The Black Life

by Paul Johnston

  ‘Affirmative,’ she typed. ‘Tonight we pay a call.’

  ‘Approved. Confirm.’

  She acknowledged the order and signed off in the normal way.

  A few minutes later she paid the bill and zipped up her bag. On her way to the researcher’s office, she thought about Alex Mavros. He was keeping something from her, she was sure. Leaving him on his own later wasn’t ideal, but she had no choice. He’d have to live with his disappointment. Lover back in Athens or not, she could see he liked the look of her. He wasn’t unattractive himself – which would make things easier if she had to get full value from him.

  Mavros watched Rachel walk down the crowded street. Her legs were lithe and elegant, and she moved between people both gracefully and with great nimbleness. He wondered if she’d ever played football, then dismissed that with a smile.

  ‘What’s the joke?’ she asked.

  He had to think on his feet. ‘Look at that,’ he said, pointing to an ancient Citroën Deux Chevaux with horses’ heads painted on the doors. ‘If those are on the doors on the other side, it’ll be a Quatre Chevaux.’

  Rachel ignored that. She was looking at the Phoenix Rises graffito. Under the bird emblem was a bit of Greek key pattern like a swastika. ‘What is that?’

  He explained, adding that the scrawl beneath was some wit answering ‘Are You with Us?’ with the question ‘Are you paying?’

  ‘That’s exactly the problem,’ Rachel said. ‘Fascist organisations always bribe their supporters. Who are these people? Do they have any real power?’

  Mavros led her inside. ‘They put some immigrants here in intensive care last week. But, no, hardly anyone votes for them.’

  ‘Yet.’ Rachel shook her head. ‘Look what happened with Le Pen in France. He was in the presidential run-off.’

  They took the lift to the sixth and top floor.

  ‘This lot are stronger in Thessaloniki and the north, I think. They take a hard line on the former Yugoslav Macedonian Republic.’

  ‘Hard line as in?’

  ‘They want to seal the border.’

  Rachel stared at him. ‘That wouldn’t do Greek business much good.’

  ‘Which is partly why people don’t vote for them. Oh, and they want illegal immigrants to be put in barges and towed into international waters, preferably without food or water.’

  ‘Delightful.’

  Mavros found the door, which had been freshly painted, and rang the bell. It was answered by a woman he recognised from the photo on her site, though she had put on weight and her hair was greyer.

  ‘Mr Mavro?’ she said, in Greek.

  ‘Alex.’

  ‘Allegra.’

  He introduced Rachel in English.

  ‘Shalom,’ Allegra Harari said, with a smile, then continued in Greek.

  ‘I’m afraid she doesn’t speak English,’ Mavros explained. ‘You don’t know Russian? Or Polish? Or German?’

  Rachel shook her head, her lips pursed. ‘None of those languages has any appeal to me, especially not the last.’

  Mavros translated.

  ‘Believe me, I didn’t learn them for pleasure,’ Allegra said, leading them in. ‘But you can’t work with the Lager records and the research into them if you don’t know those languages.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Rachel, taking in the comfortable sitting room, ‘she lives here.’

  Their hostess answered at some length.

  ‘Her father was bought the flat with the money he received in compensation. He came back from Auschwitz to find the family house had been assigned to a Greek, who refused to give it back. The court case lasted nearly ten years.’

  ‘Disgraceful,’ Rachel said, sitting on the sofa indicated by Allegra. She and Mavros both declined coffee. ‘Tell her who we’re looking for and … what the old woman said.’

  Allegra Harari listened carefully, taking notes. ‘So,’ she said, when Mavros finished. ‘First of all, I know Ester Broudo. I agree with Rabbi Rousso. She is not a fanciful person and certainly isn’t one to make something like this up.’

  Mavros translated.

  ‘But she could still have made a mistake,’ Rachel said.

  ‘If you think that, why are you here?’ Allegra asked, with a knowing smile.

  Rachel didn’t respond.

  ‘Next,’ the researcher continued, ‘I am aware of your family. Yosif Samuel, Aron’s father, was quite an important figure in our community before the war – though his lukewarm attitude to religious affairs earned him enemies among the faithful and his lack of interest in Palestine as the Jewish homeland annoyed the Zionists. Like many Thessaloniki Jews, he saw himself as a Greek, although men of his generation were less outspoken about that than the younger ones.’

  ‘That’s interesting,’ Rachel said, her expression suggesting otherwise.

  Mavros wondered how much she knew about her great-uncle. He’d quizzed her on the plane and had been given the impression that he was a faceless ghost. Her questions to the Jewish community in Athens had apparently produced nothing useful.

  ‘Of course, I can do detailed research,’ Allegra said.

  ‘I’ll pay,’ Rachel said.

  ‘We’ll talk about that later.’

  Mavros took out the book his mother had published. ‘There’s a brief mention of the Samuels in here.’

  Rachel stared at him and took Years in Hell from his hand.

  ‘No,’ Allegra said to him. ‘To be frank, I don’t remember coming across much information about them. But that was nearly fifteen years ago and many archives have opened up since then. Many are also on line. How is Dorothy?’

  ‘Ageing but generally well.’

  ‘What is this?’ Rachel asked.

  ‘A book of extracts from Auschwitz survivors’ memoirs, edited by Allegra. My mother published it before the turn of the century.’

  ‘Really? You didn’t mention it.’

  He smiled. ‘I assumed your high-capacity computer stick contained everything there is to know about me. Your family isn’t mentioned in the book.’

  She handed it back. ‘Very well. Please ask her to carry out a full investigation into my great-uncle, paying particular attention to today’s allegations about him. I will give her a deposit.’

  Allegra Harari declined the latter with a hurt look and told Mavros she’d start immediately. Rachel gave her a card with her email address on it. He handed over his.

  As they were preparing to leave, he asked about the Phoenix Rises graffiti.

  ‘Ach, those idiots are everywhere. They paint out the sign in the Square of the Jewish Martyrs and make a mess on the Holocaust Victims’ Monument. We ask the police and the municipality for help, but nothing happens. I’ve had personal threats too.’

  ‘What did the police say?’

  ‘Not much. They took photographs of what was sprayed on my door and put them in a file.’

  ‘What threats were made?’

  ‘The usual filth – “We’ll Burn You, Jew Bitch”, “Prepare to Be Made into Soap” and so on.’

  ‘When was this?’

  ‘Over the last three months – the latest was a week ago.’

  ‘You should get a steel door.’

  ‘And let them know they’ve frightened me? No, thanks. I have nephews who come quickly. They almost caught the cowards once.’

  Back on the street Rachel asked, ‘What was that about?’

  Mavros told her.

  ‘I don’t like it,’ she said. ‘Are you sure she’s safe?’

  ‘Search me. I didn’t know the Phoenix Rises were into making threats against Jews.’

  ‘Yes,’ Allegra said to him. ‘There wasn’t much information about them. She should have her nephews there all the time.’

  ‘Probably not practicable.’

  ‘Neatly put. OK, I’m going back to the hotel.’

  Mavros nodded. ‘Me too. Em, I’m afraid I’ve got something on tonight.’

  Rachel gave him a searching look. ‘S
omething personal?’

  ‘Old friend.’

  There was a pause before she responded. ‘Don’t worry, Alex, you aren’t tied to my apron strings.’

  ‘Is that an apron?’

  She laughed. ‘Witty too. Or so you think. Don’t worry, I have work to do. I’ll be staying in.’

  As they approached the hotel, they passed a gaggle of uniformed police in the street. They were smoking and drinking coffee, their laughter and back slaps filling the air.

  ‘Off duty?’ Rachel asked.

  ‘I doubt it.’

  ‘No wonder this city isn’t safe for minorities.’

  Mavros shrugged. From what he’d been reading in Years in Hell, the co-capital had a distinctly chequered history in that department.

  Rachel opened her laptop as soon as she entered her room and went on to the encrypted site.

  ‘Request covert guard on Allegra Harari.’ She added the address. ‘At least at night.’

  ‘Reason?’

  ‘Threats from avian bonfire.’

  ‘Status?’

  ‘Potentially serious. Subject is source.’

  ‘Acknowledged.’

  Rachel signed off and exited the site. She looked at the diamond watch her father had given her for her eighteenth birthday, then took it off. The evening’s work would require her to be as inconspicuous as possible.

  TEN

  We had heard rumours about trains full of Jews leaving the city and the comrades had told me to run or hide, but I had committed myself to my family. I’m still not sure why. Of course, loyalty to family is a central tenet of our community, but I had spent most of my early years rebelling. I think the killing of Zakar had a lot to do with my decision. It wasn’t that I was afraid of his colleagues tracking me down. Beating one of the enemy to death, even one of our own, gave me confidence; it increased my innate arrogance. I actually believed I could protect my relatives from anything the Nazis had planned.

  Not that it was obvious what those plans were. Cunning was to the fore, as always with the SS. We were made to exchange our Greek currency for zloty, which we would be able to use in the work camps in Poland. It was a convincing trick, one that enabled the enemy to pocket our dwindling funds as well as reassure us about our future. Even I believed that what lay ahead was labour. In that, at least for me, I was correct.

  The grandmothers were lying in the corner of a ramshackle hut that had been vacated by a family that left on a train shortly before we entered the Baron Hirsch. They were living corpses, only their fleshless faces visible beneath layers of clothing. Mother was bustling around, cooking soup on a fire fed by coal I’d managed to steal from another tumbledown house.

  ‘That I should have a son who is a thief,’ she groaned.

  ‘That I should have a mother who is an ingrate,’ I replied.

  She was outraged but Isaak and Dario laughed, and even my father raised a smile. He had aged ten years in recent months and refused to eat, passing his portions to my sister.

  Little Golda was at the breast much of the time. Isaak was embarrassed and turned away. I did too, but not without catching the occasional glimpse of Miriam’s blue-veined flesh and the dark skin of her nipples. I had little knowledge of the other sex and used my imagination to relieve my teenage lust. There was a girl in the youth party who I liked, though romance was not encouraged and she turned away when I stared at her during the lengthy speeches the cadres read out. She was nominally a Christian and I got the feeling she didn’t like what I was, despite the party line of no religious discrimination. We were all atheists in theory, though plenty of older comrades still baptised their children.

  ‘Come on,’ Dario said, pulling my arm. ‘Let’s see what else we can lift.’

  We moved through the crowded, filthy lanes of the camp. People were sweating in the May sun, but no one took off their clothes. They would have disappeared immediately. The trading of food was going on, brought in illicitly or stolen from elsewhere in the Hirsch.

  ‘We need knives,’ my brother-in-law said, limping half a pace behind me.

  ‘What?’ I said, looking at the heavily armed SS and Jewish policemen on the other side of the fence. ‘To fight them?’

  ‘No, to be ready for whatever awaits us where we’re going. Do you think the Poles are going to welcome us with open arms?’

  He had a point. I whispered to him to act the decoy. He was good at it, playing the part of an official and rattling on about the importance of cleanliness. Soon I had a pocketful of table knives, two of which had a decent edge. At our last stop I managed to palm a wooden-handled kitchen blade with a vicious point. I nudged him and we strolled away.

  ‘Did you hear what that man said?’ my brother-in-law asked.

  ‘My attention was elsewhere.’

  ‘The transports. Apparently they’re made up of cattle trucks. There are no seats and no toilets. Peopled were crammed into the last train.’

  Something about the word ‘cattle’ made my stomach somersault. Cattle would only be transported by rail when they were going to the slaughter.

  ‘Keep that to yourself,’ I said. ‘There’s no point in scaring our people. When our turn comes, make sure you stay close to Miriam and the baby. I don’t know if my sister is strong enough for this.’

  He nodded. Neither of us had to say anything about the grandmothers. They might not even last the night.

  I was wrong there. They were alive the next day and we had to manhandle them on to the cattle truck when our names were called by the guards. The vehicle stank, with minimal ventilation and a leaky can in the middle for us to relieve ourselves. Males and females were supposed to be separated, but Isaak, Dario and I managed to form a wall around the others in one corner with our cases. The grandmothers were propped up against the wooden sides, and Miriam and Mother sat in front of them. They did what they could to comfort little Golda. Father tried to help us, but he dropped to his knees before the train started to move. When it did, he fell forward and almost smothered my maternal grandmother. I pulled him back.

  ‘Thank you, my son,’ he said, his voice cracked. ‘How long do you think the journey will last?’

  ‘Three days at most,’ Dario said confidently, but I knew he was lying.

  How can I describe what it was like? The great writers – Primo Levi, Elie Wiesel – have set it down in words that will last as long as human beings read. But you want to hear my version, don’t you? Well, to do anything was close to impossible, even for a relatively strong young man like me: inhaling the fetid air, standing as the carriage jolted and bucked, supporting each other with our arms, pushing through the mass of people to the shit can, helping our women use it with our coats opened around them, eating the last of our food. We had little water and were rarely given any. People went mad, screaming, punching, fainting. Others died, mostly the old and the very young. My grandmothers already seemed to be in another world, with no awareness of the horror we were living, but they were still breathing. On the second day Miriam started to weep, at first quietly but soon inconsolably loud. We let Dario get down beside her. She didn’t seem to recognise him. Then I heard her say ‘Albertos’. She went on repeating her first husband’s name for days. Dario looked broken. At least Miriam let him caress Golda. It wasn’t my sister’s fault that her spirit was broken, but Dario deserved better.

  Isaak was at the side of the cattle truck. He started digging at the wood with one of the knives I had stolen. Soon the blade broke. He took another. It was a mistake. At one of the frequent stops – we were never allowed out when the cans were emptied and the dead removed – an SS man saw what he was doing from outside and smashed the butt of his rifle against my brother’s hand. He cried out, dropping the knife through the gap he’d made. Blood came from his shattered fingernails. I thought some of the bones were broken. Now both his arms were useless.

  What more can I say? We were parched, the sun beating down on the train as it clacked across interminable plains and through
gorges. Apart from the mad ones, no one wasted breath on talking. We concentrated on surviving. In periods of lucid thought, I was assailed by doubts and fears. If we were being taken to a work camp, why were we being debilitated in this way? Why weren’t we being given more water? Or bread – most people’s food ran out after a few days. I traded use of my sturdiest blade to open cans, taking a portion for us. We were all still alive, even the grandmothers. The men without beards now had thick stubble and the skin on the women’s faces was shrinking, their cheekbones more prominent.

  The voices outside became louder and coarser every time we stopped. Looking through the slats, I could see more SS men, their jaws extensions of the coal-scuttle helmets they wore. Some of them had whips in their belts, others held on to straining dogs that barked as if our smell was offensive. Which it was, of course. The shit can often overflowed and we stood in our own waste matter. But those dogs with their slavering jaws weren’t infuriated by the stench of faeces and urine. They had been trained to direct their aggression against Jews. Even the animal kingdom was against us.

  ‘My son,’ came a desperate voice.

  I bent down. ‘Yes, Mother.’

  ‘You have a knife still?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘My son, you will need expiation, even if you do not believe the sacred writings.’

  I leaned closer, struggling to catch her words. ‘Why?’

  ‘You must kill them,’ she said, nodding towards the grandmothers. ‘They will not even notice.’

  My knees gave way and I fell on top of Mother.

  ‘Do it!’ she said into my ear. ‘Do it now!’

  I rocked back and looked up at my father. His eyes were closed and he was being held up by Dario.

  ‘I can’t … I can’t do that to his mother without telling him,’ I hissed.

  ‘Please, my son, I beg you. There is nothing left for them. Please.’

  I took in the old women’s deeply lined faces. Their eyes were shut and their hands beneath their coats. They looked like Egyptian mummies, but it wouldn’t be as easy as Mother thought. I would have to open their clothing and that might wake one or both of them.

  ‘I can’t!’ I pleaded. ‘I can’t!’