by Malka Adler
The war was over. We walked. Yitzhak walked a bit ahead of me, because I was looking all around. There was sun. A white cloud. It was spring. I saw a flower-bed.
Chapter 25
Yitzhak
We stayed alone in the yard near the barn. A large yard belonging to a German farmer.
Dov and I without the orphan brother. Without the prisoners who’d jumped down from the wagon and disappeared. The air was quite warm and it was muddy. There was the heavy smell of cow dung, a smell combined with the sourness of hay. Just like the day we left our home in the village of Tor’i remeti in the Carpathian Mountains. I heard the tank traveling through the village. I heard a train passing by on the track. I thought, oy, in a while soldiers will come and drag us to a synagogue, and from there by train to some ramp. They’ll be sure to find some ramp for Jews who hid. I gave myself a smack on the head. No, no, the war is over.
I saw a cowshed in front of me. It was bigger than the one we had at home.
Beside the cowshed stood a fat brown horse harnessed to a small cart and next to that was a tin box. I lifted the box and approached the cowshed. I wanted to milk a cow for me and my brother. I suddenly heard a knock on the heavy wooden door. A farmer with a mustache and boots came out. He looked at me and Dov, asked in German: What do you want?
I said Essen und Trinken, to eat and drink, and I made signs of hunger. He examined me from top to toe, looked at the stripes on the pajamas. He chewed something, spat on the floor and gestured to me to wait. I waited. The farmer went inside the house. Looking behind me, I saw Dov running to the barn. I called him back but he was already at the barn, peeping at me. I gestured to him to come, but he remained standing at the entrance. The German farmer returned with a tin cup and gave it to me. The cup was hot. I took a sip. Coffee with hot, sweet milk for the first time since leaving home.
I drank it all at once and choked.
I began to cough for air and there was none. That’s it, the war is over, and I’m dying from a shitty cup of coffee. I defeated the Nazis, defeated their dogs, defeated the hunger in the camps, and now I’m going to die in the yard of a German farmer who wants to help me live. If I had a rifle I’d have shot myself I was so angry. The German also saw I could barely breathe, banged on my back several times, looked at me, then at Dov, lifted me in his arms and tossed me into the cart, sat in front and gave the horse a hard blow with the whip. The horse began to run just as Dov came out of the barn in the direction of the cart. I held my throat hard. Couldn’t stop coughing. Snorts came out of my mouth, like the calf we’d slaughtered in the storeroom. I screamed I’m dying, dying.
A few minutes later we arrived at a German hospital, I saw the sign. At the entrance I could hear a language I didn’t know and realized that Dov was alone in the large yard. The German farmer lifted me from the cart and carried me in on his back. He shouted, coffee, coffee, I gave him coffee. Three doctors immediately laid me on a bed, forced me to open my mouth and inserted a pipe into my trachea. The coffee spurted out. I could breathe. I was as wet as if I’d had a cold shower. I breathed like a pump with all its blocks opened and looked at the youngest of the three doctors. He put a hand on his chest and said, America, America. He had a pleasant smile and a large ring on his finger. He pointed to a doctor standing beside him. He had a long, unshaven face and he was bald. He said, Poland. Poland. The doctor from Poland didn’t smile. And then he pointed at the third doctor. I saw the straight yellow hair and was alarmed. He said, Germany. The doctor from Germany made a sharp gesture with his head in the direction of his chest. My stomach flipped in a second, a German doctor taking care of me? I wanted to shout to the doctor from America and the doctor from Poland, listen hard, German doctors kill Jewish children. I’m a Jewish boy and I’m getting out of here, goodbye. I sat on the bed and saw the three whispering to one another as if they were good friends. I was shocked. I couldn’t understand why a doctor from America and a doctor from Poland were amiably talking to a doctor from Germany. The doctor from Germany looked at me and said in German: You’re in a German hospital. The war is over. We’re working together. And then the doctor from Poland said in German: Your stomach is constricted and stuck like gum. He made a gesture with his palms and brought them to his chin. And then he stuck a nail under his chin and said, you had no space for a cup of coffee in your stomach and you choked. You’re all right now. He pointed at my legs and said, don’t worry, we’ll take care of your sores. I didn’t want the German doctor to touch me and jumped down from the bed. I was dizzy and wanted to vomit. The doctor from Poland said, no, no, lie down young man, you’re staying here with us. I remembered the German farmer who had brought me to the hospital, I said to myself, don’t worry, a German farmer saved your life, and I got back on the bed. I knew he’d taken care of me because the war was over and he wanted to save himself. I wanted to call the young doctor who’d taken care of me without his friends, but I didn’t know American.
The Polish doctor called the nurses. Two women with large breasts approached me and my heart starting beating in my chest. The nurses smelled of good soap, maybe perfume. They had gentle hands and soothing voices. They wanted to undress me completely, held onto my shoes and pulled and pulled and I screamed in pain. The scabs of my sores had grown onto the soles of the shoe. The scabs covered part of the plastic on top. The Polish doctor said, try and take off his trousers. The two good nurses carefully tugged at the bottom of the trousers, nothing. The trousers had also stuck to the skin. The doctor brought scissors, cut away part of the trouser leg and pointed with his finger. I had old sores on my calves. The flesh of the sores had grown onto the fabric of the trousers. I saw the doctor tightly wrinkling his face. He took out a handkerchief and wiped his forehead and neck. One nurse apologized and left. She returned after a few moments with a wet face.
The doctor looked at her, said, all right?
She said, yes, yes, and blushed. The doctor opened my shirt. The shirt was also stuck to my body near my armpit. I immediately understood that I’d be stuck with the Germans’ dirty stripes for the rest of my life.
I caught the doctor’s hand and whispered, doctor, strip off my skin, I don’t care, strip it, and call the German doctor, he already knows how to strip skin and flesh, call him, I beg you.
The nurses filled a bath with warm water. Poured half a bottle of oil into it and put me in with my clothes and shoes. The flesh slowly slowly softened. The pajamas and the shoes as well. After about an hour the nurses peeled the clothes off me, like removing the scales of a wretched, live fish. The water turned red-brown. It smelled disgusting. I felt burning stabs on my skin, but mainly my ass really hurt. I didn’t say a word. The nurses finished undressing me, let out the dirty water and filled the bath with clean water. I looked at my small body and first of all covered my penis that began to warm up but cooled when the nurses took soap and a prickly sponge and began to rub my body. Most of all in the place there were lice. I thought, whatever will be, will be and that’s all. I let them wander over my body wherever they wanted to and didn’t hamper the sponge. I heard heavy breathing, phoo. Phoo. Phoo. Like exhaling without whistling. I felt they were taking two or three of the miserable thirty kilos I had. In the meantime I began to turn pink in the place the flesh hadn’t pulled away. It was pleasant and I had a strong desire to cry. I held back. I saw them glance at each other, shamed by my appearance.
I wanted to sleep for a long time.
The nurses put me to bed. They put ointment and bandages on my body. Finally, they brought me real soup with potato and fresh bread. I ate quickly and was soon asleep. I had three days of confused sleep, a sore head and a burning forehead. I had nightmares, mainly about hands. There was a hand that approached me at every opportunity. The healthy hand was attached to a shoulder with the bars of a German officer who stopped at my bedside to take me to a crematorium. I tried to hide behind a pipe but the Nazi’s hand held onto me forcefully. I saw an ironed sleeve with a sharp fold like a knife. I call
ed mother and the hand disappeared and a shiny black boot came. The boot pressed on my chest. I was sure, the German wanted to suffocate me. I opened my mouth wide, screamed, Germans, Germans, a thick voice came out I didn’t recognize. The boot pressed down hard and I had no air. I tried to push it off but couldn’t. Suddenly I saw a rifle butt and a tie hanging above me. I jumped out of bed but two strong hands held me. Put me back in bed. The hands were attached to a head without a face. I didn’t know if the hands belonged to a German. I heard a fatherly voice.
The voice passed near my ear, said shhh … shhh … It’s me, Doctor Spielman from Poland. You know me. I didn’t want to listen. The hands gave me a glass of water, but I didn’t drink because of the risk of poison. I even tried to spill the water. The voice quietly urged, drink, its water with sugar. You have to drink. I closed my mouth tight. He didn’t give up, said, we met two days ago because of the coffee. He straightened up, put a hand on my chest, saying, here, a hand. Here, a glass of water. Clean water. Drink. I drank and it tasted good. I lay back on the pillow and looked at him. He smiled and said, you have typhus. In a few days you’ll be fine.
I whispered, no, no, I have thoughts, and I have images, I’m going mad.
He said, you aren’t going mad, the thoughts and images come with the fever. When the fever goes down you’ll be on your feet.
I muttered, how do you know, how?
Doctor Spielman said, before the war I was a psychiatrist in Budapest. I know these situations. I didn’t know what a psychiatrist was, but I felt better until night came and I saw a white coat. Two. Inside them was an entire body. Head, chest, arms, legs, joined together, the body of a woman. They spoke American. The nurses put wet towels on my forehead, on my chest. I asked for more sugar water. They brought it for me. I asked for more. They gave it to me. I fell asleep. A few hours later I woke drenched with perspiration. It was dark, a darkness with body parts that crawled over me. There were also bags and shoes in a vitrine. I wanted to take shoes. The window was closed but then I saw a pile of suitcases. Like a tower. I climbed to the top. I saw a hand gesturing to me to jump. Didn’t move. Nearby was a white glove signaling to me to go left. I didn’t know what was best, left or right. I woke up.
I heard myself yelling, left. Right. Left. Right. A nurse came to me with a torch. I shouted, save me, save me.
She changed my shirt and trousers, changed the sheet, gave me medication, whispered, sleep sleep, I asked, when do we eat, ah?
She said, it’s night now, and she left.
I couldn’t sleep.
I couldn’t believe they’d bring me bread in the morning and I began to worry that the Germans were on their way to this place. In an hour or two they’d take us in an open train and we’d travel for a few days, and end with a march to the death. Slowly I got out of bed. Passed among the beds, approaching patients who were asleep. I looked for bread under the pillow, the blanket, the mattress. I collected a few pieces in case we traveled in a cattle train and I went to the toilet. I found a hiding place for bread under a brick in the window. I peeped into the shower room. My heart was beating. I didn’t like showers. I looked at the shower and saw a German’s hand coming out of it. I recognized the hand by the stripe on the sleeve. I shivered. I was certain the German wanted to cut my hand. I immediately escaped to my bed. On the way, I met other thieves. They walked on the tips of their toes, without disturbing one another. I hid the bread I’d found under the elastic of my trousers. I fell asleep at last, and then crying and screaming.
I jumped up in my bed. A patient, two beds down, sat in his bed hitting his head against the wall, thieves, thieves, where’s my bread. Several patients near him began to cry. They didn’t find the bread they’d kept for the next day. Nurses came running. They turned on the lights. A patient with a bandaged head stood on his bed, weeping in a hoarse voice, no. No. No. I’m not getting off the car, no. The nurses managed to calm everyone with fresh bread they brought from the kitchen. I wanted to sleep. I heard an American nurse say in German, no need to steal food, there’s enough for everyone. Good night. It was no use. I continued to steal food. Others did likewise. I had to keep bread near the toilet, in my pillow, pajamas, even behind my ear.
A few more days went by and my fever dropped.
I rested in bed for a few days longer and then, one morning, I remembered with shock. I had a brother. Where is he. Where is my brother. I couldn’t understand how I could forget my brother peeping out at me from the barn.
I jumped out of bed and ran to the nurses who’d taken care of me. I started shouting, I had a brother, what’s happened to him, where is he, we were together in the German farmer’s yard. The nurses looked at me as if half of my head had flown off. Doctor Spielman arrived.
He hugged me hard with both arms and pulled me back to bed, said, shhh … shhh … everything’s all right, shhh … we’re going back to your bed, would you like some sugar water?
I cried out, Doctor I’m not mad, believe me, I had a brother, we were together, I’m telling you, listen to me.
Doctor Spielman didn’t want to listen, he wanted to bring me sugar water, the best thing for you is rest, yes? He put me into bed, covered me with a blanket, and put his hand on my forehead. I looked at him. He had a deep furrow between his eyebrows. I realized he thought my fever was going up.
I waited for him to take away his hand, said, please, don’t go. I need help.
Doctor Spielman stroked my head, said, I’m going to get an injection.
No, no. No injection, no medication, I want you to listen to me, two minutes, no more, will you agree to listen?
Doctor Spielman pulled up a chair and sat next to me. I looked steadily at him.
I stuck my fists under the sheet and spoke slowly: Doctor Spielman, listen, my brother and I met by chance at Buchenwald. Wait. Before that I’ll tell you what happened to us. I have a family. Father, mother, and three other siblings. We lived in a village in the Carpathian Mountains. In Hungary. I was silent, my throat closed up.
Doctor Spielman put his hand on mine and said, what happened to your family, Icho? I wiped my nose on the sheet, we were in Auschwitz. Father, mother, Sarah and my big brother scattered. Only me and Avrum remained together. Then, later on, Avrum disappeared. I was in the camps. In winter I returned to Buchenwald. I found my brother who is one year older than me in Bloc 56. I didn’t recognize him. He looked like a tiny sick boy. From Buchenwald we set out on foot to die on the roads of Germany and sometimes we traveled in open train cars. We walked together for hundreds of kilometers.
I raised the sheet to my face and fell silent.
Doctor Spielman pressed my hand, asked, and then what happened?
He and I stayed alive until the American tank came in. We were in the loft of a barn when the Germans ran away. We came down. We came down together with the orphan brother. I’m certain he was standing next to me. And then I drank coffee, and don’t remember anything else. Doctor Spielman, where is my brother?
Doctor Spielman leaned back in his chair. He passed his hand over his bald head, said, I believe you, I believe you. I raised the sheet and couldn’t stop crying. Doctor Spielman went to bring me some sugar water. I drank the water and then he said, I don’t know where your brother is, you must look at the lists. But, you must know, we have many patients here with us, and we don’t have all the names. You must look for him yourself. I jumped up from the bed. Doctor Spielman stood up. Held my shoulder and said in a low voice: Many people died at the end of the war, understand?
I shut my ears, shouted, I won’t listen. My brother survived all the German roads and he’s alive, and I will find him, don’t worry. Doctor Spielman smiled, well good, best of luck.
I began to run.
I reached the doctors’ room. A nurse with black curls helped me look through the lists. We didn’t find my brother. She suggested, look in all the beds, but first ask doctors and nurses. I started running between doctors and nurses. I didn’t care that they were in
the middle of treatments. I stood next to them and explained slowly, I’m looking for my brother. My height. Brown eyes. Light hair, no, in the camps it turned dark, and he’s thin, maybe thirty, thirty-five kilos, have you seen anyone like that in the hospital? The doctors and nurses hadn’t seen anyone like that.
I felt I was going out of my mind.
I looked for patients who could talk, I called, does anyone know the barn in the village near the forest, the barn with the tank?
A patient in a bed near the door raised his head from the pillow. He had a dirty bandage on his neck. He said, forest? Forest? I approached him. He caught hold of my shirt with burned fingers and wept, take me to the forest, please, sir, I can’t do it alone.
I said, were you or weren’t you in the forest before the barn with the tank?
And he with his weeping, forest, forest, I have to go there, the children were left in the forest, Moishe and Yossel.
A nurse came over to us and whispered, no point.
A patient in a cast beckoned to me. I approached. He had a black scar on his bald head. He drummed with long thin fingers on the cast on his legs, he wanted to speak to me and no voice came out. I saw something strange in his face. It took me a minute to understand. He had no eyebrows or eye lashes. I bent down. He whispered, I know the barn in the village. I was there with prisoners who came from Buchenwald.
My voice trembled, the barn with the tank?
He whispered, that’s right.
I asked, where did the prisoners from the barn go, where? The man frowned. I shouted, wait, where did you go from the barn?
He whispered, the hospital.
I asked, did you go alone?
He smiled, how could I go alone, can’t you see I’m in a cast? They took me in a cart.
I began to sweat, I said, I was also taken in a cart, who took you? He held his throat and asked for water. I said, wait, I’ll bring you water but first try and remember, were there other prisoners in the cart?