving Rabka, I could barely contain my rage. I wanted to drive back to Zamość as soon as possible, gather Hannah and my family and get out of Europe. Of course, now I had Lucyna with me. I offered to take her to her home in Nowy Targ, but she rejected the suggestion, fearing that she would be re-arrested and sent back to Rabka. Or worse. She felt that she was a marked woman, that she’d be sought as the woman who helped murder Rolf.
“We drove through the night, her head on my shoulder, and arrived in Zamość about 3 a.m. Dressed only in her nightgown, my tunic wrapped around her, she shivered in the night’s cold. I parked the car a block away from Elzbieta’s and walked with Lucyna up the back stairway. Elzbieta answered the door in her robe.
“‘Come in quickly,’ she whispered and inclined her head at Lucyna standing in the doorway, essentially asking me, ‘Who the heck is this?’
“As she ushered us in and handed Lucyna a robe, I hurriedly recounted the details, leaving nothing out. Needless to say, Elzbieta was shaken by the news of Beka’s death.
“‘I’ve got to get Hannah and my family out of Zamość. One way or another we’re leaving Europe,’ I said.
“‘What are we to do with Lucyna?’ Elzbieta said, staring at us both. ‘She has no papers and from what you tell me, the two of you are public enemies number one and two.’
“I shook my head. ‘The drunken scum at Rabka don’t know who I am. I figure I’ll take Lucyna into New Town tomorrow morning. She doesn’t have any place else to stay. My mother will find a home for her until we leave and then she’ll come with us.’
“Elzbieta hesitated. ‘I heard rumors tonight.’
“‘From Otto?’
“She nodded. ‘Soon there are to be mass deportations from New Town. Railroad transports to Izbica. The Germans have built a large work camp there.’
“I knew that was the beginning of the end – I’d worked at Izbica. It was a small, primitive community with old wooden houses, barely any electricity and mud streets. It was located in a desolate valley, near Belzec, farther from the Tatras and more remote. It was truly cut off from the rest of the world. ‘Once they’re transferred there, it’ll be hell to escape.’
“‘Take my car,’ she said, ‘it belonged to my aunt and she doesn’t drive anymore. Get your family out of here.’
“I gave her a big kiss. ‘Elzie, you’re wonderful. Tell Otto I need to keep his uniform in case we’re stopped.’
“‘I will, but he’s not going to like it,’ she said. She led Lucyna back to her closet to find some clothes. I caught a short nap and awoke at daylight.
“The two of us made our way into the ghetto without incident. I carried Otto’s tunic in a shopping bag covered with potatoes. Neither my mother nor my father was at the apartment. I hid the uniform and pistol under the bed, left Lucyna and headed to the Judenrat, for I preferred to have my father with me when my mother learned about Beka. When I found him he was in the midst of an argument with several older men, trying to formulate a protest to present to Commandant Schubert, complaining about the lack of medicine deliveries.
“My father saw me and excused himself from the argument. He put his arm around me and walked me to the street.
“‘Did you get Beka?’ he asked.
“I could barely speak. I was always awed by my father, and in his imposing presence I couldn’t bring myself to tell him right off that Beka had died. But intuitively he knew.
“‘This will crush your mother,’ he said. ‘I don’t know how much more she can take.’
“‘We need to get out of Zamość,’ I said. ‘I have Elzie’s car. We can leave tonight. We’ll head straight for the southern border. Krzysztof showed me a route through the mountains into Yugoslavia. I have a gun and Otto’s uniform – we’ll bluff our way through.’
“Father didn’t answer immediately, and that troubled me. We started walking to the clinic. After a short while he said, ‘There is much to do before we can leave.’
“Hannah and Mother were both at the clinic when we arrived. Father pulled them aside and we stepped into a small office. He quietly closed the door and looked at them with a face that said it all. I stood next to Hannah, my arm around her waist. Father put his hands on mother’s frail shoulders. ‘Leah, our beautiful Beka is gone. Alav hashalom - may she rest in peace.’
“My mother crumbled into his arms and wailed. Hannah wept. I held her tightly. It was the most profound sadness I had ever witnessed. The three of us stayed in the room for several minutes without talking. Finally Mother lifted her head from Father’s chest and asked, ‘When will this end?’
“‘Now,’ I said. ‘We’re going to leave Zamość.’
“We walked slowly, arms around each other, back to the apartment. I introduced my parents and Hannah to Lucyna, who was sitting silently across the room. Mother lay down on the bed, Hannah sat by her side and my father and I walked out to the sidewalk to talk. He didn’t want to know the details of Beka’s death and I didn’t offer.
“‘I’ll have to make arrangements for someone to take my position at the Judenrat,’ he said. ‘That’ll be difficult because I dare not disclose my intent to leave. There are too many who would sell that information for a loaf of bread. If I can arrange it and if your mother is up to it, we’ll leave tomorrow night.’
“‘I’ll contact Otto. We’ll need money,’ I said.
“‘I suppose you’re right but I no longer trust Otto. Be careful.’
“I nodded and left for Elzbieta’s.”
Catherine held her hands up. “I need to stop here. I’m exhausted – physically and emotionally. I feel like I lost a friend today. I want you to finish your story, but I can’t absorb anymore today.”
“I’m sorry. You’re a good person, Catherine. Shall I come back tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow,” she stammered softly. “Yes, tomorrow.”
Catherine walked slowly back to her office and rocked in her desk chair staring through the window at the Federal Plaza below. The last of the season’s open-air markets was folding up. Federal employees, finished with their workday, were filing past the orange Calder statue and dispersing through the plaza. There was a beehive of energy outside the window, but inside her office, Catherine was drained. After several minutes she picked up the phone and dialed Liam.
“Are you busy?” she asked.
“Never too busy for you.”
“Can you pick me up at the office?”
“Now?”
“Please. I’ll meet you on the Dearborn street side.”
* * *
Jeffers stood by the window in Rosenzweig’s corner office, looking out over the Chicago skyline on a clear, starlit evening.
“This view makes me feel like I’m standing in an airplane,” he said to Elliot.
Elliot nodded. “Did Solomon sign the order?”
Jeffers shook his head and walked away from the windows. “Not yet. I just gave it to Lockhart today. You were right, she does represent him.”
“That’s what was told to me. Did she say whether or not Solomon would sign the order?”
“No. But if he doesn’t, I’ll bring him into court. We’ll get the order entered one way or another.”
Rosenzweig shook his head. “No court hearing, Gerry. It’s bad publicity.”
“I disagree. Solomon’s a stalker, and dangerous one at that. No one would blame you.”
“He’d use the hearing as some kind of soapbox to accuse me. I don’t want to give him a forum. The papers and TV stations would be all over it, and all of Solomon’s rantings would get air time. No thanks, I don’t need it.”
“Well, he may end up signing it voluntarily, I threatened Lock
hart pretty good. I even leaned on Walter Jenkins, her boss.”
“If he does, fine, otherwise let it go. As I told you, I have an investigator on the trail of the real Otto Piatek. He told Brian this afternoon that he has a lead. Believe it or not, he thinks Piatek may actually be in Cleveland.”
“You’re kidding!”
Rosenzweig opened a walnut humidor and took out two cigars. He clipped the ends and handed one to Jeffers.
“How did he find him in Cleveland?” Jeffers said between puffs as he lit his Cohiba.
Elliot shrugged. “Friend of a friend. He’s got friends in low places, as they say. I don’t ask too many questions. The investigator’s been spreading some money around in one of those Neo-Nazi groups and seems to have come across information that Piatek was living in a bungalow in a Polish neighborhood somewhere in Cleveland. Who knows? We may find this guy. He’s tracking it. Wouldn’t that be something?”
“You trust this investigator?”
“Not entirely. But I’ll spend a few bucks and see what he comes up with.”
Jeffers examined his cigar. “Ok. I’ll hold off on the order of protection. Damn fine cigar, Elliot.”
* * *
“Thanks,” said Catherine sliding into Liam’s car. “I didn’t want to go home alone.”
“Rough day? Did Ben give you a hard time?”
“Liam, you have no idea. The story, the people, what they went through. I keep thinking, who am I to be given the responsibility for bringing this matter to judgment? How has it found its way into my lap?” She shook her head and tried not to cry. “I don’t have his strength of character. This is too lofty an assignment for me.”
“Don’t beat yourself up, Cat. I have faith in you.”
“I know you do. You always have. Keep telling me to be strong, Liam. I need it.”
As Liam pulled up in front of Catherine’s townhome, she said, “Do you have time to come in for a while? I could use the company.”
“Sure,” he said. They found a parking place a block away. The street lights had come on and the November evening was blustery.
“I can cook us dinner,” she said, unlocking her door. “That is, if you don’t have plans.”
Once We Were Brothers Page 19