Catherine wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “No matter where he ended up, she promised she’d be there.”
“That’s right.” Adele pulled her car into the parking lot of Henderson’s Florist. “We’ll stop here for the flowers.”
The bouquet, a standing order of red and white carnations, was wrapped and ready. Adele took the bouquet and drove across the street into Memorial Park Cemetery. Together they walked down the pathway till they came to a rose-colored granite marker. Adele set the flowers gently into the holder on the stone above the inscription:
Hannah Solomon
Dance Through All Eternity
1921-2001
Catherine stared at the stone in silence, feeling strangely connected. “You knew Hannah?” she asked Adele, after a few moments.
“Oh my, yes. She was my best friend.”
“Wasn’t she sent to Auschwitz?”
“Indeed she was, just as Ben described, on that terrible afternoon in 1944 when the women were loaded onto the truck in the courtyard of St. Mary’s and driven from Krasnik to Auschwitz. Upon arrival, Leah Solomon and the sisters of St. Mary’s were separated from Hannah and were never seen again. Hannah and Lucyna, young and strong, were assigned to work in a nearby armaments factory. Hannah’s beautiful auburn hair was shaven and she was issued a striped uniform.
“Every day they were marched out of the Birkenau camp with the other women laborers in columns of five, four miles to the factory. At the end of a twelve-hour work day, they marched back. In a drafty wooden stable, meant to hold forty-eight horses, Hannah and eight hundred other poor souls slept on bare wooden platforms, three compartments high. No blankets, no pillows. There were holes in the floor for human waste. There was no heat or running water. As the weeks went by, many succumbed to the ordeal. Malnutrition, disease, madness, or the sheer exhaustion of the daily labors claimed those that the gas chambers did not consume.
“In October 1944, they began to hear the distant guns of the Russian Army. To Hannah and Lucyna the artillery blasts were the drums of freedom. As they grew louder, they knew they would be freed if they could only hang on a little while longer.
“But Lucyna was failing. Although a tough little woman, she was losing her mental and physical stamina. Hannah urged her on, found extra food and water for her, and encouraged her to keep going. ‘We’re survivors,’ she told her. ‘When this is over, we’ll all be together again.’
“Just as the prisoners anticipated the advance of the Red Army, so did the Germans. In October and November they dismantled and destroyed the crematoriums. Gassings stopped. The SS did whatever they could to cover up the evidence of mass executions. Finally, on the morning of January 18, 1945, the women were roused by the Kapos and told to gather in the yard. It was the final roll call.
“Snow blew over the frozen ground, yet Hannah, Lucyna and the women stood outside in their thread-bare clothes. They were each given a piece of bread, a slab of margarine and were marched out of the gate. Fifty-eight thousand prisoners, in columns of five, began what was to be known as the Auschwitz Death March. You see, Catherine, even in the face of defeat, the Nazis continued to pursue their Final Solution.
“The prisoners were marched during the day and slept in barns or open fields at night. This was the dark of the Polish winter, the rivers were frozen and the snow drifts were at times as high as their knees. If a prisoner fell, became ill, complained, or was unable to walk, she was shot and her body left in the snow.
“Lucyna’s strength was all but gone, but Hannah commanded her to keep walking. Leaning on each other, and on Hannah’s indomitable will to live, they reached the railroad station in the town of Wodzislaw.
“There the women were stuffed into unheated railroad boxcars for transportation to other concentration camps deep in Germany. They were so tightly crammed that there was little or no room to sit and the train moved with agonizing slowness, often sitting on a side rail to allow the military trains to pass.
“Once each day the train would stop. The women would be given a pail of water and a ladle, although the water was insufficient to serve everyone, even with minimal portions. It was during this ghastly transport that Lucyna gave up the fight. Dehydrated and weakened, she slipped away in Hannah’s arms.
“Eventually the doors slid open and the women, blinded by the bright sunshine, were prodded down the ramps and into the Buchenwald concentration camp. There they found conditions just as bad, if not worse, than at Auschwitz.
“Hannah was assigned to the Dora-Mittlebau subcamp where women labored, some of them in caves, assembling munitions. The work was so strenuous and the conditions so foul that many women did not survive, but for Hannah, she had made a promise and she intended to keep it.
“On April 11, 1945, in the midst of her ordeal, weak and barely able to endure another day, she awoke to a chaotic scrambling in the camp. The guns that she heard were those of the U.S. Army 104th Infantry, the Timberwolf Division, which had landed in France and advanced eastward through the Rhineland. Some of the Dora SS had fled. Some guards had taken prisoners and marched them north. The other guards were left behind to execute the remaining inmates but they were foiled when the American troops overran the camp.
“Hannah, weighing less than eighty pounds, was helped to a stretcher, carried out and driven to an American field hospital. She was in the hospital when Hitler took his life on April 30th and when Germany unconditionally surrendered to General Eisenhower on May 7th.
“There was a medic at the hospital, a corporal who cared for Hannah every day. He was a sweet man named William Porter, from a small town in Mississippi, and he patiently nursed her back to health. Through broken English and over many days, Hannah told him her story. Bit by bit. The story of Zamość and of her family. The story of Ben Solomon.
“Through it all, she never lost faith and hung tight to the vows she and Ben had made. She always knew she’d find him and she came to believe it would be at the cabin. ‘He’ll be there,’ she said to Corporal Porter one day. ‘He’s waiting for me, I’m sure of it. I promised I would come to him.’ And Corporal Porter gave her his word, he’d help her get there when she regained her strength.
“In July, almost a year to the day she was sent to die, a year since she’d seen Ben, Corporal Porter borrowed a jeep and drove her south to the mountains.”
Catherine kneeled on the frozen grass and gently touched the headstone. She whispered a prayer and stood up. “What is it, Adele? Why do I feel so close to her? Why do I feel like I know her?”
Adele smiled.
“Remarkable people,” Catherine said. “Such determination. How did they get to Chicago?”
“Cousin Ziggy. After the war, there were thousands of displaced people: survivors of the camps, war refugees. But there were strict immigration quotas in the United States. It was possible for U.S. citizens to obtain visas for displaced European relatives, providing the citizens signed a document agreeing to be financially responsible. After a tangle of red tape, Ben and Hannah came to Chicago in 1949.”
Adele’s cell phone buzzed. She pulled it out of her coat pocket and held it to her ear. “It’s Liam. Ben’s condition is unchanged.”
Catherine stared at the flowers. “They’re already frozen.”
Adele smiled. “Of course. But they’re here. It’s an unbroken link. A promise kept.”
“Tell me about their life in Chicago,” Catherine said on the ride downtown.
“Just plain old Chicago folks, I guess. They lived in an apartment on Cornelia street for many years. Hannah took a job at a hospital and enrolled in DePaul’s School of Nursing. When she got her degree, she worked at Children’s Memorial until her retirement. Ziggy got Ben the job with the Chicago Park District where he worked at the golf course until 1996. He was a voracious reader and never stopped educating himself. He pursued a degree through the evening program at Northwestern and later accepted an adjunct position teaching evening courses in European history.”
; “No children?”
Adele shook her head. “Hannah couldn’t have children, whether it was the scarlet fever or the abuse her poor body took in the concentration camps…no, it was just the two of them, but they had a sweet life. Almost every Saturday night he would take her dancing.
“Ben retired eight years ago and they talked about moving to Florida but they loved the city and all their friends were here. About three years ago, Hannah came down with heart disease – maybe that too was a result of the scarlet fever. She was bedridden for weeks. Her heart finally gave out on August 25, 2001. To Ben, it was as though half of him had left. Maybe more than half.”
“But she didn’t really leave did she, Adele. All these years since she died, she’s still here, right? I mean, he’s still in touch with her, isn’t he?”
Adele looked at Catherine, one to another, keepers of a mystical secret, and shrugged. “Who knows for sure, honey. He says he is. If you ask me, I believe him. If any two people could stay connected through all eternity, it’s Ben and Hannah.”
Catherine’s cell phone buzzed. “Okay. I’ll be there,” she said, then turning to Adele, she said, “That was Richard Tryon at the U.S. Attorney’s office. They’re going out to arrest Rosenzweig. If it wouldn’t be too much trouble, can you drop me at the Federal Building? I owe it to Ben to be there when they bring him in.”
Chapter Sixty-one
Elliot turned the page of the Wall Street Journal, which lay open on the marble breakfast table, and took a spoonful of fresh grapefruit, a pleasant start to his early afternoon brunch. He loved grapefruit but disliked the effort required to struggle with the rind, not to mention the occasional squirt on his French-cuffed shirt, so his kitchen staff neatly segmented the grapefruits for him each day. One of the perquisites of enormous wealth enjoyed by the Grand Benefactor.
Robert entered the breakfast room followed by four men.
“Excuse me sir.”
“What is it, Robert? Who are these men? What’s this all about?”
Richard Tryon handed Elliot a paper and said, “These men are United States Deputy Marshals and this is warrant for your arrest. The government intends to revoke your citizenship and deport you under Title 8 of the United States Code, Section 1182 (a)(3)(E), otherwise known as the Holtzman Amendment; that is to say, participating and assisting in persecution under the Nazi regime.”
Elliot scoffed and flipped the warrant onto the table. “This is bullshit. Just more of Ben Solomon’s bullshit. I’ll have my lawyer call you later this afternoon.” He returned his eyes to the Wall Street Journal and picked up his spoon.
“You have the right to remain silent…”
“I said my lawyer would call you. Robert, show them to the door. Goodbye, Mr. Tryon.”
“Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law….”
Elliot bellowed, “Do you know who I am?” To Robert, he barked, “Get me the phone. I’m calling Mayor Burton. This young fellow doesn’t know who he’s dealing with. On second thought, get Congressman Douglas on the line.”
Tryon snapped, “Leave the phone where it is. He’ll have the opportunity to make a call after he’s booked.”
Elliot looked shocked.
“My my, things seem to be unraveling, don’t they, Mr. Piatek?”
Elliot’s face turned purple. He pointed his finger at Tryon. “Rosenzweig! The name’s Rosenzweig, and it’s on buildings all over this town.” The marshals moved around the table and stood on either side of Elliot’s chair. “Look here, sonny, I know every bigtime politician in this country. I don’t know who the hell you think you are.” He curled his lip. “Are you Jewish? You don’t look like a Jew.”
“I am Richard Tryon, Assistant United States Attorney. And you are Otto Piatek, and you’re under arrest. Cuff him.”
The marshals lifted Elliot by his armpits, put his hands behind his back and slapped on the handcuffs.
“Elzie,” he yelled. “Elzie, get in here.”
“She left early this morning, sir,” Robert said.
Tryon continued, “You have the right to consult with an attorney and have an attorney present during all questioning. If you cannot afford an attorney…”
“Can’t afford? You little shit. My pinky ring’s worth more than your whole family.”
“…one will be appointed for you. Do you understand each and every right as I’ve explained them to you?”
“Go to hell. I’ll have your job. You’ll be on the streets by dinner time.”
Elliot was led out of the house and into the waiting patrol car. By the time he arrived at the Federal Building, a crowd of reporters, alerted by Tryon, had gathered to watch the “perp walk”. Elliot scowled as he shuffled forward, hands cuffed, past the photographers, through the lobby and into the elevators.
“I want my lawyer,” he snipped. “I know my rights.”
“You can call him as soon as you’re booked,” Tryon replied.
The staff of the U.S. Marshal’s office was ready and waiting for Elliot when he was led through the doors, a strong grip on each arm. His head and shoulders twisted from side to side like a wild coyote on a choker leash. Then he saw Catherine standing quietly in the background.
“You!” he sneered. “I don’t get it. What’s all this to you? You couldn’t have made any money. You lost your job. Your career went to hell. Where will you be tomorrow?”
Catherine shrugged. “I won’t be in prison.”
“Why the fuck did you do this to me?” he shouted. “Why would you stick your neck out? Are you crazy? And where’s Solomon? How come he’s not here to enjoy the show?”
Catherine remained complacent and watched Elliot as he was processed. Then her cell phone buzzed.
“Cat, it’s Liam. Dr. Chou just called. Ben’s awake. Adele and I are heading over. We’ll meet you in the lobby.”
Chapter Sixty-two
Ben lay in room three at Northwestern Memorial’s Cardiac Care Unit. Mort, two nurses and Dr. Chou were standing at the foot of the bed as Catherine, Adele and Liam rushed up. The young cardiologist stepped away to talk to them in the hall.
“He’s very weak and under strong medication, but he’s awake. We’re doing everything we can to control the arrhythmia, but….” He shrugged. “Don’t stay too long.”
Ben smiled as the two approached his bed, one on either side. “Here I am again,” he said to Adele, so softly that she had to lean far over the bedrails to hear him.
He turned his head. “How’s our case, counselor?”
Catherine fought back her tears. “You already know, don’t you? Somehow, you cantankerous old bird, you already know.”
“Elzbieta.” He coughed a puff of air. “She was the key.”
Catherine squeezed his hand and blinked the water from her eyes. “They arrested him this afternoon, Ben. I just came from the U.S. Marshal’s office.”
A smile stretched the weakened skin on his face as Catherine recreated the scene.
“After he was fingerprinted, photographed and booked, they let him call his lawyer. That was the coup de grace. Jeffers cut him loose – he refused to represent him. Rosenzweig screamed into the phone, ‘What do you mean I’m too hot to handle? I’ve paid you a fortune! I own you!’ But Jeffers wouldn’t budge and left Rosenzweig adrift.
“And then it all finally hit him, that there would be no bail, that he would be considered a risk of flight, and that they were never going to release him. Ever. All the color drained from his face. His entire bearing changed. Gone was the arrogant swagger. What remained was just a frightened, defenseless old man looking plaintively into the faces of his keepers, begging for mercy. What a turnabout.”
Catherine shook her head. “All his wealth won’t buy him another day of freedom. He’ll ultimately be sent overseas for trial. And it’s already hit the media. It’ll be on every TV station and in papers all over the world. Everyone will know.”
With great effort and in a raspy voice, Ben spo
ke. “You did a great job. You’re a first-rate attorney.” He motioned for her to come close and she leaned far over the rail. “Let go of those self-doubts now,” he whispered to her. “God doesn’t ask you to be Ruth or Sarah. He only asks you to be Catherine.”
She nodded.
“The Catherine I know, she’s there.” He pointed to her chest. “Inside. Find her and be true to her.”
She nodded.
“Remember: nigdy się nię poddamy. Never surrender.”
Catherine swallowed and nodded her head.
He turned his head slowly back to Adele. “Did you take Hannah her flowers?”
“I did. Catherine went with me.”
“I’m going to see her soon, she’s waiting for me.”
Catherine put her finger on his lips. “Shhhh. Dr. Chou says you’re going to be fine.”
He squeezed her hand. There was a twinkle in his eyes. “Not this time. Besides, I can’t keep Hannah waiting. I promised her the next dance.”
Catherine glanced over at Liam, who stood at the foot of the bed, his arms folded before him. He nodded gently.
Ben closed his eyes. A beatific peace settled on his smiling face. A single tone sounded on the electrocardiograph and Ben loosened his grip on Catherine’s hand. Several nurses quickly entered and started for the bed but Dr. Chou shook his head. Catherine leaned over the rail and kissed Ben on his forehead. “She says you’re a very good dancer. Good-bye Ben. I love you.”
Epilogue
Summer had given way to a glorious fall, the turn of another season in the Midwest, though Catherine felt a hint of winter in the northerly breeze as she pulled out of Henderson’s Florist and into Memorial Park. She carried two bouquets and knelt to set them into holders between the adjoining stones, pausing to chat for a while as had become her habit on Friday afternoons.
“I opened my new office this week, Ben, on Fullerton Avenue in a storefront we passed on the way to lunch at Rocco’s. My little practice is coming together and I feel good about it.”
Once We Were Brothers Page 37