Once We Were Brothers (22 page)

“‘Then you’ll be the one sent to Majdanek,’ I said. ‘My orders came straight from Scharfuhrer Piatek.’

“The SS officer laughed heartily. His fat belly shook. ‘Where did you hear that name?’

“‘Scharfuhrer Piatek gave me my assignment and warned me to keep it secret. If you don’t believe me, take me to him.’

“The officer hesitated. ‘You’re lying.’

“‘Can you take that chance?’

“He unholstered his pistol and waved it at me, directing me to proceed out of the room. ‘I’ll take you to Scharfuhrer Piatek and if you’re lying I’ll shoot you on the spot.’

“We left the prison and walked to Otto’s office at the town hall. Thank goodness he was still there. I hadn’t heard from him in months, since he dropped us at the side of the road. The corporal said, ‘This Jewish pile of shit tells me he is on secret assignment from you, Scharfuhrer.’

“Otto showed no recognition and looked down at his papers. Finally, he looked up and said, ‘The Jew is correct. I sent him on a mission. Leave us.’

“The fat man bowed. ‘Yes sir, Scharfuhrer. That’s why I insisted he be brought directly to you.’

“Otto waved him away with the back of his hand.

“When he had left and shut the door, Otto said, ‘What are you doing back in Zamość. I took you out of here.’

“‘Where is the rest of the family? You were supposed to bring them to Uncle Joseph’s.’

“‘They won’t leave. Your father’s serving on the Judenrat and Hannah’s father is running a clinic. I tried to get them to leave. I warned them that if they stayed here they’d have to move to New Town and probably to a resettlement area after that. Maybe you can talk them into leaving.’

“I felt it was time to bring up the money. ‘Otto,’ I said, ‘I went to Grandpa Yaakov’s.’ He showed no reaction. ‘Where’s the money?’

“‘Is that what you have to say to me? Where’s the money? Go to hell, Ben! I risk my life to get you to the mountains. I risk my rank and position bringing your family food. I even offered to get the rest of your family out and you have the ingratitude to accuse me, saying, “Where’s the money?”’

“‘My father gave you over 60,000 Zlotys, our life savings. I know the Weissbaums gave you money, too.’

“‘I had to move it, Ben. I didn’t trust Zeleinski. It’s all in my apartment, under lock and key. Well, almost all of it. I had to use a little. These Germans have a ritzy life style and if I want to stay connected I’ve got to be a big spender.’

“‘What about all that jewelry I saw? The box was filled to the brim, like a real treasure chest, and it didn’t all come from us.’

“‘I’ve helped other people, Ben. The Solomons and Weissbaums aren’t the only families in Zamość. But let’s not argue,’ he said getting up from his desk and putting his arm around my shoulders. ‘Let me take you to the family.’

“He drove me into the New Town ghetto. I couldn’t believe my eyes. First of all, many of the buildings had been damaged or destroyed by the German bombs. Second, there were people everywhere. So many. And in such a sorry condition. The worst poverty you’ve ever seen. Otto pulled up to the side of a large warehouse, stopped his car and let me out. ‘The family lives here now. They’re all on the second floor.’

“In its pre-war days, the brick building had been a grain warehouse with loading docks and offices on the first floor. Now it was a giant dormitory. I climbed the stairs to the second floor and asked a young girl where I might find the Solomons. She led me down the hall to a large warehouse space which had been partitioned into living areas by hanging blankets and sheets from the ceiling. The degrading conditions gave me a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. My mother was straightening up a small corner area that held a bed and a few pieces of her furniture.

“‘Benjamin,’ she cried. ‘I prayed that I would see you again, but not in here.’ She hugged me and kissed me and we both shed tears. With my arms around her, I could tell she’d lost a lot of weight. Once she was an elegant dresser. Now her cotton dress hung straight from her shoulders like it was on a hanger. In the four months since I’d left, she had aged considerably.

“‘Is this your home now?’ I asked.

“She nodded sadly. ‘We’re allotted this corner of the floor. The Judenrat is under enormous pressure to find living space for each of the families in the ghetto. There are so many here, Benjamin. Jews from all over the region have been sent here.’ She shrugged and smiled. ‘But we make do. We share a kitchen on the first floor, we take turns in the bathroom and we try to be respectful of special needs. Sit down, my handsome boy. You’re so tan and healthy. How are Rebecca and Hannah?’

“‘They’re fine. Just as healthy, thanks to the mountain air. We’ve been very lucky, living at Uncle Joseph’s.’

“Sitting there talking to my mother, I felt guilty about my condition. What right did I have to good health while my mother was wasting away in the corner of a rat’s hole? I vowed to get her out.

“Holding my hands, she said, ‘Why did you come back? You were free. Things here get worse every day.’

“‘I came back for you.’

“She hugged me and sobbed. ‘Oh, Benjamin, that’s so like you, so foolhardy. But your father is very involved. We cannot come just yet.’

“‘Where are the others?’

“Her expression turned grave. ‘I’m so sorry to tell you. Grandpa Yaakov has died.’

“A cold shiver shot through my spine. ‘What happened?’

“‘You know what a strong, independent man he was and how outspoken he could be. It happened during one of their incessant roll calls. We were told to line up outside the building. The Germans with their rifles and their savage dogs walked up and down the line screaming insults and pushing and slapping. For no reason. Grandpa Yaakov protested. He said, “Why do you treat people like this? Were you brought up as animals?”’

“‘Oh, my God.’

“‘Benjamin, they set their dog on him. They laughed as the dog tore into Yaakov. Mr. Leibman, who was standing beside him, tried to help and the dog attacked him too. Both of them died from their wounds. We buried Yaakov on May 22nd. Rabbi Gerstein gave a beautiful eulogy. He said such nice things about Yaakov. You’d have been proud.’

“‘And Uncle Joseph?’

“My mother shook her head and cried into her hands. ‘Benjamin, Benjamin, it’s all so inhuman, so ungodly. Joseph could not stand without a crutch. Sometimes in the assemblies, when we were forced to stand for hours, we’d hold him up. Finally, the Germans took everyone with such a disability and sent them away. We don’t know where, but I’ve heard stories. Some even say they were shot in the woods.’

“‘Aunt Hilda?’

“‘She’s here, but she’s not well. We’ve had some sickness going through the ghetto. Dr. Weissbaum is treating her. She went for a walk. She should be home soon.’

“‘We need to get you and the others out of here,’ I said. ‘It’s safe at Uncle Joseph’s.’

“She cupped my face. ‘Talk to your father. If he leaves, I’ll leave.’

“Later that day, I found my father sitting behind a desk in the Judenrat office, which was located in a part of the old synagogue. There was a line of people waiting to speak to him. He stood and embraced me but then repeated my mother’s query, ‘Why did you come back?’

“‘We waited and waited for you. Beka and Hannah, they wouldn’t leave without you. Finally, we ran out of money.’

“‘Otto has our money,’ he said. ‘I gave him all we had.’

“‘I know. I saw Otto this morning. I want to take you and Mother to the mountains.’

“Father shook his head. ‘Do you see all these people here? They’re desperate and in need. The Judenrat is all they have. We set up a communal kitchen and we’re getting food from the Jewish Self-help Organization in Krakow. We help families stay together and find spaces to live. When you left Zamość there were less than five thousand Jews living all throughout the city. Now there are over seven thousand, shipped in from all over the region and crowded into a few city blocks. The Judenrat is their government. We intercede with the Nazis. How can I leave these people, Ben?’

“‘What about Mother? I could take her back to the cabin.’

“‘That would be fine, if she would go. She’s working in the women’s clinic helping Dr. Weissbaum.’

“My father gave me identification papers and an arm band. I decided to stay in New Town for a few days and convince my parents to leave. I’d get the money from Otto and take them all back to the mountains. That night I slept on the floor beside my parents’ bed. Over the next few days I helped my father at the Judenrat office and tried to convince my mother to come back with me. But no matter how hard I tried, my mother was unwilling to leave Zamość without my father. ‘Wither thou goest,’ she said to me, and I understood the depth of the love that bound them. I was foolish to think they would part.

“She added, ‘I’m needed at the clinic. We’ve had an outbreak of typhus and many are gravely ill. The Judenrat is opening a hospital in the school building. Right now we have forty beds.’”

“Typhus?” Catherine said.

“Right. It’s a nasty disease which occurs in poor areas where people are forced to live in crowded, unsanitary conditions. Typhus is spread by lice or fleas, especially in the cold weather. Anne Frank died of typhus. It was common in the camps. Now it can be cured with antibiotics. Back then, well, it was a terrible way to die.

“Anyway, after a few days, the time had come for me to go. I was worried about Hannah and Beka alone at the cabin. They were never out of my thoughts. Sitting with my parents, I said, ‘I’m going to get money from Otto and return to the mountains. I’ll take the horse and wagon. As long as we’re safe, we’ll stay at Uncle Joseph’s. If things get worse here, or if they start shipping people out, have Otto bring you to the cabin.’

“My father nodded. ‘If I can no longer help our people, Mother and I will join you. But you must promise me, if the Germans come into the Podhale, you’ll take the girls and head south through the mountains.’

“I promised, kissed my parents and left to find Otto.”

“How did you get through the ghetto walls?” Catherine said. “Wasn’t there barbed wire and weren’t there armed guards to stop people from leaving?”

“No. Zamość didn’t have a walled ghetto like Warsaw. People were free to come and go, but Jews were not permitted on the street after curfew. During the day, they could travel through Zamość but they were subject to being stopped, harassed, beaten or worse. If you didn’t have a work permit, the Germans were likely to shoot you and leave your body on the street. I left the ghetto and met up with Otto at his office. We took a walk.

“‘I need money,’ I said to him. ‘Would you please bring me some of my family’s money?’

“He seemed annoyed with the request. ‘What do you need money for?’

“‘I’m going back to the mountains and I want to get a little extra money for my parents. But even if I wanted to burn it, it’s our money.’

“‘I know it’s your money, Ben, you don’t have to tell me that. How much do you need?’

“‘I’ll take two thousand Zlotys’

“‘Two thousand? Why do you need that much?’

“‘Otto, that’s my business. Would you please bring me two thousand Zlotys and help me get to Yaakov’s farm.’

“‘The money’s locked up at home. I’ll meet you here tomorrow morning.’

“‘Tomorrow? I need to leave today. I was hoping to get the money and drive out to the farm. I’m worried about the girls and I want to get back to the cabin.’

“Otto shook his head. ‘I can’t get the money right now.’ He looked around and came closer, like he was telling me a secret. ‘You know Teresa Zumszka?’ he whispered.

“I nodded. ‘The buxom blonde.’

“‘Right. She’s staying with me right now. She’s a wild tiger, I tell you. She has my little soldier saluting her all night long.’ He laughed. ‘I don’t want her to see where I keep the money. And be sure not to tell Elzbieta about her.’ He winked at me.

“‘I have to leave today, Otto.’

“He reached into his pocket. ‘I can give you a few hundred.’ He pulled out a huge roll of bills. ‘Here,’ he said counting them out, ‘here’s five hundred. I’ll give the rest to your Father.’

“I looked at the roll and said, ‘Whoo, that’s a lot of money you carry in your pocket.’

“‘Money’s easy in Zamość if you’re a German.’

“The statement disgusted me, but I said nothing. What good would it do?

“‘Will you drive me out to the farm?’ I said.

“Otto agreed and we climbed into his fancy car. All the way to the farm he bragged about his escapades. Never once did he express any concern for the two people that took him in and raised him. Never once did he ask about Beka or Hannah. When he dropped me off he said, ‘I gotta get back to the tiger. I bet she meets me at the door wearing nothing but her underwear.’ He laughed and then sped away.

“Zeleinski was sitting on the porch of the farmhouse when I arrived. He helped me hitch up Buttermilk, gave me a loaf of bread and I left immediately. The longer I had stayed away, the more anxious I’d become. I’d been gone almost twelve days and it would take at least three more to get back to the cabin.

“I drove deep into the night until I started falling asleep in the wagon seat. Then I pulled over, caught a nap and rested my muscles. Just before dawn, I started up again. Every time I saw a car, I’d head into the fields to make it look like I was farming. No one bothered me all the way to Łysa Polana, where I by-passed the town and the border guards. I couldn’t wait to hold Hannah in my arms and see Beka’s infectious smile. The closer I got, the more eager I became. Finally, at noon on the third day, I arrived at the cabin.