Once We Were Brothers (18 page)

Catherine nodded and picked up her note pad.

Zamość, Poland 1941

“Beka, Hannah and I packed our knapsacks in preparation for our escape to the mountains – a few changes of clothes, portions of meat, cheese and bread – enough to keep us going for a little while after we got to the cabin. Early the next morning, before the sun rose, we waited by the window. We had stayed up through the night saying our goodbyes and assuring one another that we’d all reunite soon.

Soon we saw a covered truck drive slowly up the street and flash its lights. My father pulled me aside. ‘Ben, I guess you know how grave the situation is. We may not all survive this war.’

“‘Don’t talk like that. Please. We’ll survive. We’ll all make it. The girls and I will be waiting for you at Uncle Joseph’s.’

“‘Ben, if you’re safe, if no one bothers you and if the Germans don’t come into the Podhale District, stay in the cabin. Wait out the war. But if you’re threatened in any way and you get the chance, take the girls make a run for it. The Tatras can be crossed in the summer into Slovakia and thence south through the countryside to the sea, although you must be mindful that no place in Eastern Europe is safe. Slovakia is no friend. We hear that the 55,000 Jews in Prague are in as much trouble as we are. Stay clear of the Slovakian cities. Trust no one. Restrict your travel to the country roads. Make your way into eastern Hungary and down to Yugoslavia, to the coastal city of Split. Here is the name of a contact in Split who will help you get to America.’ He handed me a folded letter of introduction.

“‘Father, don’t worry, we’ll wait for you.’

“He smiled, gave me a kiss, stuffed some money into my pocket and bid me goodbye.

“We climbed into the back of the truck, each of us with our small knapsack. With a gaping hole in my heart, I watched the only home I’d ever known fade into the misty daybreak. I can still see my mother with her hand on the windowpane.

“‘Stay low behind the boxes and cover yourselves with the tarpaulin until we’re out of town,’ Otto said as the truck rumbled along the city streets.

“Once we left Zamość and were on our way through the countryside, we sat up to talk. Otto was paranoid, like a drunk driver trying to make it home on New Year’s Eve. He gripped the wheel so tightly, his hands were white.

“‘You don’t know what I’m risking for you,’ he said. ‘I could lose everything, my position, my rank, even my life, if I’m caught.’”

“To be fair, Ben, wasn’t that true?” asked Catherine.

“Would you say something like that to your brother and sister? Your position? Your rank?”

“No, I guess I wouldn’t.”

“We figured that the trip to the mountains would take about ten hours if we went non-stop. It was Otto’s plan to drop us at the cabin and then double back to Debice, two hours away. We stopped only to relieve ourselves by the side of the road.

“We were a few miles outside Łysa Polana, about a half hour’s drive from the cabin, and feeling pretty good when we suddenly encountered a roadblock. Two Wehrmacht soldiers walked up to the truck, one on each side. The girls and I huddled in the back under the tarp.

“‘Good afternoon, Scharfuhrer,’ one of them said. ‘Let’s see your papers. Where are you headed?’

“‘I’m headed to Debice,’ Otto said in German, handing his papers through the window. ‘I have a delivery for SS Sturmbannfuhrer Kolb.’

“‘Debice? You passed the cutoff to Debice a hundred kilometers ago.’ There was silence for a moment and then we heard, ‘Please step out of the truck.’

“‘I was told to take highway 12,’ Otto said, stepping down from the driver’s seat onto the gravel shoulder. ‘I must have missed the turn in this pigshit country.’

“‘What are you delivering to Debice, Scharfuhrer?’

“We heard Otto chuckle. ‘You look like a nice fellow,’ he said. ‘I’ll give you a little taste.’ He climbed into the back of the truck, pulled two bottles of Riesling from the crates in front of us and crawled back out.

“‘Don’t say where you got this or it’ll be my ass,’ Otto said.

“The soldiers thanked him profusely and said, ‘Turn around and head back about two hours, my friend. Take the cutoff at highway 23.’

“Otto turned the truck around and drove out of town, sweating buckets. Once around the curve and out of sight, he pulled over next to a stand of trees. He was breathing heavily.

“‘Everybody out. You’ll have to walk to the cabin. I can’t risk going back.’ We clamored out of the truck and I walked over to the window to shake his hand. ‘I don’t know how I’m going to get the rest of them up here, Ben. This is way too dangerous.’

“I thanked him, told him he’d think of something and watched him drive away. The girls and I quickly got off the road and ducked into the forest. It was almost nightfall and there was a chill in the mountain air. As far as I could figure, the cabin was a two day walk.

“Although it was early April, there were still patches of deep snow in the high country, especially in the thick parts of the forest, and we hadn’t prepared for such a hike. The snow caked in through the tops of our shoes, soaked our socks and froze our feet. Our cuffs were heavy with snow, ice and water. Nevertheless, we had no choice but to plow ahead, taking care to stay clear of the roads and the German patrols. Unsure of the countryside, we tried to navigate by the stars, stopping as little as possible. We knew if we were discovered, picked up without papers, knapsacks in hand, it’d be all over.”

“How far was it to Joseph’s cabin?” asked Catherine.

“Maybe fifteen miles but the terrain was wooded and hilly. Uncle Joseph’s cabin lay in a valley just outside the village of Łysa Polana, a few kilometers east of Zakopane and just north of the Tatra peaks. The range divided Poland from Slovakia with rugged granite mountains that reached over 6,000 feet. Today there are border crossings for the skiers and hikers. The town of Zakopane was then and still is a popular European ski resort.”

“Ben, I’m wondering how your father thought your grandfather and uncle could make the passage?”

“It was a plan of last resort. I think all he was trying to do was to get them to the cabin to wait out the war, but in retrospect, I wonder whether he ever really believed they’d leave Zamość.

“Anyway, for the three of us, it was tough going in the dark. The rocks twisted our ankles, the brush scraped our legs and the pine needles were sharp. Each of us stumbled several times and Beka had a bad fall. We made a couple of miles that night and decided to bed down in a small clearing until dawn, using our clothing for makeshift blankets and huddling together to share our body heat. By the morning, we were stiff and cold and ready to move on.

“The trek was easier during the day. We could navigate by the mountain peaks and the sun was warm. We followed trails through the pines until we hit the outskirts of Łysa Polana. From there, we found the old dirt road and reached the cabin by late afternoon.

“The old wood hut with the sharp peaked roof was a welcome sight. Naturally, it was shuttered and locked, but I knew Uncle Joseph kept a key on a shelf in the shed. I retrieved it and opened the creaky door. No one had been inside for a few years. There were cobwebs everywhere and we could tell that small mountain animals, field mice, marmots and chipmunks, had been tenants in our absence. The furniture was covered with sheets but everything had a layer of dusty film. The girls immediately set to cleaning, while I went to gather wood and water. We boiled the water from the stream and kept a good supply in jugs.”

“What did you do about food?”

“The cupboards held some canned goods, a jar of coffee beans and a grinder, and a few bags of flour which we had to discard when we discovered the little mouse holes. We’d carried provisions, a small amount in our backpacks, enough for a few days, but we had no fresh food and we knew we’d have to go to market sooner or later. There was an old rifle in the cabin, but I was no hunter. I had never hunted an animal in my life. I could fish, and there was a small lake a couple of kilometers through the woods, but we knew we’d have to buy food and that troubled me. Going into town would draw attention to our presence.”

“Tell me about the cabin,” Catherine said.

Ben smiled. “Euphemistically speaking, it was cozy. But there was a good-sized bedroom at either end of a large central room that served as a kitchen, dining room and sitting room. No bathroom, of course. We used an outhouse next to the shed. There was no plumbing or electricity, but there was an iron stove, vented through the roof, which served as a furnace. Remember, this was a wooden cabin and not very well insulated. There was a stone fireplace, but the stove heated the cabin much more efficiently and it used less wood.

“At the end of that first day, it was at least midnight, the three of us opened a can of food, warmed it up on the stove and sat around the table, tired but proud of ourselves for having made the journey and having forged a secure base as a haven from the world’s insanity. I took a cup of coffee to the front porch and sat on the steps. Soon I was joined by Hannah and Beka and we all wrapped ourselves together under a thick woolen blanket. Sitting on that porch, sipping hot coffee, it was hard to tell the world was at war. We had each other and we felt safe.”

Ben closed his eyes. “There we sat on that crisp, clear night, the moon illuminating the Tatra peaks, a thousand stars punching pin-holes in the darkness and the only sound was the wind rushing through the pines. And it struck me – the incongruity of it all – that in the most ungodly of times, I was bearing witness to indisputable evidence of God’s work on the third and fourth days, a world He created in perfect balance.”

Catherine wrinkled her brow. “Ben, I attended Catholic school through the eighth grade and I had to take catechism every year, but I wouldn’t have a clue what happened on the third and fourth days. The nuns would not be happy with me.”

He nodded and then recited:

“And God said, ‘Let the earth sprout tender sprouts, the plant seeding seed, the fruit tree producing fruit according to its kind, whichever seed is in it on the earth.’ And it was so. And the earth bore tender sprouts, the plant seeding seed according to its kind, and the fruit tree producing fruit according to its kind, whichever seed is in it. And God saw that it was good. And there was evening, and there was morning the third day.

“And God made the two great luminaries; the great luminary to rule the day, and the small luminary and the stars to rule the night. And God set them in the expanse of the heavens, to give light on the earth, and to rule over the day and over the night; and to divide between the light and the darkness. And God saw that it was good. And there was evening, and there was morning the fourth day.”

He smiled. “If you want proof of God, Catherine, go to the mountains.”

She put her pen down and folded her hands. “Can I ask the obvious question? You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to. With such indisputable evidence of God, how did he let the Holocaust happen? Where was God?”

Ben responded straight away. “That’s a question I’ve pondered all my life, as has every person affected by incomprehensible tragedy. My answer is this: He was there, Catherine, weeping. Many see fit to explain it as free will, God’s gift to mankind, freedom to do as one chooses and so some choose to pursue evil. It’s an explanation which has its roots in Deuteronomy. When Moses called upon the heads of all the tribes, the elders and the officers, and all the people to stand and receive God’s laws, they learned that God had set before them life and good, or death and evil. They were told they had the choice. They were told to choose good and not evil, but they were given the choice.

“Evil exists, Catherine, in the dark of Moriah where goodness does not dwell, and in the souls of those that can be seduced. And mankind as a whole must bear the responsibility for following or permitting the evildoers.

“Those who perpetrated the Holocaust, those who assisted and enabled the perpetration, those who profited and those who turned their heads must all bear the responsibility.” Ben pointed his finger emphatically. “The Holocaust was not God’s will. It was the will of those who had become infused of the devil.”

“Allegorically?”

“Maybe for some. Not for me. It is why we must remain diligent and relentlessly pursue men like Piatek. Evil is contagious. Much like a pathogenic organism, it must be snuffed out at the source.”

Ben shrugged. “Enough preaching, Catherine. That first night in the mountains, we bedded down late, exhausted but pleased with our efforts. I took one bedroom and Beka and Hannah shared the other. I drifted in and out of sleep and throughout the night I could hear sobbing from the girls’ room. The separation was hard on them.

“The next morning, over coffee, we tried to assess our situation. We made an inventory of what we had and we parceled out the chores.

“‘We’re going to need supplies,’ Hannah said. ‘Basics: soap, flour, butter, oil for the lamps. Then there are items that won’t store: vegetables, fruit, eggs. From time to time we’ll have to get supplies from town. It’s a long walk to Łysa Polana and even farther to Zakopane.’

“‘We have no choice,’ I said. ‘But we should keep our appearances in town to a minimum. I’m sure the SS makes rounds and I expect that sooner or later they’ll descend on Zakopane like they did Zamość. I was told there’s a large Jewish community there.’

“‘How much money did Father give you?’ Beka said.