Finding Rebecca: A Novel of Love and the Holocaust (23 page)

The rest of the day drew out slowly
and painfully, like pulling an arrow out of an open wound. Christopher ceded
the power to Breitner and remained in his office, counting and recounting the pile
of currency that found its way to his desk. They brought the wooden crates of
gold and jewels in, and, after a while Christopher did not even acknowledge
them. There were lockets with pictures of dead loved ones, beloved of people
who would never see them or anyone again. All dead.

 
Christopher did not join Lahm and the
other SS men later on for what seemed to be their nightly drinking session,
instead claiming a stomachache. He lay in bed, not able to sleep at the thought
that Rebecca might be in the camp herself, clinging onto life. Each day of life
in the camp was likely to be a prisoner’s last, it seemed. There was no
guarantee of being alive next month, next week or even the next day for them.
He had already waited as long as he dared. There was no time to waste.

The next morning came and Christopher
returned to Block 24 in Auschwitz, at the same time he had been there the previous
morning. The guard seemed to be expecting him this time and waved him through.
Christopher’s nerves were on fire as he walked down the corridor to
Liebermann’s office and he wiped the sweat from the palms of his hands before
he knocked on the door. He pushed on it, not waiting for permission to enter,
and Liebermann was as he had left him the previous day, sitting behind his
desk, papers neatly stacked on each side. Christopher resisted the temptation
of asking him, at least before he had sat down in the chair.

“Is there any news?”

“You seem very eager,” Liebermann
answered.

“If you knew the sums of money being
spoken about, you would be too.”

“Well, I did have occasion to search
for your acquaintance yesterday.” Liebermann looked up at Christopher. “There
is no record of anyone named Rebecca Cassin, from St Martin, Jersey, ever being
admitted to this camp or the camps adjunct to it.”

“So what does that mean?”

Liebermann laughed. “I should have
thought that much was obvious, Herr Obersturmführer. Rebecca Cassin, is not,
nor ever was, here.”

“What about the other camps?”
Christopher asked.

“I have no idea,” Liebermann said,
putting his head down. He drew a piece of paper from a pile beside him and
began to scribble on it. Christopher didn’t move. Liebermann looked up again.
“I have no idea where your friend is, Herr Seeler.”

“She is not my friend, Herr
Liebermann,” Christopher felt his fists tighten underneath the desk at
Liebermann’s sneer. “Is there a way we can check the other camps?”

“Good day, Herr Obersturmführer.”

“Answer the question,” Christopher
barked.

Liebermann looked angered by
Christopher’s tone of voice. “That would be a massive undertaking, a waste of
my time. Now please get out of my office before I have you reported.”
Christopher made his way to the door, barely able to carry his own weight. He
looked back at Liebermann and felt the absence of all hope as he made his way
out of Block 24.
 

Anger coursed through Christopher and
the intense hatred for everything around him began to infest him like a swarm
of locusts gnawing away at his insides, stiffening his gait until he had to
drag each leg behind him. Every breath burned in his lungs and the urge to rip
off the uniform was almost impossible to resist. He slammed the door behind him
as he walked in to the office, where Breitner, Muller and Flick were attending
to their paperwork. They all looked at him and he was immediately aware once
more that he was under the spotlight. He was the new Obersturmführer in Canada,
only in place a few weeks, and if he didn’t produce results he would be
replaced, and likely shipped off to the eastern front. He looked at the ledgers
on his desk and the figures from the previous day’s shipments. There were
another two due that day, from Czechoslovakia. Christopher thought of the
people, huddled together on the cattle trucks, their throats raw from thirst,
clinging to the children who would soon be dead. He stood up.

“Get in here, all three of you.” The
three men looked at one another and jumped up out of their seats. They stood to
attention in front of his desk. Christopher remained seated. “What is this I
read? We had seven executions in the last week?” He looked at the three men,
who seemed puzzled. “We killed more than one per cent of our workers in the
last week?” Christopher stood up. “How can we possibly operate efficiently if
we keep killing off our experienced workers?” The three men remained silent.
“Why did this happen? Muller, perhaps you can explain.”

“The executions are carried out by the
guards, Herr Obersturmführer, we have very little to do with that….”

“Don’t give me that. We oversee the
operations in the Economic Department.” Christopher had to stop himself from
calling it ‘Canada’. “We make the rules there. What were the prisoners executed
for?”

“Some for stealing jewelry, some for
stealing food.” Muller was calm as he spoke. Breitner was playing with his pen,
looking down at it as Christopher spoke.

“There will be no more executions
without my say-so.”

“You’ve already made that clear, Herr
Obersturmführer,” Muller replied.

“Yet I see that there was another
execution yesterday. Have the guards been informed?” Christopher asked.

“Perhaps you should address them
yourself,” Breitner said.

An hour later, the head of the guard
unit in Canada was in Christopher’s office and with him six others to pass on
the new regulations. The guards did not react as Christopher spoke to them.
They did not question the orders they were given and saluted after Christopher
had finished speaking. Christopher made his way down to the railway station, as
he knew he must do for more shipments than not, and witnessed much the same
scene as he did before. Less than a hundred were spared to be worked to death,
while the remainder of the thousand people on the train was selected for
instant death.
 
Christopher walked
through the changing rooms, overseeing the Sonderkommandos as they pawed
through the clothes left behind by the soon to be murdered, who were at that
stage packed into the gas chamber. Christopher left the changing room as the
gas was poured into the adjacent gas chamber, the sounds of screaming more than
he could bear. He walked back to the warehouses and watched as the mountain of
clothes arrived. He watched the women, their heads bowed as they worked.
Christopher could only imagine the yoke of the prospect of instant death that
they worked under on a daily basis. And these were the lucky ones. He walked
over to a table where several women sat, sorting through undergarments. He
watched as one picked out a diamond necklace, sewn into the hem of an old pair
of trousers. She held it up before walking back to a table behind her where she
dropped it into a wooden box. She sat back down. Christopher walked over to
her. Her long black hair was tied back. It was unusual to see prisoners
anywhere in the main camp with long hair but for some reason it was allowed in
Canada. There seemed no logic to it, or to any of this. She did not look up as
Christopher stood next to her.

“Well spotted,” Christopher said.
“That seemed well hidden.” The woman did not answer. Christopher bent down.
“What is your name?”

She looked up at him, drawing her
eyes away from his as soon as they met. “Helena Barova, Herr Obersturmführer.”

“Have you heard about me, Helena?”
Christopher asked, sure that none of the guards could hear him. Helena looked
back at him, this time lingering on his face for several seconds. The other
women glanced over through slitted eyes. “Have you heard that things are going
to change here?”

“I just do my work here, Herr
Obersturmführer,” Helena whispered, glancing at his eyes for a split second and
then away.

“Tell the others; tell the other
women, there will be no more summary executions without my express say so.”
Helena looked back at Christopher as if he were insane. “There are new rules
here. Tell the others.” Christopher drew his head back and walked out of the
warehouse.

Christopher kept his head down as he
walked past the prisoners milling around, carrying suitcases or pushing carts
overloaded with clothes. There was no need to avoid eye contact with the
prisoners, however, as their eyes were all fixed on the ground as he walked
past them, as if afraid that a look from him could finally finish them off. He
opened the door to the Economic Agency office and glanced across at Muller, who
was sitting at the desk, going through some ledgers. Christopher walked past
him and into his own office, shutting the door behind him but then thought
better of it. He pushed the door back open and approached Muller at the desk.

“We haven’t really had the chance to
speak yet,” Christopher began.

“No, Herr Obersturmführer, not yet.”

“I think in order for us to maintain
the most beneficial system to the Reich, we need to understand one another.”

“Of course.”

“Where is my predecessor? What
happened to him?”

“Obersturmführer Groening? He was
transferred to the front. He applied for the transfer himself. He said that the
nature of this work wasn’t to his liking.”

“What about you Muller, is it to your
liking?”

“Yes, I’d say that it was. I was a
bookkeeper before the war. This is the work I know and the best way for me to
serve the Führer.” Muller stared up at Christopher, seemingly completely
convinced by his own assertions. Christopher picked up a paper clip from the
desk and pressed it into his hand. He looked around the room and out the
window. The view was only of the side of the warehouse next door. Christopher
thought of the ladies working inside.

“Is this your family, Muller?”
Christopher asked as he picked a framed photograph up off Muller’s desk of a
woman in her late thirties, sitting in what was obviously her Sunday dress,
with two blonde girls standing on either side behind her. Christopher stared at
it for a few seconds before he handed it back.

“Yes, my wife and two daughters in
Hildesheim. Have you been there, Herr Obersturmführer?”

“No, no I can’t say that I have. I
hear it’s a very beautiful place.”

“It is. I Iook forward to the day
this war ends and I can return there.”

Muller smiled, the first time that
Christopher had seen him smile. “Thank you, Muller. Now let’s get back to work.
Heaven knows we have enough to do.” Muller nodded and picked up the ledger once
more and began poring through the lists of murdered. Christopher looked at him
for longer than he wanted to before catching himself and walking back towards
his office. He closed the door behind him. The safe, full of money and jewelry,
was the first thing he saw. He sat down at his desk, directly in front of it,
but could still feel it behind him. He ran his hands through the papers on his
desk in some futile attempt to distract himself, but Rebecca came to him once
more. What was the point of coming here and not doing everything he possibly
could to find her? Escape was going to be difficult for him as well as her,
even if he could somehow find her in the network of camps. He didn’t know how
many camps there were, or even where they were, just that this camp was now the
biggest.

He looked around at the safe and the
ledger he had written, which no one else had checked. He looked at the figures
he had written. There were thousands of American dollars, Reich marks, francs
and every currency he had ever heard of, sitting in that safe. A tiny fraction
of that would be enough. He looked towards the door and then out the window.
His hands were clammy and moist now and he rubbed his fingers over his palms.
Friedrich had warned him about corruption but what punishment could they give
him worse than what he had already seen? What was worse than the corruption of
his soul? It wasn’t stealing if he didn’t use it for himself. There was no
other way. He turned around and looked at the safe once more. He reached across
to touch it, hesitated and then he heard a knock. Christopher whirled around in
his chair and set himself just in time to see Rapportführer Friedrich open the
door. Christopher stood up to salute. The Nazi salute settled him, the blank
look on his face making him feel less like the boy caught with his hand in the
cookie jar. Friedrich saluted back with a more casual wave of his arm and took
his seat in front of Christopher’s desk.

Friedrich laughed as he began. “It’s
been quite the baptism of fire for you these past few weeks, Seeler.”
Christopher nodded, his face taut and unmoving. “The organization of the Economic
Agency has improved, even in the short time since you’ve arrived. I hear you’ve
instituted new rules for the guards there and established your authority over
your sphere of operations.” Christopher was trying not to squirm. “I understand
that you’ve banned on the spot executions. What’s the reason for this, Herr
Obersturmführer? Are we to let the prisoners do as they please? There is a huge
importance in making sure the prisoners know that stealing will not be
tolerated.”