The Jewish Dog (23 page)

CHAPTER 30

A
week later
,
the time had come
.
The mission
:
looting food in a nearby village called Drohobych.

Sasha Molotovski laid out the principle
:
“Partisan fighting is like a ball of mercury that breaks into pieces
;
it can't be caught
,
and each fragment reunites effortlessly with the others.”

The plan was as follows
:
we were split into three teams
.
One would ambush the access road and prevent German reinforcements from arriving
,
one would enter the village and demand food and clothing for their brother partisans from the farmers
,
and one – the vanguard – would attack the German patrol.

The team leaders made sure that their weapons were in working order and their knives sharpened
,
and that the fighters knew their jobs.

At the end of the briefing
,
Commander Molotovski asked if there were any questions.

Joshua raised his hand
.
“Can Caleb join us?”

“Of course
.
Caleb is a partisan like the rest of us.”

“Any other questions?”

Silence.

“In that case,” he ordered
,
“everyone must go to sleep now
.
Wake-up is in five hours
.
We attack at dawn!”

Before Joshua removed his shoes and lay down on the bed of leaves and rags that he had set up for himself
,
he reported at the doctor's tent to inquire about Lerman's condition.

“So
,
tomorrow you're visiting the village and bringing some food?” the doctor asked rhetorically.

Joshua nodded and approached the stretcher that Lerman occupied.

“How is he
,
doctor?”

“He's sleeping now
.
I hope tomorrow will be better
.
This isn't exactly a first-rate hospital
,
you know.”

“Take care of him
,
doctor
.
He is a dear friend.”

“I'll try,” the doctor said
.
“I promise to try.”

There was a scent in the air that I had smelled before
.
I had smelled it before my eyes even opened
,
when my weakling brother's head drooped in Kalman's arms
.
It was a scent that said
:
open your eyes and cherish this sight
,
for as you see it today you will not see it again.

We neared the village
.
A line of twenty partisans
.
No one spoke
.
I walked proudly at Joshua's side
.
Here I was
,
a fearless partisan pup cutting courageously through the night like a blade
.
Sleepless birds disturbed the quiet with intermittent chirps
,
and the insects of the forest clicked and twittered
.
Dry twigs snapped and crackled under our feet
.
Twenty pairs of eyes scanned the darkness of the forest for any coming surprises
.
My snout pulsed with extreme tension
.
All my scent detectors were vigilant
.
I identified clear signs of burnt tires
.
I also picked up the vulnerable scent of newly hatched chicks
,
the smell of acorns fallen to the ground
,
wolf droppings
,
and more
.
A rich spectrum of odors that couldn't be enumerated
.
Nonetheless
,
there was no sign or indication of foe
.
Several cabins could be seen between the trees at the edge of the forest
.
A few dogs began to bark
.
A bored rooster issued his morning call.

The ambush team signaled with a flag that the access road was blocked and that the other teams were free to enter the village
.
The four houses on the edge of the town were our targets
.
Three armed partisans entered each house to ensure that the residents wouldn't make a ruckus
.
The rest of the comrades tied up the cows and goats in the yard.

I advanced with Joshua toward one of the houses
.
Joshua knocked on the locked door
.
From inside the house came indiscernible Slavic murmurs.

“Open up!” Joshua called
,
banging.

Frightened voices could be heard beyond the door.

“Open up!” Joshua called again and kicked the door forcefully
.
The people inside refused to open
.
We circled the house and entered from the balcony
.
A large window covered by wooden blinds was set in the back wall
.
Joshua struck the blinds
.
A bolt broke off the rickety wood and the blinds opened with a bang
.
Joshua and his friends entered through the windows
,
and I leaped in at their heels
.
Inside we found an elderly man and woman and their little granddaughter
.
The aging couple lived in abject poverty
.
Their granddaughter was dressed in rags
.
They begged
,
but Joshua ignored their cries and grabbed the bags of rice
,
­potatoes
,
and buckwheat
.
The terrified child held on tightly to her grandfather's thigh
.
She started crying
.
The weeping of young girls always seems loud and contemptible
.
I barked at her to make her stop
,
but my barks merely made her wails louder
.
She hid behind her grandfather and gripped his tattered pajama pants in fear.

“Quiet
,
Caleb!” Joshua silenced me
.
“You'll wake the whole village!”

I fell mute.

Joshua approached the old man
,
who tried to protect his face with his hands.

The old man mumbled something in Polish.

Joshua removed the Pole's glasses and tried them on
.
They didn't fit
,
and he returned them to the old man.

We quickly regrouped with the other pillaging teams who had secured their food from the village farmers with punches and cudgels
.
We headed back toward camp carrying bags of food
,
jars of fruit preserve
,
bottles of homemade liquor
,
eggs
,
and bread
.
Naturally
,
the mood among the partisans was elated
.
We were followed by two thin cows
,
three goats
,
and a pig
.
Molotovski walked at the head
,
two chickens held by their feet in each of his hands.

The prevalent estimation was that the supply would last for two weeks
.
We could eat
,
we could even be sated
,
but we had to begin planning the next raid.

We expected to be greeted with cheers
,
but to our surprise there was much restraint among those who were waiting at the camp
.
We quickly learned the reason for the gloom
.
The doctor led us to the bed on which Lerman lay
,
lifeless
,
with a bottle of vodka at his side.

“I couldn't prevent his death,” the doctor said
,
“but I tried to take away some of the pain.”

I sniffed the body
.
Despite the long months in Treb­linka
,
I refused to accept the omnipresence of death
.
That very evening
,
as Lerman was brought to his final resting place
,
I paid tribute to his memory with three honorific barks.

Over the next days I experienced a long-lost sensation
:
satiation
.
Every evening
,
the cooks in our group would hide behind the line of pots and pans
,
and cook up a storm
.
The forest generously provided onions
,
mushrooms
,
and potatoes
.
Everyone sat around the fire
,
warming their hands and eating pot roast
,
chicken soup
,
and vegetable stew.

I was exceptionally fond of the cows
.
I admired the peacefulness in which they would lazily chew on grass and leaves
.
One evening
,
I followed the cook as he led one of the cows several paces outside of the camp
.
A tall partisan armed with a knife and a gun accompanied him.

“Have you done this before?” the partisan asked.

“No,” the cook replied
.
“That is
,
never alone.”

“You're supposed to push it on its side first
,
aren't you?”

The cook tried to hold the cow by its horns and tilt it on its side
.
The cow struggled and refused to stumble.

“Give me the knife,” the cook said
,
panting
.
He held the blade at the cow's neck and sliced
.
The cow bellowed in pain
,
retreated
,
and stomped its hind feet
.
The stream of blood flowed
.
“Stupid
,
stubborn animal,” the cook muttered angrily.

The partisan couldn't watch the suffering beast
.
He held his gun to its head and shot.

The cow's eyes glazed over
,
it pawed the air with a front leg and fell over lifeless.

“It may be stupid
,
but it knows the difference between life and death.”

Molotovski came running
,
red in the face with anger
.
He slapped the partisan.

“I've told you a thousand times
.
You
never
shoot near the camp
.
Do you want the Germans to come?”

“The cow didn't want to die
 . .
 .” the embarrassed partisan mumbled in excuse.

“Enough bullshit!” Molotovski held up a threatening finger
.
“If you fire outside the camp one more time
,
I'll shoot
you
in the head
.
Is that clear?”

The partisan nodded
,
flustered.

“All right
.
No more nonsense
.
I hope you can skin that stupid cow without more gunfire
,
so I can finally enjoy a nice plate of goulash.”

Three hours later
,
everyone sat around the fire
,
enjoying the meat and potatoes
.
As the food disappeared
,
everyone raised a glass
.
Molotovski made a toast
,
the glasses clinked together.

And as they drank
,
Valovanchik sang:

“Comrades
,
let us sing along

for fear is beaten by a song.

And to the foe
,
from the forest night,

we march
,
heads high
,
into the fight!”

The rest joined in for the chorus with enthusiasm:

“Know
,
German
,
that in shadows lie

the partisans
,
with watchful eye.

We'll fill your vile heart with dread,

with bullets fill your thick
,
dense head!”