Touching the Wire (11 page)

It was chance that brought
him a way to contact Miriam. The latrines were empty but for himself and the
bony, grey-bearded man who knelt cleaning. A rabbi, allowed to keep his beard
to show his people how even he could be humiliated with the foulest of tasks.

He relieved himself at a
latrine. ‘You do a good job, rabbi.’

The man stood with an air of
humility not humiliation. There was dignity in his bearing.

‘What’s your name?’

‘My name? Rabbi Aaron
Schaeler.’

‘I’m sorry you find yourself
here, rabbi’

‘God is with us, in this
valley of death.’

‘I hope so. I hope so. I
begin to doubt it.’

‘I am fortunate to be
brought here each morning.’ He shrugged. ‘My afternoons are spent digging out
the latrine pits in the camps.’ Rabbi Schaeler looked at him. ‘Faith is what
sustains us, doctor.’

‘Do you dig the latrines in
the women’s camp?’

‘Wherever I am needed.’

‘Rabbi… You are a man of
honour… a man of God.’

‘And you are not?’

‘I hope I am a man of
honour.’

‘You cannot be less than you
are. With God’s help you can be more than you are.’

‘I do my best.’

‘Something troubles you?’

He laughed harshly.
‘Everything about this place troubles me. Rabbi, why would you concern yourself
with me?’

‘Because you are not of my
faith?’

‘Because…’

‘Because you no longer believe.
I see it in your eyes. For people who find themselves in a place like this, it
is not important that God exists. If faith sustains us, aids us, then faith
alone is worth having, is it not? You think that an odd thing for a rabbi to
say.’

‘Anywhere but here, I might
think so, rabbi.’ His gesture encompassed the square miles of camp outside. ‘We
follow the law of survival.’

Rabbi Schaeler nodded. ‘And
God will judge us for it.’

‘I would ask a hard thing of
you and, with it, a promise of secrecy.’

The rabbi’s expression was
questioning. ‘If it does not go against my heart, and the god of Israel and
Moses.’

‘A young Hungarian nurse…
Jewish… I wish to contact her… You come here daily?’

 ‘I said as much. I
have a pass to come to clean.’ Rabbi Schaeler smiled. ‘Before I came here, a
tryst between a Jew and a Gentile was not something I would encourage.’

‘And now?’

‘Now… we eat non-kosher food
or starve. Is it not mitzvah to tell my people to choose life? It is mitzvah
also to choose love: it is the greatest human kindness I could allow. If a man
obeys the seven commandments of Noah, as any good man does, such a tryst does
not go against my heart. God finds a way. Even here I see the goodness of
humanity. Even here love survives.’

He shook his head, sure he’d
already broken several of Noah’s commandments. ‘If you could speak to her, she
will tell you more.’ He glanced towards the door. ‘Things I daren’t utter
here.’

‘And this young lady’s
name?’

‘Miriam… Miriam Hofmann.
When I last saw her, she was working in the women’s infirmary.’

‘I will find a way to pass
her a message.’

‘If she is able to reply,
find a safe place to leave her message. You should be as little involved as
possible. It isn’t safe.’

The rabbi laughed. ‘Here,
breathing is not safe. A beating Jewish heart is a challenge to most Nazis.’

‘I’ll come tomorrow morning,
if I can.’

Next morning he returned to
the medical-block latrine. Rabbi Schaeler was cleaning. He waited until an SS
officer left and then brought a package from the pocket of his white coat. ‘I
liberated these medicines from the pharmacy. Did you contact Miriam? Can you
take them to her?’

The Rabbi took the packet
and hid it behind a faucet. ‘She sent a message. It’s in a crack, at the end of
the medical-block wall, about a foot from the ground. She told me what you do.
God has brought us together for a purpose. I will take her your medicines, and
bring those packages from Miriam… I know what they are.’

‘Then you realise we’ll all
hang if we’re discovered.’

Rabbi Schaeler smiled. ‘Any
day doing God’s work is a good day to die, doctor.’

The links in the chain of
resistance mended, packages began arriving again, and the good rabbi took back
medical supplies to Miriam. September gold dropped from the birch trees to the
ground. October arrived bare-branched and mists from the swamp softened the
brutal edges of the camp and bejewelled the wire with bright droplets of hope.
He had three packages of explosives hidden in his bunk before he risked
contacting the next link.

The mortuary was cold. The
young girl who worked there looked up when he entered. She smiled, recognising
him. Her angular features accentuated high cheekbones; she would have been
pretty once.

‘How are you?’

‘The medicine you gave me
helped.’

He never used her name: he wished
he didn’t know it, though she knew his. No-one was safe. He gave her the
packages. ‘Be careful. This is dangerous work.’

She shrugged, slipped two of
them inside her blouse and looked round the room. ‘Not for them.’

Bodies lay on slabs: bodies
of the victims of the Nazi doctors. ‘How do you mean?’

She made an incision in the
stomach of a female cadaver, pushed the remaining package inside the abdomen
and closed the wound with a stitch. She swept the room with her gaze. ‘They are
bound for the crematoria.’ She put a mark by the incision and took her knife to
the next body. ‘They will be recognised for what they are. This is their final
act of resistance.’

 She would say no more,
but it was the Sonderkommando who processed the bodies for the ovens, shaving
heads that still had hair and removing gold teeth, even cutting open
newly-arrived wealthy to look for swallowed rings and jewellery.

Packages continued to
arrive: surely soon there would be enough. Rumour spread fingers of hope amid
the despair. Explosives were secreted across the camp. The partisans were
almost ready to move. The camp waited only for the signal, for news of the
Polish victory in Warsaw.

***

‘Good news, doctor.’ The camp physician smiled
widely. ‘Warsaw has fallen. The glorious army of the Reich is victorious.’

Sweat made his palms clammy.
‘When did this happen?’

‘On the second. You hadn’t
heard?’

Three days ago. ‘So, the
Soviets didn’t support the Polish attacks?’

‘Apparently not.’ He turned
on his heel and strode away whistling.

If the Germans had destroyed
the resistance, they’d have destroyed the rebel radio station, too. The camp
resistance must be told. This changed everything: they were depending on the
Poles. He wrote a message and pushed it into the crack in the wall. Suppose Rabbi
Schaeler didn’t come. He had to get a message to Miriam himself, before it was
too late.

The guard on the gate was
the one he’d brought kaolin for gut cramp: he let him into the women’s compound
without question. He spotted Miriam walking towards the latrines. As he
approached, a
transport shambled past on the road
to the crematoria. They were mainly men, beaten, bloodied, injured.

A
group of inmates crowded behind the wire. One shouted to the passers-by. ‘What
news?’

‘Powstanie
Warszawskie jest skończona. Rosjanie nie atakować.’

Miriam
ran to his side and caught at his arm. ‘What did he say?’

‘The
Warsaw uprising is over. The Soviets didn’t attack. They let the German army
crush the Poles.’ He rubbed a hand across his stubble. ‘The camp resistance may
not know yet.’

‘I
can pass a message.’

An explosion rocked the
camp. Flames and smoke belched in the distance, but not from the chimneys. He
strained to see; one of the crematoria was in flames. His message had come too
late to stop it. But the Sonderkommando had done it… they’d done it. He held
back a cheer. Guards and trucks swarmed towards the site of the explosion.

As flames destroyed
crematoria IV, machine-gun fire rattled through the tense air and shouts of
freedom mingled with the cries of the dying. He hugged Miriam close. ‘It’s too
soon. The resistance isn’t ready. The SS will kill them all…’

She looked up at him, her
eyes shining. ‘They would have died anyway. A message was passed to them only
this morning, to say they were to be liquidated. At least now their deaths are
not in vain.’ She pointed. ‘I saw men running for the woods. The fence must be
breached… some have escaped.’

The women cheered them on.
For one to escape, or die free, would be a victory for all.

‘Look.’ The noise had brought
out the Sonderkommando of another, closer, crematoria, and close-quarter
battles raged. Along the road the work groups in their Colorado-beetle jackets
were being marched back to their barracks, backs bent, arms held stiffly to
their sides: if the bands played them in he didn’t hear the tunes above the
gunfire. Trucks full of SS arrived from the surrounding area and sped along the
track between the wire enclosures. The might of the SS was ranged against
half-starved rebels. ‘They won’t escape. They won’t let any live to tell the
tale.’

‘This is what we risked our
lives for, Chuck. We helped do this. They can murder us, but they can’t kill
our spirit or destroy our faith.’

He stroked her hair: it was
beginning to curl. ‘I’m so proud of you, Miriam.’

A guard strode towards them.
‘Zählappell, quickly.’ He pushed the women into rows to be counted. ‘Quickly!’

The numbers had to tally:
they needed to know how many had escaped. The dead and near-to-dead were
dragged out and laid on the ground to be counted. The living made orderly
columns of five behind them, watching the battle for freedom, and willing on
the flames. The heavy machine-gun gunfire ceased, leaving behind it a deathly
hush that seemed to stretch time itself.

The crack of a bullet split
the silence, a brief pause,
then
another. One… two…
three… An execution in progress. Four… five… six… A single bullet to the back
of the head designed to strike terror into the inmates’ hearts and stop further
uprisings. He counted two hundred.

Miriam’s lips moved in
silent prayer but he had no faith left. He had yet to tell her about the
experiments, and the suffering of the children. 

Wind from the Carpathians blew a breath of life
across the camp. The October nights were cold, now. Crematorium IV lay idle,
damaged beyond use, but the Sonderkommando had failed to set the charges in the
other crematoria.

Rumour travelled across the
camp, spread by the voracious underground network and the outrage of Nazi
officers. Although most of the explosives had been used for demolition charges,
the men of the Sonderkommando had also fashioned grenades using sardine cans
and shoe-polish tins organised from Kanada. Local partisans had slipped small
arms, hammers, knives and axes through the fence. Rumour said twenty-five
guards had been killed. Rumour also had it a hated German Kapo had been stuffed
alive into a crematorium oven.

The rebels of the 12
^th
Sonderkommando fed the flames as they’d known they would. It was the way of the
camp: every few months a new intake burned the bodies of the last
Sonderkommando and then processed the bodies of others, including their own
families, conscious that they too would feed the same flames. Their lives,
waking and sleeping, were filled with flames and grief, hatred and guilt… and
the stench of death.

He sent a message to Miriam.
Twelve men escaped. SS patrols with dogs are searching.
Next day he
wrote another.
They crossed the Vistula. The SS tracked them and shot them.
They have brought back their bodies. I believe one may yet be free.

The dead could not betray
them but the living could. He wrote yet another message for Miriam to spread.
The
SS have traced the gunpowder back to the Union munitions factory. Warn the
girls there.
He left the message in the usual place and waited anxiously.

A reply came next day.
I
fear we are too late. Workers in the pulverraum are being questioned as I
write.

If he still believed in God
he would have begged for his help. He sent up a silent prayer anyway, and paced
outside the medical block. Next day he was able to write Miriam better news.
Rumour
has it orders from Berlin arrived. The gassings are to be stopped.

Another sleepless night and
another desperate dawn. He checked the crack in the wall: the message had gone.
In the distance a recognisable figure approached, still upright despite his
deprivation. ‘Rabbi Schaeler, how are you?’

‘I’m well.’

‘What news?’

‘The guards are jittery...
we believe the Soviet army is pushing west at a great rate. We fear for our
lives.’

‘The SS are also nervous.
They’ve been ordered to stop the gassings. There’s talk of blowing up the other
crematoria to hide their crimes.’

‘This is from Miriam.’ The
rabbi slipped a note into his hand.

He read it aloud. ‘
God
hears our prayers. We have great need of blankets.
’ He smiled. ‘Miriam’s
faith is absolute. Is she well?’

‘She’s exhausted, but her
faith sustains her. Ilse is a great help and comfort.’

‘I’m glad she has a friend.
I wish I had her belief.’ It was as Aaron had said, political prisoners with something
to fight for, and those of great faith were the ones who most easily found the
strength to endure. He enjoyed Aaron’s company: his friendship helped keep him
sane. They had had many deep, if short, debates concerning God, Judaism and
Catholicism and, more recently, faith in general.

Rabbi Schaeler nodded in
understanding. ‘This place is enough to test all belief, yet God upholds us in
our struggle.’ He smiled that same serene smile Miriam managed, day after day,
fighting with whatever strength she had. ‘It’s freezing in the infirmary. I’ll
help take the blankets, if you can get them, after I’ve cleaned the latrines.
I’m to go to the women’s camp next.’

He hurried back to the
medical block. Miriam would have her blankets.

He
blocked his passage. ‘My friend… what conclusions have you
drawn from yesterday’s autopsies on the dwarves?’

‘That they were
malnourished. Their organs showed signs of failure. I didn’t need to perform
autopsies to discover that.’

‘You are being pedantic.
What effects did you record?’

He would be strung on the
gibbet, or stood in front of the wall of death, if the evil bastard knew what
he’d recorded. He knew their names and what they did: Clauberg,
killer of
women,
Oberheusen,
murderer of children,
Kremer,
needle of death
…
Schmitt,
coward, murderer and beast
. He looked into the fathomless dark
eyes… and
him, the Good Uncle
…
child torturer, madman and murderer.
‘I saw only two senseless deaths. These are people, Herr Doktor.’

‘They’re vermin, but
interesting vermin. You’ll carry out your orders. Remember your little nurse,
and your patients. Think about the uses human skin can be put to.’ The back of
the immaculate green tunic receded.

His fists clenched. Rumour
had it there was a market for human skin… ‘Herr Doktor?’

The green tunic swivelled on
a polished heel. ‘Yes?’

‘A nurse in the infirmary in
the women’s camp… She has heterochromia iridii. I know your interest in eye
colour so I questioned her. This peculiarity runs in her family.’

‘But she’s not Sinti or
Roma?’

No.’

‘Bring her to me.’

‘Yes, Herr Doktor.’ He
searched store cupboards until he found blankets: dozens of clean,
neatly-folded blankets. He filled his arms, carried the blankets to the end of
the medical block and returned for more. When he got back with the third load
Aaron Schaeler was waiting.

The rabbi hugged half the
blankets to his chest and together they walked towards the women’s camp. They
were both known, and the guards gave them access. He almost ran into the
infirmary building. The stench hit him in the guts. ‘Miriam…’

‘Chuck…’ She hurled herself
into his arms as he dropped the blankets.

‘You look flushed.’ He held
her at arm’s length and examined her critically. ‘I will try to get more food
to you.’ He picked up the blankets guiltily. ‘Thirty… I may be able to get
more, but I have to think of a reason to come or risk suspicion. I can’t get
away with my nurse with different-coloured eyes having died of pneumonia a
second time.’

‘Thirty… it’s a miracle.’
She kissed him. The stench of the infirmary was on her clothes and in her hair.

How quickly he’d forgotten
how bad things were here. ‘I’ll send more drugs and dressings as soon as I can.
You feel hot. Do you have a fever?’

‘I’m well.’

She wasn’t being entirely
truthful. The fear in his heart was reflected in her eyes. Sickness, betrayal…
He should be here with her, caring for her.

Her hand was small in his,
her eyes large in her pinched face. ‘Peti? Arturas?’

‘They are in good health,
and better fed as pets of the camp physician. So far he has only taken blood
from them.’

‘I’m sorry I doubted you.’

‘Don’t ever be sorry. I’ll
come again soon… send what medicines and food I can.’ He turned to the rabbi.
‘Aaron… marry us. If she will, I want Miriam to be my wife. Miriam… will you?’

Her face lit with a smile.
‘Oh, Chuck… yes, yes… but the Rabbi is not permitted.’

‘Because I’m not a Jew? Can
I convert?’

Aaron shook his head. ‘It
would take at least a year to teach you. We may have only hours. Miriam is
right…’

‘Is there no way?’

‘You abide by the seven commandments
of Noah. We have talked enough for me to know you are a good man. I am supposed
to dissuade you three times from converting to Judaism.’

‘If it means I can marry
Miriam, nothing will dissuade me.’

‘You should be circumcised,
given a Jewish name… immersed in the mikvah…’ Aaron looked from him to Miriam
and threw up his hands. ‘Mitzvah… These are not normal times. We’ll improvise…
Later, if we survive, it will be my honour to teach you. Find me four nurses to
hold the chuppah.’

Miriam fled to find them.
All who could rise from their bunks crowded around. Four nurses held a blanket
aloft, like a roof.

He stood bemused as Miriam
circled him seven times. She stopped at his side. ‘We have no wine.’

Rabbi Schaeler was
undeterred. ‘Water will suffice.’ He gave him a wry smile. ‘Did your Jesus not
turn water into wine?’

‘We have no rings…’

A woman hobbled forward,
coughing. He barely recognised her. She had aged years in weeks. ‘Ilse?’

‘I swallowed my wedding ring
when we were brought here. I rescued it from the latrine and have kept it
hidden, sewn inside my dress… I’d be honoured if you’d take it.’

Miriam gasped. ‘Ilse… I
can’t accept such a gift.’

‘I have my memories, Miriam.
And I’ve no further need of a ring. This will be your memory… in years to come.
Just promise you’ll remember me.’

Miriam hugged her, eyes
bright with tears, and took the offered ring. ‘How could any of us ever forget
you, Ilse?’

Chatan… bridegroom… you must
declare thus to your bride. ‘Behold, you are betrothed to me with this ring,
according to the
law
of Moses and Israel.’

He repeated the words.

‘Now place the ring on
Miriam’s finger.’

The ring slipped on. It was
loose but in time it would fit, the god of Moses and Israel willing.

‘According to Jewish law you
are now married. I should read the marriage contract.  I fear I cannot
remember the exact words. You undertake to provide food, shelter and clothing
and be attentive to Miriam’s emotional needs.’ He sighed. ‘God can see into
your hearts. He knows you wish to do these things. Here…’ He shrugged and
launched into Hebrew.

‘The seven blessings,’
Miriam whispered squeezing his hand as, one after another, her friends poured
blessings on them. Her eyes shone. Fever, fear or happiness?

Aaron waited for silence.
‘It is traditional to break a glass to signify the destruction of the temple in
Jerusalem. We have no glass. No matter… in our hearts we do these things
according to our tradition. You are man and wife and are truly blessed. May
your joy be
long.
Now, I fear I must leave you.’

‘Mazel Tov.’ The shouts of
rejoicing, the smiling faces… ‘Mazel Tov.’

He bent to kiss his wife. ‘I
love you, Miriam. I love you so much.’

The honeymoon lasted half an
hour. He smiled and waved, and left his heart amid the parched courage, the starved
hope and the ever-present smell of rancid soap and excrement.

His joy lasted half a day.

He
delivered the news, gloating. ‘The names of some of the
resistance have been given under torture. Four women are accused of supplying
explosives.’

Which four? A guard knew the
names. He scribbled a quick note and hid it in the crack in the wall.
Roza
Robota, Ella Gaertner, Esther Wajcblum, and Regina Safirsztain have been
arrested for supplying explosives.

One of those poor women knew
their names and where to find them. The SS would go to any lengths to get
information to expose the rest of the resistance: she would be raped and
tortured until she begged to tell them all she knew.

***

Walt surveyed the surface of Lil’s dining table
critically: no water marks, no hairs, no specks of dust, just a smooth sheen.
French polishing wasn’t his favourite job, if only because he had to suspend
all other work for fear of raising dust. He hovered a finger over the surface.
Patience: finishes took longer to dry in cold weather. A finger-mark would ruin
the whole thing. He’d leave it until tomorrow before applying the carnauba wax.

He should be tidying the
workshop, or sweeping the coal corner ready for a new delivery, sharpening his
chisels, or throwing out the tin bath that hung on the wall. How many years
since it was used? A shape on the wall stopped him dead: a gibbet, with a
hangman’s noose. It was a shadow, only a shadow… the low sun throwing the
distorted image of the bird table, hung with a half-coconut, through the
window.

But the memory of the gibbet
was un-escapable.

November: in an attempt to
cover their crimes the Nazis had destroyed the gas chambers, and the internees
had rejoiced. But there were other ways to kill: phenol or chloroform
injections to the heart, starvation, beatings, repeated delousing, executions…
One by one the survivors succumbed.

The four women, only girls
really, arrested for smuggling explosives after the destruction of Crematorium
IV, continued to hold out under Gestapo interrogation. Rape, beatings, electric
shocks, the removal of fingernails… How long could they stay silent?

The camp shivered on
starvation rations through a Polish winter. More and more skeletal figures,
only half their normal body-weight, sat on the ground wrapped in torn blankets
and stared into an unknown hell: Muselmann sat beside Muselmann, no longer
knowing who they were, or where they were. They felt no fear, no hunger, thirst
or pain: they’d surrendered to their fate and, but for the beating of their
hearts, they were already dead.