“Minsk was always at the centre of their hearts. They never called Philadelphia home, it was always Minsk. They worked so hard to make ends meet. Initially, they relied on charity after arriving in New York. The two of them began working in a hotel on the Lower East Side where they lived. My father worked as a porter and my mother was a cleaner. A year or two later they heard that a distant cousin had opened a hotel in Philadelphia. They moved there and worked their way up and eventually my father co-owned the hotel.
“I think they always assumed they would return to what they called home. My mother passed away last year and her last words were ‘the trip is never too hard, if you know you’re going home.’ At the time I didn’t know what she meant but after spending time here I am beginning to understand.
“They were never convinced by the concept of the Israeli state. My father has always held the belief that people can live together in harmony.
“But you don’t feel the same way?”
“No.”
“As simple as that?”
“Maybe once I believed it. I don’t think the Jews will ever be safe in this world. History tells us that. Things may never be as bad as the Holocaust again but anti-Semitism always rises. A politician needs a scapegoat and he blame the Jews. A politician needs an easy answer to a complex question and he endorses killing the Jews, a politician craves money and he takes it from the Jews. And very rarely does anyone else stand against this.”
Jacob is probably right. The powerful will always act in their own interest, no matter how dehumanising or abhorrent that can be. It is a depressing thought, the hopeless human condition.
“I’m sorry Ana, I often start ranting about this to people,” Jacob laughs nervously.
“It’s OK, I have friends who are exactly like that.” I say. I realise that Jacob’s research may be linked to our search, “Have you ever heard of a man called Albert Tremmick?”
He raises a delightful eyebrow and beckons me over. Jacob picks up a folder that is lying on the desk. He opens it up and it contains many A4-sized photos inside plastic sheets. He turns to a page with a black and white photo of a smirking man in an overcoat.
His hair is full and dark, a hint of lines are developing on the forehead. A square jaw and chubby cheeks. He could be mistaken for a neighbourhood barber if it wasn’t for his eyes. They are round balls of emptiness, conveying zero compassion. Jacob clears his throat and begins talking:
“Dr Tremmick, alumnus of Ludwig Maximilian University of Munich worked at Auschwitz after spells at Dieselstrasse and Ravensbrück concentration camps. He was obsessed with the human brain. Many of his experiments were incredibly cruel and painful. He was known to have performed brain surgery on patients without anaesthetic. He had a bunch of madcap ideas relating to ethnicity and brain shapes. His brand of eugenics quickly fell out of favour after the war.
“Josef Mengele was known as the Angel of Death and the head of the programme but Verschuer and Tremmick were both big hitters. Our research in recent years has brought to light a lot more about the last two. We call the three of them the Unholy Trinity here at the museum.”
“Only one out of three left,” I mutter to myself. Jacob looks at me quizzically. I hold his gaze and he doesn’t look away. I’m not sure what is happening here. Is this that moment you see in the movies when a couple realise they fancy each other? I doubt that generally happens whilst chatting about genocide but I’ll take what I can get.
“Mengele died in Brazil and Verschuer was killed in Germany. Tremmick is the last to survive.”
“If he’s still alive,”
“He’s alive,” I say, “His work hasn’t finished. Not yet,”
Jacob continues to peer at me in a very strange way. I have said too much already, I need to meet Janko and find that address.
“I know the Mossad heard he was in Berlin in eighty-one, he would be in his seventies by now.”
“His age doesn’t absolve his sins,”
“Oh, I agree Ana. One hundred percent,”
“How did you know the Mossad were aware he was in Berlin?”
“Do you think I’m an Israeli spy?” Jacob finds the notion very amusing, “It was leaked in the Israeli press, I think they thought that because he was on the run it might shake a few apples from the tree,”
“OK,” I’m unsure about the relevance of the trees and apples, “That makes sense. So they don’t know where he is now?”
“Well I’ve read nothing in Haaretz. Maybe the Mossad are keeping it quiet. Do you know where he is? Is the Romani Mossad chasing him?”
“Who knows, maybe they already caught him?” I say and wink at Jacob. Jacob laughs and pours us both another cup of coffee.
“My mother told me to not drink more than one cup of Joe a day. Oh boy, if she knew how many mugs a day I knock back now! So tell me Ana, how did a young Yugoslavian girl find her way to Poland?”
“By bus,” I say, “I’ve been travelling around. I came from Berlin yesterday,”
“Wow, you must be sick of the border checks in the Eastern Bloc. I was questioned a few times for being American,”
“It’s OK. All my documents appear to be fine. Talking of documents, do you have any documents about the Roma and Albert Tremmick?”
“I do. In fact, I have quite a lot of information,” Jacob walks to a filing cabinet, opens the middle drawer and pulls out a couple of large books. “Are you looking for something in particular? A family member perhaps?”
“I’m looking on behalf of a friend.”
“The second book was compiled by Rachel, who used to work here. She was an expert on Tremmick and his experiments. I mentioned before he had a thing for brains. I hope you don’t mind me going into detail about what he did?”
“No, it’s fine,” I reply, despite my massive misgivings.
“He was truly obsessed by the brain. He had a theory of brains that ethnicity and nationality affected the size and shape of brains. He thought gypsies had the smallest brains. I hope I don’t offend you Ana,”
“It’s fine,” I wave an impatient hand, “Tell me please,”
“His belief was that the Roma were intrinsically criminal. He thought he would find some evidence that would support it. Similarly he had a belief that Jews were congenitally preconditioned towards dishonesty and deceit. His hypothesis was that Jews would have some odd part of the brain shaped differently to ethnically ‘pure’ Germans. That gypsies would have something similar poking out or poking in,”
“It’s crazy,” I say. This man was clearly insane.
“At the time, these theories weren’t too outlandish. Even in America the study of eugenics was commonplace. Lots of states practised sterilisation to prevent certain undesirables from breeding.”
I start leafing through the pages from Rachel’s book. One of the books underneath is an index of names. It appears to be photocopied pages of the actual Nazi files for when people were taken here.
I flick to nineteen forty-four and start scanning for names. It takes a couple of minutes and I find out what I was hoping for. Or maybe I was hoping not to see it.
A registration document about Gunari’s family. A black triangle has been coloured in the corner. It lists his parents Marie Daniel and Michel Daniel and their children and ages: Claire, age three; Pali, age six; Duriya, age nine; Gunari, age eleven and Nadia, age thirteen.
A gasp escapes me. It’s strange seeing this all written down. I compare the details to Rachel’s book on the off chance that I can find a link.
If ever I wanted to remain in ignorance, it is now. I see that Tremmick performed an experiment on Pali Daniel, the younger sister of my friend Gunari. The experiment consisted of electrical shocks being applied to the little girl’s brain to see if it would stimulate brain function. The girl lasted five hours of shocks and mental acuity tests before the largest shock proved too much for her.
I begin crying and Jacob puts his arm around my shoulders and tells me everything is going t
o be OK. The total opposite seems more likely. I’m not sure I’ll ever feel OK again. I continue weeping in to Jacob’s chest. This monster Tremmick is going to hell and I will be the one to put him there. After a few minutes I manage to compose myself.
“Do you have a photocopier?” I pull away from Jacob despite a great internal urge to stay in his arms forever and attempt to suppress the tears.
Jacob nods and helps me to copy some of the files. He doesn’t tell me it’s forbidden to copy the documents. At the copier my hands shake putting paper in the machine. Jacob puts his hand on mine and gives it a quick squeeze. A small gesture but a reminder of the humanity available to all if we choose it.
Rebellion and Resurrection
Thursday, 8 May 1986
I take the documents from Jacob and we stare at each other. Something rolls in my belly, whether it’s cramp or lust I can’t tell. Jacob isn’t conventionally good looking, he is pretty much what I would expect a postgraduate history student to look like. But his gawky face with its big ears and nose is very endearing.
“Thank you Jacob,” I say. I can’t say anything else. The only other things I could mention would sound trite or stupid. He smiles broadly, flashing his shiny American teeth and rubs my shoulders. I walk towards the door to depart the office.
“Do you actually think Tremmick is still alive?” Jacob says.
“I’m ninety-nine per cent sure he’s still around,” I say turning back round to face him. Jacob is caught up in thought, a frown creasing his forehead.
“Hopefully someone will catch up with him one day and give him what he deserves,” Jacob says.
“I wouldn’t mind reading that headline in the newspaper. I’ll keep an eye on the Israeli press for updates,”
“Goodbye Ana,” Jacob says, his frown deepening. I nod and head out of the office and a few seconds later I am back outside in the blazing heat of the camp. It doesn’t take long to find Janko, I didn’t think he’d stay on the bus all day.
Janko is stood on a path seemingly looking out to nowhere. I join him in contemplating endless nothingness. The sun is now resting as low as the buildings. Janko notices my arrival and raises his hand slightly. He seems so frail today, I want to take him away from all of this. We stay looking at the great void for quite a few minutes.
“Have you seen Gunari’s tattoos on his arms?” Janko says.
“Yeah, they’re a bit messy. I think he changed his mind halfway through and got new designs,”
“In a way Ana, that’s what he did. When Gunari and his family and the rest of the Roma arrived by train they were forced to take a communal bath. They were forced to sew black triangles in to their clothing to indicate their ‘asocial’ status. Finally, they were tattooed on their left forearms. The letter ‘Z’ for Zigeuner, the German word gypsy, preceded his number, 10625. I can still remember it.
“He was only a child when he arrived so as he got older the tattoo increased in size. He kept the tattoo as a reminder during his boxing career but when he joined our cause the first thing he did was obliterate it. You may not have noticed it but it’s a Romani translation of a bible quote,”
“That doesn’t surprise me,” I say, “What does it say?”
“‘The memory of the righteous is blessed, But the name of the wicked will rot.’” Janko turns towards me and fiercely hugs me. I am taken aback by the spontaneity and vehemence of the gesture.
“Are you OK Janko, are you tired?” I say.
“I’m fine Ana. I’m thinking about Gunari and his escape and that is giving me strength.”
“How did he escape from here?”
“Take a look at this place today Ana. Everything is still, like a photograph. I see it as a place beyond history, beyond time. If you came here during the war, this whole camp was a hive of noise and activity from early morning to late at night. People would be taken off to forced labour from four or five in the morning until the evening. These camps held thousands of people living in enforced squalor.
“In the May of forty-four, there was an attempt by the SS to exterminate everyone in the Zigeunerfamilienlager, the Gypsy Family Camp. The guards were not prepared for the ferocity of the response from prisoners. Our people resisted with everything they could find to hand: Spades, iron bars, anything they could lay their hands on.
“They fought off the SS and barricaded themselves in their camp until the Germans pulled out. During the melee Gunari told me what happened. He was battling the SS alongside his father. His father told him that reinforcements were coming from all over the camp. Now was his chance to escape. His dad told him to run.
“And that is what Gunari did. He ran and ran, he told me he still hears the bullets that passed by his head. Guards were taken aback as more and more people from the camp followed Gunari out of the camp. The sounds of gunfire and shouts kept Gunari going.
“He continued running and at some point, he isn’t quite sure when he realised it but he was out of the camp. A few other people had made it too, including some Jewish prisoners who he said were in such a state of emaciation they looked dead already. Somehow they had summoned the courage and stamina to burst out of there.
“Gunari said they looked virtually like corpses. They were wandering around unsure what to do next. Gunari considered taking them with him but his father had told him that if any one of his children escape they have to look after themselves first.
“He escaped into the surrounding fields. Gunari spent weeks travelling south foraging from local farms and sleeping in barns or sometimes he would climb up trees and nap there. Eventually he made his way south to Budapest where he stayed until the end of the war before making his way back to France. Not even a teenage boy and he managed to survive all of that.”
“What happened to everyone left in the camp?”
“The SS held back for a couple of months. Eventually at the start of August they moved in and after another huge battle they killed every remaining Roma and Sinti prisoner,”
“Janko, I was speaking to someone who works here. A boy called Jacob. And I read a document about Gunari’s sister,” I say, I feel myself becoming emotional again. Janko appears surprised.
“I don’t need to know Ana. I can imagine what it said. Keep that in your thoughts Ana, whenever you’re feeling hopeless. Remember that you are not without hope, that you can bring justice to these people, and avenge those we have lost,”
“He is evil,” I say.
“Pure evil. We don’t have long, Ana. Tremmick will be aware of the laboratory incident sooner rather than later. He may already have fled. We need to find his address and travel there as soon as we can.”
I hug Janko again and we hold each other for a few minutes. I think he needs it more than he would be willing to admit. In all honesty I am in desperate need of some tenderness too.
“Jacob told me that there is a guestbook for visitors. I think that will be our best shot,”
“Come on, let’s waste no more time,”
We walk off back towards the museum entrance to locate the visitor books. Janko is speeding ahead of me, the hint of a mission and he has re-found his mojo. Janko arrives at the main entrance first and enters. I follow him and I am glad it is virtually empty. The schoolchildren have departed. It is only Janko and I and a couple of staff members counting down the minutes until their shifts end.
Janko starts flicking through the pages of the visitor book. It is a huge book, large white square pages filled with words. Some of the dedications are very long indeed.
“There’s so many entries, how do we know what we are looking for?” I say.
“I’m checking the dates, I have an idea,” Janko keeps his eyes on the pages, quickly scanning the dates. After less than a minute he stops leafing through the pages and scrutinises the open book.
“The date is from last year, the twentieth of April - Hitler’s birthday,” Janko says.
“I’ve found it!” I almost scream, Janko puts his hand on my arm to kee
p me calm, as the staff have looked over to us “This is it. Look at what he wrote.”
My colleagues and I felt that our time spent at Auschwitz-Birkenau was very educational and instructive. I would love to have spent more time here but, alas, I am called away to pastures new. However I will use the lessons I learnt here to further strive towards creating a more harmonious society
A. Tremmick (Dr)
Apartment 4, 13 Rue des Roses, Monte Carlo 98000 Monaco
“Found you, you bastard,” Janko whispers. I hold his hand and we leave together.
Requiem
Friday, 9 May 1986
Yet again, the time approaches to make another disappearance. These last few years I have wondered whether my continued existence has been worthwhile. The clinic in Berlin failed to complete the radical advancements I anticipated and has been aborted. Along with our head of business development Michael Schwarzer too, according to Paul.
Beckermann called me up earlier today and told me the news. The body of Schwarzer was found in a bathtub filled with bleach and water at one of the company apartments in Kreuzberg. Beckermann swore that someone called by the flat this morning and tried turning a key in the lock. They must have run away once they found out the door was already unlocked.
Paul kept an eye out of the window and saw a man of about forty with brown hair and leather jacket walking out of the apartment and down the street. It would explain who has been answering the phone every day. This interloper has been impersonating the man running the day-to-day business. Now it’s all over, once this leaks in to the press the scandal may bring down both German governments so it may not be all bad news.
“Schwarzer is dead,” Paul said to me over the phone. “They killed my son and now they kill my nephew,”
“They are cowards,” I said.
“My poor boy. A son every father would be proud of. A doctor in my family, we were so proud of him. And these pigs murdered him in cold blood. Do you know they sliced his throat open like he was a dumb cow in an abattoir?”
The Wind and the Rain Page 23
