Millions of Pebbles

by Roberta Kagan

  Joshua nodded at Ben when Ben arrived.

  “Show him what to do,” a heavyset Nazi, with a dirty, white apron over his uniform, said to Joshua.

  Joshua nodded, then he walked over and started teaching Ben the work that needed to be done. From that day forward, Ben was no longer required to attend roll call in the morning. He got up earlier than the others and went directly to the kitchen where Joshua met him as soon as he’d finished playing the violin at roll call. The work was hard but not nearly as hard as the rubber factory. The days were long: eleven, sometimes twelve hours without a break, but if they didn’t get caught, they could sometimes sneak an extra bite of bread or a raw potato.

  On Sundays, there was no work for most of the prisoners. However, the kitchen help were required to work. Still, every Sunday, after Ben and Joshua finished cleaning up after dinner, Jake came to their block to visit with them. He’d stolen a deck of cards from the pants pocket of a prisoner whose things he was collecting to take to Kanada. Kanada was the name that had been given to the sorting area where all the valuables taken from the prisoners were stored.

  Ben, Joshua, and Jake spent the final hours before bedtime on Sunday nights playing cards. They sat around the single fire, where all the prisoners gathered trying to forget the hunger that churned in their bellies and the cold that chilled their bones.

  One Sunday night after Jake had just dealt them each a hand of poker, he picked up his cards, but he was not able to concentrate. Instead, he turned to his friends and said, “The mass murders of the people who come in on the transports are increasing. I’ve overheard the guards saying that they’ve started using a gas called Zyklon B. They pile the people into the showers then drop the gas. They’re sadistic bastards, most of ‘em. They watch the gassings through a little window. I don’t know how they can stand to watch such terrible things. After it’s all over, they send me and some other sonderkommandos to clean up. It’s hard. really hard. I’ve never seen anything so horrible in my entire life.

  "Lately, they have us burning bodies in pits too. And the worst part about it is, I see these fellas when they first come in. I see them get undressed and carefully fold their clothes. I can see the hope in their eyes, and it breaks my heart. Worst part is that sometimes they talk to me. Thing is, I can’t tell them anything. Not that I would want to. What good would it do them to know what was in store. It’d only be worse. Then the next thing I know I am carrying their bodies out and scrubbing blood and feces off the walls and the floor. I keep wondering how long it will be before it’s my turn to be gassed.” Jake held the cards so tightly that he was bending them in half. “As of right now I’m still working inside the little red house collecting the belongings of those who are going to the showers. It’s a terrible job, but at least it’s warm. The Nazis have decided to dig up some of the mass graves and burn the bodies. Last week they transferred a bunch of the sonderkommandos outside to do the digging. It keeps getting colder and colder out, but these poor fellows are still working outside in their thin uniforms. I am afraid I am going to be transferred outside soon. And the smell. Oh, the smell. Well, all I can tell you is it’s overpowering.”

  Ben shuddered. “I assume the stuff that looks like snow that is constantly falling all over the place is ashes from the burning of the bodies,” Ben said.

  “Yes, it is. It’s all over me, all the time. It’s in my hair and in my eyes. I taste it when I eat or drink,” Jake said, shaking his head.

  “I wonder how long any of us has left. Sometimes I think that we’re all destined to die here,” Ben said.

  “Stop it, right now, both of you.” Joshua grabbed each man’s wrist. “Look at me. Look at me. Look straight into my eyes and listen. If we keep thinking and talking about all the misery all around us, we’re as good as dead. We have to force ourselves to remember the good things and hold them close to our hearts. Somehow, we have to believe. We have to make ourselves believe that we are going to survive this, that our lives can and will be good again.”

  “Do you believe it?” Jake asked Joshua.

  “I do. I must. I hold on to hope. After all, things are looking better, aren’t they? America has entered the war, and there are some Germans who think that Germany is losing,” Joshua said.

  “Are you sure of this? How do you know ?” Ben asked.

  “I just know. I have a friend who told me.”

  “Who?” Jake asked.

  “That’s none of your business,” Joshua snapped. He didn’t like what Wolff stood for, but at the same time he would not go back on his promise to him. He would not reveal his source. “You just have to make yourself believe. Because the minute that you start accepting that you are going to die here, you will.”

  “He’s such a philosopher,” Ben said, patting Joshua on the back.

  “Not a philosopher. Just a man who is hopeful,” Joshua said. “Why don’t we talk about good things? Tell me, Ben, was your mother a good cook?”

  “She was. And I’m embarrassed to admit it, but I was a mama’s boy when I was a youngster. I had trouble breathing. Asthma, the doctors called it, and so I was never strong enough to play sports with the other boys. I would sit at home and read. I was always trying to help my mother in the house. And in turn, she tried to prepare my favorite foods whenever she could get her hands on the ingredients.”

  “Like what?”

  “She baked a strudel that was so delicious it melted in your mouth.”

  “I thought you told me you were married, or did you have a girlfriend. Sorry, I can’t remember,” Joshua said.

  “I was married to a headstrong woman who left me. She took my son. In all fairness, she was trying to do right by our boy. She got him out of the Lodz ghetto. I have not seen or heard from either of them since.”

  “I’m sorry,” Joshua said.

  “I’ll tell you what . . . she was a lousy cook,” Ben said, laughing. Then all three laughed. “Her name was Lila; ours was an arranged marriage. She was very beautiful, and I came from a financially comfortable home. That’s why she was interested in marrying me. My father was in the garment production business. We owned a small factory. I attended a university for a few years. I was going to study accounting. My parents thought education was important; they insisted on accounting. I really wanted to teach and maybe, someday, even write a book. When Lila’s father approached my father with the possibility of a match, my father presented the idea to me. I met her and was smitten by her looks. So I agreed to the marriage. Shortly after, Lila got pregnant and gave birth to my son, Moishe. But then a year later, the Jews were no longer permitted to attend any university, so my parents just assumed I would take over the family business."

  “Did you love her?” Jake asked.

  “I don’t know if you would call it love. I cared for her, and I miss my son. But the real love of my life was a girl I met in the ghetto after Lila left. Her name was Zelda. That’s the girlfriend you remember me telling you about.” Then he went on to tell his two friends all about what happened with Zelda, her children, and Rumkowski. “But you know what’s kind of funny? Before Rumkowski sent Zelda away, I was never the sort of fellow who could stand up for himself. But when I went to see Rumkowski that day when I got home and found Zelda gone, I found a strength in myself that I never knew was there. Would you believe that I told him that someday I would kill him? I can’t believe I had the courage to say it, but I did. Me—Ben Rabinowitz.” He gave a short laugh. “I’ve always been such a nebbish and a coward. I guess love changes a person. God, I miss Zelda.”

  “Rumkowski was a real bastard. I’m just waiting for the transport that brings him in here,” Jake said, “because you know that the Nazis aren’t going to spare him, don’t you? They’ll throw him in here just like the rest of us when he is no longer of any use to them.”

  “What did he do to you?” Ben asked.

  “He had one of the idiots whom he hired as his policemen throw my parents on a transport while I was at work one
day. He’s a real son of a bitch. Only a real son of a bitch would collaborate with the Nazis the way he did. I think he thought he was one of them. But believe me, they’ll turn on him. To them Chaim Rumkowski is nothing but another Jew. The only difference is that he hasn’t got a friend in the world except maybe his policemen. But all the other Jews from Lodz hate him.” Jake’s face was red with anger.

  “I don’t know how a man can turn on his own people the way Rumkowski did,” Ben said.

  “I didn’t know the man. But extreme situations reveal a person’s true nature,” Joshua said.

  “What do you mean by that?” Jake asked.

  “I mean that being put into a position of power by the Nazis gave Rumkowski an opportunity to save himself. He could have tried harder to help the others in the ghetto but he didn’t. Deep down the man was a coward. He was self-serving. Now I’m not saying that we aren’t all self-serving to a point. But just how far a man will go to save himself tells you a lot about his character,” Joshua said.

  “What would you have done”—Jake looked at Joshua earnestly—“if you’d been in Rumkowski’s position?”

  “I don’t know. I’d like to think I would help my fellow Jews. But it’s hard to say what one will do when confronted with danger and possibly death.”

  “Jake, I have agonized over whether I should ask you this or not,” Ben blurted.

  “Ask me what?”

  Ben took a long moment, and then he sighed. “Ask you if you know anything about what happened to my girl. Her name, as I told you, was Zelda: Zelda Lipman. Do you recall anyone by that name passing through the showers . . . or, God forbid, the gas chambers?”

  “Oh!” Jake nodded slowly, then he looked away. “I wish I could help you find your Zelda. I wish I could confirm that she is safe. But I don’t remember anyone by those names. There have been so many people who have come through here, people whose names I never knew.”

  “It would have been a day or maybe a couple of days before I arrived.”

  “I honestly don’t remember them,” Jake said.

  “Well”—Ben bit his lower lip—“that's good. That’s good news. Perhaps they are still alive.”

  “Yes, perhaps they are,” Joshua said, patting his friend’s shoulder.

  “What about you, Josh? Did you have someone special in your life?” Ben asked.

  “It’s different for us, homosexuals I mean. It’s harder to meet someone and form a lasting love affair. I had a childhood friend. His name was David; I was in love with him, but he never knew.“ Josh smiled. “I never told him. And then he left Germany with his family in thirty-six. His father was a scientist of some kind. I’m not sure where they went. I’ve always believed that had he known how I felt about him he would have declared his love for me too. I could see it in his eyes when we talked. But neither of us had the courage to speak the words. Anyway, I’m glad he got out. I’m glad he never had to come here to Auschwitz.”

  “Did you ever tell your parents that you were a homosexual?”

  “It was just me and my mother. But no, I never told her. I never knew my father. My mother was an independent type of woman. She was an artist, a brilliant artist. She had one dramatic love affair after another. Maybe it was because she was painfully beautiful, and men found it hard to resist her. But she was also very moody, and her love affairs never worked out. She suffered terribly from depression. When she was in the throes of one of her deep dark spells, she would lie in bed for days at a time without eating or speaking to anyone, even me. I was just a child, and it terrified me. But when she was happy, she was as bright as the sun. She sang to me in her lovely soprano voice and took me to the park and to the zoo. I thought she was the most beautiful creature on earth, and I wanted to be like her. She was so graceful, so lovely. When she walked down the street everyone’s head turned.”

  “She was taken by the Nazis, I assume,” Jake said.

  “Not my mother. Oh no. The Nazis didn’t have to kill her. She did it herself,” Joshua said, shaking his head. Then he took a long hard breath. “I came home from school one day and found her dead of an overdose. I don’t know if it was accidental or intentional. It didn’t matter which it was. The only thing that mattered to me was that she was gone.”

  “I’m sorry,” Ben said. “Maybe we should stop talking about our past.”

  “No, it’s good to remember. I don’t have much to hold on to, but when I get out of here I am going to go and look for David, and maybe I’ll even tell him how I feel. You want to know something crazy?”

  “Sure,” Ben said.

  “The more I think about him, the more I believe that he loved me too. But it’s hard for a person to admit to himself that he might be a homosexual. So I think we both hid it from each other. I could be wrong. I could be very wrong. But the idea that he loved me too is what keeps me going in here.”

  “I guess if we’re all telling stories about our past, I’ll tell you mine,” Jake said. “I grew up poor in a rough part of town. When you’re a Jew in a poor German neighborhood, full of unemployed drunks, you’d better learn to fight. And that’s what I did. I was a prize fighter. I spent hours lifting weights and training every day. I don’t know if you realize this, but most men only last a few months working as sonderkommandos. That’s because they aren’t physically strong enough to take the job. I am different. I have known harsh treatment all my life.”

  “What did your parents say?” Ben asked.

  “My parents weren’t around. I ran away from home at fourteen. I lived on the streets. It was better than watching my father waste away from drinking while my mother was constantly whining and begging him to stop.”

  “Did you have a girl?” Joshua asked.

  “Plenty of girls. I never wanted a steady girl. And now, I’m glad I never had one. Love makes you vulnerable. As long as I don’t have to worry about anyone else but me, I can survive this place. But if I had someone I cared about, I’d be worried about her constantly, and I think that might break me.”

  Later that night after Jake left and the men were all in bed trying to sleep, Ben whispered to Joshua. “I never told this to anyone. But on the day I was transported, one of Rumkowski’s policemen shoved me into the train car, but before he did, he said that he had sex with Zelda.”

  “Rumkowski the Judenrat in the Lodz ghetto, who we were talking about earlier?”

  “Yes. And this fellow who said this to me was one of his henchmen. He was young. Couldn’t have been more than thirty. Handsome too. I’ve been sick about it ever since. I keep asking myself what happened. Did he and Zelda have an affair? And why did he feel the need to tell me? I think about him all the time. He told me his name was Caleb Ornstein. I have gone over it and over it in my mind. I am sure I didn’t know him before all of this. So why did he want to hurt me so badly? I can’t figure it out.”

  “The more you dwell on it, the longer it hurts you. And the longer it hurts you, the more this Ornstein character poisons your mind. Stop thinking about him and what he said. It can’t do you any good.”

  “I wonder what happened to him. I know this is crazy, but sometimes I wonder if he somehow escaped because he hasn’t shown up here. I wonder if he got away.”

  “His last name was Ornstein?”

  “Yes, Caleb Ornstein. He whispered it to me as he pushed me on the train.”

  “That’s a Jewish last name. He’s a Jew.”

  “Yes he was. All of Rumkowski’s policemen were Jews.”

  “Then Ornstein could not possibly have escaped entirely. He might have run away. And I can’t tell you what his personal hell looks like, but I can promise you that the Nazis have found a way to make his life miserable. Even if it’s only through guilt or memories.”

  “You’re probably right.”

  CHAPTER 20

  December 1942

  On the second Sunday in the month of December, Jake arrived at Ben’s block early in the morning before the first roll call. He was tremblin
g with anxiety. His breath was shallow, and his face was so gray it almost appeared to be a sickly shade of pea green.

  “What’s the matter with you?” Joshua asked as he got ready to go to work in the kitchen.

  “Some of the sonderkommandos tried to escape from here. I hear that as punishment they plan to gas all of us.”

  Ben walked over to his two friends. “What’s wrong? You look terrible. Are you sick?” he asked Jake.

  “He’s terrified and rightly so,” Joshua said. “Listen to me carefully. You have to find a way to make yourself useful if only for the next few days. I will do what I can to help you.”

  “What can you do? You’re in the same position as the rest of us,” Jake said.

  “Yes, that’s true. But let’s just say I have a friend who might be able to help,” Joshua said, thinking of Wolff.

  “Who is your friend? You never told me about any friend you had,” Ben said.

  “How do you think you got transferred from the rubber factory into the kitchen?”

  “You asked this friend, you are talking about, to have me transferred?”

  “Yes. But you must not tell anyone else about this. No one needs to know.”

  Ben nodded.

  “You too, Jake. Promise me.”

  “I promise,” Jake said softly.

  After work that evening, Joshua disappeared. Ben assumed he’d gone to find his friend who Ben also assumed must be a Nazi. He was afraid for Joshua. After all, he’d learned that a Jew could call a Nazi a friend one minute and the next minute, find himself in line to be gassed by the same Nazi friend. They simply could not be trusted, and he was worried. He’d come to love Joshua and Jake like brothers. They were his best friends, and although they were not his blood, he considered them family.