The German House

by Annette Hess

  Now, on the witness stand, Otto Cohn gazed at the picture and recalled how his oldest daughter, Miriam, hadn’t wanted her photo taken. He and his wife had first implored her, then bribed her with hazelnut chocolate. It was clear in the image that her cheeks were still stuffed with it. Her lips were pressed together and all she could manage was a droll smile. Cohn thought that it was right, what he had planned.

  The chief judge turned to the defendants’ tables. “Does the defendant know this family?”

  “No.”

  The pharmacist opened the daily paper and began to read, as if none of this applied to him. The attendant placed the second photograph into the device. Even in the blurry projection, one could identify Defendant Number Seventeen in the same yard. After the attendant focused the image, Otto Cohn and the pharmacist could be seen in the light of what was probably the setting sun. After a good day’s work, with a good glass of wine. Beside each other.

  “Does the defendant recognize this photograph? Do you admit to knowing the witness? Remove those sunglasses!” The pharmacist reluctantly took off his glasses and shrugged indifferently. He leaned toward his attorney. They whispered. Eva noticed that the White Rabbit seemed at a loss. He stood up.

  “My client does not wish to comment on this matter.”

  At that, the blond man rose and read aloud the prepared arrest warrant.

  “The statements provided by the witness are indubitable. The defendant’s participation in the selections on the ramp has been attested . . .”

  Eva could see the papers shaking in his hand, something David spotted as well, and he briefly turned around to Eva. They shared a look—they were equally tense.

  “Your Honor, it is no longer in keeping with our laws that the defendant remain at liberty,” the blond man continued. “We demand his transfer into custody!” Silence.

  The chief judge withdrew to confer with his associate judges. Barely anyone used the quarter-hour break to visit the restroom or purchase refreshments in the foyer. Eva stayed in her seat too. In front of her, David was scribbling long rows of letters in a notebook. The people in the gallery either waited silently or whispered quietly among themselves. The blond man stood in the open doorway to the auditorium and spoke with the attorney general, who had been like the little man in a weather house during this trial, arriving on the scene periodically, then disappearing inside his little house for days on end, or so it seemed to Eva. Both men were looking at Otto Cohn, who had sat down at the witness stand. He had moved his chair to give himself a direct view of the defendants, who were using the break to doze or review documents. The pharmacist ignored Cohn and had turned around in his seat by extending an arm over the back of his neighbor’s chair. He was saying something to the raptor-faced man, the main defendant, who—as during any short recess—sat motionless and erect while keeping a close watch on the people in the room. He now nodded at the pharmacist and said something in reply; both men appeared calm. Eva could not take her eyes off the pharmacist. He looked like a frog, a fat, happy frog ribbiting at his former boss. She was staring over at him when he suddenly turned back around and looked straight at her. The main defendant had also turned his attention toward her. They both studied Eva from across the room. She held her breath, as though someone else’s foul breath were wafting over her. The pharmacist bowed ironically in her direction. Eva quickly grabbed at her general dictionary and began to page through it busily. She discovered what the word for “pedestrian crossing” was in Polish.

  After the judges had returned and the courtroom had quieted back down, the chief judge announced that he would grant the prosecution’s motion. Based on sufficient evidence regarding the charge of “aiding and abetting murder,” Defendant Number Seventeen would be detained and transferred to custody at the conclusion of the day’s proceedings. The pharmacist put on his sunglasses and crossed his arms across his expensive suit. He remained silent. Some of his fellow defendants protested, including the main defendant: “This lacks any basis whatsoever!” The blond man betrayed no emotion, but Eva caught him making a quick fist with his right hand under the table. A few people in the gallery applauded. David Miller impulsively spun around and whispered to Eva, “And this is just the beginning!” Eva nodded. She felt as happy as if it were her own victory. The chief judge then asked Otto Cohn, who had followed this development blankly, to detail his arrival at the camp and the following months. Cohn stood, again rested three fingers on the table, and described everything he had experienced. He spoke for more than an hour, and was only occasionally asked for quick clarifications. He had frequently seen the main defendant, the camp adjutant, who rode his bicycle from block to block, and he had heard about Defendant Number Four, whom everyone feared, and who had been dubbed the “Beast.” He had seen the medical orderly, Defendant Number Ten, rest a cane over the throat of a prisoner lying on the ground, then place his feet on either end and thus strangle the man to death. “That’s a dirty lie!” bellowed the man, whose patients lovingly called him “Papa” when he entered their hospital room, brought them breakfast, or changed a dressing. Eva was starting to feel nauseous. Cohn was now spouting on about everything they hadn’t had at the camp: bread, warmth, protection, quiet, sleep, and friendship. And about what, by contrast, had existed in excess: dirt, roaring, pain, fear, and death. Cohn was sweating, and he took off his hat, revealing a partially bald head that made his beard appear all the more unruly.

  “The day of liberation, I was naked, weighed thirty-four kilograms, was covered in a grayish black rash, and was coughing up pus. When I looked down at my body, it was like looking at an X-ray of myself. Just a skeleton. But I swore I’d survive, because I had to let people know what happened.” Cohn placed his hat on the table and wiped the perspiration from his forehead with the threadbare sleeve of his coat. David thought that, although no longer gaunt, he still appeared doomed to die. Cohn looked at the defendants, as though expecting an answer. But the men kept quiet.

  The medical orderly alone got to his feet, drew himself up, and brayed in all directions, “I strongly object! I have never done anything like that! I’m not even capable of such things! Ask my patients—they call me ‘Papa,’ because I’m so good to them! Ask them!” There was an outburst of indignation among the spectators, and the chief judge called forcibly for order. Eva was still fighting her nausea; she swallowed and swallowed, but her mouth was dry and her heart kept beating faster. The defense attorney stood and asked Cohn who this prisoner was, whom his client had allegedly killed with a cane. And when this had supposedly occurred. Cohn didn’t know the name and could no longer remember the date, but he had seen it. The attorney, pleased with this response, took a seat, pulled out his pocket watch from the folds of his robe, and checked it.

  “No further questions.”

  The prosecution had concluded their questioning as well, and the chief judge dismissed the witness. Eva was relieved that it was almost time for the lunch break; she was still swallowing and breathing through her mouth. But then Otto Cohn raised his hand.

  “There’s one final thing I must say. I know that all of the gentlemen here claim not to have known what was taking place in the camp. By the second day I was there, I knew everything. And I wasn’t alone. There was this boy—he was sixteen. His name was Andreas Rapaport. He was in the eleventh barracks. He wrote in blood, on the wall, in Hungarian, ‘Andreas Rapaport, lived sixteen years.’ Two days later they came for him. He screamed to me, ‘Uncle, I know that I’m going to die! Tell my mother I thought of her until the very last moment!’ But I couldn’t give her the message. The mother died too. This boy knew what was happening there!” Cohn took a few steps toward the defendants and shook both his fists at them. “This boy knew. And you didn’t?! You didn’t?!”

  Cohn appeared to Eva like a figure from the Bible. Like the wrathful Lord. Were she one of the defendants, she’d have been frightened. But the men sitting there in their suits and tasteful neckties simply regarded Cohn with scorn, amu
sement, or indifference. Defendant Number Four, the “Beast” with the face of a ferret, even covered his nose with his hand, as though trying to block out a bad odor.

  “Thank you, sir, the questioning has concluded. Herr Cohn, we no longer need you.” The chief judge had leaned in, to the microphone. Cohn turned around and appeared confused, as though he’d suddenly forgotten where he was.

  “You are dismissed.”

  At that, he gave a terse nod, turned, and walked toward the exit. Eva noticed immediately that Cohn had left his hat on the table. Without thinking, she stood up and headed for it while an associate judge announced the lunch break. She took the hat and followed Cohn into the foyer.

  Several reporters were already queueing at the three small telephone booths that had been installed for the trial. People were speaking on the phones in the booths, one of which was white with cigarette smoke, entirely obscuring the smoking man inside. But as she passed, Eva overheard him saying, “Yes, that’s what I’ve been explaining to you: the pharmacist has been arrested . . . he was part of the selection!” The air was stale and smelled of cafeteria food—potatoes and stuffed cabbage rolls, which were served almost daily. Eva still felt nauseous, which she forgot for the moment.

  “Herr Cohn! Wait, you forgot your hat . . .” But Cohn did not seem to hear Eva. He strode toward the exit with the double glass doors, opened them effortlessly, and left the building. Through the window Eva could see Cohn march on without pause, straight ahead, step by step. She hurriedly wrenched open the heavy doors. She ran into the courtyard in front of the municipal building and was horrified to see that Cohn, without a glance to the left or right, was walking straight into the broad, busy street.

  “Herr Cohn!! Stop right there! Stop!” Cohn did not respond, but continued moving like one of Stefan’s colorful wind-up tin toys. A harlequin. Eva wished she could run faster, but her new skirt was so fitted that she couldn’t take bigger steps. She stumbled forward. Cohn was between parked cars now. She had almost reached him. And then he stepped into the lane, into traffic, as though wading into a rushing river, one second before Eva could have grabbed him by the coat sleeve. Cohn immediately was struck by the hood of a white vehicle. Eva heard the collision. He staggered back, spun about, and fell forward like a sack. Eva swooned briefly, as if she were trying to fall with him, then she knelt down beside him and turned him onto his back with trembling hands. The car had braked a few meters on, tires screeching, while other cars honked and some drivers rolled down their windows to yell for having to swerve. They didn’t see the man on the side of the road as they passed. Cohn was white in the face, his eyes were closed, and Eva stroked his forehead. “Herr Cohn, can you hear me? Hello, open your eyes. Can you hear me?” Eva took his hand and searched for his pulse, but all she could hear was her own heart. Someone crouched down beside her on the asphalt. David.

  “What happened?” David lifted Cohn’s head slightly. The driver of the white car had gotten out and approached them; he was a very young man, a new driver. He stared at the unconscious bearded man in terror.

  “Is he dead? My God, what a sound! It wasn’t my fault!” A rivulet of blood trickled out of the corner of Cohn’s mouth and into his wild, filthy beard. Eva stood up, took a few steps to the side, braced herself against the back of a parked car with her right hand, and pressed her other hand, which still held the hat, against her belly. It looked like she was taking a bow after a performance, but instead she vomited onto the pavement in several small bursts. David appeared beside her and handed her a tissue. A paper tissue! Typical Yank! Eva thought in a daze. No, wait, he’s Canadian! And for the first time, David looked at her warmly.

  Twenty minutes later, an ambulance snaked its way through midday traffic, blue lights flashing and siren howling, toward the municipal building. A small cluster of people had formed around the man on the street. Several muttered about how horribly he reeked—he must be a tramp! Probably drunk too! A policeman with an absurdly small notepad was questioning the young driver, who kept shaking his head. A second officer was asking reporters, who had eagerly streamed out of the building, to refrain from taking photographs. Eva knelt down beside Cohn again and held his hand, which felt limp and cold. She didn’t notice the main defendant standing directly behind her and scowling at Cohn with his raptor’s face. “This street is too busy! There should be a crosswalk here!” he said to his wife, whose nose, poking out from under her little hat, looked even pointier than usual. The ambulance stopped beside them, the siren cut out, and Eva watched helplessly as Otto Cohn was quickly examined by a doctor, then loaded on a gurney into the ambulance by two paramedics.

  “How bad is it?” she asked the doctor.

  “We’ll see.”

  “Can I ride with him?”

  The doctor looked at Eva. “Who are you? His daughter?”

  “No, I’m . . . I’m not related.”

  “I’m sorry, but in that case, no.”

  “Where are you bringing him?”

  “City Hospital.”

  One of the medics slammed the doors shut. The ambulance drove off and was soon out of sight, but the sound of its sirens lingered for some time. The crowd dissipated. David gave Cohn’s name and home address to the policeman with the tiny notepad. Then the officer turned to Eva: “You were an eyewitness?” He took Eva’s name, and she explained that Cohn was at fault for the accident. As she said it, a large truck hurtled past. The policeman didn’t hear her, and she had to repeat, “He caused the accident himself.” The officer thanked her and joined his colleague. Eva realized she was still holding the hat.

  AFTER LUNCH, during which no one spoke about the accident, as if in secret agreement, Eva translated testimony provided by a Pole who had been a prisoner functionary in the storerooms. The old man described how everything was taken from people as soon as they arrived at the camp. The witness enumerated the foreign currencies, jewelry, furs, and securities that had accumulated over the camp’s five years. He recalled most of the numbers exactly, and although this was what Eva had first mastered in the Polish language, she had to focus to avoid making a mistake. She forgot about Cohn for the moment. But when she reached the Berger Strasse apartment just before six that evening, she placed the black hat on the shelf above the coat rack and headed straight for the telephone, without taking off her coat or turning on the hallway light. In the half darkness, she dialed the number for the hospital. As she listened and waited to be connected, she spotted a small, reflective puddle on the floorboards by the door to the living room. Purzel was nowhere to be seen and hadn’t come to greet her, as he normally did. A pleasant female voice sounded on the other end of the line: “City Hospital, reception?”

  Eva asked about an old man—Otto Cohn, from Hungary—who had been admitted that afternoon. He’d had an accident, at the municipal building. How was he doing? The friendly lady on the other end of the line declined to provide Eva with any information. Eva then asked to be connected with the nursery, with her sister.

  In the dusky examination room of the nursery, Doctor Küssner and Annegret were in the middle of an argument. They had only turned on the light above the examination table, typically used to illuminate their little patients. The empty table below looked sad and abandoned. They were both upset, but whispering, so that no one in the corridor outside could hear them fighting.

  “I don’t understand you, Annegret. This is such a rare opportunity!” Küssner’s wife had taken their two children on an impromptu trip to visit relatives, yet Annegret refused to meet up with him that evening.

  “I don’t feel like it.”

  “It doesn’t have to be at my house, although there would be nothing strange about a nurse visiting me at home to discuss something.”

  Annegret leaned against the cupboard that provided the base for their oversized scale—the most incorruptible of pediatric instruments, with its pitiless dial and cold metal pan. Annegret crossed her thick arms over her nurse’s coat.

  “Hart
mut, I’m simply not interested in aligning my life to fit yours. We have plans for next Thursday. I’m not available before then.”

  “You are so miserably stubborn.”

  Doctor Küssner stepped toward Annegret and somewhat helplessly stroked her blond hair, which she had recently dyed and appeared almost white.

  “Don’t you understand? I want to enjoy this brief moment of freedom. With you.”

  “Get a divorce. Then you’ll be free forever.” Annegret didn’t really mean it, but she wanted to hear Küssner hedge and fall back on the old phrases she had so often heard from married men.

  “I’ve told you, I just need a little more time.” Yes, that’s one of their favorites, Annegret thought, pleased. She smiled. Küssner pulled up her uniform and pressed his hand between her legs, where it then lingered, motionless. He was an inexperienced lover. Annegret pushed off his hand and moved away from him. He sat down on a metal swivel stool and suddenly looked very tired.

  “I pictured this differently.”

  “What, having an affair? All you need is a little practice. People are machines, after all. Anyone can turn their feelings on or off. You just need to know which button to push.”

  Küssner stared at Annegret.

  “I worry about you.”

  Annegret was about to make a funny face, but was alarmed to realize that Küssner was actually concerned. She went to the door.

  “I need commitment from you, Hartmut, not feelings.”

  Küssner rose and threw up his hands in defeat.

  “Fine, then I’ll see you Thursday, as usual.”

  “And don’t you dare fall in love with me!” Annegret warned him earnestly. Küssner laughed, as though he’d been found out, and was about to respond, when the door was torn open. Annegret and Doctor Küssner were standing at a harmless distance from one another, they were both relieved to see.