The Compass

by Deborah Radwan

  Jacob leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, and looked at the ground. After a few seconds of mentally sorting out his narrative, he continued. “My mind is racing forward, but I am getting ahead of myself. First, let me tell you about my earlier years, my family.”

  Jacob looked off as if into a far, distant land on the other side of a great ocean that he struggled to see.

  “I grew up in Germany. Ask your teacher to show you where that is if you don’t know.” He looked again at Rudy and continued.

  “When I was a little boy, times were happy. I had a normal childhood with friends and toys and singing and laughter. We lived in a house in Berlin near the university where my father was a college professor and taught philosophy. He made a good living, and we had a comfortable home with nice things. My mother, oh, Rudy… she was a beautiful woman. She stayed at home with us children; it wasn’t like today where working women are a normal thing. You know, for years I had a shawl of hers that carried the scent of her perfume. After the smell faded, I gave the shawl to Grace, Yoshito’s wife. It looked better on her than wrapped in tissue paper in a drawer. Besides, my mother would have liked Grace to have it rather than me hanging on to it as if it could bring her back.” Jacob paused for a moment before continuing.

  “So, we lived in Berlin, a bustling city with lots of things to do and places to see. There were many cultural events and parties which my parents enjoyed and attended with their many friends, most of whom were either from the university or the neighborhood. Many of our neighborhood friends owned local businesses nearby, many of them Jewish businesses. As a young child, I knew I was Jewish, but I don’t think I understood that others were not. Everyone got along; there was no derision around us being Jewish.”

  Here Jacob paused. His thoughts darted in and out of those secret, dark places that he had kept locked for so many years. It was time to talk about her, and he wondered if he had the courage to say her name out loud after all these years.

  Rudy looked at him, wondering, but not saying anything, sensing that Jacob was reaching back for something, something difficult for him to grasp. A great sigh burdened down with vast sadness escaped from the depth of his gut. With the faintest of breezes blowing past, he looked Rudy directly in the eyes with the most anguished, yet tender, expression Rudy had ever seen and resumed in a voice that was quiet and reverent, as if he were talking in church.

  “I had a sister, my twin, and her name was… Blanca. How very beautiful she was, with a laugh that could melt the meanest and hardest of hearts and eyes that out-twinkled the brightest of stars. Do you know anyone like that?” he asked, but didn’t wait for an answer.

  “We were the best of friends. Yes, even at that age when brothers and sisters quarrel and squabble, and we did too mind you, but in the end, we were inseparable. Maybe it’s because we were twins that we were so close; I don’t know. I only know that I loved her and always wanted to protect her.”

  Anguish washed across Jacob’s face, and Rudy wanted to ask what happened to her, but instinctively knew that in these moments of revelation, all his questions would be answered. He also understood the profound trust that Jacob was putting in him, and he knew he would not betray that trust.

  Another breeze blew by Jacob’s face, and it was so gentle, so reassuring, he wondered if it was her. Gaining his composure, Jacob began again. Having said her name, having its wonderful sound roll off his tongue once again, he knew now that he could not stop.

  “You know, I have not said her name since I told Frederick and Yoshito decades ago—thought I could not say her name again without dying. It doesn’t hurt as bad as I thought it would,” he said, and smiled briefly at Rudy with sad eyes.

  “I do not remember much those first years after Hitler came into power, as I was still a young boy with other things on my mind, like homework and playing ball with my friends. However, things were happening; subtle at first then becoming more obvious as time went on. Old classmates after a time would no longer play with me, and there were suddenly smirks and comments from some of the kids at school who had always been mean and picked on the weaker kids but now directed their insults at me and my sister. I remember once bloodying the nose of a boy who taunted Blanca. He ran away, but yelled back to me that I would be sorry—that we were nothing but filthy Jews. At first I was merely puzzled, but as time went by and I grew up, I began to understand how things had changed.”

  Rudy thought briefly about those boys he used to hang out with and realized there was no difference between them and this bully.

  “My parents tried very hard to hide what was happening around us—to keep us innocent for as long as they could—until we were a bit older. How do you explain what was happening to friends and family and us was because we were Jewish? To this day, looking at history and what was happening, I can’t help but wonder why my parents didn’t leave Germany while they still could. I suppose by the time they understood that the horrific rumors were in fact true, it was too late to get out.

  “Yet, all the warnings were there. Jewish children were banned from attending school. My father ultimately lost his job. By 1936, the Nazis were boycotting Jewish-owned businesses. I think November 1938 was a turning point. There was the ‘Night of Broken Glass,’ or Kristallnacht. That night, Nazis terrorized Jews in Germany and Austria by ransacking and destroying businesses, breaking storefronts, sponsoring anti-Jewish riots, burning synagogues, and breaking into homes—ultimately arresting thirty thousand Jews and killing others. I don’t know how we escaped being terrorized that night. Perhaps it was because my father was an ‘educated’ Jew. Who knows how their minds worked? My father was much like Frederick’s and Yoshito’s; he was not a coward but knew it was safer to keep a low profile and not speak out. Outraged friends of ours who had spoken publicly about the injustice disappeared at night. We know now that they were taken to Dachau, one of the concentration camps. Many were beaten to death. At the time, we just knew that people were disappearing during that night and other nights that followed. We lived in terror for years. In 1939, we were all forced to wear arm bands displaying the Star of David. We became easy targets if seen on the streets by an SS; they would find any reason to beat or kill us. We only survived because of the generosity of some of our Christian friends, but it was dangerous for anyone to help us. The Kleins would sneak us baked bread in laundry; the Reinholms, next door, would wrap fruit and vegetables in a burlap bag and bury it in a hole under our shared fence at night. Then we would dig a hole on our side while it was still dark and pull out the bag. We would have starved if not for these friends. It was a very dangerous business, and they took a huge risk helping us. Rudy, I have not forgotten them one day of my life, and I pray for them every time I drop to my knees.

  “Then, one night it happened to us. It was 1940. There was a pounding on the door at two in the morning. That’s the way they did it, you know; anything that would make you more frightened, break down your defenses. What came next felt like the beginning of the end. It is the time when all the color went out of my life and the world turned into shades of gray.”

  Jacob paused, not knowing if he could go on. Yet there was a voice in his head—her voice—guiding him, encouraging him to tell it all, to finally spit the bile and venom out of his mouth that he might begin to heal.

  Rudy looked at Jacob with sad eyes, feeling the pain with him. He reached out and took Jacob’s hand, yet didn’t say a word.

  Appearing unaware of Rudy’s hand on his, Jacob continued, almost as fearful as if reliving it in that moment, back in that house and not sitting with Rudy under the leafy green shade of a tree in his garden.

  “My father rushed out of bed to the door, and by then we were hearing yelling. They were shouting at my father to round up his family. When my father didn’t move fast enough, they pushed him aside to the ground and went through the house to each of our rooms to gather us together.
They had their guns out, and when we were together, we were told we had ten minutes to change into warm traveling clothes and that we could bring one suitcase each of clothing. One of the soldiers was staring at my sister, looking her up and down in a disgusting manner. He was making rude comments to one of the others about my sister’s beauty and how unfortunate that she was a Jew. Blanca and I were by then a little older than you, nearly seventeen, and she was beautiful, too beautiful. Shortly after we had each gone to our rooms to pack, the one soldier entered my sister’s room and closed the door. Suddenly, I heard Blanca screaming and the Nazi soldier laughing. Then I heard a hard slap, and for a moment there was silence. Then Blanca continued her screaming. I tried to get into the room, but the other soldiers prevented me, and one of them finally hit me with the handle of his gun.”

  For a moment, Rudy saw the kid in the park being punched and hitting the ground while he stood and watched. Jacob’s voice brought him back to in the moment.

  “As I teetered back and began to lose consciousness, I heard my sister’s fading screaming turn to crying. I heard my mother wailing, as if she were at the end of the tunnel. I felt my father at my side, and then I blacked out for a short time.

  “When I awakened, everyone was in the front hallway, including myself. My sister was dressed and in a coat, her face swollen and beginning to color from being struck and from crying. My mother had her arm around her helping her navigate, as she appeared to be in a daze. Someone had put boots on my feet, and my father was lifting me up, pulling my arm around his neck so that he could help me walk until I regained full consciousness. They were not going to wait, you see. I either moved or would be shot. I wanted to go to my sister, but I was still a bit dizzy, just trying to put one foot in front of the other, moving as if I had had too much to drink. As my mother tried to put my arms through my coat as my father held me up, we were herded into a truck where others that we knew and some that we didn’t were seated. All had frightened looks on their face; no one was speaking. They reached out and helped us up onto the truck. No one asked questions about me or Blanca. They could piece it together. You see, everyone knew she had been raped. That ugly, vile-mouthed monster had violated my beautiful, innocent, darling sister.” And with this Jacob put his head down into his arms and sobbed like he had not sobbed since being liberated.

  Minutes passed. Rudy sat next to Jacob and just let him cry. Tears ran down Rudy’s face silently at the sight, and reaching out, he put his arm around Jacob’s back. His heart was bursting with love for this man, with such compassion for all he had endured and held in all these years. He understood Jacob’s reticence toward him and felt guilty for being the reminder, the trigger of his past.

  After a while, Jacob looked up, wiping his eyes. Rudy asked, “You okay, Jacob? Is there anything I can get you?”

  Jacob just shook his head and patted his cheek. “Forgive an old man crying like a baby. Just stay here and let me finish what I have begun.”

  “Okay, Jacob, okay.” Jacob blew his nose on an old handkerchief and took a deep breath. After a minute, he continued on.

  “My mother sat on one side of Blanca and I sat on the other. I reached out to take her hand, but there was no reaction; she just stared, not at me, not at anything, just a blank, empty stare. My father watched with an anguished look on his face. I knew he wanted to kill the man who had done this to his beloved daughter, but all that would accomplish was being killed himself. And then who would be there to look after us? My father, Rudy, was a good man. He kept his anger bottled up just so he could stay with his family. He didn’t yet know there was nothing he could do to protect us.

  “The truck took us to the train station where a long line of railway cars with their side doors gaping open wide waited to transport us to places unknown. We didn’t know where we were going; we only knew it couldn’t be good. We knew that people who disappeared in the middle of the night were not seen again. The boxcars were empty but for hay strewn on the floor. There were no beds, no chairs, no heat, no toilets, only a bucket in the middle of each car. No privacy either. We were packed so tightly, like sardines in a can; most of us had to stand the entire journey, let the old folks and the sick sit or lie down if possible. The car began to stink as the bucket filled. We had small air vents which circulated frigid air. We prayed to get to our destination, for surely it would be better than these conditions. How little we knew—how innocent we were of what was coming. We were on the train for days and realized that we had left Germany behind and moved into western Poland. Some people speculated about where we were headed, others had heard things, terrible things, but surely these stories could not be true.

  “Blanca was quiet during the trip and ate very little of what we had brought with us hidden in our clothes. The rhythm of the moving train seemed to keep her lulled in a near catatonic state—the twinkle gone from her eyes. Every now and then, tears would flow from them, yet there were no sobs, no sounds, as if the act of crying were not connected to any thought process. As hard as I tried, she could draw no comfort from me. How bitter I felt. I had failed to protect the sister I loved as dear as myself. Little did I know that time in the train would be the last I would be with her.

  “We finally arrived at our destination. It was raining and cold when we got there. We had arrived at Auschwitz.”

  Rudy looked shocked. He had heard stories of what happened there—stories too hard to believe.

  “Ah, I see by the look on your face that you have heard of Auschwitz.”

  Rudy nodded,. “I never heard of anyone surviving.”

  “Many times I have wondered if it would have been better for me if I had not survived. My entire family died there, Rudy. Why was I spared? Spared to remember the brutality, the inhumanity, and the terror? Spared to remember my family, all gone too soon in horrible deaths? It has not been an easy life. I have not been able to move past it, the way Yoshito and Frederick have moved beyond their painful histories. It still haunts me, even in my dreams, as if it were yesterday.” Jacob struggled to regain his composure.

  “Maybe today, Rudy, you are helping me. I told you, I have not shared this story with anyone for decades. But in telling you, I am somehow beginning to feel less burdened, less fearful. I am afraid that in my giving, you, my friend, may now carry some of it with you for the rest of your life. Forgive me for that.” Jacob patted him on the back, and Rudy nodded his understanding.

  “Tell me the rest, Jacob. I can take it. How did you survive? What happened there?” Rudy questioned, and Jacob slipped back into that time and place.

  “Bad things happened almost immediately. When they opened the car door, it was very cold and wet. It had been raining and now a light, persistent drizzle fell. Most surely it was heaven weeping. We could see that the women and men were being divided; women going one way, men going another. My family panicked. My father quickly told us that if we were separated, we should find our way back to the Reinholms’ after the war. They would take care of us until we could all get there. Father, mother, and I agreed. My sister, with the terror of a caged animal and a wildness in her eyes, said to me in a voice that was too calm, too determined, ‘I can’t do this, Jacob. I can’t bear anymore. I’m afraid, Jacob! I am too afraid.’ Then she added, ‘Remember I love you and explain to mommy and father.’ As I held her hand, I tried to assure her that she just needed to do as she was told; be strong and we would all be together again someday, and what had happened would be in the past. She just looked at me blankly as we were pushed along with the other people. Soon our hands were separated by the throng of others being pushed along. I kept yelling not to give up. My father and I managed to push my mother through those ahead of us to ensure she stayed with Blanca. My father and I were veered off into another direction. We waved and yelled I love you along with the other husbands and fathers being separated from their families. My mother’s only thought was to stay close to Blanca, and she
did not look back.

  “We did not see them again, and little did I know that my sister would die within hours. We heard later that after we were separated, the fit women were taken to an area where they were stripped of their belongings, including their clothes and their shoes. They were then led to an area where their heads were shaved. It would be humiliating for anyone, but my sister… well, she was in a fragile state of mind. They were issued gray-colored dresses and wood shoes, and then marched to their barracks. On the way, they were forced to walk by a huge pit. Inside there were dead, naked bodies, along with the barely living bodies of the too old and infirmed who were of no good to the work camp. They were left to die along with the dead in the freezing cold. Through the camp grapevine, my father and I found out that my sister, upon seeing the bodies in the pit, began screaming hysterically. My mother tried to quiet her, but my sister had lost her mind. An SS soldier came up to them, threatening them, ordering my sister to stop. My mother pleaded with her, but Blanca was inconsolable and kept screaming. The soldier dragged her out of line, pushed her in the pit, and shot her. Her screaming stopped, and she was gone from this world—just like that.

  “Then without so much as an afterthought, as if he had just kicked some trash out of his path, the soldier ordered the others to move on. The surrounding women grabbed my screaming and crying mother, quieting her and telling her to move on or she would be joining her daughter. I’m sure the only reason my mother did not jump in after Blanca was the thought of my father and me.

  “I can only imagine my mother’s heartbreak; I saw the look of grief seize my father’s face when we were told the story, saw the pain in his eyes. I think he aged ten years in that moment. I know my heart broke; my beloved sister, my twin—a part of me was dead. I think we were both numb, almost confused by what we were hearing, that we were not able to even cry. Maybe it had been a mistake, maybe it was another young girl named Blanca. But we knew better, knew the tenuous, delicate state my sister had been in. The men around us tried to console us and offered up prayers for the dead. I don’t know what I would have done had I been there when it happened; probably would have got myself shot, too. Rudy, I hate the monster that did that to my sister. I hate the pain my mother suffered watching her daughter being handled like she was less than nothing, but a part of me is so grateful that she did not have to endure the years and untold horrors in that camp. She was with God at last where she belonged—and there were many times I wished I were with her.”