As the children grew, hopes returned that she might once again get a solid nine or ten hours but there were always breakfasts and packed lunches to be made or some other crisis that needed her attention; mornings in a household with three children were anything but calm. And then she had joined Saul at work but by then it did not matter. The old habit was superseded by the new one and now she could not sleep past six a.m. even if she wanted to. Saul leaving in the early hours never bothered her, she could sleep through that happily unaware of his departure, but what woke her tonight was the unfamiliar sound of the shower running.
She had been swimming in a small pool by a waterfall. The children were there, but in the dream they were still teenagers. She looked around for Saul but he was absent and then she remembered that he was at work. Looking up to the small cliff she saw that Aaron was preparing to jump into the pool. Hannah shouted at him to stop; she had no idea how deep the water was. Aaron pretended not to hear her warnings and jumped…
She was up now and at this time in the morning she would not be able to go back to sleep. She thought she could make coffee for them both and perhaps they would have time to talk; there were many things she wanted to get off her chest, including this foolish attempt to find a dead SS soldier. She flicked on the bedside light and instantly noticed the pile of clothes on the floor. That was also unlike him. She sat up and rested a beat before standing and making her way over to the pile.
Saul returned to the bedroom, dressed in his fresh clothes and was confronted by the sight of Hannah crying in bed. He looked to where he had left the soiled clothes and saw that they had been tidied away. The full-length mirror that they had moved just the other night reflected the scene and Saul found that he much preferred to watch her reflection rather than be turned to stone by the real thing.
‘What’s wrong with you,’ she asked after a long while of trying and failing to stop the tears.
Saul did not answer, he could not bring himself to break his gaze from the mirror and for a moment he hoped he might slip away again, never to return to this existence. But there was no control, there never would be. He was on a downward spiral and it was only a matter of time before he could not hide it anymore. It dawned on him that she deserved an explanation but standing there, witness to her pain, he only wanted to bury it deeper. The image of what he had become reflected back to him via the mirror, he wanted to cry too, but knew that was impossible. He had not cried since his first day on the job and on that day he had cried enough for a lifetime. He was old and suddenly there was nowhere else for the shame to go. There was no more space in his being for it.
She forced herself to stop crying.
‘Saul, I want you to talk to me.’
Saul turned from the mirror sat on the edge of the bed and found her hand.
‘I have dementia. Alzheimer’s they think, but they won’t be sure until after I’m dead.’
There was a sharp intake of breath and Hannah stopped breathing. She had forgotten how. Her mind went blank and she had a feeling in her stomach that she had not had for years. It was the feeling she got when she knew she had done wrong and mother would make her wait for her father to come home and punish her.
She started to breathe again and Saul noticed the control that came over her countenance, almost a calm: there would be no more tears now. This was Hannah at her strongest. She would want to know everything and he would tell her.
Hannah moved along the bed and embraced him from behind. She still carried the excess warmth from the bed and Saul relaxed.
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘I thought-‘ but there was no reason that he could think of presently that excused not telling her.
‘Thought what?’ and then more to the point ‘How long?’
‘Maybe five years. But the when is not important. At sixteen I knew you can’t plan tomorrow, so I never did. Served me well don’t you think?’
‘We will find a way. They must be able to do something.’ She was more resolute and Saul recognised that tone of hope as something he had also experienced on an ad hoc basis. Better to burst that bubble straight away. He removed the tin of Cotropic from his pocket.
‘This is what they can do.’
‘Mints?’
Saul shook his head and opened the tin showing her the pills.
‘They’re supposed to help with cog- cogn. I’m not sure they work at all.’ He took a pill and swallowed it. ‘Most people think Alzheimer’s is about forgetting. But I can’t stop remembering, Hannah. Things I tried my whole life to forget. No sleep: no dreams. But now my dreams come when I’m awake, and I can’t stop them.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘I worked as a Sonderkommando at Auschwitz.’
The shock of the announcement caused her to release him, they faced each other now and he could see the disbelief in her eyes.
‘That’s not true. They were all killed.’
‘A myth. At the end they tried to kill all us Geheimnistraeger (bearers of secrets), but in the chaos some of us mingled in with the other prisoners. Many of us survived the death march.’
She was incredulous.
‘How could you keep that from me? You killed-’
‘We did not kill!’ His shout took them both by surprise. It took great effort to put a lid back on the pan. He had no reason to be angry at her. How was she to know what they did?
‘I tried to tell. People thought I was mad, that such things could never happen. In the end I learned to keep my mouth shut. And then, when I thought I could go no further, when I thought they were right and that I was mad, I met you. You were so beautiful. How could I tell you?’
Her tears flowed again and Saul wiped them with his hand.
‘I forgot. But it never forgot me. After all these years - I don’t want to die back in the camps: it’s not fair.’
‘That’s why you want to catch this man?’
Saul nodded.
‘It might make it easier if you told the kids the truth,’ she said.
‘No.’
‘Why not?’
‘I don’t want my children to know what I did.’
‘If you keep going like this they will find out sooner or later.’
‘No. I don’t want them to remember me like that. Promise me you won’t tell.’
She nodded her head reluctantly.
‘I promise’.
CHAPTER 18
It was not hard to find what she was looking for. The German fastidiousness when it came to record keeping had proved both to their credit – during the war – and their discredit afterwards: the records had formed the basis of the trials and were invaluable in obtaining convictions and death sentences; even to this day the files were a great source of information to historians who wanted to prove or disprove theories or for people who simply wanted to try and understand the ins and outs of how and why. She could not understand why that war, in particular, fascinated people more than any other; she at least had a family connection.
Mira had headed to the Freie Universität Berlin, which had an excellent history department and one of the best, most modern libraries in West Germany. West Berlin was meant to be a showcase of the success and benefits of capitalism and hence had received almost limitless financial support from the allies and indeed the German state: the modern spacious library was a testament to this commitment.
As she browsed the records, that were even easier to find with the new computer catalogue than she had hoped, her mind was ablaze with the sheer excitement of the opportunity that had presented itself: A real hunt for a Nazi war criminal.
She had arrived in Berlin with the firm belief that she was the end of the line as far as her work was concerned; but here she had been given a chance not only to succeed but to excel. There was no doubt in her mind now that she could be published and employed, perhaps even in an institution such as this. Berlin may end up providing her with an escape into a
world that she had resigned herself from. She was hopeful.
When she found the photograph of the man she was looking for her heart leapt and she had to mentally restrain her self from jumping for joy. She looked around to see if anyone had noticed but all she saw were the usual surreptitious looks from male students too shy to approach her. Smiling she turned back to the picture. Manfred Fuchs looked dashing in his uniform: proud and handsome. She studied a face that gave no indication of the sickness that must have been present in the brain.
As she read, her mind relaxed and turned the subject matter into just one more out of a plethora of research projects that she had carried out in her young life. She slipped the well-chewed end of a biro into her mouth and gave it a comforting squeeze. Any information she found here would need to be checked and cross-referenced if she was to make use of it. Supporting evidence would need to be examined as well as any testimonies from witnesses. She made a note on her pad and glanced again at the photograph, speculating on how this man would look if he were still alive today.
#
Later that day Saul continued his investigation. Mira had left earlier to find out what she could on the man he was looking for and Saul felt reassured having someone else working with him. It had been the right decision to involve them. Even if something happened to him now at least there were others to sound the alarm. Having popped a pill he left the house telling Hannah he was going for a walk. She had eyed him dubiously but said nothing. It was not that he wanted to hide anything from her anymore, but rather he wanted to spare her the worry. He suspected she knew what he was up to anyway but had decided to give her tacit support on account of his condition. This was his chosen word as he could not bring himself to use illness or sickness or disease or ailment. Condition was better, more neutral.
The address on the card Rudi had given him was in Schöneberg, a normal looking apartment block on a narrow street near Wittenbergplatz. Saul pressed the unassuming buzzer labeled Coral and a mature female voice told him to make his way to the first floor. Standing outside the apartment, hoping no one who lived in the building would walk past he became frustrated at the length of time they took to open the door. What was the point of making him wait? They knew he was on his way, they had buzzed him up just a moment ago. There was a peephole in the door and Saul saw a shadow pass across it. The door opened not a second after that. Apparently he had passed whatever criteria they had.
A middle-aged woman stood in a dimly lit corridor and beckoned Saul in. He stepped into the apartment without hesitation, glad to be out of sight. She closed the door behind him and as his eyes adjusted to the gloom he made out the wrinkled features of her overly made up face. So this is what happens when they get too old, he thought.
He followed her down a corridor that seemed to maintain the scents of all the perfumes that had ever traveled its length: it was like being in the make up department at KaDeWe with each section belonging to a different brand.
The woman led him into a bedroom and she indicated that he should sit on the bed. He did so. There was a large mirror at the head of the bed and soft music played from somewhere adding a romantic touch to a place that was anything but. In contrast to the corridor this room smelled of incense and the assault from the multitude of aromas made Saul ill. He almost smiled at the thought of throwing up - what would she do?
‘Any particular wish?’ she said, her voice husky from a life of smoking.
Saul shook his head. Curiosity had gotten the better of him. He knew whom he wanted to see but he was here now and wanted to see them all. He had never been in a place like this and would more than likely never be back.
‘I’ll send them in then,’ she said and left him to enjoy the music.
He looked around the room. Aside from the bed there was very little furniture. A chair stood in one of the corners and there were a few cheap paintings on the wall. Heavy curtains blocked the daylight. Here was anytime. The door opened and Saul’s head snapped back to see a young woman in nothing but her underwear walk into the room. She extended her hand.
‘I’m Lily,’ she said with a smile.
‘Hello.’
She turned and left without another word. Saul watched her perfect backside as it wiggled out of the room. A second later the door opened again and the process repeated and repeated. Scantily clad woman of all shapes and sizes introduced themselves to Saul with, he assumed, the hope of being chosen.
Marie came in: she was in her twenties and carried straight blonde hair and a winning smile. Saul could see why Isaac had chosen her. There was a sympathetic quality in her eyes, which smiled in sync with her lips. He had not seen this in the other girls. As she turned he noticed the swirls of a tattoo on her lower back.
The next one was dressed like a schoolgirl and looked like she could have been fourteen. This killed any lustful thoughts that Saul had, who automatically thought of his daughters. They were much older now of course, but the awareness that these women were someone’s children sobered him up. Up until now they had just been objects that existed in this space only.
In that sense the work here must have a distant similarity to the work he had done in Auschwitz. True, no one died but had they not very quickly started to see the bodies as objects and not as people? Surely these women saw the men they met in the same light. There could be no feelings or emotions in a place like this. Get the job done fast and move onto the next body.
The parade of flesh was over and the Madam came back in.
‘Did you see anything you liked?’
Thing? You mean woman?
‘Marie,’ he said.
‘Good choice,’ she agreed. ‘I’ll send her to you.’
Once again Saul was alone and this time he found that he was nervous. He had never had sex with any woman other than Hannah and had thought that all that was behind him and yet something stirred deep inside his being. Recalling the joys of physical sex he pondered if he should experience it just one more time and with a young woman.
Marie slipped into the room and instantly put him at ease with her smile. He marvelled at how comfortable she was with her body, how confidently she moved and how seemingly nonchalantly she could arouse with moves that must have been perfected over many encounters such as this.
‘Would you like a drink?’ she asked.
‘No thank you.’
He paused, lost in her eyes for a moment.
‘How much-?’
‘It depends what you want to do and for how long,’ she said all matter of fact.
‘Just talk. I don’t know how long.’
‘One hundred buys you half an hour,’ she seemed to be tiring of the game with the shy man.
Saul reached into his wallet and handed her the money.
‘Back in a moment,’ she said getting up and leaving Saul alone for the third time. He noticed his hands were trembling so he stood and tucked them into his jacket pockets. He had paid for a prostitute and now all he was going to do was talk, he thought, pacing the room.
Saul waited for what seemed like an eternity for her to return. When she did it was like she had become a predator, striding into the room all-powerful and making straight to the bed, stretching out like a lioness. Money checked and counted it was down to business: the clock was ticking. She beckoned him over and he sat on the edge of the bed trying to meet her gaze.
‘I picked you because you know a friend of mine.’
‘I get a lot of recommendations,’ she said. ‘Why don’t we get more comfortable?’
She started to undo his jacket but Saul stopped her with a gentle touch of his hands on hers. He was almost shocked by just how soft her hands were.
‘I’m a friend of Isaac Blum.’
‘So what?’ she seemed irritated.
‘I thought you should know he’s dead.’
Marie was suddenly not so powerful. He could see the pain in her eyes and she seemed to shrink.
‘I’m s
orry,’ he continued. ‘Did you love him?’
But it was all over. She got up to leave and Saul could have kicked himself for asking such a stupid question.
‘I’m going to pay your debt,’ he said after her.
She stopped in her tracks and remained with her back to him.
‘What do you want?’
‘Nothing,’ he answered. ‘I just want you to be free.’
She turned to face him and slipped her bra off.
‘I’m always free. Just never cheap.’
The irony was not lost on Saul, but all questions had been wiped from his mind and he could only admire the body of the twenty something.
#
Saul exited the building to find Steffan and Torsten waiting for him.
‘Enjoy yourself?’ enquired Steffan sarcastically. ‘I’d like to talk to you if I may.’
Saul looked from Steffan to Torsten’s knowing smile and then to the car that was parked along the pavement.
‘Can we sit in the car?’
‘Sure,’ said Steffan. ‘That’s quite a nice shiner you’ve got there.’
Saul ignored him. The car was hot, stuffy and also smelled of smoke but Saul preferred it to talking in the street.
‘Are you following me?’ said Saul.
Steffan answered his question with a demand.
‘Tell me about Rudi Pascal.’
‘Are you following me?’ repeated Saul.
‘Do we need to?’ said Torsten.
‘I was followed after the - funeral. Was that you?’
The two officers exchanged a look.
‘What did he look like?’ said Steffan.
‘Foreign, thin.’
‘Did he wear glasses with thick frames?’
Saul thought, trying to remember but forgetting the existence of his cheat sheet.
The White House Page 12
