He appeared at the door, he filled it with his bulk. Crumpled on the floor, Sarah
saw him through her tears and dropped the cement and stretched her arm toward him,
pleading. “Please, don’t leave me here, please.”
“Sind Sie Jüden?” he said in German. Are you a Jew?
“Ja, ja.”
“There are Jews left in Berlin?”
“Apart from me? I don’t know. I’ve been hiding for years. Oh, please, help me.”
“Verschwind!” the officer barked at Viktor, turning on him. “Sofort!” He realized
he had spoken in German. “Out of here! Now!” he shouted in Russian.
Viktor’s mouth fell open. He thrust out his chest and began to shout back but thought
better of it. He was angry and spoke quickly, arguing. The younger man said something
back, punching his words, emphasizing each syllable, and he moved half a step forward.
Anyone in any language could have guessed his meaning. His hand was on his pistol
butt. Viktor leaned down to gather up the food and the man said something else. Viktor
shrugged. He took the two vodka bottles in one hand and walked out, without looking
at Sarah, leaving the food.
“Bitte, stehen Sie auf. Wenn Sie können,” the man said to Sarah, offering her his
hand. Please, stand up, if you can.
But she couldn’t. She was panting. She looked at him and shook her head. She swallowed
twice. Her hand flew to her mouth, her chest heaved, and suddenly she threw herself
toward the corner and vomited. Nothing came out but a guttural shriek. She was kneeling,
sweating, gasping.
Between short deep breaths she said, “Entschuldigung.” Sorry.
“Please,” he said.
“It’s horrible.”
“Please,” he said again. He looked around and saw a pan of water, with a chipped cup
by it. He half filled the cup and held it out to Sarah. He took her by the elbow,
helped her to sit, gave her the cup. She sipped, once, twice, handed it back.
“Are you Jewish?” she asked, when she got her breath back.
“Yes.” He had been standing until now. With a loud sigh he lowered himself onto the
little table of bricks and pulled his knees up next to her. He was tired too. He drew
his long coat over his legs. It was damp and chilly.
She drew her sleeve across her forehead, wiping away the perspiration. “How do you
speak such good German?”
“We spoke German at home. My grandparents were from Germany. I’m from Balakovo. It’s
on the Volga. There are many Germans there.”
“That disgusting man,” Sarah said, looking at the door, turning to the tall man in
the gray coat of the Red Army. She felt a weight lifting, hope rising. He cares, she
thought. When was the last time she saw a Jew? Two years ago? A proud Jew, unafraid?
Years before that. Could he look after her? Was it over, the long nightmare, the horror?
The years of hiding like a rat in the cellars of Berlin. Hungry, thirsty, dirty. Her
life in the hands of strangers, waiting to be betrayed.
“He won’t come back. I’ll make sure of that.” The man began to pour himself some water
when the building shook, plaster fell to the ground. It was the first explosion in
days. He didn’t spill a drop. They heard running feet and shouting, which faded away
and it was almost quiet again. In the distance there was the faint pop of gunfire.
He drained his cup.
“What’s happening outside?” Sarah asked.
“It’s almost over. A last bit of resistance. Hitler is dead. In his bunker. The Nazis
have collapsed, they’re running. A few holdouts still have weapons but we’re going
street-to-street, house-to-house. It’s over. We’re expecting a surrender today, tomorrow,
this week.”
“What day is it today?”
“Monday. May the seventh.”
“Thank God it’s over.”
“You can say that again. Three years I’ve been away from home.”
“At least you have a home,” Sarah said, sitting up properly. She smacked the dust
off her shirt and dress, wiped herself down. She shook her hair. “God, I must look
terrible.”
“Actually, yes,” he said, with a laugh. “We’ll have to find you a shower.”
“Or a bath.”
“Hot water.”
“Soap. Real soap.”
“That may take a day or two. How do you feel? Do you need to see a doctor?”
“I don’t know,” Sarah said, as he refilled the cup and gave it to her. “I think I’m
all right. I need to rest. I need to get out of here. But you, tell me, who are you?”
“Me? My name is Isak Brodsky, I am from Balakovo on the Volga, as I said to you. I
am an intelligence lieutenant attached to the Fifth Shock Army of Colonel General
Nikolai Berzarin, who is the Soviet commander of Berlin.”
“Huh,” Sarah said. “So how can you let your men behave like that beast?”
He shrugged and poured some more water. “We have a proverb. Send a beast to Rome,
he’s still a beast. To be honest, we can’t stop them. Most of them are animals. They’ve
been fighting for years, with no women, that’s war. They are sex-starved. If we tell
them to stop, they tell us that’s what the Wehrmacht did to our women. You think the
German soldiers in Russia were any different? The only difference is we won and you
lost.”
Sarah looked away. “Don’t include me,” she murmured. “We lost before the war began.”
Lieutenant Brodsky sighed. “I know.” He pursed his lips and looked at Sarah, as if
requesting permission, before the words fell like a hammer. “I was in Auschwitz in
February, two weeks after our troops freed the Jews.” He said it as if he needed to
get it off his chest.
Sarah’s mouth fell open. “My family was there,” she whispered. “They were taken from
Heidelberg to Gurs in France, in the south, and then to the east. To Auschwitz. About
three years ago. That’s all I know.”
His eyes dropped to his feet. Sarah said, “What was there? Who was there? What did
you see?” Brodsky could only answer, “What happened to you? They didn’t take you?”
“No, I was here, in Berlin. Working. They took the Jews from here to Auschwitz too
but I ran, I hid, I’ve been submerged the whole time.”
Brodsky shook his head, a tear came to his eye. “Such evil things I saw,” he said,
and stopped. “I’ve never spoken about this to anyone.”
She stared at him, took in his face for the first time. He was about thirty years
old, with curly black hair and strong features drooping with fatigue. His brown eyes
were dark and sunken. His cheeks seemed to hang from his face; his skin, where she
could see through his whiskers, was red from the sun and the wind. His youth was gone
and he had been aged by war. She took it all in as she thought, A sad man.
After a minute or two Sarah asked again, “What did you see there? They killed them,
didn’t they, I know. Who was left?” As she asked she felt they were the most painful
words of her life. Who was left?
It poured out for an hour and she didn’t say a thing. He needed to talk as much as
she needed to hear. She didn’t cry. Everything he said, all he had seen, meant one
thing: the stories were true, then. Nobody could live through that for more than a
month or two. Not even Hoppi. For three years? They’re dead, she thought. They’re
all dead. I knew it. Mutti, Papi: She closed her eyes, seeking their faces. It was
hard to summon them up.
And Hoppi. It was even harder to see his face. She had promised him. He had promised
her. Heidelberg. They would go there and wait for each other by the river. And however
hopeless, that’s what she would do. That’s where she must go. Nothing would stop her.
I made it, she thought. Maybe he did too. Even as she thought it she didn’t believe
it.
Lieutenant Brodsky broke the long silence. He sighed, shifted his legs as if he had
said it all.
“Sarah,” he said, taking her hands. “I am so glad that I could help you. You are safe
now. I will assign one of my men to look after you. You will see our doctor.”
“What?” Sarah said in alarm. “What do you mean? You are leaving?” Her heart felt like
it would explode. Finally she had found a good man, a savior, a protector, and he
was leaving? “Where are you going?”
“I am sorry,” he said, still holding her hands. “I am a soldier, after all. I have
orders. We leave tonight.”
Sarah couldn’t believe it. “But he’ll be back, I know it.”
“No, trust me, he won’t be back and nor will anybody else apart from the soldier I
appoint to look after you.”
“But you, where are you going?” Sarah said, feeling herself sinking into mud. She
pulled her arm away.
I’m lost
.
“I also speak English, in fact before the war I was a languages instructor. I am going
as an interpreter with some of the senior officers to meet the Americans…”
“The Americans?”
“Yes, bureaucratic stuff. To coordinate. We’re allies, I’m told.”
“Where will you meet them?”
He laughed. “That’s a secret.”
“But in Berlin?”
“Oh no, they’re not here. We’re driving overnight. That’s why I must leave. Somewhere
in the west. Actually, it can’t do any harm to tell you: Leipzig. To see General Bradley’s
Twelfth Army Group. It’s an issue of the Allied occupation zones. They’ve advanced
too far, they must pull back.”
Sarah’s heart beat even faster. She could feel it banging her ribs. Her eyes widened.
She squeezed his hands, pulled them to her chest. “Isak,” she said. It was the first
time she had said his name. “Isak, please, I beg you, take me with you. Leipzig is
on the way to Heidelberg. You’re my only hope. Please. I must leave Berlin. Please.”
Holding his hand with her left hand, with her right she covered her mouth, which was
trembling. “You could take me to the Americans. Or I could take a bus from Leipzig.
Or a train. Walk. Anything. It would get me out of Berlin…”
As Sarah spoke she was thinking, This is my first stroke of luck in years. Don’t lose
it. If he doesn’t take me I will never get out of Berlin. A woman. Alone. Weak. A
Jew. I’d have no chance. “Oh, for God’s sake, take me with you.”
She held his hands so tight he had to pull them away.
Brodsky looked over her shoulder, at the wall, with such intensity it was as if he
were looking through it. His thoughts were in turmoil. He was imagining the consequences.
Could I? Thoughts tumbled over each other, half-formed, unfinished: Auschwitz, Jews,
fear, rape, borders, war, rape again, her whole family dead, they must be, she’s alone,
I have my own car and driver, papers, passes, I can just add her name, do it, it’s
now or never, after what she’s been through.
Sarah watched him thinking, his eyes creased yet far away. She stroked his hand and
whispered, “Please. Please. It’s my only chance. Please help me.”
If she doesn’t leave now, Brodsky thought, it will only get harder. The lines will
be drawn, the zones closed, Berlin could be cut off from the west. It’s now or never.
Do it. Help her. God knows she’s suffered enough. Isn’t it time for a good deed? In
victory?
It had been a long time for him, too, since he had had a woman, had stroked one, had
held one, been held. Since he had even kissed a girl. Made love? Hah! He sighed. He
pulled his hand free and cupped her chin, wanting to feel his lips on hers. He thought,
She’s so sad. And sweet. His hands were so big and Sarah’s face so small, the tips
of his fingers played with her hair, her dry, dirty, matted hair. He took the tip
of her ear between his thumb and forefinger, rolled it, played with it, bent to kiss
it.
And stopped himself. What was he thinking? This is a mitzvah, a blessing to help her,
not a chance to abuse her. Am I, too, a beast?
Another great sigh, almost a shudder, and Brodsky smiled, with as much sadness as
Sarah had ever seen. His hands felt good, loving and tender and strong. With his hands
cradling her face, she felt protected. Would he kiss her? What to do? She pulled back.
Yet mostly she felt a deep pain, for herself, and, yes, for him. He didn’t win this
war, she thought. We all lost.
As if in a dream, she heard him say, “If I could, if I could, how soon could you be
ready?”
“How soon?” Sarah said with a slow smile, the first he had seen from her, and it melted
his heart. “Let me see. Select my clothes, arrange my affairs, pay my bills … I’m
ready now, of course. Can you? Oh, can you take me?”
SIX
Frankfurt,
May 5, 1945
Jacob woke by a mound of bricks that were scraped, cleaned, and ready for reuse. There
were piles like this every fifty meters, and by each were little shelters of brick
and wooden planks where ragged people huddled to keep warm. He stretched his arms
and legs, rubbed the ache from his joints, and pushed himself to his feet.
His shoulders were slumped, his eyes were dark, and he had the hangdog expression
of exhaustion. He yawned, took a piece of paper from his pocket, unwrapped it, and
sighed at the little dark slab. He put the last small piece of chocolate into his
mouth and sucked, playing with it with his tongue, trying to print the taste in his
memory. It was the last of his food.
Hanover and Kassel had shocked him but Frankfurt was like a demented Grimm’s fairy
tale. It had been devoured and spat out, shapeless in complete defeat. Maybe three
houses were left standing in each street. There were mountains of rubble as far as
the eye could see, covering every centimeter of ground. People picked their way across
the debris like tightrope walkers.
But he found the house he had been told about, near the center, one of the few houses
fully intact. There wasn’t a scratch on the stone angels in the elegant façade. The
Americans had kicked out the owners and given it to the Jews of Frankfurt as their
community headquarters.
“It’ll do for now, till there are more of us,” a bald man with thin round spectacles
told Jacob, gesturing to a chair and handing him a cheese sandwich from the box donated
daily by the American army chaplain, a rabbi. “We had thirty thousand Jews here before
the war. Today, there’s about fifty. We hope more will come back like you.”
“I’m not from here,” Jacob said. “I want to go to Heidelberg. I was told you could
arrange a ride for me. That’s why I came.”