QB VII (41 page)

It was shortly past noon when the car stopped before Mytna 22. The name of Lena Konska was on the door of Apartment #4. A woman in her early sixties opened the door curiously. On a single look, Aroni could well imagine her beauty twenty-five years earlier, enough to live on false papers. Yes, the women of Bratislava were a special sort. Linka introduced himself. She became apprehensive but showed no fear.

“I am Aroni from Israel. We are here to see you on an important matter.”

17

“M
Y LORD, OUR NEXT
witness will testify in Italian.”

Ida Peretz, a plumpish woman plainly attired, entered the courtroom seemingly as confused as a bull who had suddenly found itself in the bull ring. Sheila Lamb gave a thumbs-up from the solicitor’s table, but she did not see. She searched the courtroom as the Italian interpreter was sworn in, then she seemed to relax as she sighted a young man in his late teens in the last row of spectators and she nodded slightly and he nodded back.

She was sworn in on the Old Testament, giving her maiden name as Cardozo from Trieste.

“Would you tell my Lord approximately when you were sent to the Jadwiga Concentration Camp and under what circumstances.”

There was a lengthy and confused conversation between Ida Peretz and her translator.

“Is there a problem?” Anthony Gilray asked.

“My Lord, Madame Peretz’s mother tongue is not Italian. Her Italian is mixed with another language so that I don’t seem to be able to give a truly accurate translation.”

“Well, is she speaking Yugoslavian?”

“No, my Lord. She is speaking a mixture of things, some kind of Spanish with which I am not familiar.”

A note was passed from the back row of the courtroom to Abraham Cady; he gave it to O’Conner, who discussed it with Bannister, who rose.

“Can you shed some light on this?” Gilray asked.

“It seems, my Lord, that Mrs. Peretz speaks Ladino. It is a medieval Spanish tongue similar to what Yiddish is to German, only more vague. It is spoken by certain Jewish colonies along the Mediterranean.”

“Well, can we find a Ladino translator and return this witness later?”

A flurry of notes passed down.

“My client has, from personal research, run into Ladino and says it is a very rare tongue these days and we may not be able to find anyone in London capable of interpretation. However, Mrs. Peretz’s son is in the courtroom and has spoken the language with his mother all his life and has volunteered.”

“Would this gentleman kindly approach the bench?”

The son of Abraham Cady and the ward of Adam Kelno watched a very Italian looking young man of nineteen or twenty edge his way to the aisle and down into the knot of standing spectators, through them, and to the associate’s table beneath the bench. In the balcony above, the son of Pieter Van Damm also watched as the young man bowed to the judge, awkwardly.

“What is your name, young man?”

“Isaac Peretz.”

“How is your English?”

“I am a student at the London College of Economics.”

Gilray turned immediately to the press.

“I am going to request that this conversation is off the record. Obviously this lady could be easily identified. I should like to call a recess to consider the matter. Sir Robert, would you and Mr. Bannister come to my chambers along with Mrs. Peretz and her son?”

They walked the solemn polished hallway that separated the courtrooms from the chambers to find Anthony Gilray wigless. He had suddenly taken on a nonjudicial appearance of a rather ordinary Englishman. They were seated about his desk and the usher left the chambers.

“If it will please his Lordship,” Sir Robert said, “we will concede that a fair translation will be given by Madame Peretz’s son here.”

“That is not my main concern. First off, there’s this business about identification and secondly, the ordeal it imposes on these two people. Young man, do you know fully of your mother’s past unpleasantness?”

“I know I am adopted and that she was experimented on in the concentration camp. When she wrote and told me she planned to testify in London, I felt she should too.”

“How old are you?”

“Nineteen.”

“Are you quite sure you can speak of these things about your mother?”

“I must.”

“And you realize, of course, that everyone at the London College of Economics will soon know about this and everyone in Trieste also.”

“My mother is not ashamed and is not that concerned to remain anonymous.”

“I see. Tell me something for my own curiosity. Was your father a man of means? It is rather unusual to have a student here from Trieste.”

“My father was a simple shopkeeper. My parents hoped I would study in England or America and worked very hard for my education.”

The court was called into order as Isaac Peretz was sworn in and stood behind his mother’s chair with his hand on her shoulder.

“We are taking into consideration the relationship of the interpreter and the fact he is not a trained translator, and I do hope that Sir Robert will grant us a reasonable latitude.”

“Of course, my Lord.”

Thomas Bannister arose. “Would you read your mother’s tattoo number?”

The boy did not look at his mother’s arm but recited from memory.

“My Lord, in that a great deal of Mrs. Peretz’s testimony is identical to that of Mrs. Shoret and Mrs. Halevy, I wonder if my learned friend would object if I lead the witness?”

“No objection.”

The story was told again.

“And you are certain of Dr. Tesslar’s presence?”

“Yes. I remember his hand stroking me as I saw red in the lamp above, like my own blood. Voss spoke in German,
‘macht schnell’
he repeated, ‘quicker, quicker!’ He said he wanted the report to Berlin to show how many operations could be performed in a day. I knew some Polish from my grandfather so I understood Dr. Tesslar arguing about the instruments not being sterile.”

“And you were fully conscious?”

“Yes.”

The story of how Dr. Viskova and Tesslar kept them alive seemed bitterly clear in her mind. “My twin sister, Emma, and Tina Blanc-Imber were the worst. I will never forget Tina’s cries for water. She was in the next bed hemorrhaging badly.”

“What happened to Tina Blanc-Imber?”

“I don’t know. She was gone in the morning.”

“Now, if Dr. Kelno had made visits to the barrack to examine you, would he have found you cheerful?”

“Cheerful?”

“He testified that he usually found his patients cheerful.”

“My God, we were dying.”

“And you weren’t cheerful about that?”

“No, not hardly.”

“When did you and your sister return to work in the arms factory?”

“Several months after the operation.”

“Would you tell us about that?”

“The Kapos and SS in this factory were particularly cruel. Neither Emma nor I had regained our former health. It was all we could do to live to the end of a day. Then, Emma began to pass out at her work bench. I became frantic to save her. I had nothing to bribe the Kapos with, no way I could hide her. I would sit next to her, propping her up and talking to her for hours to keep her head up and her hands moving. It went on for a few weeks and one day she fainted, and I could not get her to regain consciousness. So ... they took her away ... to Jadwiga West and she was gassed.”

Tears fell down Ida Peretz’s plump cheeks. The room was hushed, then everything stopped.

“I believe a short recess is in order.”

“My mother would like to continue,” the boy said.

“As you wish.”

“Then, after the war you made your way back to Trieste and married a Yesha Peretz, a shopkeeper?”

“Yes.”

“Madame Peretz, it is extremely painful for me to have to ask the following question but it is most important that we do. Did anything unusual happen to you physically?”

“I found an Italian doctor who took special interest in me and after a year of treatment, my menstrual period began again.”

“And did you become pregnant?”

“Yes.”

“What happened?”

“I had three miscarriages and the doctor thought it best to remove my other ovary.”

“Now, let us get this clear. You were X-rayed in both ovaries, were you not?”

“Yes.”

“At the same time and for the same period of time, five to ten minutes. Is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“Then being able to conceive with an irradiated ovary, one must assume both ovaries were quite alive.”

“My glands were not dead.”

“So, in fact, a healthy ovary was removed from your body.”

“Yes.”

Sir Robert Highsmith smelled the mood of the room. He slipped a note back to Chester Dicks,
TAKE THE CROSS-EXAMINATION AND BE EXTREMELY CAREFUL NOT TO INTIMIDATE HER
.

Dicks went through the motions ending on the suggestion that Adam Kelno was not the surgeon.

“You and your mother are free to go,” Gilray said. As the woman stood, her son put a strong arm around her waist; everyone in the courtroom arose as they passed.

18

A
S
S
IR
F
RANCIS
W
ADDY
was sworn in there was a sense of relaxation from the tension. He was a calm crisp fellow, who could speak to them in their own language.

Brendon O’Conner was up. “Sir Francis, you are a Fellow of the Royal College of Physicians, a Fellow of the Royal College of Surgeons, a Fellow of the Faculty of Radiologists, a Professor of Therapeutic Radiology at the University of London and the Director of Wessex Medical Center, and Director of the Williams Institute of Radiotherapy.”

“I am.”

“And,” peeled off O’Conner vocally, “you have been knighted for three decades of distinguished work.”

“I have the honor.”

“Now, you have read the testimony in which we have suggested that if a testicle or ovary is subjected to severe radiation by a semiskilled technician then the partner testicle and ovary would most likely be affected.”

“Beyond question, particularly in the case of the testicle.”

“And a surgeon removing the irradiated testicle or ovary would best be serving the interest of his patient to remove both of them.”

“If those were his grounds, but I should say that his grounds are groundless.”

“Now, sir, if an ovary or testicle is submitted to X-ray, no matter how intense in the year of 1943 or today, is there any reason whatsoever to think it might develop cancer?”

“None whatsoever,” Sir Francis answered crisply.

The jury became extremely attentive. Sir Adam Kelno’s face pinched with a wave of anger.

“None whatsoever,” O’Conner repeated. “But of course there must be two medical opinions on that, Sir Francis.”

“Certainly not in 1943 or in any medical literature with which I am familiar.”

“So that in 1943 or now, so far as irradiation of a testicle or ovary is concerned, this is absolutely no medical reason whatsoever for the removal of that organ.”

“Absolutely none.”

“No further questions.”

Sir Robert Highsmith unscrambled himself quickly from the onslaught and went into a consultation with Chester Dicks. Dicks dived into a stack of papers as Sir Robert swayed before the rostrum with a hurt smile on his face.

“Sir Francis, let us say we are in Central Europe two decades ago and a competent surgeon has been locked away in a concentration camp for several years without any enlightenment as to medical progress. Suddenly he is confronted with a serious problem of radiation damage. Might he be anxious about that?”

“Oh, I would rather doubt it.”

“Well, I suggest he is not a radiologist and would be gravely concerned.”

“There is a great deal of misapprehension about radiation hazards.”

“In 1940, 1941, 1942, a doctor is locked away and suddenly comes face to face with sterilization experiments.”

“I think not if he is a suitably qualified physician and surgeon. They did teach those chaps about X-rays in Poland, you know.”

Highsmith licked his lips and delivered an audible sigh of frustration. The robes slipped off his shoulders as he went into his swaying motion in search of a question.

“Consider again the circumstances if you will, Sir Francis.”

“Oh, it’s all pure supposition. There has never been any information to ever suggest that an irradiated organ could ever become malignant.”

“It was all discussed by competent doctors, more than one of them, and they felt there was risk.”

“I read the testimony, Sir Robert. Dr. Kelno seems to be the only one worried about cancer.”

“Are you suggesting, sir, that no other doctor in Jadwiga in 1943 could have also entertained notions of danger?”

“I think I’m quite clear on that.”

“Well now, Sir Francis, exactly what are the limits of irradiation damage when practiced by a semiskilled technician?”

“There would be burning of the skin and if the dosage had been serious enough to damage an ovary, it would have first damaged the more sensitive structure of the intestine.”

“Blisters?”

“Yes, burns that could become infected but certainly not be the cause of cancer.”

Chester Dicks’ eyes opened wide with discovery. He tapped Highsmith on the shoulder and handed him a pamphlet. Highsmith was relieved. He held it up then read,
“The Hazards to Man of Nuclear and Allied Radiations.
I shall read to you the paragraph entitled, ‘cancer.’ This is a publication of the Royal College of Surgeons. Will you accept that?”

“I most certainly will accept it,” Sir Francis answered. I wrote it.”

“Yes, I know,” Highsmith said. “That’s what I want to question you about. Because you imply there was a concern for cancer.”

“Actually we are discussing the risk of leukemia in patients treated for ancylostomiasis, something the ordinary surgeon would have no special knowledge of.”

“But you mention in the paragraph headed ‘cancer’ a study among persons exposed to irradiation after the atomic bombing of Hiroshima and that there is an increase in the death rate and an excess of certain types of cancer, particularly cancer of the skin and abdominal organs.”