A Perfect Madness (47 page)

Erich thought a minute before
answering Julia’s question, then responded slowly as if he had
rehearsed his words. “I sort of holed up in Triberg to get away
from everything and everybody. The war left too many scars,
especially in my family. A lot of veterans would come there to soak
their crippled bodies in the springs. I figured it was a good place
to set up my psychiatry practice. It never did get big,
though.”

“
Did you try and find
me?”

“
Yes, many times, but I
got nowhere. I went back to Prague several times looking for you,
but thought—”

“
That I had died with the
rest of the Jews? That’s what you were going to say, wasn’t it?”
Julia said curtly, interrupting Erich.

“
No, but what you say will
do.”

“
You have a beautiful
daughter, you know, with your ocean blue eyes and sharp nose.”
Julia blurted out, frustrated at Erich’s guarded manner.

Then Julia told him of Anna and
Scotland and Hiram’s death over Dresden and all she had done during
the war, including the killing of Martin Drossen. But when she
mentioned the photograph and Maria’s name, Erich became restless,
clenching his hands tightly, as if the first of many stories
carefully wrapped and long hidden in the past was about to be
opened. Julia could not help but see the sudden agitation in
him.

“
Did you know a Maria
Drossen? She was from Mainz.”

Erich paused for a second before
answering her question, carefully selecting his words.

“
Perhaps. There was a
Maria Drossen with me at Görden Hospital.” Erich hesitated, then
stopped talking, realizing what he might have revealed.

Julia knew of Görden and the
euthanizing of handicapped children and mental patients there, and
the black horror of Erich’s sudden confession quickly cleared her
mind of any compassion she still felt for his pitiful humanity. The
love for the Erich she once knew was still there, but she hated the
man standing before her.

“
You killed babies at
Görden, and people who were mentally ill. How could you, Erich?”
Julia demanded.

“
Things just changed, got
all mixed up. I was a good doctor who began treating people by
putting them out of their miserable existence. Isn’t that what you
and I were trained to do as doctors, to ease suffering?”

Julia remained utterly stupefied and
silent, looking at Erich, a man she no longer knew. What he had
done so long ago was lost somewhere deep down inside of him,
playing games with his mind, keeping him believing that what had
happened never did. To him, what he and others had done was so
totally unbelievable that he was incapable of believing it ever
took place.

“
I know you were at
Auschwitz, Erich. And I know you murdered my mother and father.
That is why I hoped you would come, so that you could hear these
words.”

At first, Erich looked puzzled by
Julia’s strong words and accusations for several seconds, but then
began to cry. He had come looking for his soul in the only place it
might be found, with Julia. And she had shut the door, leaving only
God to open it.

“
I was only a doctor,
Julia, nothing more. My hands killed no one there.”

“
They loved you and took
you into their home and broke bread with you, Erich, and yet you
denied them their last shred of humanity by refusing to speak to
them, to even say their names before they died. How could you be so
cruel?”

“
I had no choice, Julia,
with the children at Görden, or with your mother and father. They
would have died anyway,” Erich said, sobbing loudly.

“
No, I won’t accept that.
There were many choices for you.”

“
Not when one is afraid of
dying, as I was. It’s a terrible thing to live with fear, and
surviving was all that mattered to me then, to live and see you
again.”

“
An either/or always
exists. God has seen to that. You should know that as a good
Lutheran. You could have at least fought as a soldier for your
country. I could have accepted that.”

“
You don’t understand. All
I want is forgiveness from you,” Erich cried, sinking to his
knees.

“
I understand very well,”
Julia said, her voice trembling. “I can forgive you for what you
are and have become, but only those that are dead can forgive you
for what you have done. And that is between you and God to work
out.”

With Julia denying him forgiveness,
Erich struggled to his feet, leaning on Rabbi Loew’s gravestone,
and shouted out in anger, “What about Dresden? Shouldn’t you and
the world and even Hiram ask forgiveness for that terrible night of
hell? My mother and father were burned alive, too, with thousands
of others, all for nothing.”

Erich’s words hit Julia hard. He had
become the accuser, and she had no ready reply. Whether or not the
bombing of Dresden, as it was done, was wrong, she didn’t know. She
had killed Germans, too, but they were soldiers, and in war that
should lift the mantle of guilt a little, even though it never does
for some. All that she did know now in listening to Erich was that
there was nothing left of who he once was as a man.

“
I am sorry about your
parents. Perhaps their deaths were wrong, I don’t know, but a
thousand Dresdens would never excuse what you and all the other
doctors did, hiding behind the mask of Hippocrates. They were only
Jews, Erich, nothing more, trying to live their lives out as God
intended for them,” Julia said, almost in a whisper, as if trying
to calm the soul of Rabbi Loew, whose grave they were standing
on.

His anger stilled, Erich looked around
at the shadows bouncing off the gravestones by passing lights, as
if those buried had suddenly come alive to play for a while. He had
watched them many times before when he and Julia would secretly
huddle here, unafraid of what any tomorrow might bring. But for
fifty years he had been afraid, and that was his life. Looking back
at Julia as the shadows crossed her face, too, for one brief moment
he remembered how innocently beautiful she was when he looked at
her the very first time. And it was still there, unmarred by her
aging wrinkles. Speaking now in a soft voice, tinged with a strange
finality, he said, “Those moments of forever that we shared so long
ago really did exist, didn’t they?”

“
Perhaps, I don’t know.
Memory can make a thing seem more than it was or ever could be. I
must go now, Erich,” Julia responded coldly, turning to leave the
cemetery. Pausing at the small gate, she looked back one last time
at the man she still loved.

“
To me they did exist,”
she said, then left.

When Julia finished with the story,
the last she would ever tell Anna, or anyone else, she took Anna’s
hands and placed them over her dying heart. Fighting for each
breath, her voice barely audible to Anna, she whispered, “Erich was
your father, Anna. I loved him more than life itself, but he
betrayed me. And, like Papa, I will never know why. We were only
Jews.”

It was the only time Julia ever
acknowledged that Erich was Anna’s father, though Anna had always
believed it to be true. But the words from Julia made her love her
mother that much more. Taking Julia in her arms, Anna held her
close, just as her mother had done with Eva, until she passed from
this world, speaking Erich’s name with her last breath. Perhaps,
Anna thought, looking at the gentle, still face of her mother, one
can love completely without a complete understanding. And Julia
knew enough to know that for her it was enough to have loved
him.

It was night now, and the throngs of
visitors to the Holocaust Memorial at the Pinkas Synagogue and
cemetery would be gone, leaving those buried there once more alone.
Anna left the hotel with the box holding Julia’s ashes and walked
the six blocks to the cemetery. Her long journey home was nearing
an end. Unlatching the small gate, she stepped gingerly into the
graveyard, immediately feeling the soft and lumpy sod beneath her
feet. With each step she stood on a grave, quickly becoming lost
among the thousands of stones rising before her like ghosts from
the darkness. Standing still, Anna tried to recall where Rabbi
Loew’s grave was located and began making her way slowly through
the maze of graves surrounding her until she finally came upon the
sacred plot.

Kneeling down, she took a silver
tablespoon from her purse and lifted a small square of the soft sod
next to Rabbi Loew’s grave and cleared away several inches of the
rich, black soil beneath it. For a few seconds she held the box of
ashes close to her breast, caressing it softly before sprinkling
the contents into the shallow grave. After covering the ashes with
the plug of sod, Anna leaned forward and kissed the tiny grave and
whispered, “There really was a golem when you were young, I
know.”

She left, feeling good about all that
had happened today in satisfying the promise to her mother. The
heavy spring rains would come soon to Prague, and Julia’s ashes
would sink deeper, nourishing and bringing new life to the soil
around her, as she had done so often to all who knew
her.

As her final story, Julia had come to
rest at last among a hundred thousand Jews who knew her not and her
dear childhood friends, the golem and Rabbi Loew. She would remain
here for eternity, Anna believed, in her most sacred
place.

###

About the Author

F
rank Marsh was a
trial attorney for twenty-five years and then a university
professor of philosophy, law, and bioethics. He has published six
books in bioethics, numerous articles, and scripted documentaries
dealing with medicine, genetics, and law. He is also the author of
the novel
Rebekka’s Children.

Other Books by Frank
Marsh

Fiction

Rebekka’s Children

Nonfiction

Biology, Crime and Ethics

Medicine and Money

In Defense of Political
Trials

Punishment and
Restitution

Children in Treatment for Mental and
Physical Catastrophic Diseases