The Promised Land (All My Love, Detrick Series) (All My Love Detrick Book 3)

by Roberta Kagan

  “Sure,” Katja said, handing Mendel the kitten. He took her carefully. The small animal fit into the palm of his hand.

  Katja pet the kitten while Mendel held her.

  “Let’s have a look at this little cat,” Rachel said, walking over. She pet the cat’s head a couple of times. “You’re right; she IS cute.”

  “Do you think we can keep her?” Katja said.

  “I don’t know,” Mendel answered. “But it’s worth trying.”

  “I agree with you. Let me ask my mother,” Katja said.

  They returned to the kibbutz, keeping the cat quiet in the small room Katja and Rachel shared until later that night when the evening meal was finished and the dishes had been cleaned. Then Katja went to her mother, who was sitting with her father in front of the children’s house. Her mother was carefully moving a needle as she embroidered a piece of fabric, which looked like a blouse. Katja assumed it was a gift for Shana’s birthday.

  “Good Sabbath, Mama,” Katja said.

  “Good Sabbath, my Sunshine. How are you?”

  “I’m doing well. I have something to ask you.”

  “Of course,” Zofia said. She put the needlework down on the table, giving Katja her full attention. “Go on.”

  “I found a kitten. I want to keep her. Please, Mama. Please.”

  Zofia sighed. “I am not sure of the rules on this. I will have to ask. But for tonight, you can keep her. Let me see if I can get you some food for your little friend. Tomorrow, in the morning, I’ll see what I can find out about the rules on pets. Until now, I’ve never paid much attention to this, but for you, Sunshine, I will look into it.”

  “Thank you so much, Mama.” Katja wrapped her arms around Zofia’s neck and kissed her. Then Katja turned to Isaac and wrapped her arms around his neck as the front of her hair fell over her left eye. It seemed that no matter how she styled it, her hair always fell over her left eye.

  After school the following day, Zofia found Katja sitting outside with Mendel, Rachel, and the kitten.

  “You can keep her,” Zofia said,” but you are responsible for caring for her. No one else is going to help you. Do you understand? If anyone finds urine or feces in your room, you will have to get rid of her. So you can get some sand and I’ll get you a paper box. Then you’ll have to train her to use the litter box.”

  “Yes, Mama. Thank you.” Again Katja hugged Zofia, and Zofia felt warmth deep inside her heart. All was right with the world.

  Chapter 50

  Argentina

  It all began with dreams of Christa. Manfred could suppress his feelings while awake, but as he slept, his longing for Christa tormented him. He was not used to the extreme heat in January in Argentina, and the ceiling fans did little more than circulate the hot air. Sometimes the extreme weather gave him headaches, followed by nausea. Then when he closed his eyes, he would see bright flashing lights behind his eyelids followed by terrific shooting pain. For several hours, he would lay in bed in a dark room, debilitated, unable to endure light of any kind. Once these episodes passed, Manfred would find himself spent, relieved to bathe his weary body and then fall into a fitful sleep. It was following one such episode that his usual dream took a dark turn and became a nightmare.

  As always, the dream started with Christa smiling at him, just the way she did the first time he saw her. Of course, that was when they were teenagers in school and Manfred had chosen to forget that Christa actually had not smiled at him. In fact, it was not until years later that she even recognized his existence. In his dream, he saw her bright blue eyes sparkle and her golden curls bounce as she ran by him late for a class. How he had wanted her then. How he had planned, plotted, and schemed to make her his own. Every action he took, every minute of every day was aimed at winning Christa over as his wife. Often he doubted that his plan would ever work, but that doubt only caused him to try harder. Nothing could change his mind; he was tireless in his efforts.

  And . . . it had worked. She had noticed him. And then . . . the greatest of achievements: a wish granted, a wish he treasured . . . somehow, she had grown to love him. The dream flashed to a scene from their honeymoon in the quaint city of Munich, making love in the little chateau with the picture window that looked out over the Alps. Then they were dancing, Christa moving like a ballerina in his arms. As they sailed across the floor, through the corner of his eye, he could see the other SS officers watching with envy in their eyes.

  And then in his nightmare, Manfred’s eyes would fall upon Himmler. He always knew Himmler had wanted his wife. In this dream gone wrong, Manfred watched helplessly as Himmler and Christa exchanged smiles. In his mind, the room grew dark and only Christa and Himmler remained in the light. Manfred felt as if he were sinking. He heard his own voice cry out “Christa,” but she never turned around. Then he was outside of a window, watching Himmler lay on top of his naked wife, her slender legs wrapped around the other man. NOOO. Christa, NOOO. The thought tore at him, as the dream began to grow darker.

  Then Christa stood up in his dream, naked, and glared at him through the window. Tears covered her face. “YOU KILLED MY FATHER,” she said. “I hate you Manfred, I hate you. And yes, it’s true, I fucked Himmler. I did it to hurt you, because you deserve to be spit on.”

  The dream was so real that he felt as if he were there. “Christa…I did what I had to do to save you, to save your mother.” His voice sounded like gravel.

  “And what about our child, Manfred? The child you never cared about anyway. We adopted Katja from the Lebensborn together. We both promised to take care of her,” Christa said. Her voice began to echo over and over, ringing in his head: “Where is Katja, Manfred? Why are you not taking care of her? Do you know what has become of her? Is she dead? Did you let her die, like you let my father die? You coward, coward! You could have fought for him, but you didn’t, you didn’t. Instead you shot him dead. Then you expected me to still love you. How can I love you? You’re not even a man; you’re a despicable piece of dirt. If you were any kind of a man at all you would find Katja and take care of her. It’s your responsibility. You owe it to me. Maybe this is the only way that you can make it right. And if not, it is the least you could do for me.”

  Still dreaming, Manfred watched as Christa’s once beautiful face became distorted. Her nose grew large and exaggerated like the pictures he’d drawn for Goebbels of stereotypical Jews. Her lips were blue and her skin was as thin as parchment, the way they had been once she had become ill.

  “I don’t know where Katja is, Christa. You gave her to someone when I was in prison. How am I ever going to find her?”

  “That is up to you Manfred. But don’t expect to be at peace until you do what is right.” Her eyes rolled around, and then they filled with blood, blood that ran down her cheeks like tears.

  He awakened, shivering with sweat in spite of the heat. He got up and went to the bathroom, urinated, then washed his face with cold water. It was only a dream, he whispered aloud. Only a dream. He prepared a cup of tea and sat sipping it in the semi-darkness for almost an hour. Then, once his heartbeat had settled, he lay down and tried to sleep. It took two hours before he drifted off, and once he did the nightmares began again.

  Now he and Christa were at the house where they lived outside of Treblinka when he had worked there before the uprising. They were standing in the parlor, her eyes were red and shiny like rubies, and she had a crooked and frightening toothless grin. Outside the window, the trees that were growing along a barbed-wire fence reached their branches out toward him like skinny, arthritic fingers with long, dirty nails. They were clawing him. Manfred felt his body tremble. Then he heard a strange sound. The trees were laughing at him; a wicked high pitched noise that filled the air. He ran outside and Christa slowly followed him. Now she, too, was laughing an evil and horrific laugh. Ashes fell on his face, blinding him until he could not see. All around him it smelled like feces, like blood, like death. “Please Christa…,” he whispered. “I loved you.�
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  “Love, Manfred? What you did to me, was that love? And what about that poor Jewess, Zofia? You think I didn’t know what you were doing to her? I knew. She never told me that you were abusing her, but I knew. You forced yourself on her, didn’t you Manfred? You all-powerful Nazi bastard. All of you sons-of-bitches can go to hell with your superior race.”

  The trees were reaching out to him, clawing their dirty ragged fingernails through his hair, then down his neck and back. Manfred turned to run away but found that he was surrounded on all sides by walking dead bodies with yellow stars on their striped uniform sleeves. These zombies were emerging from the dark spaces between the trees. Christa stood at the front, leading them all toward him. The woman who he’d loved more than he had ever loved anyone was betraying him. She was showing them where he was and how they could get to him. Manfred squinted into the gray, lined faces of millions of Jews, faces of people whose deaths he had ordered, their shadows growing larger in the moonlight.

  “Look Manfred, look at these people. You did it, you killed them.” Christa was pointing at him, but her hand had turned into a tree branch, the nail on her finger dripping with blood.

  The eyes of the Jews glared at him, yellow stars rotating inside of the pupils. These walking dead were coming toward him, pointing at him, and calling out, “MURDERER, MURDERER, MURDERER.”

  The stench of the ashes from the crematorium began to fill his nose, and he opened his mouth, trying to breathe. Instead, he began coughing and choking, his throat on fire. The dead Jews were getting closer to him. Their forms were blurry as the ash fell like a snow-storm around them. Run, Manfred thought. I must escape before they get to me; but he could not run. His feet and legs were paralyzed.

  “You know what you are? YOU ARE A MURDERER, MANFRED,” Christa said.

  He felt a shiver travel through him. His body trembled, awakening him. He sat up immediately. The sheets were so wet with perspiration that they felt as if there had been a rain storm in the room where Manfred slept. His heart pounded like a drum solo. He looked around the room, rocking back and forth. Was it real? Had this happened? Manfred shivered as he jumped out of bed and turned on the light, praying that it was only a dream. For several moments he stood looking around him at the familiar bed, the ceiling fan, the night table. Everything was in place. It had all seemed so real, so real, but it had been a dream. He was sure that it had been only a dream. He went to the bathroom and doused his face with cold water, never closing his eyes, just in case those terrible visions returned and came upon him from behind.

  “It’s all right, it’s all right,” he whispered, as he wiped his face with a soft towel. I’m fine. I was only having a nightmare. It’s over. Then he went into the kitchen and poured himself a drink. Manfred guzzled the whiskey and sighed. He could still see them if he closed his eyes; they were still there waiting. Now, if only the alcohol could drown those faces, that blood.

  This dream, or variations of it, reoccurred almost every night from that day forward. Manfred began to find reasons to stay awake as long as possible, and he began to suffer from lack of rest.

  Damn it. Manfred certainly didn’t want the child, Katja. What would he do with her, here in Argentina? Besides, if he were to risk searching for her, it could cause him to be caught. Yet Christa’s voice, her bony finger, and bloody eyes continued to haunt him. He began to think of ways that he could keep the child if he found her. Perhaps he would hire a nanny, someone to take care of Katja. Would that fulfill Christa’s demands? Would that free him from the horrors that taunted him? He could ask Konrad to help him find Katja. But still, there was that terrible risk in searching for her. Was he willing to take that risk? Katja should be twelve or thirteen by now. The last thing he wanted was a teenage girl with all sorts of demands on his time, and questions. No, he would not go searching and possibly uncover his disguise. He would just leave Katja wherever she was living. That would be best for everyone. After all, the child was probably adjusted to her new life. Yes, best to leave well enough alone.

  But those dreams . . .

  Book Two

  Chapter 51

  As WWII ended and the tumult of the following years began, international crises and the Cold War between the Soviet Union and the United States began. The United States began. The surrender and capture of Nazi scientists, labs, and military facilities led some in the US to have designs on German advancements and knowledge in aerodynamics, chemical warfare, rocketry, and medicine. With Russia now an enemy, and the Space Race in full force, United States intelligence and military services felt that the scientific knowledge these war criminals offered was worth overlooking their crimes committed against humanity. A secret operation offering a safe haven to Nazi scientists, purportedly done without US State Department knowledge or approval, was codenamed Operation Paperclip.

  Meanwhile, in a small office in Linz, Austria, thirty volunteers under the direction of a quiet, unassuming man named Simon Weisenthal, labored tirelessly in their pursuit of the escaped Nazi war criminals. Weisenthal had survived the concentration camps, he knew the horrors of the Third Reich, and he was not about to let the Nazis go free.

  With the help of the Jewish Avengers, an elite group of Nazi hunters, and Mossad (Israel’s secret service), headed by Isser Harel,Weisenthal worked diligently toward his goal. No matter what it took, even if it took a lifetime, Weisenthal would do whatever possible to bring every sadistic Nazi criminal to justice in Israel.

  Israel

  Katja ran a brush through her long blond curls, and then tied them back with a ribbon. She had just begun teaching the younger students, and she loved working with them. Her Hebrew was impeccable as was her English. In fact, Katja was fluent in several languages acquired throughout her childhood in Europe and on the kibbutz.

  Since Rachel and Mendel were three years older than Katja, they were serving their time in the army, the IDF. Rachel loved the IDF. She applied to flight school, but was disappointed to find that women were no longer allowed to participate in combat. She’d told Katja how angry she was at this change in the IDF. Women, she said, had fought diligently beside the men in the war of independence and now females were being reduced to field instructor positions. Still, Rachel chose to repeatedly apply for flight school and follow the path of her dreams, hoping for a change.

  The friendship between Katja, Mendel and Rachel had not diminished as they’d grown older. The trust that the three friends had built over the years only grew stronger with time. After Shana gave birth to her son, Ben, Katja and Shana grew closer. Katja, because she loved children, was more than willing to babysit for little Ben, while Rachel had no interest in such things.

  One day, Katja arrived at the school early. She wanted to decorate for the coming holiday as she did for each holiday. The children loved the festivities, and always responded to the decorated classroom with excitement. Katja loved to watch them as they entered, their eyes wide with wonder.

  It was spring and Passover would take place in less than a week. Both Mendel and Rachel would be returning to the kibbutz to take part in the celebration. Katja was eagerly anticipating the return of her friends. It had been three months since their last visit, and she missed them terribly.

  Chapter 52

  The table was set, the food prepared, the prayers would begin at sundown. It was the first night of Passover. Katja went back to her room to get ready. She’d spent the entire day helping in the kitchen and she was hot and sweaty, best to freshen up before dinner. Quickly she washed her face and body. Then she put on the new dress that Zofia had made for her for the Passover holiday. Her mother was still, and always would be, her best friend. Zofia was always doing sweet little things like making Katja dresses, or bringing the ripest and sweetest oranges to the school as treats for her. Katja always felt so fortunate that she had parents who loved her dearly, and she adored them in return. The dress was a pink and white floral, gathered to show off her small waist. Zofia had designed it perfectly to co
mpliment all of Katja’s attributes. Katja looked in the mirror and smiled, pleased with her appearance. Then she pulled her blond curls back from her face with the headband Zofia had made from a matching pink ribbon and slipped on the ballet flats Zofia had made for her from the same fabric.

  Katja left her room and searched for Isaac and Zofia. Since she did not see her parents anywhere, she assumed they were already in the dining room. Katja picked up the little box that contained the necklace that she had gotten for Rachel as a gift. She’d made a deal with a jeweler who worked in town. She traded tutoring lessons for his son for the gift for Rachel. Even though giving presents on Passover was not customary, she missed her friend so much that she wanted to give her a token of her love.

  The sun had begun to set as Katja raced to the dining room. When she got inside she was breathless from running. The flush on her face made her even more beautiful.

  “Rachel.” Katja saw her friend standing proudly beside a table stacked with plates of cut vegetables and bowls of hummus. Rachel was wearing her army uniform. “I missed you.” Katja said. They hugged.

  “I missed you, too.” Rachel laughed.

  “What did you do to your hair?” Katja asked. Rachel’s long black curls were gone. Her hair was cut short in a pixie style.

  “I cut it, do you like it?”

  Katja reached up and touched Rachel’s short-cropped hair. “I’m not used to it yet.”

  “You hate it.”

  “I don’t,” Katja said. “But I did love your long hair.”

  “Ech, it is too much work for a soldier.”

  “Are you in flight school?” Katja asked. She knew how much Rachel wanted to get in, but she secretly hoped that she would not be able to. It was dangerous to fly planes, and she feared for Rachel’s safety.