by Annette Hess
“The camp registry office was located in these rooms. And here was a barber shop. SS men and their wives had their hair cut here for free by inmate hairdressers.”
The men took a brief look around the light-blue-tiled room. Eva, though, stayed behind, studied the clouded mirrors and dusty swivel chairs and remembered Herr Jaschinsky.
She now followed David toward Block Eleven. He was practically sprinting, and Eva could barely keep up. The group had disappeared around a corner, and for a moment they were alone on the camp street.
“David, wait . . .” Eva caught up and linked arms with him. He gave her a quick sidelong glance.
“How do you feel about the fact, Eva, that we can just walk down this street? As free individuals?” He didn’t wait for a response. “What did we, of all people, do to deserve this? I think it’s obscene.”
He freed himself from her, turned to the right, and disappeared between two brick buildings. Eva followed him. The men from the delegation were standing there before a brick wall. They appeared ashamed, at a loss. Eva approached, and the blond man turned to her. He asked her to please explain to their guides that unfortunately, no one had thought to bring a wreath. Eva saw that a few flowers and grave candles had been placed by the wall, as well as two wreaths, one of which had a Star of David on its ribbon. Eva translated, and one of the guides made an indistinct gesture. The chief judge announced that they would observe a moment of silence. Eva noticed the White Rabbit discussing briefly with his colleagues. Ultimately, however, they too bowed their heads, folded their arms, or clasped their hands, and recalled everything they had heard from the witnesses over the past months, about what those people saw with their own eyes. They were silent and thought about the people who were forced to stand before this wall, whose naked bodies were marked with large numbers, to aid in the identification of the executed at the crematorium. They were silent and thought about the twenty thousand men, women, and children who were shot here for no reason.
Although the visitors began speaking again as they walked on—through Block Eleven, through the Beast’s interrogation room, through the infirmary, where the experiments were performed, across the grounds where people lined up for roll call, where people were broken, shot, and beaten, to the barracks, where the people were penned, and where they died of sickness and hunger—the moment of silence continued within them. Not one remained unmoved. The sky was cloudless, as though nothing should go unseen. “Beach weather,” one of the reporters said, and took more photos. One of the guides led them into a wooden barracks. They slowly walked down the long middle passage, flanked to the left and right by the three-level wooden bunks on which the people tried to sleep, find a little peace, gain strength, lying there in turns, tightly packed beside each other, on top of each other. By one of the beds in the back, the guide crouched down and pointed to the niche above the lowest bunk. They all leaned in and looked over his shoulder. At first, Eva didn’t understand what there was to see, other than a rough wooden wall, which must have let in the freezing cold during the winter. But then she peered at where the guide was pointing and noticed the faded writing on the wood. Someone had written on the wall, in Hungarian, “Andreas Rapaport, lived 16 years.” The guide read aloud the inscription, and the visitors, who had clustered around the bunk bed, softly repeated the name and remembered how the witness had told them about Andreas Rapaport, who wrote his name in blood on the wall—and who lived only sixteen years.
Eva left the barracks and began to cry. She couldn’t stop. The guide came to her and said, “I’ve seen this many times. You can know every last thing about Auschwitz, but being here is something different altogether.”
David hung back in the barracks by himself. He stood by the plank bed where Andreas Rapaport had lain. Then he knelt on the floor and placed his hand on the wood.
That afternoon, after a lunch break that Eva would later find impossible to recall, they toured the extermination camp, which was two kilometers from the main camp. Eva had packed one of her blue notebooks, to record her impressions that night, back at the lodge, in an effort to get them out of her head. But after she and the others spent hours walking the grounds, along the rambling gatehouse with its distinctive tower in the middle, straddling the train tracks; after they followed the same final path the people took from the ramp; after they stood under the same trees in the birch forest where the people spent the final moments of their lives; after they, like those people, heard the birds singing in the treetops, under a cloudless sky; after they saw the entrance to the chamber, after they grasped the irreversibility; when Eva saw David and the blond man standing close to one another, motionless; when she saw the defense attorney, the White Rabbit—who, like the rest of them, had been utterly humbled—help the chief judge sit down on a tree stump; when she saw the men cry, Eva knew that there were no words for this.
Part Four
AT DUSK, as the men gathered in the dining room, Eva left the inn. She wanted to look for the house where she had lived with her parents for four years. There were no streetlights, and Eva stumbled through the darkening evening. She reached the outer boundary of the camp and followed it toward the west. Every fifty meters, a sign with a skull hung from the fence. Danger—High Voltage. Although Eva knew the wire was no longer live, she could hear it humming. The path was unpaved, and she tripped once. The fence turned into a concrete wall. She started to think she was headed in the wrong direction, when lights appeared before her and as she approached, she could make out a row of houses. One of the smaller ones had a markedly pointed roof. Eva stopped by the low hedge that bordered the front yard and peered through a big window into a lit room. Three people were sitting at a table, eating dinner. A man, a woman, and a child. A family. Eva walked a little farther, to the neighboring house, where the main defendant and his wife had lived. It was dark. Beside the house, where the rose bed had been, a car was parked on a paved surface. “Hello? You out there. Are you looking for someone?” a voice called in Polish. Eva turned and saw that the man, who had just been sitting at the table, had come to the door. He sounded wary. Eva moved in a bit closer and answered that she was from Germany, here with a delegation. She was about to say more, but the man interrupted her. Yes. They’d heard about the visitors from West Germany. His voice now sounded curious. His wife appeared in the doorway beside him. Eva saw that she was pregnant. The woman asked if Eva wouldn’t like to come in. Eva declined, but the couple was persistent and displayed the proverbial Polish hospitality. Eventually Eva crossed the threshold into the house, and the first thing she saw was the date chiseled into a stone in the floor: 1937. She remembered tracing the numbers with her finger as a child. And how cold the floor had been under her knees. Even in summer. This was the right house.
The Polish child came to the door, a piece of bread in hand, and stared at Eva curiously. The child had longish hair, and Eva couldn’t say whether it was a girl or a boy. She nodded warmly at the child before being led into the living room. She was given a plate and a large helping of stew. She ate out of politeness. Potatoes with bacon and cabbage. The child dug toys out of a crate under the window: building blocks, a colorful rag doll, and wooden beads that thundered across the floor. The man explained that he was a restorer. He’d been working here for half a year. It was his job to conserve evidentiary material for court. It wasn’t easy: hair remains were devoured by mites, there was rust gnawing away at glasses frames, and shoes were decaying, attacked by mold or the salts typical of human sweat. The woman swatted jokingly at her husband and told him that this wasn’t appropriate dinner conversation. The man apologized. Eva looked around but didn’t recognize anything.
“Did you renovate?”
The man nodded and told her, with poorly concealed pride, that nothing was like it used to be. He had torn down walls, put in new floors and windows, hung wallpaper, painted. His wife rolled her eyes, recalling the chaos. She asked Eva to tell them about West Germany, whether it really was so golden, whether e
veryone really was so rich. The man asked about the trial and whether those SS men would get the death penalty. Eva told him that the death penalty didn’t exist in Germany anymore.
“Too bad,” the woman said and began clearing the table. Eva stood up to leave. Back in the front hallway, Eva wasn’t sure it really was the right house. There must be others built the same year, with that date. She shook the couple’s hands, wished them all the best, and thanked them. At that moment, the child came running and held a balled fist up to Eva. Eva hesitated, then held out her hand. The child let something drop into it. Something small and red. The man looked at it.
“What is that?”
His wife shrugged. “No idea where it came from. I think it’s a present for you.” She smiled.
Eva swallowed. “Thank you,” she said to the child.
In her hand was the missing piece of the Christmas pyramid, the Moorish king’s offering, the little red wooden package.
THE DINING ROOM WAS WHITE with cigarette smoke, and there was a voice coming from an unseen radio that no one was listening to. It smelled of beer, schnapps, and men’s sweat. The prosecutors had joined the defense attorneys at a table—the White Rabbit was the only one missing. The chief judge had also retired already. They were telling jokes and sharing funny stories about the town that lay just outside the dingy windowpanes. The blond man had read that the Arab League had imposed a boycott on imports from the London-based raincoat company Burberry because one of the board members was a Jew. In a statement, the company had responded that it barely ever rained in Arab countries, anyway—and as such, they exported so few raincoats to the region that they could live with the boycott. Everyone laughed heartily. David sat with the men but wasn’t listening. A picture on the wall had caught his eye. It depicted a four-in-hand sleigh being pulled over an icy plain. The driver was cracking his whip, the horses rearing. It was unsettling to see the steamy breath from their massive nostrils. They had a destination to reach. David closed his eyes and yearned for Sissi’s embrace, for her bony breast, the subtly sweet, musty smell of raisins she had, even though he’d never liked them as a kid. The blond man regarded him, then clinked his beer glass against David’s. He opened his eyes and drank. Eva appeared in the doorway. She hesitated, then started for her room, but one of the young reporters spotted her and waved her in.
“Fräulein Bruhns! Come keep us company!”
Eva stepped into the dining room, into its familiar smell. She glanced at the bar to the right and for a moment, saw her mother standing there smiling, wearing her “sugar face,” as Stefan called it, her eyes tired but yearning. And her father poking his ruddy face out of the kitchen and scanning the room. Everyone satisfied?
Eva joined the men, who eagerly made room for her at the table. She took a seat and found herself sitting opposite David. They looked at each other. In the midst of the noise meant to dispel the memories of the day, they recognized themselves in the other’s helplessness. They both smiled, happy they were no longer alone.
The White Rabbit came into the dining room and approached the table. He looked despondent, as if he were hanging his long ears, Eva thought. The group looked up at him, and he told them his pocket watch was missing. He set it on the edge of the sink in the communal bathroom and forgot it there. And once he realized it half an hour later, the watch had vanished. The White Rabbit looked around the table: had one of the gentlemen, or perhaps the lady, taken the watch? They all shook their heads. He turned to Eva: could she please speak to the innkeepers and ask about the watch? Eva got up and went to the bar. The innkeeper and his wife merely shrugged. They didn’t know anything about any watch. “A likely story!” the attorney said and dropped heavily into the chair beside Eva. One of the reporters cracked a joke about Poles—everyone knew they’d rob you blind if given half a chance. The storytelling continued. The White Rabbit didn’t laugh, but kept fingering his vest pocket in disbelief. He turned to Eva beside him: his mother gave him that watch after he passed his law exams. A simple woman, who had sold her jewelry to afford it. Her son needed a watch that wouldn’t fail him in court, she said. Eva could see tears in the White Rabbit’s eyes. The blond man ordered another round of pils. Plus vodka. He clinked glasses with David again. Eva nipped at her glass, then she too shot back the harsh liquid. Two older men in dark sweaters entered the dining room. They sat down at the bar, but when they detected German being spoken at Eva’s table, one of them sidled over. He had a wide head and looked strong despite his age. He asked what they were doing there. Eva translated. He was offered a seat by her side. He sat down, while the other man leaned against the bar. The Pole said that he didn’t believe the Germans—of all people—could administer justice.
“The whole thing is just a show trial to ease your conscience.”
The men at the table were first dumbfounded, then felt affronted and all began speaking at once. Eva wasn’t sure whose response to translate first. The Pole continued: he had been a prisoner himself, and there was no avenging that suffering.
“I’m a Jew!” David interjected, his voice inappropriately loud.
The Pole, who understood him even without Eva’s help, shrugged and asked in broken German, “Were you at camp?” David blanched, and the blond man sat up and watched him attentively. David remained silent, and the Pole went on, “No? Did you lose family?” David began to sweat. The blond man tried to interject something, but the Pole said, “Also no? Then you have no idea!”
At that, David jumped up and struck the Pole in the chest with the flat of his hand; the man was thrown backward in his chair, and only just managed to catch himself. Several of the men at the table rose in alarm, as did Eva. The man at the bar sauntered over, rolling up his sleeves. The Pole planted himself in front of David threateningly.
“What do you want? A thrashing? That can be arranged!”
The blond man placed a hand on the Pole’s arm. “Please. I apologize for my colleague. Please calm down. We’re sorry!”
Eva translated, and added, in Polish, “You’re right. We can’t make amends for anything.”
The Pole looked at Eva and hesitated. David, on the other hand, was ready to fight. “Come on, what are you waiting for?! Hit me!”
The blond man grabbed his arm. “Stop it, David! Apologize to the gentleman!”
But David yanked his arm free, turned, and bolted out of the room. Eva exchanged a look with the blond man, who had impulsively started to follow. He forced himself to stay where he was.
“You go.”
The matte light of the full moon illuminated the street outside the lodge. Eva looked around for David. He seemed to have disappeared. Then she heard a thud, followed by a whimper in the stillness. She followed the sounds behind the building. David was standing by a wall, and as Eva approached, he rammed his forehead against the stones a second time. He howled.
“David! What are you doing?!”
Eva seized David’s shoulders and head and tried to restrain him, but he elbowed her off, leaned his head back, and slammed it into the wall a third time. He groaned in pain. Eva tried to get between him and the wall, but he screamed at her to leave him alone and slapped her, sending her sprawling. She lay on the cold ground for a moment, her cheek on fire, and suddenly she didn’t care anymore. She got up, brushed off her skirt, and watched as David again drove his head into the stones with all his might, then crumpled over sideways like a sack. Eva crouched beside him and turned him onto his back. His face was dark with blood.
“David? Say something! Can you hear me?!”
David blinked. “I have a headache.”
Eva pulled a handkerchief from her skirt pocket, cushioned David’s head in her lap, and wiped off the blood as best she could. David saw the dark outline of her head, and over her shoulder the full moon, which looked down on him like the chief judge. David chuckled.
“I don’t even have a brother. I’ve got two older sisters. They live in Canada, just like my parents and the rest of my family
.” Eva listened as David told her that the Müllers immigrated to Canada in ’37 without any difficulty, and even managed to save their fortune. He didn’t even have relatives affected by the extermination. David sat up and leaned his back against the wall. Eva kneeled beside him and said that it was lucky he and his family were spared. But David responded that she would never understand the guilt one felt. He was a Jew because his parents were Jewish. But he wasn’t raised with religion. It wasn’t till he reached Germany that he tried to lead a faithful existence. But this God had ignored him. “And I know why too. I don’t belong.”
As daybreak neared and the rooster climbed out of the coop to prepare for his morning crowing, Eva brought David to his room, which was as small as hers. She helped him into bed and took his threadbare towel. She dampened it in the bathroom and used it to cool his swollen face. She sat on the edge of the bed and thought about what he had told her, about the fact that even those who escaped, even their children and children’s children, had to suffer the existence of this place. Eva stroked David’s hand. He pulled her close on the narrow bed. And then they did the one thing that might possibly be done to counteract it all: they made love.