“I’m sorry. I was…”
“Shut up, Juden. No talking,” a guard said
“Left, right, left, right,” A tall white haired man directed the prisoners.
“What does this mean? Some go left others right?” Zofia asked no one in particular.
“It means that some live and some die.” A middle-aged woman with a red rash on her face answered. “Look like you are strong and like you can work. If they think you are too weak to work they will send you directly to the gas chambers. You see that line? They tell everyone in the line that they must take a shower. That line leads to the shower. It is a big massive room. Everyone is forced to go in at once. Then just as you think they are going to turn on the water, water isn’t what comes out. It’s gas. And everyone that is inside is murdered.”
Zofia looked at Fruma and Gitel. Both were pale.
“Where did you hear such a thing? Would they really kill us, just like that?” Fruma asked.
Zofia found it hard to believe.
“Don’t ask questions. I heard it in the Ghetto from someone who escaped this place. For now, just look strong look healthy. Your life depends upon it.”
“Shut up, I told you. Keep moving,” the guard said as he cracked the club across the middle-aged woman’s shoulder. She winced, then silence.
“Right,” he said to Gitel.
“Right,” he said to Zofia.
“Left,” he said to Fruma.
“No!” Gitel yelled. “No! We must stay together!” She grabbed Fruma’s arm and held on to it. “Please, have mercy,” Gitel said to the guard. The guard clubbed her elbow and her hand released. Another SS officer pushed Fruma forward into the line to the left. “I can’t let her go, not all alone. We lived together. It’s only right we should go to where ever this line leads together. Goodbye, Zofia. If my Fruma must die, then I too must die,” Gitel said, and she ran after Fruma, taking her hand. Zofia watched as they were forced at gunpoint to stay in the line to the left.
“Fruma! Gitel!” Zofia shouted, as loud as she could. Then, Zofia felt a deep jab in her ribs; clutching her stomach, she leaned forward in pain, only to look up and see the pressed black uniform of an SS officer. Tears stung her eyes. She wanted to lie on the ground and weep. Fruma… Gitel… She cried out like an animal that had been shot by a hunter and left to die in pain. She wanted to run after them, to end all of this misery, but she must not. Someday she would leave this place and go home to Eidel. For Eidel she must fight to live. The line to the left moved quickly and within minutes, Zofia lost sight of her friends. I am alone. None of the women who stood in the line with Zofia were elderly or carried babies. The men were all of working age, there were no children. Those had all been filtered out. Only the young and strong remained. The others moved in the line headed quickly toward extermination. A young girl with fiery curls that flowed down her back became gripped by panic. She began screaming and ran out of the line heading full force towards the barbed wire.
Two Nazi officers stood in hearing distance from where Zofia was.
“Shoot her,” the older man said about the red head.
The younger one, a slight man in his early thirties looked at him blankly.
“Shoot her, I said.”
From where she stood, Zofia could see his hands trembling as he took aim. He fired a shot at the girl, but he missed. The older man drew his gun and fired, hitting the girl somewhere in the leg. She fell clutching her calf. Then he turned to a lesser guard. “Bring that little slut here, schnell.”
Two guards pulled the girl by her arms and dropped her in front of the SS officers. Her red hair spilled like blood around her.
“Beat her to death. Make an example of her for the rest of these trollops so that they don’t get any brilliant ideas of escape,” the one in charge ordered. The other SS officer looked at him, bewildered, as if in a state of disbelief. “Are you a weakling, a coward?”
The younger man shook his head. “No… Of course not.”
“You are a soldier in Hitler’s army to save the German race. Now act like it.”
The SS officer set his chin, nodded his head, but did not look at the girl as he raised his club.
In the line to the left, Fruma and Gitel held hands.
Over the loud speaker came a male voice. It said, “Fold your clothes and put them into a pile before you enter the showers, remember where you put them so that you can find them again when you come back out.”
“You see, if they meant to kill us, then they wouldn’t tell us to remember where we put our clothing,” Gitel said.
Fruma smiled a wry, sad smile and patted Gitel’s hand. “We are together, and that’s all that matters.”
“Do you think they mean to kill us?” Gitel asked
“Of course not,” Fruma said, her voice soft and comforting. “Of course not, my love,” Again she smiled at Gitel and touched her cheek. Then Fruma looked ahead of her at all of the people in line all the people who would never return from the showers to find those neat little piles of clothing. Fruma had no illusions. She knew where she and Gitel were headed, but at least they were going together.
Chapter 47
Dr Henkener looked like an old man, his body bent, a mass of gray, unshaven hair covering his face, as he stood against the wall awaiting the shot that would end his life. His eyes met his daughter’s, who stood with her arm around her mother. He gave her a wink and a reassuring smile. Then, an armed guard escorted Manfred outside. From where Christa stood, she could see her husband’s hands shaking. Goebbels’s stood on the other side of the field, wearing a grave expression. She saw him look at Manfred and nod. Manfred raised the pistol, his hands trembling so badly he almost dropped it. Heidi Henkener reached for her daughter’s hand and held it tight, so tight that her nails began to penetrate Christa’s flesh. For a moment, Christa thought that Manfred would refuse to fire the shot. Not that it would save her father, she knew. He would die today, by either her husband’s hand or that of another SS officer. But, he Dr. Henkener would not leave this field alive. Christa longed to see Manfred’s eyes, but he would not look at her. Instead, he kept his gaze forward, firm with the task at hand.
The shot rang out. Manfred missed his target. He looked around frantically until his eyes met Goebbels. Goebbels nodded, and Manfred took aim. He used two hands to steady himself. Then he fired. The second bullet found Thomas Henkener. He crumpled to the ground, blood flowing from his chest. Christa and her mother ran to him as Manfred was led away, the pistol still hot in his hand.
When Manfred arrived at home that night, Christa could not bear to look at her husband. He’d explained why he had no choice but to do what he did that day. He’d told her over and over that if he did not follow through with the execution, it would not have saved her father, he would have still been shot, but then Manfred’s loyalty would have been in question, and the rest of them would suffer as well. He did it for her, he said. Christa held Katja close to her heart. The warmth of the baby against her body gave her comfort. Katja reached up, her tiny fingers tangling in Christa’s hair as the tears flowed down Christa’s cheeks.
There was no dinner prepared. She had forgotten. Manfred said nothing. He looked around, assessing the situation: mother, child, and the room in shambles. There was nothing left to say. He went to his bed and lay down. Christa sat holding Katja until well into the dark of night. The baby slept in her arms. Had she forgotten to feed her? She could not remember. Several hours later Katja stirred. Christa put her down on a blanket, and with unsteady hands she began to warm the bottle.
Chapter 48
“Manfred, you did what was necessary,” Joseph Goebbels said.
“My wife is taking it hard.”
“He was a traitor to the Fatherland. She should realize how fortunate she is that I was able to help you both, or you both would have been severely disciplined. All of you, your mother in law included, might have been sent to a camp.”
“Yes, I know, and I am gra
teful to you.”
They sat in Dr. Goebbels’s office, looking out over the busy street.
“There is another part to this tragedy, I am afraid. You are to be transferred out of this office. The orders come from higher up, and they must be carried out.”
“Transferred? I thought I was doing a good job.”
“Yes, but, this mess with your father-in-law has made you suspect. The Party demands that you prove yourself further.”
“Where am I going?”
“To a camp, I’m sorry to say. It’s nasty business there. You are going to be the Arbeitsführer at Treblinka.”
“The work boss? Why? I have no experience with such things. Don’t these workers work out in the sun all day? I would have to be with them, driving them forward…through force, I suppose.”
“Yes, I am afraid so. Don’t try to refuse this, Manfred. I tell you as a friend. You must take this assignment. And…you must do an excellent job. Show no weakness, no mercy. Constantly reaffirm your loyalty to the Party and to the Fatherland.”
“Dr. Goebbels, I am not a physical man…”
“I realize this, but you must follow orders. We all must. It is the only way to keep the Reich strong.”
“Where is this camp…Treblinka?”
“It is in Poland.”
“Poland? Where am I to live?”
“You along with your family, will be given a small residence. You may take a prisoner or two as servants to help you around the house.”
Manfred sighed. He put his hands on his temples.
“If I refuse?”
“You must not. I strongly recommend that you do as you are told.”
“I trust you, Doctor. You have been a friend, and a mentor to me. I will do as they ask, although I will miss it here. When am I leaving?”
“The end of next week. You will not report to work here anymore. Take the two weeks and settle your affairs. Pack and prepare for your new position.”
Manfred’s face dropped. He would never return to the office of the Ministry of Propaganda. He would never sit in his office or have lunch with Joseph Goebbels again. There would be no more exciting parties to attend where he was a part of something bigger, a part of the new Germany. He was headed to some camp somewhere in Poland, where he had to herd Jews and other monsters around like cattle. Dr. Henkener had done this to him.
“Keep in touch, Manfred,” Joseph Goebbels said as he stood up, opening the door to his office, indicating that the meeting was over.
Manfred felt as if his entire world had just crumbled. He walked back to his office, dazed. He collected his things, a picture from his wedding, another of Christa holding Katja, and then the one where he stood beside Goebbels as Hitler shook his hand. An Arbeitsführer, the work boss… What could that entail? Nothing good… Manfred imagined himself standing out in the hot sun or in the rain, ordering a group of wretched prisoners smelling of sweat. Worse yet, he would be sweating in his uniform, filthy like a pig. No more would he enjoy lunches with Joseph, or parties with high officials. No, he was to be a part of the nasty Final Solution, that dirty business of blood and dead bodies. Again, he was angry with his father-in-law, but his anger was always overshadowed by the sound that filled his ears at the frightening moment when he fired the shot that ended the man’s life. At night, in dreams that were so vivid they woke him up with a start, he heard that ringing in his ears and saw Dr. Henkener fall, again and again, in a pool of blood. So real, were these dreams that he felt the cold steel of the pistol in his right hand, felt his hand trembling, and smelled the acrid scent of of gunpowder. He always awoke shaken. Since the day of the execution, his mother-in-law had moved in. No one had consulted him, asked his permission. One day she was there, under his protection. If not, he assumed the old woman would probably be taken by the Gestapo. The Nazis would presume that she knew of her husband’s treason and had taken part in it in some way.
From the first night following that fateful day, Manfred slept in the guest room, alone. Gone were the nights wrapped in Christa’s arms, the afterglow of their love flowing over him. Christa had not spoken to him. He couldn’t blame her. She’d seen what he’d done, seen it with her own eyes. Those eyes accused him. So he did not look at her, could not look at her. Manfred still loved his wife, with all his heart, but the guilt she brought out in him made him sick to his stomach to the point of an uncontrollable loose bowel. So, to avoid confrontation, he stayed in his room. But soon he would be forced to talk to her. He must tell her that they were to leave for Poland.
Three days after his last day at the Ministry of Propaganda, Manfred went into the living room to speak to his wife. She sat on the sofa, her mother beside her, both of them wearing black, looking lost. Christa held the baby, who sucked noisily on a bottle.
Both women looked up, with their accusing blue eyes, to see him enter.
“Christa, I must speak with you.”
“Go ahead.” She looked back down at the baby, she did not meet his eyes, as if the very sight of him sickened her.
“Alone, please.”
Christa glanced over at her mother. “Mama, I am sorry, may I speak to Manfred alone for a moment?”
Heidi got up. Manfred watched her walk to the bedroom she now shared with his wife. The sweet bedroom, the double bed, where so much love had once been made as he and Christa had entangled their bodies and souls in the darkness. How he had once loved that room, and waited anxiously all day to lie in that bed beside the woman he adored. Mrs. Henkener had aged in the last few days; it seemed that she’d lost her will to live. He hoped she would stay in Berlin. If she did, perhaps there would be a chance, in time, to regain what he and Christa had once shared.
Before he sat down, he looked at the top of Christa’s head. Such lovely blonde hair, uncombed… His heart hurt to see her grieve.
“Christa, I’ve been let go from my job. Well, not exactly let go, I’ve been reassigned. I am being sent to Poland, to work at a camp.” His voice was soft, apologetic.
The baby hiccupped. Christa put the bottle down on the coffee table. She lifted Katja to her shoulder and began to pat the child’s back.
“She’s getting too old for the bottle,”Christa said. “I will miss it when she stops taking it. I love the way her little face looks as she suckles, almost like she is an angel in heaven.”
“Christa, did you hear me? We have to pack up the house. We are to leave for Poland in a week and a half. These are my orders.”
“Orders… Yes… Orders… I heard,” she said. Then she glanced out the picture window. “You see that old oak tree across the street? I will miss that tree.” Her voice sounded far away as if she’d lost touch with reality. It scared him. “In the beginning of our marriage I used to wait for you to return home from work, and when I did I’d look out the window and there would be that tree.”
He saw the tears begin to form in her eyes. He wanted to go to her, to take her in his arms to explain again and again, until her could reach her, make her understand. He wanted to tell her that he hated the orders, but he had no choice. He wanted to apologize for what he’d done to say that he loved her. He stood up, shaky, his body trembling, but before he could move toward her, she rose and stepped away from him, regaining her grip on reality and the moment at hand.
“I’ll tell Mama. We’ll be ready to go.”
Christa left the room, the baby still cradled in her arms.
Manfred sunk back down into the sofa. Tears fell from his eyes as he laid his head in his hands.
Chapter 49
The guard began hitting the redheaded girl with his club. She cried out, unnerving Zofia who looked away. Bile rose in Zofia’s throat and she swallowed hard. If she vomited, that man might beat her too.
Then an officer wearing the death head cap and black SS uniform walked over.
“Enough,” he said to the guard. Then, addressing the girl, he barked, “Get back in line! And don’t try this again. The next time will be your last tim
e.”
“Heil Hitler,” the guard said to the SS officer, who looked drained from beating the girl. “You must be the new Arbeitsführer.”
“Yes, my name is Manfred Blau,” Manfred said.
“Welcome to hell,” the other SS officer said. “This is Treblinka.”
Manfred looked around him. He saw the buildings that housed the barracks.
“What is that terrible smell?” Manfred asked.
“It’s the crematorium. Have you not seen it yet?”
“No.”
“It’s constantly at work, burning night and day to dispose of all the bodies.”
Manfred had heard about the gas chambers when he was working with Goebbels. But at that time, they seemed far away and unreal. Now he stood just yards away from the gassings. The ashes from the crematorium fell like snowflakes into his hair and on to his black uniform. These were the ashes of the dead and murdered. The very thought nauseated him.
“I am going to need one of these women to help me keep house. My wife is not feeling well,” Manfred said. Christa had suffered some severe chest pain before they left. The doctor recommended bed rest.
“Pick one. Your choice. To me they are all the same: Jews, good for nothing.” The other SS officer waved his hand, indicating the line of women.
Manfred looked at the group, a dirty, smelly bunch, matted hair, and filthy clothes. He walked up and back his heels clicking on the pavement until his eyes met Zofia’s. Her dark eyes glistened with anger, defiant for sure, but filled with life, and something else, a mystery, a dark sensuous mystery. Interesting… He had never really had much to do with Jews. Perhaps they really were magical. It had been said that they sacrificed Aryan babies and drank the blood. Would little Katja be safe? Well, he had no choice but to choose one of them. After all, Christa was no longer keeping the house. Besides, he had never believed all that nonsense that he’d heard. Of course, if these silly Jews had any real power, they wouldn’t be in the situation they were in, being led off to gas chambers and murdered like a herd of cattle. He looked at Zofia again. The very idea of this girl intrigued him. She was pretty. Even dirty and disheveled, she was pretty.
You Are My Sunshine: A Novel Of The Holocaust (All My Love Detrick Book 2) Page 20
