Finding Rebecca: A Novel of Love and the Holocaust (24 page)

“The workers are aware of the
penalties for stealing, Herr Rapportführer. The guards were executing some of
my best, most productive prisoners, oftentimes with little cause. I thought it
better to impose a system whereby I would arbitrate the situations that present
themselves. That way we can….”

“And how many executions have there
been since you instituted this new system?”

“Well none, Herr Rapportführer. There
has not been the need for any executions.”

Friedrich shifted in his seat. He
looked uneasy. “I understand that you want to assert your authority over the
section, but it is I, as head of the Economic Agency, who should be making
these decisions.”

“Of course, Herr Rapportführer, but
you are so busy. You have much more important duties to perform than the minor
matters of executions and the like.” Friedrich leaned forward, resting his chin
on his palm, and putting a finger up along his face. He looked like he was
going to speak, but Christopher cut him off. “I also am on the ground. Canada,
as the guards refer to my section, is where I spend most of my time. I am in a
better position, literally, I mean, to make those on the spot decisions. “

Friedrich sat back in his chair. He
looked tired. “Perhaps. I have an enormous job here, massive responsibilities.”
Friedrich looked at Christopher as if he was trying to see through his eyes.

“Everyone is aware of the enormity of
your role in the camp’s administration, Herr Rapportführer, and many of us are
modeling ourselves on your example.” Christopher stood there for a few seconds
looking at Friedrich before he spoke again. “Was there another reason that you
came to see me, Herr Rapportführer?”

Friedrich sat back in his chair,
placing his hands together in front of him. “Yes, there was, Herr
Obersturmführer. There is much currency in the safe, yes?”

“Yes, there are suitcases full of
dollars, pounds, Reich marks, and several other currencies.”

“All sorted, accounted for, and ready
for their return to the Reich?”

“Of course, Herr Rapportführer.”

“Good, good, because I have another
job for you.” Friedrich paused for a few seconds to look at Christopher before
he began again. “The monies will need to be transported to Berlin. This is to
be done with minimum fuss and with utmost secrecy. Your predecessor was trusted
with this task and so far you’ve proved yourself to be an exemplary SS
officer.” Christopher felt disgust at being described as such, but didn’t show
it. “I want you to transport that money to Berlin. You will drive, alone, once
every second week to transport the suitcases to SS headquarters in Berlin,
where you will meet a contact, who will relieve you of the suitcases and
apportion it towards the war effort.”

“Yes, Herr Rapportführer.” The
thoughts and possibilities of being out of the camp for one day every two weeks
flooded through him, the possibilities of seeing his family and Uli’s son,
perhaps even Uli himself. Leave was still months away. The drive to Berlin was
almost six hours; he might even be able to stay overnight.

“You are not to tell anyone about
these trips. If anyone does inquire as to the purpose of these journeys you
will tell them that you are reporting to SS headquarters about the progress of
the Economic Department here in Birkenau. Is that understood?”

“It is, and thank you, Herr
Rapportführer.”
 
Christopher stood
up behind his desk and clicked his heels together as he saluted.

“No need for that. You will make the
journey tomorrow and then every other Thursday. You will leave at 6 am and make
your way to official SS headquarters in Berlin where you will ask for Standartenführer
Kohl, who will relieve you of the suitcases. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Herr Rapportführer.”

“That will be all, Herr Seeler.” As
Christopher rose to his feet, Friedrich stood to salute and Christopher held
his arm up. There was a picture of Hitler on the wall, and Christopher made
sure Friedrich noticed him saluting towards the Führer himself. Friedrich
smiled and closed the door behind him. Christopher remained in the same
position, his arm outstretched, staring at the door long after Friedrich had
left. His breath quickened as he thought of the safe behind him and he glared
at the photograph of Hitler, watching him. But he was the only one. There were
no other checks in place. There was no way for him to be caught, was there?

Christopher’s hands were shaking as
he turned the dial on the safe. The acids in his stomach seemed to be eating
him from the inside. He stood up. There was a noise behind him, someone coming
in. The noise diminished, and he heard the sound of the camp orchestra, welcoming
the workers back after a day in the factories. The sound of Wagner swelled the
air around him. He knelt back down in front of the safe and thought of Rebecca.
He reached up to draw down the window blind. The safe opened easily. There were
several suitcases piled high, one on top of another. He picked off the top
suitcase, the one full of US dollars. He had filled it himself. He had filled
them all. The sound of the boiling hot blood flow booming through his ears and
the music of the prison orchestra drowned out the sound of the suitcase opening,
so that the clack of the lock was barely audible. He placed the suitcase on the
table and drew his hands apart to open it. It had not seemed like money before,
not money that he could spend. It had never seemed like actual currency to him,
just units to be counted and accounted for, but these hundreds of crinkled used
bills held together with rubber bands were different. Somehow they were
different.
 
He reached into the case
and drew out a wad of bills and held it in his hand for a few seconds, and then
placed it onto the table. The bills came off easily, several hundred dollars,
his breath felt strong and uneven, and the sweat on his palms was running along
and onto his fingers. He tried to count the notes, pressing them down under his
thumb but every noise from outside drew his eyes to the window adjacent to his
desk.
 
A prisoner, one the
Sonderkommando, shifted past, pushing a cart piled high with pots and pans. The
sharp noise of metal grinding against metal snapped Christopher back into the
moment. He pushed the bills into his pocket and replaced the wad in the
suitcase. He put it back into the safe with gentle hands and pushed the door
shut again.

He could not remember having stolen
before, not even as a child. The money felt heavy in his pocket, his feet like
concrete as he stood up, and the pistol on his hip smacked against the table
making a loud noise. The others were all there, Muller, Flick and Breitner, as
he walked out.

“Is there something wrong, Herr
Obersturmführer?” Flick asked.

“No, why should there be?”

“No reason, you just look a little…unwell,”
he said as if searching for the words.

Christopher raised his wrist to a
clammy forehead. “It must have been something I ate, that fish for lunch.”
Breitner looked at Muller, holding his gaze for a second, and then down at his
work, but none answered and Christopher walked past them out the door. Evening
was setting in, the air growing cold as the sun died. He climbed onto the
bicycle outside his office and made his way along the warehouses of Canada and
past the prison hospital and the gypsy camp, past the men’s camp. He cycled on
the other side of the road as he approached the women’s camp. He made his way
past the hordes of emaciated, wretched figures barely identifiable as women
themselves, returning from their day’s services to the Reich. He peered into
the family camp, where the propaganda films he had been shown had been filmed,
and then past the quarantine camp down to the main gate. He was outside Birkenau,
cycling down towards Auschwitz. The land around the camp was barren, stark
against the grey sky above. There was not a tree or a bush to be seen, just
marsh and meadowland stretching out on either side.

It was a further five minutes to the
gate of Auschwitz and just inside the main gate was the administration
building. It was the same guard outside the door and Christopher nodded at him,
as if to imply that they were friends now, but the guard looked at him as if
he’d never seen him before. It was the third time that Christopher had
presented his papers on the way down here. The guard waved him past. The door
to Liebermann’s office was closed and Christopher looked down the empty hallway
for any sign of life. He pressed his ear against the door and heard the
shuffling of papers along with the thumping of his own heartbeat. He didn’t
wait for an answer after knocking and pushed the door open. Liebermann threw a
glance up at him.

“What are you doing here,
Obersturmführer?” Liebermann’s rounded cheeks turned a crimson hue. “We’ve
already been through this…”

“Well there have been fresh
developments with my search,” Christopher interrupted as he sat down at the
desk. “I need you to find this woman. And I need it done soon.”

“Have you any idea how busy I am here
and how much time that would take?” Christopher threw the wad of banknotes down
on the table.

“No, I don’t. How much time would it
take?” Christopher put his shaking hands down into his lap.

Liebermann looked at Christopher and
then down at the money on the table in front of him. His chin was rigid and he
took a deep breath in through his nose. “That’s hard to say, to search the
whole camp system…and there are new camps coming up all the time.” He looked up
at Christopher, his face more calm now. “It would be a difficult task.”

“I have faith in you, Herr
Liebermann.” Christopher stood up and took a piece of paper out of his pocket.
“Here are the details you’ll need, and I’ll call into you when I can. I have to
go to Berlin tomorrow but I expect some kind of news on Friday when I get
back.”

Liebermann pursed his lips together
and looked down at the money again. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Christopher got up to leave, a hope renewed inside him and
the acids in his stomach settling at last. He turned around to thank Liebermann
and the money was already gone.
 

Christopher was fresh as the alarm
rang, having shrugged off the attentions of Lahm and the other SS men who were
in the cinema and drinking the night before. Lahm was still asleep, curled up
in his uniform above the covers. One of his boots was by the door and the other
still on his foot, but Lahm had taken off his belt and set it down on the table
in the middle of the room. Christopher picked it up to place it on the chair
when he noticed the chips in the baton, and the teeth marks. The belt slipped
out of his hand back onto the small wooden table. Lahm stirred at the noise,
but quickly fell back asleep. It was still dark outside, the shine of the searchlights
illuminating the cold air. There was little activity other than the lights and
the shadows of sentries patrolling the wire. The car was waiting for him, a
convertible two seater. There was to be no support, no armed guard, no others
were to know why he was going or where. There was no preparation to be made. It
was a few minutes up to the office in Birkenau and once there, Christopher
filled the trunk of the car with the suitcases full of money. There were four
suitcases. Christopher signed them out and marked off the ledgers but there was
no one else there to check. It was all down to him and his word. His word as an
SS man was to be enough, or was it? Perhaps this was a test. The gas tank was
full and Christopher pulled the top down, the chill of the morning air biting
at his exposed cheeks. He started the car and left.

Obersturmführer Seeler presented his
papers at the front gate and showed his orders. His car was not searched and
the guard yawned as he waved him through. Christopher nodded and drove past and
clear of the gates onto the long empty road stretching beyond. It was strange
that a world still existed outside. The camp seemed to envelop everything in
his mind whereby it was the entire world. He had only been there a few weeks,
but it seemed hard to remember a time before the selections, the gassings and
the executions. The memories of his old life, his life before robbery and death
had become his daily currencies, were fading quickly like ripples expanding in
a black pool, fading into nothing. It was to be a six-hour drive to Berlin and
the prospect of that much time alone with his own thoughts scared Christopher.
The pressure within his chest was building again and he drove for a few minutes
until he thought it safe enough to pull over. He stopped the engine and silence
fell upon him. The only sound was that of his breath, ragged and torn.
Everything was grey; the sky, the land, the bare trees and the uniform on his
back. He sat back on the seat, gasping for air, trying to swat away the
memories as they came to him, trying to keep the picture of Rebecca in his
mind, desperately trying to believe that she could still be alive and that he
could find her. He thought of his father and sister and seeing them in his
father’s cousin Harald’s house where they were staying. The deep breaths filled
his lungs with cold air and he started the car again.

The streets of Berlin were busy,
clean and ordered, full of well fed and seemingly contented people. It seemed
like a hundred worlds away. Christopher pulled up outside the Headquarters of
the SS and Gestapo. There was no need for any ceremony. He asked for
Standartenführer Kohl at reception and was asked to sit down by the pretty
blonde receptionist. Kohl took less than a minute to arrive. He was a tall wiry
man with grey hair extending into a greased widow’s peak. He shook Christopher’s
hand with an overly firm grip. “So, you’re the new man in Auschwitz?”
Christopher could think of nothing to say so he just nodded. “How much have you
got this time?”