‘It was Himmler’s idea from the start,’ Klein says. He sounds relaxed, and takes his time explaining. ‘Eichmann never wanted anything to do with it. The only mission he was interested in was killing Jews. Total extermination, that’s what he was after, not trucks or money. And he hated Himmler. Professional rivalry, I suppose. He and Himmler were always at loggerheads. Not that Himmler loved Jews, but he had his own reasons for my mission, and being more powerful than Eichmann, he was able to overrule him. And he had Kurt Becher’s support for his scheme.’
At the mention of Becher, Miklós tries to think back to their conversations. He recalls that Becher always lavished extravagant praise on Himmler’s intellect and, what was even more extraordinary, on his humanity. But as he was Himmler’s protégé, his admiration wasn’t surprising. Miklós concedes that Klein’s story is making sense, even though he had never suspected that this outlandish scheme had been foisted on an unwilling Eichmann.
‘And what scheme was that?’ Amos Alon is asking.
‘Himmler was ready to make a separate peace with the Allies. That’s why he concocted the trucks-for-Jews plan. It was a blind for his real purpose, and he didn’t want Eichmann or Hitler to know about it.’
Everyone stares at the man in the witness box, transfixed by his words. Even the reporters have stopped writing as they try to comprehend the significance of what they have just heard. History has leaped from the pages of textbooks and punched them in the face.
‘And you of course were privy to Himmler’s secret thoughts.’ Amos Alon can’t keep the sarcasm out of his voice.
‘As a matter of fact, I was,’ Klein replies coolly.
Miklós feels dazed. His head is a spinning top, gathering speed with each gyration. Klein’s bombshell turns everything he thought he knew upside down. Now he understands why Klein had been sent to Istanbul with Gábor. Not to convince the Allied leaders to give Germany trucks, not to facilitate the release of Jews, but to negotiate with the representatives of the Allies. Gábor’s role was to provide a smokescreen for the real mission.
He thinks back to his conversations with Kurt Becher. All the time he was trying to persuade Kurt Becher to help him, Becher was in cahoots with Himmler, and they were both plotting against Hitler and Eichmann, and using Klein to further their aims. He marvels that Klein, the spy everyone despised and mistrusted, enjoyed such a prominent role in the corridors of power. He had underestimated Klein and overestimated himself. It was an unbelievable story but he believed it. No-one could have invented it.
‘So will you share those thoughts with us?’ Alon is asking.
‘Himmler was a realist. In 1944, Hitler was still sending young German boys to die at the front, but Himmler knew it was hopeless. The Russians were advancing, and Germany was losing the war. So he decided to make overtures to the Allies and this trucks-for-Jews scheme was a ploy to let the West know that he was prepared to make a separate peace. Mr Weisz was his cover, and I was his instrument. Eichmann never intended to release a million Jews but he was forced to play along with Himmler’s plan. It was a trick to induce the West into negotiating. But it didn’t work, and the Jews of Hungary ended up in Auschwitz anyway.’
Klein has everyone on a knife edge. His testimony has provided the most explosive revelation of the entire trial, and the journalists, who thought that Gábor’s testimony earlier that day would be the most sensational story of the trial, are so riveted by what they hear that from time to time they hold their pens in mid-air above their shorthand notebooks and neglect to commit Klein’s words to paper.
Amos Alon now addresses Klein in a more respectful tone. As for the judge, he is hanging on every word.
‘How were you supposed to conduct those top-secret conversations?’
‘Himmler knew that Germany’s only hope was to split the Allies. From what he knew of communism and Stalin’s plans for Eastern Europe, he didn’t believe that England and America would stay allied with the Soviet Union for very long, so he cunningly proposed making a separate treaty with the Western Allies.’
Something about this sounds familiar, and Miklós recalls the conversation he had about trucks with Eichmann, in which the SS colonel had said that Germany wouldn’t use the trucks against the Western Allies, only on the Eastern front. That statement had puzzled him at the time, but now it made sense.
‘How did the Allies receive Himmler’s overture?’ Alon asks.
‘It was ridiculed and dismissed. The massive German defeat at the battle of Stalingrad marked the turning point of the war thanks to the Red Army, and Churchill and Roosevelt knew that without the Russians, they risked losing the war. They mistrusted Stalin but they needed his continued help to defeat Hitler. Although they and their generals didn’t trust Stalin, they didn’t dare do anything that would make him suspicious or, what would have been far worse, push him into an alliance with Hitler. So nothing came of Himmler’s scheme.’
Amos Alon frowns. ‘So how did the idea of releasing a million Jews fit into this scenario?’
‘It was Himmler’s cunning attempt to whitewash the Nazi record for the future. He foresaw that when the Allies won the war, Germany would be held responsible for atrocities which he himself had orchestrated. So he thought he’d found a reason to mitigate Allied judgement about Germany after the war. It obviously didn’t occur to him that it was a bit late in the day to seek absolution.’
Klein’s lengthy testimony continued, and there was not a whisper or a rustle in the courtroom as he went on. ‘There was also another aspect to his scheme. A cynical one. The war was coming to an end and Himmler was aware that Germany would be accused of unprecedented mass murder. Today we call the murder of six million Jews genocide, but that term hadn’t been coined yet. He figured that if the West ignored his scheme to rescue the remaining Jews, as he expected they would, then the Nazis would later be able to point out that the West didn’t do anything to save Jews when it had the chance.’
‘Just the West?’ Amos urges Klein on to the finish line.
‘The Western Allies and, by implication, the Jewish Agency.’
There’s an uneasy silence. People sigh and fidget. An accusing ghost has emerged from the shadows and stands in full view of the courtroom, no longer able to be ignored.
Miklós looks at Amos Alon and sees triumph in his eyes. This time his rock has found its target. Klein has articulated the calumny Alon has been working towards from the moment he took on Fleischmann’s case. Not content with destroying me, Miklós thinks, he has tried to destroy the government by implicating the Jewish Agency in the inaction of the Allies during the Holocaust. The accusation shocks him with its lack of understanding of the realities of the war, but from the ashen faces in the courtroom, it seems to have hit its mark. It’s unjust but justice seems irrelevant when the motive is vengeance.
‘There’s one thing that Himmler’s scheme did achieve,’ Klein is saying, and he turns his gaze on Miklós, ‘and it’s something that was never on the cards. I’m referring to the release of over fifteen hundred Hungarian Jews, and that happened thanks to Mr Nagy’s tireless efforts.’
Miklós looks at Klein, grateful for his unexpected acknowledgement and struck by its irony. Of all people, it’s not the ones he rescued, but the man he always denigrated, who has paid a tribute to his achievement.
He looks around the courtroom to make sure the comment hasn’t gone unnoticed, but from the tense, pale faces he realises that it’s not Klein’s tribute but his political revelations that have had the most profound impact on everyone. History has just turned a double somersault in the Jerusalem District Court, and those present are dazed by its shocking spirals.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Jerusalem, May 1954
Miklós is watching Judit as she wriggles into her stepins and pulls on her navy blue shantung suit. He notes her slim body and the wispy fair hair that frames her elfin face with the appreciation of an art connoisseur rather than the ardour of a lover. As she combs her
hair back from her forehead, applies a slash of red lipstick and dabs rouge on her pale cheeks, he says with a lightness he doesn’t feel, ‘You look so young, they’ll think you’re my daughter.’
‘I don’t want to give them the satisfaction of saying I look old and haggard.’
He is already at the door, looking at his watch. ‘It’s time to go.’
As they drive towards the courthouse, she keeps up a cheerful conversation about the boys’ last soccer game, the frustration of trying to learn a Rachmaninoff piano concerto, and the irrational nature of food rationing. His replies are curt and perfunctory, and she knows he isn’t listening, but she keeps up the chatter just the same. They both know it’s to avoid articulating what’s on their minds.
The murmur of gossip greets them as they enter the District Court to hear the summations, and they take their seats towards the back of the courtroom without looking at anyone. Judit manages a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. Miklós sighs. He dreads having to hear it all rehashed, but he doesn’t expect any surprises, especially not from the prosecutor. After his inept handling of the case, he isn’t likely to display any belated brilliance that might sway the judge, unlike his opponent who is probably sharpening his claws for the kill.
They all stand as Judge Lazar enters, and Miklós wonders whether he has already made up his mind about the case, or if today’s summations will affect his judgment. Either way, Miklós realises how naive he has been. This trial is a contest, not a search for truth, and the prize will be awarded to the side that tells the most compelling story. The prosecutor speaks first. ‘Isaiah Fleischmann’s accusations against Miklós Nagy are preposterous. Preposterous is one word. Scandalous and libellous are others that describe his accusations. I will try to do justice to this brave man who has risked his life to save others in the darkest hours of our history. There is not one shred of evidence that Miklós Nagy was a collaborator. Quite the contrary. The defence attorney has tried to pull the wool over your eyes. He has tried to make you believe that it was in Mr Nagy’s power to save every Jew in Hungary. Does my learned colleague live in some parallel universe? Is he totally ignorant of the situation in Hungary in 1944? He wants you to believe that the Jews of Kolostór could have resisted the Nazis. Without any weapons? He fantasises that they could have escaped. Where to?’
Judit breathes out. She is squeezing Miklós’s arm. This is more like it, her gesture says. But a moment later, she groans.
‘Even if Miklós Nagy forgot about his affidavit, that only proves that his memory let him down. That’s not a crime. But no-one has the right to judge him and claim that he shouldn’t have testified for a Nazi. He did what he thought was right at the time for a man who helped him rescue so many people. Claiming that his affidavit was instrumental in releasing Becher was boastful, but since when is boasting a crime? Does that prove he is a collaborator?’
The longer he speaks, the more he sounds as if he is pleading for the defence, not prosecuting the man charged with the offence. Isaiah Fleischmann becomes almost irrelevant in his summation, which is devoted to justifying Miklós’s actions. The witness has been transformed into the defendant and the actual defendant has faded into the background and become an irrelevant shadow.
‘You’d think I was the one on trial here,’ Miklós whispers.
Judit squeezes his hand again. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ she whispers. ‘The judge knows you’re not.’
But Miklós is fuming. He finds it so difficult to concentrate on the prosecutor’s lengthy dissertation that he misses much of it. Refocusing with an effort, he hears the prosecutor’s defence of the government during Gábor’s failed mission to Istanbul.
‘There was no shame in the Jewish Agency cooperating with the British who were fighting the Nazis,’ he is saying. ‘The defence has produced no evidence to show that the Jewish Agency was complicit in turning Mr Weisz over to the British.’
Towards the end of his summing up, he comes back to Isaiah’s charge of collaboration. ‘Sitting in this court, listening to my learned colleague, you would think that it was a crime to snatch so many Jews from the jaws of a terrible death. Wasn’t he right to try and free a group of Jews when the majority were doomed to be murdered? The defence would like you to believe that Miklós Nagy deliberately sacrificed half a million Jews so that he could rescue a favoured few, but that’s a travesty of the facts, a travesty of history, and an insult to the man who risked so much and fought so hard to rescue them. It wasn’t in his power to save the half million, but he managed to save more than fifteen hundred souls who, without his heroic efforts, would have been murdered along with the rest.’
After a pause, he continues. ‘The Talmud teaches us that whoever saves one life, saves the whole world. Well, Miklós Nagy saved over one thousand five hundred worlds, and for that he should be lauded to the skies, not accused of collaboration.’
Then, as if an afterthought, he adds, ‘I ask your honour to convict the accused of the offense with which he is charged.’
There’s a recess before Amos Alon begins his summing up. News of Alon’s fiery delivery and sensational accusations have spread throughout the city, and at the entrance to the courtroom, people are standing three deep, pushing and shoving in the hope of getting inside for the fireworks they anticipate when it is the defence counsel’s turn to speak. But the courtroom is already packed. No-one who has sat through the prosecutor’s summation wants to risk leaving their seat for fear of losing it.
As he waits for Amos Alon to begin, Miklós sits in dejected silence. The defence counsel has the advantage of having the last word, and he expects that the impact of the prosecutor’s low-key presentation will be forgotten the moment Amos Alon opens his mouth.
‘This trial has been stacked against me from beginning to end,’ Miklós whispers to Judit. ‘Alon has a double advantage. He has the privileges of a defence counsel but he’s virtually the prosecutor as well.’
Alon is even more ferocious than he expected. Just as the prosecutor has defended Miklós instead of attacking Isaiah Fleischmann, Alon proceeds to attack Miklós rather than defending Isaiah. And he rips into him without mercy. There are no doubts or ambiguities in his summation, no rhetorical questions or weak arguments. Just one continuous onslaught.
Alon’s arguments electrify the courtroom. He sounds like an avenging angel sent to the Jerusalem District Court to identify evil-doers and put the world to rights. People are as still as marble obelisks, mesmerised by his thrilling words. He accuses Miklós of moral depravity, of ambition gone mad.
‘He colluded with the Nazis’ diabolical scheme to lull the remaining Jews of Hungary into believing the Nazis’ lies, into passively acceding to their orders. His satanic alliance with Eichmann sealed the fate of the Jews of Kolostór. We hear about the collaborators of other nations — men like Quisling, Petain and Laval, but Miklós Nagy’s actions surpass them all. It was his malevolence and collaboration that enabled him to select a favoured few to be saved, while he withheld information that might have saved the rest.’
Carried away by the admiring glances of the people assembled in the courtroom, Alon’s oratory rises to even greater heights. ‘We have erected memorials and forests in honour of the exterminated Jews of Europe. But those memorials don’t silence the right of the voices of the slaughtered to be heard. These voices have now entered our courtroom and forced us to listen to what they are saying.
‘The prosecutor accuses me of mud-slinging but the mud in this courtroom is in the facts that I have revealed. Miklós Nagy’s soul was corrupted and his ideals were compromised when he became a trusted friend of the Nazis. In the last months of the war, Miklós Nagy became an agent for the Nazi gang — he was the most effective Jewish agent they had. He was their trusted ally and apologist. He sacrificed the remaining Jews of Kolostór, many of whom could have been saved, and he did it just so he could rescue his own friends and relatives and a few prominent people. He wanted to be a big shot, to hobnob with t
he top Nazis, and he did their bidding which resulted in the deaths of the Jews of Kolostór. And then he ran away and saved his own skin.’
Miklós springs to his feet. ‘You’re a dirty liar!’ he shouts. ‘You know I didn’t run away. I could have stayed in Switzerland, but I returned to Budapest to try and save more Jews, even though I was risking my life.’
People turn around to stare at him, and Judit places a hand on his trembling arm to urge him to sit down. The judge bangs his gavel furiously. ‘Silence! If you don’t sit down at once and stop interrupting these proceedings, Mr Nagy, I will have you charged with contempt and ejected from the court.’
Miklós slumps into his seat, still shaking.
Ignoring the disruption, Alon continues, ‘But let us look at Miklós Nagy after the war. The terror and threat of deportation have gone, but two years later, he saved Kurt Becher, a war criminal, from judgement in Nuremburg. Then he lied about it, and perjured himself in this court. So I repeat: Miklos Nagy is a collaborator who should be put on trial in accordance with the law passed against Nazis and collaborators.’
Although ceiling fans are cooling the air in the courtroom, Miklós mops his face. He can feel sweat pooling down his neck and he shifts on the timber bench. Alon’s words are a torturer’s scalpel, flaying his skin down to bare bone, layer by layer. According to that law, which had recently been passed, death was the punishment for Nazi collaborators, the only crime for which the death penalty was imposed in Israel. How could Alon invoke that law against him when he was the victim of criminal libel?
He recalls the conversation he had with Kurt Becher in his office about gratitude, betrayal and crucifixion. Becher was right.
‘Remember, it’s just words,’ Judit whispers, interlacing her fingers with his. ‘He’s talking utter nonsense. Anyone with half a brain can see that, especially the judge.’
Miklós is convinced that she is wrong but he doesn’t reply. Nothing can convince him that Alon’s diatribe is not having a powerful impact on the judge. From the rapt faces in the courtroom, he can see that whatever their opinions were before his summing up, this lawyer with the skills of a demagogue has now swept them along in his depiction of Miklós as a megalomaniac in the service of the enemy. He knows that a lie repeated often enough is eventually regarded as the truth.
The Collaborator Page 27
