“Obviously. Don’t you think they suffer from some… personality disorder or some such? This is not a normal reaction to abuse, by any means.”
“A protection mechanism of some sort?” Hutson mused out loud. “A subconscious survival technique? I came across different ones when watching the prisoners but those were… not in the same class at all. However, the idea is similar.”
“That was part of my theory. Still, how does the developing of an affection fit into it?”
“Perhaps to minimize the trauma? What I mean is, the Jews, unlike German inmates, for instance, they were already sentenced to death, if not an instant one, then surely one through work, disease, or starvation. They were aware of it. They had nothing to hope for. In most cases, they had lost their entire families right after their arrival and themselves were being abused daily. Then, an authority figure, on whom their very lives were dependent, suddenly showed interest in them. They grabbed onto it because it meant survival, no matter for how short of a period. They understood that the authority figure was still an abuser but to protect themselves from further trauma by submitting to that abuser’s will, they taught themselves to see the abuser in a completely different light, as a savior, which made them seem better as well.”
“A sort of voluntary dissociative disorder?”
“Not as severe a case as a split personality but in the same spectrum, I’d say. They purposely confused themselves in order to protect whatever was left of their fragile psyche. By normalizing the relationship with the abuser, they weren’t as emotionally burdened by such a necessity as they would have been in any other case. Most victims of abuse recognize themselves as such – victims – and they suffer from such things as psychosis, depression, different neuroses, phobias, and so on and so forth. My teenager, though, appeared much calmer and more stable than the victims of group rape, for instance. Hence, my conclusion. What of your ‘wife’?”
“She seems calm when the husband is around. She definitely suffers from certain conditions which had developed during and after her incarceration – agoraphobia and social phobia are just two of them – and that’s according to the husband himself. But yes, in his company, she appears to be surprisingly calm and collected. Ordinarily, the victims break down during their testimonies. I had cases when they fainted even but as long as he held her hand, she was fine. And you’re right about another thing, she doesn’t see herself as a victim. Of the fascist regime, yes; but not of Dahler, that’s for sure.”
“Quite a subject for research is shaping up, eh?”
Dr. Hoffman chuckled. “Too few research subjects, unfortunately.”
“Is the case still open?”
“Yes. Helena’s sister will be testifying tomorrow.”
“I’d like to be present if it’s possible.”
Somehow, Dr. Hoffman had expected to hear that request. “Of course, Will. And, thank you.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
The lusterless sunlight tinted the courtroom with pallid gold. The well-polished benches creaked busily – everyone arrived early that morning, well ahead of the scheduled hour. There was something subtly different to the voices exchanging their usual pre-hearing chatter that day; the apathetic and slightly annoyed undertone, so characteristic of harassed Denazification tribunal lawyers, was absent from them. Ten minutes to nine. Lieutenant Carter, in a fresh uniform, was staring at the clock without blinking.
Near the window, Dr. Hutson sat on an empty spectators’ bench, his form partially hidden in the shadows. Dr. Hoffman concealed a grin at the sight of his colleague, whose face was alive with impatience. He only stopped his fidgeting when the Chairman had walked in and announced the court session open.
Róžínka Feldman was scheduled to take the witness stand first. Dahler and his wife sat next to each other as before, his hand atop of hers. He smiled at his sister-in-law and muttered a quiet greeting when she passed him by, to which Róžínka replied with a cool, curt nod. Helena’s face showed every emotion she felt – it was a damnable business dragging her only surviving family member into this courtroom but Helena had no choice.
Dr. Hoffman had learned by now that Róžínka was ten years Helena’s senior but if he hadn’t, he’d probably take her for Helena’s mother. Whereas Helena was pale and fragile, her appearance resembling more that of a porcelain doll – infinitely delicate but smooth and eternally youthful; Róžínka’s eyes alone told the story of a life their owner wouldn’t wish upon anyone. Two pools of liquid gloom, dark and brooding, crisscrossed by wrinkles and marred by the shadows that would forever haunt her, no matter how many years separated her from what she had been forced to endure. Two deep, bitter lines framed her mouth, pinched and unwilling to speak. Only the hair was perfectly black but Dr. Hoffman had a suspicion that the blackness was of the bottled type, for, without it, the woman’s head would have been entirely gray.
She regarded the Bible a bit quizzically but placed her hand on it nevertheless and diligently repeated the oath. The first superficial questions followed.
“State your name to the court, please.”
“Roza Feldman.”
“Age?”
“Thirty-five.”
Dr. Hutson regarded her with sympathy. She looked so much older than that.
“Your address?”
She uttered something unpronounceable in Hebrew or Yiddish, from which Dr. Hoffman only recognized, Palestine.
“Marital status?”
“Widow.”
The judge spared her the question about the children and Dr. Hoffman was grateful for that. She spoke a little about her life in Slovakia, about the German occupation, about the Hlinka Guard, about the new anti-Semitic policies imposed, and about the day when she learned that her sister went to register with the Germans.
“She lived with our parents before that. As soon as they heard rumors that the Germans would be taking young women to work in camps, they sent her to live with our gentile friends. Many families did so, in fact, to protect their children, but…” Róžínka sighed. “The Germans began terrifying the local population. The posters were plastered all over the country, saying that whoever was found guilty of hiding Jews would be prosecuted and sent to the work camps as well. So, Helena, not wishing to cause our friends any trouble, went and registered with the German office. Our friends later gave us the note that she left before she had run off with her suitcase. From it, we learned that she thought that she was indeed going to a factory or some such, where she would be working and helping the German war effort… It was all propaganda and lies, of course, but some people, who were naïve and believed everything that the Germans said – Helena among them – thought that their families would be left alone if they volunteered. They thought the Germans would think them to be useful. None of them suspected that they would be taken to a place like Auschwitz.”
Dr. Hoffman threw a sidelong glance at Dahler. The former Auschwitz guard was stroking his wife’s hand absentmindedly, his gaze fixed on the floorboards without actually seeing them. He was listening, no doubt but his thoughts were lost in the past. Dr. Hoffman would give all his money just to learn what precisely he was thinking.
There was one particular question that bothered him immensely. Would Dahler want for Helena to remain free and spend the war in hiding but which would have resulted in the two never meeting, or would he have preferred for things to remain as they were? He almost itched to break the protocol and ask Dahler that. Yet, he remained silent.
“When did you receive a summons from the government?” the Chairman asked.
“In summer 1942. A few months after Helena was deported.”
“Was that summons for your entire family?”
“The government passed the law that all Jews must register with the office in 1941. So, in 1942 they began routinely sending such summons to everyone’s addresses. We received ours – my husband, I, and our children, that is, and my parents received theirs at their address. But theirs was for a different date from ours
. After the war, I learned that they were taken to Treblinka instead of Auschwitz, where they were gassed upon arrival.” Róžínka recounted the events with admirable self-possession. Her eyes were dry and dark.
“And you arrived in Auschwitz with your family?” the Chairman asked again.
“Yes. On the ramp, they separated us at once. Men had to stand in a separate column from women. The officer who was in charge of the selection asked me if I wished to keep my children. I thought it was a ridiculous question – what mother wouldn’t want to keep her children?” Her laughter reverberated through the courtroom, dry and bitter. “Later, the inmates explained it to me that had I abandoned my children, he would have sent me to the other column, which was selected for work and not a gas chamber.” She regarded her nails for a moment, growing pensive. “It didn’t matter, really. Even if I’d known that back then, I still would have never abandoned my children, regardless, not even to save my own life. I only left them there, in that place—”
That was the first time when she choked, quickly bringing her hand to her mouth, to regain control over her emotions. Her fingers were trembling slightly. At last, she took a deep breath, collecting herself.
“I only left them because I thought we were indeed going to the showers. They were very persuasive, the SS. They kept exchanging small talk with us and explaining what work we shall do after we take our shower, asking what qualifications we had. It all sounded frighteningly plausible!” Suddenly, she was terribly excited. “I was undressing my son when an officer appeared in the room and began calling my name. I walked up to him and indicated that I was Róžínka Feldman. He took me by my forearm and told me to follow him. I didn’t speak German too well, so I only understood that he was saying that my sister was looking for me and he would take me to her. I pointed at my children but he told me not to worry about them. I thought that I’d be back to them later.” She quickly brought a handkerchief to her eyes. There was no talking about it without tears, not just yet. Too little time had passed. The wound still hurt.
“Who was that officer who took you out of the gas chamber?” the Chairman inquired after a few moments, allowing her to collect herself.
“Franz Dahler.” Without hesitation, she pointed at the former Auschwitz guard. The gesture had the quality of accusation to it. It appeared to interest Dr. Hutson, who marked something quickly in his notepad. Victims pointed out the perpetrators to the police in the same manner during lineups.
“What happened after that?”
“I saw Helena outside. She was crying, but she appeared to be relieved to see me. Herr Dahler shoved us both, rather unceremoniously, forward and didn’t allow us to hug or even talk until we were away from that place. Then, Helena pressed my hand and told me that everything was going to be all right and that we shall be working together. I asked when would I be allowed to go and get the children, to which Herr Dahler told me that they would be taken care of in a special camp for the children. That I’d see them later.”
As her sister spoke, Helena Dahler was gradually lowering her head until Dr. Hoffman could see her eyes no longer. She also leaned closer to her husband as though in search of protection he couldn’t offer her, apart from a fleeting kiss he quickly planted on her knuckles before covering her hand with both of his. A thief’s gesture, but for some reason profoundly touching in its helpless sincerity. They were both guilty before Róžínka, in different respects but guilty nevertheless and they only had each other to turn to.
“Was it the defendant who told you the truth about your children?”
“No. It was one of the Kapos, Maria Krupp. I didn’t believe her at first but then other inmates confirmed it. The last person who did was Helena. She explained that she wanted to shield me from the truth for as long as possible so that I wouldn’t go mad or do something to myself. She was terrified at the thought that she would be left alone in that place, so she wanted to keep me by her side at all costs.”
“Is it true that you worked along with your sister under the defendant’s command?”
“That’s correct, Your Honor.”
“What was your impression of him? How did he interact with the inmates?”
After casting a probing glance in Dahler’s direction, Róžínka pondered her reply for some time. Dr. Hoffman caught Dr. Hutson’s look. The latter motioned his head ever so slightly in Dahler’s direction, lowered his eyes, then looked back at Hoffman and raised his brows in a meaningful way. Hoffman nodded his acknowledgment. He also noticed that Dahler purposefully kept his gaze down. This time there was no guilt in his face, only a respectful desire to keep from intimidating the former inmate by staring directly at her face. In spite of himself, Dr. Hoffman admitted a newfound respect for the man. Rarely were criminals so courteous. Ordinarily, they chose to exercise their power over their victims until the victorious end. Dahler seemingly allowed her to talk, to say whatever she felt she was entitled to say, without any reservations.
He also noted how differently he acted around Novák.
“He was… temperamental. Difficult to figure out, unlike some other guards. Rottenführer Wolff, for instance, he was cruel. One didn’t want to get on his bad side. Rottenführer Gröning, on the other hand, was Wolff’s complete opposite. I’ve never seen him raise his hand to anyone. He was mostly locked up in his quarters. He didn’t particularly like being among the inmates and preferred desk work to supervising the warehouse. But we liked him nevertheless. He was more or less easy-going. As for Herr Dahler…” She paused again. “He could be both. When something would set him off, it was better to be away from him. He never hit me personally, though, only reprimanded me verbally on a few separate occasions but never touched me.”
“When you say, ‘he could be both,’ could you be more precise?”
“He could be cruel, but he also wasn’t deaf to the inmates’ pleas. He could be agreeable like Gröning when he wished to.”
“Like with you and your sister?”
“My sister was an entirely different case altogether. He was in love with her. Naturally, their relationship differed greatly from his relationships with other inmates. He was very different with her, like a different person.”
“For the record, you’re saying that he wasn’t physically or sexually abusing her?”
Dr. Hoffman cast a probing glance in Novák’s direction. The Chairman’s question stemmed from his testimony, after all. The Slovak was staring at the top of Dahler’s head with cold hatred.
“Goodness, no.” Róžínka shook her head emphatically. “I only learned that he beat her with his whip on the day of my arrival after she returned from the doctor’s quarters and told me about it. But it was something he had to do. If he didn’t, it would look much too suspicious to his superiors and who knows how it all would have played out in the end. He didn’t have much choice in that particular case.”
“Did he ever hit her after that?”
“No, never. And never before that, from what she told me. As a matter of fact, he was very protective of her.”
“Is it true that he saved her from the gas chamber?”
“Yes, in late November or early December of 1942. I’m sorry, I don’t remember the exact date. We didn’t have a calendar there.” She paused a moment, then went on. “Helena contracted typhus and, during an unexpected inspection, the SS doctor sent her to the truck. Everyone knew where those trucks took the inmates who didn’t pass the selection. I thought I had lost her when Herr Dahler came to me later that day and told me not to worry and that Helena was safe. He didn’t tell me where he was hiding her but he said that he would take care of her. In the following days, he’d stop by my station sometimes and inform me about her condition in a few words. Helena’s doing all right, or Helena’s fever is going down – things such as those and nothing more but I was extremely grateful even for that information. At least I knew that my sister was alive. He brought her back after the New Year and said something about the new vaccine that the SS
doctors tested on her, which supposedly helped. People believed it. Or, rather, they weren’t stupid enough to ask an SS officer any questions. His comrades didn’t seem to care.”
“Did any of them know about the nature of Herr and Frau Dahler’s relationship?”
“Helena told me that Rottenführer Gröning knew. Not knew per se but rather, pretended not to know what was going on. He didn’t inform on Herr Dahler, that is. But he did know, yes. Wolff, I don’t think he did. He was the type that would report something of this sort to the Political Department.”
“There were rumors that Herr Wolff had forced sexual relationships with inmates. Are you aware of such rumors?”
“I heard things and I know why you’re asking me that.” She smiled briefly. “If he was doing it himself, why report his comrade Dahler, right? But, you see, here’s where their views differed greatly. While Wolff thought it to be perfectly acceptable to misuse women whenever he wished, the thought of having an actual ongoing relationship with one was against his SS moral code, or whatever he called it. Herr Dahler, obviously, thought differently.”
“When did you first learn about your sister’s involvement with the defendant?”
“Well, I began suspecting things right after I arrived. My sister had changed a lot, after the first few months of her incarceration. I remembered her as a happy, carefree, outgoing girl who always smiled and loved to sing. The Auschwitz Helena was very different from that girl. She was very… closed off, aloof even, people-shy, and also extremely vulnerable emotionally. For instance, when she noticed that I wasn’t eating properly, she broke into hysterics. I was still very depressed after I had learned the truth about my children, you see and… to be truthful, she scared me that day. I admit, I did think of committing suicide but Helena terrified me so much with that erratic behavior that it occurred to me that if I indeed died and left her alone to fend for herself, she would break within days. She was very fragile, mentally. Many people were but I didn’t want for my only sister to go mad like some of them did. I had no one else left, so I told myself that it was my duty to look after her to make sure that she survived. But, you see, with the best will in the world, I couldn’t protect her even if I wanted. And so, she turned to the only other person who could.”
The Girl in the Striped Dress: A completely heartbreaking and gripping World War 2 page-turner, based on a true story Page 20
