Relieved to have a little catch-up time, Hank got a good night’s sleep and retreated to his desk in the morning. The orders and invoices had not disappeared, and there was comfort in knowing exactly where things were. Hank twisted his jade ring. He had called Naomi’s office twice that morning.
An unfamiliar voice picked up the phone. “I’m sorry sir, she is not at work today.”
He went by her rooming house. The attendant pushed a buzzer, then irritated, walked down the hall and returned.
“She is maybe visiting family?”
Naomi had vanished.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Noumea
August 1944
“Russian Troops reach Concentration Camps in Poland” ~ News dispatch
The white noise of busywork filled days and weeks. Army bureaucracy was a scaffold of things that people used to construct their daily lives. Predictable routines and uniform American products offered a sense of comfort. All the chocolate bars were Hersheys, there were no truffle fillings here or variations in the grades of cacao. Firestone tires left the same distinctive tracks. The war was winding down.
Hank took just a moment to pick up a news dispatch before starting in on his first tasks. The Allies were winning in Europe. Only one outpost in France remained before the Nazis would be driven out. There were victories in the Pacific as well. The knockout blow was delivered in a small article near the bottom of the dispatch. It shattered any sense of an imminent victory for the “good guys.” There were no details in this first report. No one knew what had happened in the concentration camps, only that the Germans had bulldozed them and hastily planted some trees, leaving the buildings behind.
Where were his mother, his brother? What had happened to Esther? He lay awake that night with his eyes wide open, avoiding dreams. This calamity was much larger than clan. It was a failure of the human race. Everything he had ever been taught about humanity was lost under the possibility that his family and his entire community had disappeared into the German ovens. No one deserved this. The Golden Rule that the Christians taught in their orientation services was obviously a flawed ideal. No country, rooted in any sort of belief in a God, could have done what the German monsters accomplished. That left only one possibility – that the idea of a God was a false one.
How could he find his family, if they survived? Or was he better off without them? Few kindnesses had been shared during their years together. He had loved his sister dearly, but when he gave everything he had to save her, she spurned him. Justice was absent from these scenarios. He resented the treatment from his family, but they had probably faced savage consequences. Letters and gifts were distributed to the men, but there was nothing for him in the mail calls. Then there were the girlfriends. Gentle Greta, with two thugs for brothers. What had become of her? Exotic Naomi, who had simply disappeared, would probably land on her feet with her intelligence and charisma. With luck, his clever sister Esther would use both brains and charm to see her way to safety. Women couldn’t be trusted or else he would just need to get better at reading signposts on the roads to betrayal.
The orders on his desk required him to move to the Presidio at San Francisco. He had been recommended for officer’s training school and, within a week, he would be joining those who were disappearing from Noumea. After that, who knew? Resting both elbows on his desk, he held his head between his hands, muffling sounds of the busy corridors.
His own mind was the loneliest place he could find, a place of dark dreams and odd silences in the midst of so much confusion. He would drink all day if he could do it without getting a migraine. How nice it would be to forget everything, just for an evening.
“Hey buddy, Congratulations! Hear you’re leaving this hell-hole.” A young corporal came by with a stack of papers, invoices to check and file. A troop ship was coming through, but they were not dropping off more men. They were picking up a stream of combatants who had been scattered all over the islands. The men were excited about a stay in Hawaii, and California was supposed to be some sort of a promised land. He didn’t believe in promises. At their best, promises were weak links between human beings. There was no certainty even if the intentions were heartfelt.
Another harsh disappointment had impacted his ability to trust Americans. Hank was promised expedited citizenship in return for his service as a U.S. soldier. Unfortunately, there were a few snags in his paperwork. The time in Canada was deducted from his U.S. residency, and a new entry date was established after his return. The fact that he had provided important services to the U.S. did not help him, and he lost two years of his residency. The effective “Dutch” cover did not help him establish any credentials as a potential American either. As far as anyone was concerned, his five years of U.S. residency was now about two years. Buried in OSS archives were signed agreements that stated he would not disclose any operational details for fifty years, so he might well die as a man with no country. The knots and snarls of Army records were working against him when they should have been his ticket to a new life.
He was alone, but not the captain of his fate.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Bergen Belsen
April 1945
“We have to go into the despair and go beyond it, by working and doing for somebody else, by using it for something else.” ~ Elie Wiesel
Cold rain pelted the women’s camp. Drips from leaks in the ceilings and walls were the only sounds in the night, time suspended in death. Bodies were everywhere, piled throughout the camp. During the past two months, transports of workers from Sobibur and Auschwitz had unloaded their cargo and the population of Belsen kept increasing. At the same time, typhus swept through the bunks, some of which were crowded with three or four girls. Esther had seen two sisters die already this week. Margot fell out of the bunk onto the stone floor and was too weak to get up. A day later her little sister died in their bed. They were now in the pile outside. The air in the room strangled her as she thought of her asthmatic little brother.
Esther had hoped that Lutz might take her to his warm quarters, but he had not asked for her in several days. She felt her thin body, and her oily hair – she was no longer a prize, and even her humor and teasing could not save her now. He probably had moved on to a fresher captive. Her arms went around Hannah, and the two young women nestled closer for warmth. Finally, drowsiness overcame them both and she fell asleep.
A gloved hand shook her awake. Lutz had wakened the guard and stood over the bunk, furious. “We will make an example of you! Thieving Jew bitch!” So, the time had come. She would be one more body in the alley between the buildings, rotting in the rain, unseeing and a part of oblivion. He grabbed her roughly around the neck, and dragged her outside, fired a shot and…. missed? She touched her arm, terrified to find that she was still alive. He seized her hand and threw a boy soldier’s jacket over her. She remembered the pile of uniforms that she had encountered three years ago. She had cut out the bloodied patches, replaced them with new materials, and added Nazi decorations to one jacket after another, jackets like this one. She pulled on the trousers over her striped uniform. “Just walk. Not a word.”
A Volkswagen was parked and idling at the edge of the women’s quarters. An early April storm was at its height, pounding like heartbeats of the soon to be dead. “Get in the back and hide yourself. No, not the back seat. Get in the luggage well behind it. You are so small now, you can curl up like you are sleeping.” Over her he placed a coat, and a nearly empty duffel bag. The engine started up, a deafening noise under her ear, and he drove down the central road of the camp and out the North Main Gate. A nod to the sentry; there were no official orders. “Supplies.” There was no food left in Belsen, and he was prepared to raid farms for some root vegetables and anything that could be eaten. Pre-dawn raids on farms were the only way to get anything into the camp.
Rumors were that Germany was losing to the Allies. Lutz wa
s not acting like a victor. He was very purposeful in his actions and demeanor, a soldier. They drove into Celle, and then stopped on a country road where he changed out of his uniform in the early light. The Volkswagen started up again, and they bumped along farm roads for the next four hours. Finally, he was willing to speak to her.
“Are you awake?”
“What are we doing?”
“You must be still. We are in danger.”
She began to laugh. She had seen danger and this wasn’t it. For the first time in three years she smelled fresh air, even if it was through mud and gas fumes.
“I can be still. But where are we going?”
“Hamburg. I will be meeting my friends there.”
“Why did you take me?”
“I thought you might enjoy a holiday. Now, you must be quiet.”
She thought of family holidays in August, days on the North Sea, smoked eel hanging on racks and frieten – French fries with golden yellow mayonnaise. This morning the thought of rich food didn’t appeal. It was fine in dreams of the past. And, as of this morning, there seemed to be some sort of future. A blind misted future, but a future all the same.
The checkpoints were not orderly. Posts were abandoned and the inconspicuous tan Volkswagen threaded its way into the city of bombed out ruins. The car halted. Odors of fish and the sea were in the air, along with diesel oil and alcohol. Apparently, surrender included drinking all available German liquor before the Allies came through. The mid-morning quiet and bottles were evidence that this area was for nighttime entertainments. Lutz parked the car, and knocked on the door of a closed cabaret.
“You’re early. We were not expecting you until 11:00.”
“I had a chance to leave a little earlier. May I come in? I also have brought a guest with me.” The dark haired proprietor looked out at the deserted street and the military car.
“Good morning, then. I am Juan Antonio. You may call me Johann if you prefer. Where is your guest?”
“We need to get him out of the car.”
“I am not taking Nazi deserters.”
“Please don’t worry.” He pulled down the back seat and removed the coat and the bag.
Esther looked up at them, “Are we there yet?” She smiled brightly. Even in a boy’s uniform, she could flirt.
“My God, she stinks. We have beautiful girls here, ones with full breasts and shining blonde hair. Why did you bring another one?”
“She is not for you. I want to take her with me. The papers are for Herr and Frau Georg Lutz, ja?”
The agent laughed. “Let me wake one of the girls. She needs a bath.” Turning back to Lutz he stated, “Also, we need to dispose of the car right away. Hand me the keys. We’ll just take it down to the harbor and leave the keys in it. Someone will steal it soon enough.”
Creaking stairs announced the presence of a sturdy young woman. She looked like the guards in Belsen. Esther looked around at the dusty furniture and the dark peeling wallpaper. What color had it been? My God, she didn’t want to end up in a German brothel, but Irma seized her arm and led her away from the bar. When she faltered on the stairs, Irma grabbed her by the waist. “Ach du lieber, they have not been feeding you? Little boys sent out to lose this war, and they don’t even feed them.” Esther did not say a word. A warm bubble bath had been prepared, and it didn’t look or smell like gas. She asked to bathe alone, and Irma said, “Of course, but let me know if you would like me to do your back or your hair. Please put the uniform outside the door. We will bring you clean clothes.”
The tears came as Esther sank into the bubbles. Fear, relief, grief? Who knew? Then she began to sob. They mustn’t hear her sobs, so she turned on the hot water to drown them out. A soft shampoo glided through her hair. She washed it three times. Maybe by washing her head she could wash away the dark and frightening thoughts. Her face would never be clean enough, not ever again. A smile played for a moment as she thought of childhood fights in the bathtub.
“Mama! I don’t want water on my face! Ow! There is soap in my eyes.”
The screaming child was dead inside her.
Irma knocked, “I have some clothes for you. They said you were to have these.” Esther got out of the tub and opened the door, dripping and stark naked, the waters pouring off her emaciated body. “Here, use a towel.” Irma began to briskly rub her back with the soft warm cloth. She handed her underwear. The long panties nearly fell off. “I’m sorry, those are the smallest we have.” Irma surveyed her body. “Here is an undershirt. And I have a simple dress for you.” A plain tailored navy and white polka dot dress with a demure white collar, just the sort of thing her mother would have picked out.
“What do you want me to do?”
“Get dressed of course.”
“But then what?”
“I don’t know. I was only ordered to dress you. I am following instructions. Here, you will also need a coat and a hat.”
“Then I’m not staying here?”
Down at the bar Lutz had unpacked a small sack from his duffel and proffered it to Juan Antonio. He was now in a tweed suit with a proper hat and coat. He put his hand over the sack as Esther came toward him, and averted his eyes. The proprietor smiled at her. “Please go with Irma, she will get you some soup.”
As the girls turned toward the kitchen, Juan emptied the sack of jewelry and several other small gold objects. He pulled out a scale and weighed it. “This will suffice. It is just a few grams short of a half-kilo.” He pulled out blank documents. “So what do you call your ‘wife’?”
Lutz thought a minute,“Zus. She is so sweet. Zus for Susani.”
“So we will name her Susani Lutz?”
“I guess so.”
“Wait a minute, you will need wedding rings. Let’s find a couple in this. A gift from me. Good luck in your marriage. Now you need to get the hell out of here before the Americans come.”
Esther sat down in the dining room with the soup. A newspaper on the table held headlines of Allied attacks on Hamburg and all of Germany. It did not tell of German officers fleeing. It did not tell of help from outside. Clearly, Juan Antonio was some of that outside help. Where was he from? Lutz came to join her and handed her the wedding band. She held it in the palm of her hand. Whose was it? This trinket that Lutz was holding out had been someone’s dearest possession. She looked through it to see if there were any ghosts inside the circle. Lutz picked it back up and put in on her ring finger. “Where are we going?”
His worried eyes creased at the corners as the shadow of a smile crossed his face. “If you will have me as your husband, we will leave Europe immediately. Germany is expected to surrender within days. We leave this afternoon. Antonio will drive us down to the harbor and get us passage. By the way, your papers identify you as Susani Lutz, housewife.”
Susani, Esther, what did it matter? She was now the captive of a captive. “Passage to where?”
“We can’t ask too many questions. Argentina entered the war three weeks ago and they are willing to evacuate Germans and Jews in exchange for certain … commodities. Gold, artworks, anything of value that has been stored for the new Reich.”
She thought of the valuables in her Amsterdam house. No doubt it had been looted of everything. In her mind were images of the Art Nouveau furnishings and antiques, gifts from more than a hundred years of trading in Japan and China. Her mother had taken it all for granted, the lovely works of art and the task of making sure that the maids kept everything dusted properly. She wondered if they had found the safe that was built inside the wall? In it was a cache of diamonds, mother’s large emerald ring, and silver that was used to set a formal table for twenty. All these possessions, and she had nearly died of starvation.
“Lutz, we need to go to New York.”
“Juan Antonio can get us to Argentina easily.” He looked at her, puzzled and a little sho
cked. If he remained in Germany, he would be captured as a deserter and executed. The Soviets were already advancing on Germany, threatening civilians. They could not wait. He hesitated. She always said things for a reason. Her calculating mind never stopped. He loved that about her, but was sometimes annoyed by her questions that had no good answers. “Zus, why New York.?”
“We need to find my brother. He went to New York.”
What tales they would have to tell. No doubt Hans would be appalled that she had a German “husband.” But, she had wanted to be an actress and she had survived as one. No lights, no cameras, just a daily life of pretending. What illusions she had performed. She looked like a wraith today, but after some food, who knew? Lutz apparently thought she could be beautiful again.
Of all the places on earth she had picked the largest and busiest city in human existence, in a country that would hate Germans. Who knew how they would respond to Jews? He had a good idea of how it would for Germans. Thank God he was Austrian. How ironic it would be if her race were their ticket.
“New York is a very large place, and who knows where your brother might be?”
“Lutz, what will happen to all the property – the homes and assets of the Jews? Of the Dutch, French and other people once the conquest is over?” His elbows had been on the table, with hands clasped, taking charge. Now one hand closed over his chin and jaw as he bit his lip. He peered at the ‘helpless girl’ that he had met three years ago.
Her questions kept coming. “Won’t they allow families to make claims? Our home in Amsterdam is valuable, and my parents hid other assets before Holland surrendered to Germany. If there is a chance to reclaim … anything… my brother and I will need to do it. Look at me. I have lost my name and my family. I don’t have a chance to act alone, and I certainly can’t file suits from Argentina under a name that was never known in Amsterdam.”
Islands of Deception Page 26