Brothers Beyond Blood (14 page)

I could do nothing for my friend, Mendel, and the last thing I wanted was to be held by the American soldiers. The dark concealed me as I made my way back to our tent and the Rabbi.

He was sitting where we’d left him, his head nodding, lips moving soundlessly, eyes closed. I sat next to him and he appeared to sense my presence, but didn’t stop. I listened carefully, he was mumbling in Hebrew. A prayer?

Reb Horowitz stopped and opened his eyes. The old man looked twenty years older than when we’d left. I placed a hand on his leg and told him about Mendel, how Granski had ambushed us and stabbed Herschel and me. With that, I remembered my arm.

He gave a cry, covered his eyes and sobbed.

“Reb Horowitz, sir, will you help me, please?” I unwrapped the rag from my bicep.

With a sigh, the Rabbi struggled to his feet, gripping my shoulder. “Come into the light, my son.” He then asked, “Who is tending to poor Mendel?”

“Herschel was still there when I left. He was holding him. I couldn’t stay. The soldiers were coming.”

We went into the tent, and I sat on my bunk while the Rabbi turned up the lamp and held it close. “I think this should be sewn together, Hans. I will get my sewing kit.” He cocked an eye at me, “I don’t believe you want to go to the medical clinic?”

“No, sir. Please do what you have to do.”

He produced a small bottle of vodka that Mendel had somehow procured. “Here, pour some of this on your wound. It will burn, but it will cleanse. Save some for the thread.” He came near with a needle and some white thread. Before sewing, he passed the tip of the needle through the flame in the lamp and dipped the thread in the vodka.

I removed my bloody shirt and wiped the blood off my arm, then splashed some vodka on the open wound. The sharp pain made me gasp and I gripped the arm of the chair tightly. With a few quick strokes the Rabbi slid the needle through the flesh, pulling the loose edges together. I moaned through my gritted teeth.

The stitches were even and carefully knotted. “Rabbi, how did you know what to do?”

“How?” he snorted, “I am a rabbi. Would you like a circumcision next?”

Now I chuckled through the pain, “Too late, old man. My father had me done as a babe.”

“Good. It will be easier to pass you off as a Jew.” He finished up and inspected his work. “You will have a nice scar, my boy. Tell them it is from dueling. The ladies will love it.” He sighed as he put his tools away. Then he turned and wrapped a clean handkerchief around the wound. “What will you do now? Where is Granski?”

“I do not know but Herschel and I will find him and avenge Mendel.”

The Rabbi stood suddenly, towering over me, “Have you learned nothing, you foolish boy?” He leaned his face close to mine, “I forbid you to pursue this man. He will only kill the two of you!” Striding back and forth in the small tent, he whirled on me, “What has become of Mendel? We must take care of the boy’s body” His voice was shaking.

Stubbornly I glared back at him, “Yes, yes, we will. Granski killed Mendel! Not I. Not Herschel! Do you understand?” I took a drink of the vodka. It tasted foul and I spat it on the floor at his feet. “ He stabbed Herschel and killed my friend! I will not rest until that man is dead! We….”

Just them Herschel entered the tent, limping.

Both the Rabbi and I wrapped our arms around him and helped him to his bed. “Herschel, have you had your leg taken care of?” I asked while the Rabbi pulled his trouser leg up. The bandage covered from his ankle almost to his knee.

“Yes, the medics took me to the first aid tent and sewed me up. How is your arm, Hans?”

I showed him the white cloth Rabbi Horowitz had tied over the stitched wound. “A first rate job. This man is a genius. He saved my life.” Remembering how sad the Rabbi looked when we left, I felt, perhaps, some praise would cheer him up.

He glared at me and said, “Saved your life? Ten of you are not worth one Mendel!” He stood and stormed out of the tent.

Herschel and I sat and looked guiltily at each other. “You know it is my fault that Mendel is dead. We must find Granski and kill him for what he did.” My resolve was made of steel. I would not rest until I ripped that dog apart.

“Yes, yes, but let us get some rest now. My leg is throbbing, and I’m sure your arm is not any better.” He glanced at the doorway, “Let the old man fume for tonight. Tomorrow, after work, we will search for Granski. Perhaps Miss Maria can help.”

I smacked my forehead, “Maria!” I just remembered that we were supposed to meet. I looked at the small clock that sat on the Rabbi’s side table. Near midnight. Too late. I hoped that she had not waited too long. I would explain everything to her tomorrow. Little did I know that this night was not yet over.

It seemed like we were not alone for long when we awoke to much noise outside the tent. I swung my legs over the edge of the bed with a gasp of pain, when the tent flap was pulled open. There were two American soldiers on either side of the opening, and an officer strode in. He had an electric torch in his hand and shined it in my face.

“You two boys Herschel and Hans Rothberg?” he asked abruptly.

I held my hand in front of my eyes. “Yes sir. Is there a problem?” I tried not to look at Hans. I noted that the Rabbi’s bunk was empty so, of course, was Mendel’s.

“You guys want to come with me? Do you know a Rabbi Horowitz? Maria, works in Admin, says he bunks with you. That right?”

“Yes, that is correct. Is he all right?” I was up and carefully pulled my trousers on over my bandages and slid my feet into my shoes. Hans was also dressing quickly.

“Oh, he’s okay, just making a nuisance of himself. He’s in the morgue tent with some guy named Mendel we brought in earlier. Got knifed in a scuffle. This Rabbi Horowitz told the doc some cock and bull story about how the guy who killed this Mendel was a former guard in a concentration camp who was passing himself off as a Jew.” He eyed us squinting in the bright beam. “You know anything about that?”

Before Hans could say anything, I said, “We heard rumors, the same as you, sir, but that is all.”

He looked at us, frowning, “Say, how did you get those wounds? What’s under those bandages?”

“I received mine this evening from the same man who killed our friend Mendel. You can ask the doctor at the first aid tent. I was taken there earlier tonight.” I had to think fast. “My brother received his today working for Chief Hawk on the roof of the new building. We were passing up some metal roofing and one slipped.” I shrugged, “Small cuts and abrasions are quite common when doing construction work, sir. You can ask the Chief.”

He seemed to accept this explanation. “Okay. Well, c’mon and get your Rabbi Horowitz.” He spun around and strode out of the tent. The two soldiers waited for us, their rifles held at port arms.

We followed as best we could, me limping and Hans helping, and soon came to an illuminated tent with a bright red cross on a field of white painted on it. The officer held the flap back, and Hans and I entered. We heard mumbling and followed the sound. The tent was divided into several sections by canvas attached to metal poles. We moved toward the rear, and a female nurse bade us to come in.

The Rabbi sat slumped in a wooden chair next to the metal table that held Mendel’s body. It was covered with a sheet from his neck down. The Rabbi held a limp, pale hand and pressed it to his forehead. He was saying the Kaddish, the Hebrew prayer for the dead, over and over. “
Yisgadel V’yiskadesh shmeh rabboh!”

He was weeping. We went and stood on either side of him. Gently I said, “You know, you are only supposed to say this with a minyan, Rabbi.” We lifted him by the arms and I smiled at him and assured him that tomorrow we would gather the requisite ten men. “After all, Mendel was a well-liked and respected young man.”

We steered the dazed man past the guards and took him back to our lonely tent. “Get some sleep, Reb Horowitz. Tomorrow we will hold a service for Mendel.”

Though I was exhausted, I could not get to sleep. I kept picturing Mendel on that table. He looked to be sleeping peacefully. But I wasn’t peaceful. That evil Granski was responsible and he would die. I promised myself and Mendel’s spirit that I would see to it. Tomorrow would be a busy day.

The morning came with fog and a drizzle of rain. A cloud of sadness seemed to hang over the camp. We silently dressed, Hans and I. The Rabbi had slept in his clothes.

As we were preparing to leave, the Rabbi put up an arm, “Wait, my sons. I have something to say to you.”

I sighed. Were we going to get more of his admonitions of peace and brotherhood? More of how Mendel was worth more than all of us put together? Hans and I sat on my bunk, and I’m sure he was thinking the same thing.

The Rabbi sat up facing us and said, “My boys, I am truly sorry for my harsh words last night. Mendel was a good boy, but so are you two. You are my sons, all three of you. Please forgive me for being an old fool. I was angry and that foul man, Granski, should suffer my words, not you.”

We stood and went to him. I kissed his gaunt face on both cheeks and took one of his hands in mine, as did Hans. “Of course, sir. You are our friend. We would forgive you anything.”

“Yes, sir. You have made us better men,” Hans stated.

“Good, good,” he mumbled. “Now let us eat and then take care of Mendel.”

We met the Chief and the rest of the work crew in the mess tent.

“I heard about your friend Mendel,” said the Chief. “Sorry. Why don’t you fellas take the day off?”

“Thank you, sir,” answered Hans. “We are going to hold a service for him. We will be at work later. I think we need to work to take our mind off what happened.”

“I understand,” he replied. “Come on over whenever you’re ready, O.K.?” He turned and held his hand out to the Rabbi. “I’m sorry, sir.”

Petty Officers Rosen and Nowicki each shook our hands, mumbling their condolences. We thanked them with a nod. Then they followed the Chief out into the mist.

After breakfast, the Reb stood on a chair and clapped his hands for order. “My friends, please!” After the talk and the shushing had died away, he announced, “For those of you who have not heard, our young friend, Mendel, was killed last night.”

Shouts of, “No!” and “Mein Gott!” were shouted numerous times. A voice called out, “Who did this foul deed?” And another, “Was it an accident?”

The Rabbi clapped again, harder this time, “Nein, he was murdered by a man named Granski. A man who was a Nazi guard at our camp; a man who is passing himself off as a Jew. He slept in tent number 875. If any of you see him or know him, please tell the American soldiers. Let them deal with him, please.” Before he stepped down, he looked at Hans and mouthed the words, “I’m sorry.”

Hans just nodded.

“We are going to have a short service here for our young friend. If you knew him or would just like to pay your respects, please stay after you are finished eating.” With that, he stepped down and sat to resume meditating.

We stayed for the sad Kaddish, as did more than two hundred men. Several told stories from when he first arrived at this camp, some funny, some heartbreaking. No one had a disparaging word for our friend. By the end of the service, many of these hardened men were openly weeping. These men who had seen death a thousand times over, some men like myself,
Sonderkommando, those whose job it had been to gather the clothes and valuables, to extract the gold teeth, to pile and move the corpses of men, women and children, wept for one good man. That he should have survived that life in the death camp only to be killed in a DP camp, where he thought he would be safe, was a tragedy.

Hans and I vowed never to be alone and never to let the Rabbi go out alone until Granski was dead or locked up by the Americans.

A short time after walking the Rabbi back to our tent and making sure a friend, Ari Griek, stayed with him, Hans and I went back to our building.

It was almost completed. We were putting up the interior dividing walls, and Mr. Rosen was showing us how to string electrical wire to outlets. We worked to near exhaustion to keep busy. As the day came to a close we excused ourselves and went back toward our tent.

On the way, Maria stepped out from the main tent, “I heard, Hans, Herschel.” She gripped both of our hands, “I’m so, so sorry.” She looked imploringly at Hans.

He turned to me, “Go on. I will return in a few minutes, Herschel.”

I nodded, understanding that they wanted a few minutes together.

When I came in, Ari nodded his balding head and left.

“So, Rabbi, anything exciting happen today?” I asked while pulling my shirt over my head.

He smiled wanly, “No, young man, I have just been reading the Talmud. Was everything well with you?”

“Yes, sir,” I said. “We have almost finished the office building.” I reached for my towel and sighed tiredly, “Come, Reb, let us go to the shower tent. A nice hot shower will do us both good.”

He agreed and also picked up his towel. “Please let me borrow that pocket knife you have, my son. I need to trim my toenails.”

We strolled the quiet streets, nodding occasionally to an acquaintance. Most of the men were at dinner or sitting in clusters outside the mess tent. The Reb stopped for a minute to chat with an older man.

As I entered the shower tent, I saw that I was alone. I hung our towels over the rope that divided the stalls and folded my clothes onto a bench that stood outside each shower enclosure. I laughed; did these Americans never take baths?

Just as I stepped naked onto the slatted floor under a nozzle, I heard footsteps and realized another was present. Before I could turn, I was slammed on the side of my head and everything swam before my eyes. Another blow to my stomach took all my breath. I fell to one knee, trying to look up at what happened. A third blow knocked me onto my stomach. I managed to roll on my back and look up.

It was Granski. He held a knife, and was laughing, “Jew, did you think I had run away? Did you think I would forget you? You and that Private Rothberg? I will finally finish you, then that old fool Rabbi, and the traitor.” He stepped menacingly toward me, and I could do nothing.

So this is how it was going to end? In a shower stall in a DP camp? It was not much different from the gas building. Those people were told that they were just going to get a shower and delousing before assigned to work teams. They died in the ‘shower rooms’, as would I.

Just as Granski raised his knife to plunge into my exposed chest, I heard a shriek. The Rabbi had come in and seen what was about to happen. He had my knife unclasped and he leaped for Granski. The former guard took the full weight of the Rabbi on his back, but he didn’t go down. He tried to reach over his shoulder, but the Rabbi had clasped his legs around Granski’s waist. As he squeezed, he tried to avoid the hands that reached for him.

Granski was flailing with his knife and the Rabbi was getting cut on his arm, which was around Granski’s throat. With another shriek, Reb Horowitz, a man of God, an Orthodox rabbi, a peaceful man, plunged his knife into Granski’s chest.

I saw all this from the floor where I was attempting to regain my breath. The Rabbi was a wild man. He bit Granski’s ear and would not let go. Again and again the knife fell, shredding Granski’s shirt and chest. Great splashes of blood flew in all directions, splattering me and the curtains of the stalls.

Still Granski didn’t drop. He staggered, trying to dislodge the crazed man on his back. With a muffled grunt he reached over his shoulder and grabbed the Rabbi’s hair and pulled.

One of the Rabbi’s wild slashes carved out a deep wound to Granski’s throat cutting the carotid artery. The blood spouted and Granski went down on one knee. A second stab, just missing his own arm, dropped Granski. He finally fell face first beside me, the knife dropping free of his lifeless hand.

I kicked it away and struggled to my knees to stop the Rabbi, who was now stabbing Granski in the back, grunting each time. I put a hand out to catch his arm and he looked at me with wild hatred in his eyes. He was completely crazed.

“Rabbi, stop, it is me, Herschel. Stop. He is dead.”

One final time, he plunged my knife up to its hilt in Granski’s back and seemed to come back to reality. He looked down at the knife and the blood seeping from the wound on his own arm. With a cry, Reb Horowitz jumped up with a hand over his mouth. “My God, what have I done?” He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the knife sticking out from between Granski’s shoulders. I crawled over and pulled the knife free. I quickly wiped it on Granski’s shredded shirt.

As I struggled to my feet, I went to him, trying to insert myself between the old man and Granski’s bloody corpse. I touched his arm and he looked down at my hand as if he’d never seen it. Slowly he raised his eyes to mine. His look was blank, without any emotion. He raised his hand and took mine off his arm and pushed it down to my side. Then he turned and walked out of the tent. I hurriedly washed the blood from my face and chest.

I gathered my wits, dressed, stuffed the knife in my pocket, then stepped outside. A man I recognized was walking by. I raised a hand to stop him. “Mr. Levine, would you please get the American soldiers? There is a dead man in here.”

He stopped in his tracks, “What did you say? Is anyone else hurt?”

Mr. Levine was a short, stocky man I knew was from Birkenau, a survivor. “No, no one else hurt. I just came in and found him. Please hurry,” I implored.

Just then two men came up with towels around their necks. “Please, gentlemen, I just found a man dead in here. Could you wait or go to another shower?”

Looking astonished, the men hurried away. I don’t know how long it took but several soldiers came trotting up the street, followed by the same officer who had come to us the previous evening.

He brushed past me and entered the shower tent. I heard an intake of breath, then he came out and stood in the growing dusk with me. He lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply.