Authors: Leon Uris
“Go on.”
“By some insane quirk of fate I met him again in Jadwiga. His reputation preceded him. Late in 1942 the Germans took him from the Warsaw Ghetto and removed him to Majdanek Concentration Camp outside the city of Lublin. Here he was charged by the SS doctors to keep the camp prostitutes free of disease and to perform abortions when necessary.”
Smiddy, who had been writing notes quickly, looked up. “How do you know this?”
“Word of this sort spreads quickly even from one camp to another. The doctors were in a very small community and a few transfers here and there would give us all the news. Also, as a member of the Nationalist underground I had access to this kind of information. We all knew about Tesslar when he arrived in Jadwiga in 1943.”
“You were the chief medical officer, so you must have had close contact with him?”
“No. It was not the case. You see, there were twenty-six barracks in the medical complex but Barracks One to Five were where the SS doctors conducted secret experiments. Tesslar lived down there. It is he who should be standing trial, not me. I warned him he would have to answer for his crimes, but he was under protection of the Germans. When the war was over, Tesslar became a Communist and joined the secret police as a medical officer in order to save himself. That is when he swore those lies against me.”
“I want you to answer this very carefully, Dr. Kelno,” Highsmith accentuated. “Did you ever perform any amputations of testicles and ovaries?”
Kelno shrugged. “Of course. I performed ten thousand, fifteen thousand operations. Large ones, small ones. A man’s testicle or a woman’s ovary can become diseased like any other part of the body. When I operated, I did it to save a patient’s life. I recall cancers and tumors of the sexual glands. But you see how such things can become distorted. I never operated on a healthy man.”
“Who accused you of that?”
“I know all of Tesslar’s accusations. Do you want to hear them? They are stamped on my brain.”
“Very well,” Highsmith said. “We were able to get a short delay in order to give you time to answer Tesslar’s statement. You must go about it coldly, dispassionately, and honestly and don’t inject your personal animosity against him. You must answer every charge, point by point. Here, study this statement tonight with great care. We will be back tomorrow with a shorthand writer to take your answer.”
“I categorically deny that I boasted to Dr. Tesslar the performing of fifteen thousand experiments in surgery without anesthetic. Too many people have testified to my good behavior to make this anything but the wildest sort of slander.”
“I categorically deny I ever performed surgery on a healthy man or woman. I deny I was ever inhumane to my patients. I deny ever taking part in any experimental surgery of any sort.”
“It is a pure fabrication that Dr. Tesslar ever saw me perform surgery. He was never, at any time, in any theater where I operated.”
“Too many of my patients are alive and have testified in my behalf to give validity to the charge that my operations were badly performed.”
“It is my sincere conviction that Dr. Tesslar made these charges to take the onus of guilt off himself. I believe he was sent to England as a part of a conspiracy to destroy all remaining traces of Polish nationalism. The fact that he has asked for asylum in England is merely a Communist trick, is not to be trusted.”
As the time of decision drew close, Adam Kelno went into a deep depression. Even the visits from Angela failed to lift his spirits.
She handed him a set of photographs of their son, Stephan. Adam set them down on the table without looking. “I can’t,” he said.
“Adam, let me bring the child so you can see him.”
“No, not in a prison.”
“He’s only an infant. He won’t remember.”
“See him ... so I can carry the tortured remembrance of him through a mock trial in Warsaw. Is that what you are trying to tell me?”
“We are fighting just as hard as ever. Only ... I can’t see you like this. We’ve always drawn strength from each other. How easy do you think this has been on me? I work all day, try to raise a child by myself, come to see you. Adam ... oh, Adam ...”
“Don’t touch me, Angela. It is becoming too painful.”
The special basket of food she brought to Brixton four times a week had been inspected and passed. Adam was disinterested.
“I have been here almost two years,” he mumbled, “watched over like a condemned man in solitary confinement. They watch me at meal times, at the toilet. No buttons, belts, razors. Even my pencils are taken away at night I have nothing to do but read and pray. They’re right ... I have wanted to commit suicide. Only the thought of living to see my son as a free man has kept me alive but now ... even that hope is gone.”
John Clayton-Hill, the Under Secretary, sat down at the table across from the Secretary of State, Sir Percy Maltwood, with that damnable deportation order between them.
Maltwood had called Thomas Bannister, King’s Counsel, into the Kelno affair on behalf of the Home Office to see if his opinion differed from Highsmith’s.
Thomas Bannister in his early forties was a barrister of stature equal to Highsmith’s. A man of average build, prematurely grayed, and ruddy English in complexion. All that seemed extraordinarily placid leaped into exquisite and brilliant action within the walls of a courtroom.
“What will your report say, Tom?” Maltwood asked.
“It will say that there is a reasonable doubt as to either Kelno’s guilt or innocence and therefore the Polish government is obliged to produce more evidence. I don’t think they have established a prima facie case because what it all boils down to is Tesslar’s word against Kelno’s.”
Bannister gracefully moved into a seat and riffled through the now heavy records. “Most of the affidavits supplied by the Polish government are based on pure hearsay. We have come to know, have we not, that Tesslar is either lying to save himself or Kelno is lying to save himself. Both of them obviously dislike each other. What happened in Jadwiga happened in total secrecy so we don’t really know if we would be hanging a political victim or freeing a war criminal.”
“What do you think we ought to do, Tom?”
“Continue to hold him in Brixton until one side or the other comes up with concrete evidence.”
“Off the record,” Maltwood said, “what is your opinion?”
Bannister looked from one to the other and smiled. “Come on, Sir Percy, you know I won’t answer that.”
“We are going strictly on your recommendation, Tom, not your hunches.”
“I think Kelno is guilty. I’m not sure of what, but he’s guilty of something,” Tom Bannister said.
The Polish Embassy
47 Portland Place
London, W I
January 15, 1949
The Secretary of State
Sir:
The Polish ambassador presents his compliments to His Majesty’s Principal Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs and has the honor to inform him of the Polish government’s attitude on the subject of Dr. Adam Kelno. The Polish government holds the view that:
It has established beyond doubt that Dr. Adam Kelno, now under custody in Great Britain in Brixton Prison, was a surgeon in Jadwiga Concentration Camp and is suspect of having perpetrated war crimes.
Dr. Kelno is listed as a suspect war criminal by the United Nations War Crimes Commission and the governments of Czechoslovakia and the Netherlands as well as Poland.
The Polish government has supplied all required evidence to His Majesty’s government sufficient for a prima facie case.
Further evidence should be preserved for the proper Polish courts.
The government of the United Kingdom must now comply with requests for the extradition of war criminals under existing treaty.
Furthermore, public opinion in Poland is outraged by this undue delay.
Therefore, for finalizing once and forever the fact that Dr. Adam Kelno should be deported to Poland, we shall produce a victim of Dr. Kelno’s brutality and will, in accordance to British jurisprudence, bring forth a man who was castrated by Dr. Kelno in a brutal manner as a part of a medical experiment.
I am, sir,
Most faithfully,
Zygmont Zybowski,
Ambassador
6
O
PPOSITE GLORIOUS OLD COVENT
Garden stood that grim gray stone Palladian edifice, the Bow Street Magistrate’s Court, most noted among London’s fourteen police courts. A line of chauffeured limousines parked before the station testified to the importance of the occasion taking place behind the closed doors of a large, drafty, shabby conference room.
Robert Highsmith was there, hiding his tension behind a strewn posture. The proper Richard Smiddy was there, nibbling at his lower lip. The Magistrate, Mr. Griffin, was there. Nathan Goldmark, the dogged hunter, was there. John Clayton-Hill of the Home Office was there and so were officers of Scotland Yard and a shorthand writer.
Someone else was there. Thomas Bannister, K.C. Doubting Thomas, one might say.
“Shall we proceed, gentlemen,” the magistrate said. Everyone nodded. “Officer. Bring in Dr. Fletcher.”
Dr. Fletcher, a nondescript man, was ushered in and asked to take a seat opposite the magistrate at the end of the table. He gave his name and address to the shorthand writer. Magistrate Griffin proceeded.
“This hearing is rather informal so we shan’t bind ourselves with too many rules unless counsel become argumentative. For the record, Mr. Goldmark and Mr. Clayton-Hill may ask questions. Now, Dr. Fletcher, are you a registered medical practitioner?”
“I am, sir.”
“Where do you practice?”
“I am the senior medical officer at His Majesty’s Prison at Wormwood Scrubbs and I am senior medical adviser to the Home Office.”
“Have you examined a man named Eli Janos?”
“I have, yesterday afternoon.”
The magistrate turned to the reporter. “For the sake of identification, Eli Janos is a Hungarian of Jewish ancestry now living in Denmark. At the instigation of the government of Poland, Mr. Janos volunteered to come to England. Now, Dr. Fletcher, would you be so kind as to inform us as to the finding of your examination in particular regard to Mr. Janos’s testicles.”
“Poor devil is a eunuch,” Dr. Fletcher said.
“I should like that stricken,” Robert Highsmith said unfolding himself quickly. “I don’t think it’s proper to inject such personal observation and editorial comment as ‘poor devil.’ ”
“He’s damned well a poor devil, isn’t he, Highsmith?” Bannister said.
“I should like the Learned Magistrate to inform my learned friend here ...”
“All of this is rather unnecessary, gentlemen,” the magistrate said with a sudden show of the authority of British justice. “Mr. Highsmith, Mr. Bannister, will you stop this immediately?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Sorry, sir.”
“Please continue, Dr. Fletcher.”
“There is no trace of testicles in the scrotal sack or the inguinal canal.”
“Are there scars of an operation?”
“Yes. On both sides, just a bit over the inguinal canal, which I would deem orthodox scars for the removal of testicles.”
“Can you tell the Learned Magistrate,” Bannister said, “if you have an opinion as to whether or not the operation on Janos’s testicles was performed in a normal, skillful way?”
“Yes, it appears to be proper surgery.”
“And,” Highsmith snapped, “there is nothing to show abuse, bad surgery, complications, that sort of thing?”
“No ... I would say I saw nothing to indicate that.”
Highsmith, Bannister, and the magistrate asked a number of technical questions about the manner of the operation after which Dr. Fletcher was properly thanked and dismissed.
“Bring in Eli Janos,” the magistrate ordered.
Eli Janos had many of the manifestations of a eunuch. He was fat. When he spoke, his high pitched voice was broken. Magistrate Griffin personally escorted Janos to his seat. There was a beat of awkward silence.
“It is quite all right if you wish to smoke, gentlemen.”
There was fishing through pockets for the relief of tobacco. Pipe, cigar, and cigarette smoke bellowed out then drifted to the high ceiling.
Magistrate Griffin glanced through Janos’s statement “Mr. Janos, I take it you speak sufficient English so you will not need an interpreter.”
“I can pass.”
“If there is anything you don’t understand, do ask us to repeat the question. Also, I realize that this is an ordeal for you. If, at any time, you become upset, please let me know.”
“I have no more tears left for myself,” he answered.
“Yes, thank you. I should first like to review some of the facts in your affidavit. You are Hungarian by birth in the year of 1920. The Gestapo found you in hiding in Budapest and transported you to the Jadwiga Concentration Camp. Before the war you were a furrier and at the concentration camp you worked in a factory making German uniforms.”
“Yes, that is correct.”
“In the spring of 1943 you were caught smuggling and taken before an SS tribunal. They found you guilty and sentenced you to have your testicles removed. You were then removed to the medical compound and interned in a place known as Barrack III. Four days later the operation was performed in Barrack V. You were forced at gun point to undress and were prepared by prisoner/orderlies and thence castrated by a Polish prisoner/doctor whom you accuse of being Dr. Adam Kelno.”
“Yes.”
“Gentlemen, you may question Mr. Janos.”
“Mr. Janos,” Thomas Bannister said, “I should like to establish a little more background. This charge of smuggling. What was this about?”
“We were always in company with the three angels of Jadwiga, death, hunger, and disease. You have read what has been written of these places. I do not have to elaborate. Smuggling was a normal way of life ... normal as the fog of London. We smuggled to stay alive. Although the SS runs the camp we are guarded by Kapos. Kapos are also prisoners who earn their favor with the Germans by collaboration. The Kapos can be as brutal as the SS. It was a simple matter. I did not pay off certain Kapos so they turned me in.”