The Mascot (16 page)

“The commander was on edge. He sat me down in an armchair and stood towering above me. Then he started talking to himself in a low, agitated voice about how the soldiers had found me those many months ago. Kulis had told him that I had appeared from behind a tree on the outskirts of a deserted village. He was obsessed with the story and repeated it slowly as he paced up and down. Then he stopped and turned to look at me. He began to repeat the story again, but this time he'd embellished it so that it became different from the one Kulis had made up.

“In the commander's version, I was a Russian pigherd who'd been found wandering through a deserted village with a herd that I was tending. I appeared from behind a tree and told the soldiers that I'd become separated from my father and mother and asked if I could join them.

“It was not the last version to appear, either. From time to time in newspaper articles, the story was printed with variations. I remember one time Uncle read aloud an article that said that the soldiers had found me in a village where I was being looked after by two elderly peasant women who'd found me wandering alone in the forest.”

My father laughed. “It was confusing, to say the least,” he said. “I myself would occasionally get the details messed up.”

“Why did Lobe change the details?” I asked.

My father shrugged.

“You don't think it was to make the soldiers look more heroic?”

My father shrugged again.

“What did you think about this story?”

“Nothing really,” my father replied. “I told you before. I let people say what they wanted to. I wasn't going to make any trouble about it. Only one thing was certain: these stories were very far removed from the truth that I have told you.

“The afternoon wore on and I remained seated in the armchair. The commander was reading through documents at his desk. Suddenly he shouted my name, and I jumped to attention.

“He leaned back and pushed his chair away from his desk and called me over to sit on his knee. Yet again he went over the story, only this time he made me repeat it after him, word for word. He made it clear that I was to keep to it as much as possible. For the next few days, he didn't take me out in public.

“Then one day I was sitting quietly in his office, coloring in my book, when he suddenly quizzed me on his version of events to make sure I'd remembered it. I recited it verbatim. ‘Perfect,' he exclaimed, clapping his hands together.

“After that, he began to take me out to cafés again to see how well I performed in public. Unsurprisingly, a child in an SS uniform attracted a lot of attention, and people would approach us, curious to know more about me. I'd ignore them and go on eating my ice cream or eels, until the commander gave me a nudge or a pinch under the table, and I'd swing into action like a puppet.

“I'd put my spoon down and stand and recite as naturally as I could what I'd been taught. If I was in the mood, I'd sing a few notes of one of the songs the soldiers had taught me.”

“Do you think Lobe knew the true story of your capture?”

“I don't think so. I know that when he brought me to base camp for the first time, Sergeant Kulis told the commander that the soldiers had found me wandering alone in a forest on the perimeter of a village. Kulis had made up this story when he first took me out of the firing line and decided to let me live. If he'd told the commander the truth, then the commander would have suspected I was Jewish, and my fate would've been sealed. Even though none of the other soldiers knew I was Jewish or had any reason to want to protect me from Lobe, inexplicably, they all stuck to Kulis's story as well.”

“This story covered up their deeds,” I said contemptuously. “They portrayed themselves as kindly rescuers instead of the barbaric murderers of innocent people they truly were.”

These last words shocked my father. His face reddened.

“But Sergeant Kulis wasn't like that,” he offered. “Despite everything he'd done that I despised, there can't be any doubt that he tried to protect me. He warned me to hide my Jewishness or I would be killed. If he hadn't wanted to protect me, he could've returned me to face the firing squad. And I believe that he never told a soul about my true identity. And the other soldiers, though they didn't know I was Jewish, were kind to me. They protected me because I was a child.”

“The question is, Dad, would they have been quite so kind if they knew you were a Jewish child?”

My father was grim-faced.

After several moments I pressed on. “You must have had a very strong and determined character to have kept it hidden from Uncle and Auntie while you were living under their roof.”

“I don't think strength had anything to do with it,” my father answered. “It was fear, son—pure fear! Fear of discovery. Fear of saying the wrong thing. I'd made that mistake once; after the party at the Dzenises' on my first night with them, when I said that I wanted my own brother and sister. I had to be certain never to do that again.”

I immediately regretted the way I had cross-examined my father. He had suffered awfully under this conspiracy of silence about his identity. “Terrible,” I said in a sympathetic tone.

Perhaps buoyed by this, my father appeared to relax and was suddenly eager to continue.

“Where was I?” he said, thinking aloud. “That's right. Commander Lobe was satisfied that I had mastered my routine. He then started to take me on visits to hospitals and clinics to boost the morale of sick and wounded soldiers. I'd tour the wards with him. He trained me to commend the patients, saying, ‘Father Latvia thanks you for your courage and wishes you a speedy recovery.'”

My father gave an ironic laugh. “I was a child, but even I could see how empty those words were. I remember one time saying that nonsense to a soldier who was bandaged from head to toe. I could only see his eyes staring out at me. He wasn't going to recover, and even if he did, I wondered what condition he'd be in for the remainder of his life. There were many sad cases like him. I felt ashamed of my words.”

My father rummaged in his case again. He passed me a small scrap of tattered paper.

I drew it close to my eyes. It was an article that had been torn roughly from a newspaper. The print was too faded to read, but the photograph above it was distinct enough for me to discern an image of my father in full military uniform, sitting on Lobe's knee and posing among bandaged soldiers and other dignitaries and officials. Standing to one side was the figure of Uncle, who seemed to be watching over the boy.

“Amazing,” I said. “Where did you get this?”

“The commander tore it out of the newspaper for me. You can see, it says 1943 at the bottom of it.”

“You've had it all this time?”

“Yes. Here in my case.”

My father patted the lid of the case tenderly, as if stroking a pet. But the case's persona had irrevocably changed for me by this stage. So magical to me when I was a child, it now seemed malign. I had a sudden and almost uncontrollable urge to snatch it from my father and bury it. But the impulse to dispose of the case died away as quickly as it had come and, in its place, I found a question forming in my mind. Why hadn't he told us this story before?

“Worse was to come. One particular day when we had no tours planned, the commander sent me back to Uncle's office at Laima. I was glad to be back with Uncle. I was tired of being the commander's little windup doll. With Uncle, it was exactly as it had been before: I sat quietly at my desk.

My father on a hospital tour, sitting on the knee of Commander Lobe. Mr. Dzenis stands to the right in a black suit.

“Suddenly the door flew open and in marched the commander. He never bothered to knock. He saluted quite casually and flopped himself down on the edge of Uncle's desk. Then he helped himself to a cigarette from Uncle's tobacco box.

“The commander was in an excited state, telling Uncle that a group of military officers would be arriving shortly that same day and that arrangements needed to be made for an experiment. Uncle seemed flabbergasted.

“Then the commander began to explain, and I could tell that Uncle was not pleased with what he was hearing. But the commander's voice conveyed that he would not harbor any objections.

“Their exchange was interrupted when a group of officers strode confidently into the room, about four of them Latvian, as well as a German in command. One of the Latvians was called Osis and the German had a name that sounded something like Jackal or Jekyll. They had a strong air of authority about them in their fine uniforms decorated with colorful medals.

“These men were only in Uncle's office for a short time before they headed off into the factory. I must have had some curiosity because I decided to tail them. They went into one of the storerooms upstairs at the rear of the factory.

“I managed to get close and see through the crack in the doorway. One of the officers was pointing at a diagram of what seemed to be a truck or tank. I soon grew bored of spying on them. I had no idea what was up.

“A few days later, the same officers reappeared with Commander Lobe. They were immersed in serious conversation and didn't even bother to greet me.

“All of a sudden the commander had stopped speaking midsentence. The room went quiet. I went on pretending to study, but I couldn't resist my curiosity and raised my head a fraction to see what had happened.

“The commander was standing, as if frozen to the spot, in the center of the room, staring intently at me. In the next instant he became animated. He clapped his hands together and gave a little jump, like an excited child. He sprang across the room and, in a single movement, he lifted me up out of my chair and high into the air, shaking me like a trophy he'd just won. He planted me on top of Uncle's desk and began to speak excitedly to the other soldiers.

“Almost immediately, upon hearing what the commander had said, the others began to nod their heads enthusiastically. All except Uncle, who became angry, almost apoplectic! I'd never seen him like that before.

“The commander simply raised his hand to silence Uncle. Then he turned to me again and, with his face only inches from mine, said, ‘Do you want to help me on a very special project?' His tone was dramatic and heavy, so of course I nodded vigorously, eager to make myself useful. I hesitated to look directly at Uncle since I was going against his wish. Suddenly, the commander grabbed me by the waist and lifted me off the desk. Then he turned and strode toward the door with the officers following behind. I managed a brief and furtive glance back at Uncle, who looked deeply troubled.

“When we reached the rear steps of the factory that overlooked the yard, Commander Lobe put me down. I had a good view of the entire space. I was surprised because the courtyard was overflowing with people of all ages—old people, babies, women, children, anybody you could imagine. They stood quietly with their bags and cases as if waiting for a bus to take them on a journey. Only the babies were restless and crying.

“I tugged at the commander's jacket. I wondered what they were here for. I didn't like the atmosphere. I wanted to go back to Uncle.

“He glanced down at me and gave me a broad smile. He put his arm around my shoulder and led me down the steps. We joined the other officers, who'd dispersed among the crowd, inspecting them. Once we were in the thick of it, I was too tiny to see much at all, so I simply followed the commander, imitating the sharp and stern look on his face.

“Suddenly the gates into the yard clanked open with a screeching sound, and two gigantic transport trucks rumbled in and came to a halt.

“Soldiers guarding the crowd started to bark orders for everybody to get into the trucks as quickly as possible. Chaos broke out. People pushed and shoved to climb on, while trying to drag their belongings with them.

“I was disoriented and a little frightened by the mayhem and I drew away to the perimeter of the crowd. It was then that I noticed a little boy—he must have been only a year or two younger than me—standing nearby. He was crying. He must have become separated from his mother or whoever he was with. I wanted to do something for him, so I reached into my pocket and pulled out one of my chocolates from the secret stash.

“I held it out to the boy. He seemed very surprised, and his crying faded to a whimper. Then I could see how thin he was; his eyes protruded desperately from his gaunt face. Tentatively he put out his hand and then he snatched the chocolate greedily like a starving animal. ‘He's just like me,' I thought, ‘when Sergeant Kulis offered me a scrap of bread in the schoolroom.'