Brothers Beyond Blood (12 page)

Miss Maria came and got me from the worksite. Mr. Peter had just explained that the lumber we were unloading was “liberated” from the yard in the nearby town and would be used for the forms to delineate where the cement would be poured. One of the other men explained that we would spread it in sections and put pieces of iron or steel mesh into it for strength.

“Come, Hans. I would like some help with these new cabinets.” She indicated four large boxes in a row by the office partition.

“I will uncase them and wipe them down, Miss.” I looked longingly at her. Miss Maria was not a tall woman, but sturdy, as a good German woman should be, like my long-lost sister. She had brown hair pulled back and tucked behind each ear. I liked that she wore trousers, quite unusual at this time.

She stood leaning on the wooden partition while I used a small pry bar to uncase the filing cabinets. “Are you going to go to Palestine, Hans?” she asked.

I stopped and faced her, “I do not think so, Miss Maria. Herschel and I would like to go someplace where we can just be two people who came back from the war and wish to continue our lives.”

“And where do you think that will be?”

I shrugged, “Perhaps America. Perhaps Canada, though I hear that it is very cold there.” I sat on the top of one box and smiled at her. “And where will you go after you are finished here? Back to America to your family?”

Maria looked at the floor. In a small voice, she said, “I have no family anymore. My husband died in the war, and my parents passed away while I was young. My grandmother raised me, and now she is dead also.”

She seemed so distraught that I went to her side, took her in my arms and stroked her hair. She stiffened and then started sobbing into my shirt. I just held her and whispered that everything would be better soon.

Maria looked up at me, and I could not help but lean down and kiss her softly. I had never kissed a woman before and it was quite different from the kiss I had once stolen from my sister’s friend, Karen. Then Maria put her arms around my neck and kissed me back for a long time, pressing her body against mine.

A voice called from the other side of the partition, “Maria, are you back there? There are men coming in.”

She broke away and dried her eyes on a scrap of a handkerchief she took from a pocket in her trousers. “I, I’m sorry, Hans I….”

I held both of her hands and said, “I am not. I will be here whenever you need me, Miss Maria.”

“Hey, Maria, you coming?” The voice called again, this time more urgently.

“Be right there!” she called brightly. Hesitating for another second, she quickly kissed me on the corner of my mouth and ran out.

That was a very different turn of events than I expected. Much food for thought, I mused as I uncased the rest of the cabinets. As I was gathering up the wood scraps and cardboard, I heard a man’s voice, louder than the others. It was a voice I thought I recognized. A voice from the past, from the camp.

I peered around the corner of the partition. Mein Gott, it was Granski, in civilian clothes. Thinner and scruffier, but I recognized that voice and those wild eyes. I listened as intently as I could.

He was fawning over Maria, “Yes, Miss, I am a Jew, yes, from Camp Kefferstadt. I have been hiding in forest for long time.” Granski’s German was more broken than I remembered.

She said something I didn’t hear. Then he replied, “No, no, all comrades dead. Nazis kill them all. I only man left.” He attempted a grin. Suddenly his gaze lifted to mine.

I jerked back. Had he seen me? Would he have recognized me? I ran out the rear of the tent to find Herschel.

Chief Hawk stopped me, “Are you finally coming back to work, kid?”

“Yes, sir, but I need to find my brother, Herschel, right away. It is very important, sir.”

He looked about and said, “He’s probably with that group over there, digging the last corner.” He indicated three men knee-deep in a trench with three others standing and laughing at some small joke.

“Thank you, sir. I will be back in one minute.” I ran toward Herschel. What would I tell him? I had been thinking of telling him about Miss Maria, but now I had a much bigger tale to tell.

I skidded to a stop and reached down and clutched Herschel’s sweaty shirt. “Herschel, Herschel, you must come out now. I have something very important to tell you.”

He tried to pull free, saying, “Hans, we are engaged in a contest and I am winning!” Again he tried to pull free.

I clutched tighter and nearly lifted him out of the trench. “Come now!” I shouted in his face. He must have seen the fear in my eyes because he handed the shovel to one of the other men and scrambled out.

I dragged him over to the other side of the worksite, out of range of the other workmen. “Something very bad has happened, Herschel.”

He frowned and slowly unclasped my fingers where they were still gripping his shirt. “What, for God’s sake? What is wrong? You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.”

“That is as good a description as any. I was just in the main tent with Miss Maria. Some new refugees had arrived. I thought I heard a familiar voice so I peeked around the corner.” I gripped Herschel’s upper arm tightly. “It was Granski. And he was passing himself off as a Jew!”

Herschel was stunned, as stunned as I. He stood there with his mouth trying to form words but nothing came out. Finally he was able to ask, “Are you sure?”

I nodded and replied, “Yes, it was he.”

“Mein Gott in Himmel, we must tell the Amis. He cannot get away with this.”

“No, you must not,” I said in a panic. “I think he saw me. If we tell on him, he will tell on me. No, we cannot tell anyone.”

Herschel ran a hand through his hair, deep in thought, “But you never killed anyone. He has killed many. I, myself, saw him shoot those three in the kitchen, and he was one who ran our people into the gas building.” He was frantic, “We have to do something!”

“Wait, wait. We cannot make a decision now. Let us go talk to the Rabbi.” I had him by the arms again. “Herschel, you are the brain. Think. How are we going to solve this?”

He pulled free and barked, “I am thinking. Wait, we must keep calm. Let us finish our work here.” He took a deep breath and tried to calm down. “Hans, I will not let them take you back. We will run if we have to.”

In two more hours, we had finished our trench for the footings, and the Chief told us that we were done for today. Tomorrow we would mix and spread the cement. In the meantime, his men would go back to the town and acquire some steel mesh or reinforcing bars.

Only once did Miss Maria come back out looking for me. I spoke to her for a few minutes and told her I would be back here tomorrow. She asked me to come back this evening after mealtime, but I told her that Herschel and the Rabbi and I had something very important that we had to do.

She was curious but nodded coolly, “I understand, Hans. Perhaps I will see you tomorrow?”

“Yes, yes, Miss Maria. Of course. I will be working with Chief Hawk right here. Now, please, I must go.” I took her hand from my forearm, squeezed it and Herschel and I walked as fast as we dared to our tent, all the time looking for Granski.

Reb Horowitz and Mendel were playing chess on a small set and looked up as we rushed in.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” said the Rabbi looking from one to the other of us.

We sat on my bunk side by side. Herschel started, “Rabbi, something awful has occurred.” He went on to tell him about the arrival of the hated Granski and how he was passing himself off as a Jew.

The Reb was startled, but Mendel just looked puzzled. “Who is this Granski?” he asked. “I have heard you mention him before. Is he a friend of yours from the camp?”

Now it was my turn to look startled. “No, Mendel, he was a guard. A Pole the Nazis enlisted to help in the camp. Only he helped more than the SS. He was one of the most evil guards there. Before we were liberated, he shot three men, stole some food and fled.”

“So how did he end up here?”

Herschel shrugged, “I do not know. I thought he would have fled east to Poland but the Russians must have pushed west and he would not wish to be captured by them. Anyway, here he is and if we turn him over to the American soldiers, then he will tell them that Hans was a guard also.”

Mendel took it all in, pondering, “But Hans saved your life, did he not?”

“Yes, I did” I said, “But the Americans will not care. I was a guard, and I escaped. They will shoot me just for that.” I hugged myself. “Oh, what can we do?”

“Take it easy now, Hans. If Granski saw you, he knows that you are here the same as he is. He will not say anything as long as you do not.” Herschel tried to soothe me.

“Nein, Herschel, I do not wish to put you in danger. I must flee.” I leapt to my feet and started throwing my few possessions into a pillow sack. If Herschel and I were caught, he would be branded a collaborator for trying to help a death camp guard escape.

“Wait, I will come with you,” he said, and rose to assist me.

The Rabbi stood and gripped both of our shoulders, “Just slow it down, the two of you. This does nothing to solve the problem of Granski. Once he knows there are others from Kefferstadt here, he will flee himself.”

We stopped and sat again. “But we are the only three, are we not?” I asked.

The Reb shook his head, “No, I have seen two others here. They just started coming to morning classes. One is Mandelbrodt, who was in my barracks, and the other is Minski, the Russian. For all I know, there may be more.” He held out his hands to us, “Maybe one of them will inform the American soldiers?”

“Can we take that chance?” Herschel stood and began pacing, smacking his fist into his hand.

“For now, we will have to. We will have to see what develops,” Reb Horowitz’ words calmed us.

We slept fitfully that night.

In the morning we talked some more and decided that we could do nothing without exposing ourselves. The Rabbi and Mendel would try to locate Granski’s tent and would watch for him. Meanwhile, we would continue building the structure under the guidance of Chief Hawk, Petty Officers Nowicki and Rosen and the workmen we had recruited.

I worked under Mr. Rosen and Hans worked for Mr. Nowicki. He was from a city called Chicago, and he talked often about something called ‘the loop’. I believe it was a place, not a thing. At noontime, we sat in some shade, and Miss Maria had a volunteer bring us some sandwiches and fruit from the mess tent. Now that the war was over, the Americans had ships coming from America with much food and, once empty, they were taking soldiers back home. The first to go were the wounded and convalescing. Next were the longest serving combat troops.

As soon as possible, the men of the Seabees, who were the engineers, had come from their base in England just to build this camp and others. We did not know it at the time but this DP camp would be in use for many years.

Soon we had recruited a dozen more carpenters, and the building rose rapidly. Once the cement floor had dried, we built long walls flat on it and had dozens of men help hoist them vertically all at once. It was a beautiful sight to see, a twenty-five-meter wall go up all in one piece. In two days, the other walls were up, and Miss Maria and some of the men and women she worked with drew a plan showing how they wanted the building divided.

Every once in a while, she would come to Hans and say, “Hans? Would you please come help me move some desks?” Or, “Hans, would you please come help me unpack some cabinets?”

He would smile and say, “Yes, Miss Maria, as you wish.” He’d go for an hour or two and come back out of breath, sometimes deeply flushed. I was worried that she might be working him too much, though we were working very hard on the building also, and the days were getting warmer.

All this time, Chief Hawk would show us the detailed drawings of the building; explain what each symbol meant and how to distinguish various materials from their outlines and texture drawings.

When it came time to construct the roof, Petty Officer Nowicki had us build a platform and put it on wheels. It stood more than three meters high and held two people comfortably. The lumber for the roof rafters was cut to length, and a sturdy board was designated as the first peak beam.

The Chief waved to us, “You boys get on up there on that platform. You’re going to hold up that peak beam, hand the end to the guys on the end of the building, and those other guys will hand you the rafters. You nail them into the peak beam and we’ll get them nailed into the top plates, you got that?”

We had seen the drawings at noon meal and Mr. Peter had explained in detail what we were going to do. Hans helped me to the top, and two of the workmen handed us the long beam from the end. The lines on it were clearly marked in pencil, with a large X on the side to which the rafter was to be nailed.

Hans hoisted the beam onto his broad shoulder and the first rafter was handed to me.

“I’ve got it!” I yelled and, trying not to jostle Hans too much, I nailed it in place. “Hand me another.” One came from the other side, and now we had a roofline. As we nailed the rafters in place, workmen crawled along the tops of the walls nailing those ends in place also. Two men pushed the platform along slowly, and we progressed down the length of the building.
Mein Gott
, working overhead like this was horribly stressful.

“Stop, please, I need a rest,” I pleaded. My neck and arms were aching.

Peter Nowicki laughed, “Look, kid, we’re feeding you good American food, giving you good tools to work with and a trade. You want a rest? Rest when you’re done!”

Mr. Peter was always joking with us, kidding us and laughing. The Chief was much more serious and Mr. Rosen, well, he was a Jew like me and just did his job. He once asked me during a noon meal, what it was like in the camp.

I said, “Picture the worst thing you can ever imagine human beings doing to one another. Then multiply that by ten or maybe one hundred. That is what the concentration camps were like.” I began by telling him of the gas house, the trenches, the trolleys and how we were stacked in the barracks. I could tell he was shocked.

But he just nodded, not meeting my eyes. Finally he looked up and said, “I heard that they gassed and killed more than one million people at that Auschwitz camp in Poland. I can’t even conceive that many deaths. Mostly Jews too, huh?”

“Yes, in our camp were mostly Jews but some political prisoners and also some Roma.”

“Roma? What’s that?”

“Roma. Gypsies, wandering people. They travel in wagons all over Europe. I think they originated in Romania is why they’re called Roma.”

“Why did they kill them? Were they fighting the Germans?”

“Oh, no, they were just too disorganized to fit into the Nazi mold. They didn’t conform. Besides, they weren’t Aryan.” I laughed. “Most Roma looked like Jews!”

Rosen frowned, “Do I look like a Jew?”

I held my hands up, “What does a Jew look like? You are fair like Hans and yet I, his brother, am darker. My sister Miriam was dark like me, and my papa was tall and fair.”

My mind flashed to Granski who was stocky and dark, unlike many Poles I knew. I’d tried to not think about Granski. We had not located him but had not become complacent.

The building continued over the next two weeks, and Hans and I filled out, becoming more muscular. Mendel sewed belts for us to hold our hammers and nails, and the Rabbi massaged my back and shoulders in the evenings. Sometimes Hans came back to the tent with us, but many evenings he excused himself, and we didn’t see him until bedtime.

One day he confided in us that the next day was his birthday. He would be eighteen years old. I was proud of him and the work he did. Reb Horowitz held a hand over his head and said a blessing for him. Mendel just smiled, but we knew something was afoot.

That evening Mendel came back to the tent visibly shaken. “Please, come, my friends. I have something to tell you.” He sat on the edge of his bed, his hands shaking. “You know that man from your camp, Herschel? Hans?”

My heart sank, “You mean Granski?” I asked.

He shook his head, “No, for him I am still looking. The one I mean is Rolf Minski. You said one time you knew him. Is that true?”

The Rabbi nodded, “Yes, I knew Minski. A Russian Jew.” He frowned, a hand to his chin, “I believe he was a tailor or made shoes or some such.”

Mendel nodded vigorously, “Yes, that’s him. He worked with leather.” He took a deep breath, “Well, he’s dead.”

“What? How?” I was incredulous. In the camps we were used to death coming daily, but here in the DP camp, it was unusual.

Mendel was near tears. “They found him strangled in one of the latrines this morning.”

Hans asked, “Was he robbed? Wait, no, of course not, he had nothing. We have nothing worth stealing.” This was puzzling.

Reb Horowitz was shaken also and sat heavily in his chair. “I know why he was killed and by whom.”

We all wheeled and looked at him, waiting, “Well, why? Who?” I asked.

The Reb’s ashen face looked up, “It is my fault. After morning class yesterday, I spoke with him and Mandelbrodt. At one point he looked at someone in the crowd and grew excited. I couldn’t tell who it was. I don’t see so well anymore. He said he thought he saw someone who looked like Granski in the rear of the tent. I tried to calm his fears and thought I had.” He shrugged resignedly, “I suppose I didn’t.”

“You mean Granski killed him because he recognized him?”

“Who knows? But, yes, my son, I believe that is what happened. Now I fear for Mandelbrodt. One of us must warn him.” He struggled to his feet.

Hans placed an arm on his shoulder, pushing him back into his chair. “No, sir, Herschel and I will find him.”

“I will go, too,” urged Mendel. “I think I know where his tent is.”

I strapped on my tool belt and stuck my hammer in its loop before we left. Hans hefted a stout piece of wood we used to tighten the tent pegs after a rain. I didn’t realize how much the camp had grown since I’d last taken a walk through it. There must have been five thousand residents here by now. The camp was divided into a men’s and a women’s side and a portion for married couples. There was talk of removing the barriers so that men could meet new women and perhaps continue their lives. It was inevitable.

After about one-half hour of walking through the poorly lit streets between the tents, we came to the one in which Mendel thought Minski had resided. He called out a greeting and waited a moment. A hand pulled the flap back a bit and when the occupant saw Mendel, he opened and stepped back.

“Come in, Mendel,” he whispered, and when the three of us stepped inside, gasped. “You, you are Herschel, the one who took the bodies from the gas building to the trench. The Sonderkommando.” He screwed up his face and looked at Hans, “You, I don’t remember. Were you at Kefferstadt too?”

“
Nein
,” said Hans, keeping his face in shadow. “I am a friend of Mendel and Herschel.”

“Yes, Mr. Mandelbrodt, we have come to tell you that your friend Minski was murdered this morning.” I watched him carefully, hoping he had already heard the news. The grapevine was rapid here in the camp.

“Yes, yes,” he nodded vigorously, “I have heard. Do the guards know who did it?”

I shook my head, not wanting to tell him the news. “We think it was Granski, the Polish guard from our camp. He is here somewhere, passing himself off as a Jew.”

“No, Oh
Mein Gott
. So it really was him we saw yesterday. I didn’t want to believe it.” He sunk down and held his head.

“Yes, we think he will kill anyone who can tell the Amis who he really is.”

He looked up, his face a mask of agony, “What can we do? We must go to the Amis. Let them deal with him, the pig.” He spat in the dirt floor of the tent.

“No, no, wait. We will handle this. This is an internal matter. No need to involve the Amis. Just be careful, sir.” I glanced around at three other bunks, “So you are not alone here?”

Looking up at us, he said miserably, “No, there are two others who live here with me. They are in the mess tent playing at cards tonight. They will return soon.”

“All right, here is what I would suggest you do. First, go to your tent mates right now. We will walk with you there. Then keep the tent well lit. Only go out in groups of two or three. I would not go even to the latrine alone, nor to the shower.”

He nodded and said, “I will get myself a piece of wood, a club, like your friend here.”

That is a good idea. And if you know which tent this Granski is in, please let us know. We are in number twenty-four.”

Hans added, “Or let Miss Maria know in the main tent, main building now.”

“Yes, also a good idea,” said Mendel.

And we waited for news.

The next morning, as Hans and I were going to eat at the mess tent, a man came up and caught me by the arm, “Are you Herschel?”

“I am. Who are you?” I shook my arm free of his grip and stepped back. The man was thin, nervous, the butt of a cigarette stuck into the corner of his mouth. He had patches of graying black hair that looked like someone had grabbed handfuls and yanked it out.

“My name doesn’t matter. Yoshi Mandelbrodt told me to tell you that the man you are looking for is in tent number eight seventy-five.” He nodded once and was gone.