The Hours After

by Gerda Weissmann Klein

  By the middle of July, I learned that the Russian takeover of Volary was imminent. Feeling well enough, I obtained my release from the hospital and made preparations to leave. Transportation would be provided by the American army to take those of the girls who wanted to leave to two points in Bavaria that were under American control. Now that it was upon us, I had ambivalent feelings about leaving this place of my liberation that held some pleasant memories, despite everything else it represented.

  By morning I was in a state of excitement as my friend Mala and I were gathering our meager possessions: in my case, a few items of clothing, a prayer book, Kurt’s letters, his photo, and finally some provisions. We had heard that some of our girls who had recovered earlier had gone to a certain town in Bavaria, and so we told the captain who drove us that we would initially like to join that group in Cham. Although I had promised Kurt to come to the town of Freising, where he was stationed, I was reluctant to do so, fearing I might become a burden to him.

  Once we arrived in Cham after a long Jeep ride, no one seemed to know where the other girls from our group could be found. Following a Gl’s lead, we made our way to the house where they supposedly were staying but were rebuffed by the owner, a woman who dismissed us with the words that they had moved on. We were at our wits’ end and very, very tired. It was getting dark, and we were beginning to wonder whether we had made a mistake in leaving the security of our quarters in Volary. This town was hostile and its people suspicious of us.

  We heard the tolling of a bell, and that provided an answer. We would seek refuge for the night in the church. When we found it, the portal was open and we could dimly make out the interior by several candles burning at the far end of the nave. Wrapping our belongings around us, we curled up on the seats and mercifully fell asleep.

  When I awoke I could see sunlight streaming through the stained-glass windows. Where do I go from here? What do I do now? I turned to prayer, asking my parents to help me find my way. Kurt—I still had the option to go to Freising, as he had suggested. Luck was with us, and the American Military Government office in town promised to provide the necessary transportation.

  A ride in an ambulance van got us to Freising by late afternoon, depositing us at Kurt’s army base. I conveyed to the guard at the entrance just whom I had come to see, and to my immense relief saw Kurt hurrying toward us after only a short while. “I had been hoping you’d come around this time,” he greeted us. “I can put you up in a doctor’s residence for the time being. You must be hungry, tired, and all worn out!” I could barely thank him.

  Two days later, in the course of a long walk, punctuated by what I felt to be an uneasy silence, Kurt told me of his impending leave, which he would spend on the Riviera. He asked that Mala and I stay in Freising until his return.

  Freising, July 20, 1945

  My friend, my good friend,

  I owe you an answer, Kurt. I owe you many answers. I must write now, knowing that I shall never be able to articulate all I want to and must tell you before we part.

  Tonight, when we had our long talk, many things crystallized for me. Your concern about my future, immediate and distant, is well-meaning. You told me that within a few days you will get a leave that will take you to the Riviera, and you asked me to stay here in Freising, assuring me that you could take care of my stay here for a pack of American cigarettes. You even made light of the fact that you don’t smoke and suggested I take it as a brotherly gesture.

  Forgive me for being selfish, for surely you have earned that relationship, but I couldn’t call you my brother. Yes, a deep, caring friendship sprang up between us the instant we met. I shall be eternally grateful to providence for putting you in my path at that precise instant. Now please try to be objective for a moment; forget yourself, me, the war, even peace—everything. Please listen to the story as if it were a confession. I ask only one promise: Give me your understanding without pity.

  It seems in retrospect that my life until fifteen was of fairy-tale dimensions. I was indulged, pampered, and came close to actually believing that my father’s nickname for me, Princess Sunshine, was my due. But there is a price to be paid for such privilege. The war turned this heaven into hell, and my childhood ended on October 19, 1939. That was the day on which Artur left, when the person who until then had been an all-knowing figure of authority, my father, collapsed and cried helplessly. I put my arms around him, comforting him for the first time in my life, taking on the responsibility Artur had charged me with: to look after our parents. I found solace in being able to spare them at least some pain.

  When I was almost seventeen, I met an intelligent, sensitive, artistic young man by the name of Abek. I thought it was a special friendship, but for him it was much more. And I could not reciprocate that feeling, for my ideal of love is something sacred. I only want to be totally honest about what has happened in my life, aside from the camps.

  And then I met you at the very moment of my total mental and physical collapse. A few days before that I lost Ilse, who was like a sister to me. After the separation from my parents, she became the focal point of my existence. She needed me, and I had to live for her. That was my objective, as I had lived for my parents when I was with them. Maybe I had used that as a crutch, but with Ilse gone there was nothing else left for me.

  As long as I live I shall never forget the expression on your face as we entered the factory and you came face-to-face with what they had done to us. I saw your horror, your rage, and your compassion, and at that instant, when I had known you less than ten minutes, I was overwhelmed by an uncontrollable desire to save you from pain. It is a feeling that only increased as our friendship developed.

  During the weeks that followed, while I hovered between life and death, you often stood at my upper bunk for hours while others were going about happier pursuits. And then there was the evening when you so miraculously appeared after hours of riding in a Jeep, only to be told that I would probably not survive the night. It was, of course, past visiting hours, and I heard you through my raging fever, heard you argue with the nurse, taking full responsibility for your presence. Yes, you knew I had typhoid fever; nevertheless you stayed the night, holding my hand in your cool, strong one. That’s when you called me du so tenderly for the first time. If my parents and Artur survive, they will have to thank you for my life.

  I remember your unabashed joy and elation when my fever broke; I only want to give you joy! You became the only person who really cares, who understands me. And I am so deeply grateful for that. It is not surprising that I was seeking your company, as I felt you were seeking mine. You always came back when I thought I might not see you again, and I believed that you came because you wanted to be with me, because we enjoyed being together, in the process discovering how much we had in common. Or did you come out of some feeling of obligation? Did you take responsibility for my life because you saved my life?

  I never asked you what obligations you had toward anyone at home, and you never mentioned it, but Mala apparently heard from your friends that there was someone. I feel something is wrong. You must never think you have any obligation toward me—never! You don’t owe me anything. I don’t think anybody could object to our friendship, not even to that evening at the Knäbels’ when you took me in your arms and kissed me for the one and only time. You did not ask me why I was crying; you must have sensed that this was the first affectionate gesture toward me after so many hard and lonely years, and I craved affection so much. I cannot bear to hurt you; that is why I cannot stay here any longer.

  You do not need me, Kurt. On the contrary, I might be a burden to you, and that is something I never want to be. If I stayed, I could not promise never to weaken and seek solace from you. You would give it to me, and I would lack the strength not to be dependent on you. I might be saddened by something, and you would sense it, as you so often did, and comfort me, gently stroking my hair. And I would feel that comfort and keep on seeking it. In the end you would grow to
resent me.

  I shall never stand in the way of your happiness, never. No one, certainly not you, shall suffer on my account. I assure you again that you bear neither responsibility nor guilt for the development our relationship has taken. I often feel so lighthearted in your company, so good, that I forget at times that sooner or later we will have to part. I know you well enough by now to be sure that you will never initiate it because you don’t want to hurt me, so let me do it for you. It seems that your impending leave is a sign. You know that I am willing to bring any sacrifice on the altar of our friendship, even the one which I desire but know to be wrong: to stay here as you suggested. It is wrong for both of us.

  Now, about my future, which worries you so much. Short range, I would like to go to Munich, because we hear that I can find work there. They are looking for people who speak German and Polish and are considered anti-Nazi. I believe I will qualify on both counts. I want to work rather than go to a DP camp, although I may have to if all else fails. As you know, my uncle can and will do everything for me, but I don’t want to go to Turkey. He thinks of me as a little girl and will make all decisions for me. He loves me very much, and I realize how lucky I am, but it would be like living in a gilded cage. The bars are confining, and the golden glitter can be very cold.

  I don’t want to go to Bielsko either until I know that, with God’s help, Artur is there. I will consider going to Palestine if the opportunity should present itself, and I pray that it should. It would be the only right place for me after all I have experienced. So you see you need not worry about me; I do have some options, I am free, grow stronger each day, and my illness seems behind me.

  It is almost dawn, and I feel that you, too, have not slept. But I had to say what I did, for I sensed something unspoken between us, an unease that I can’t bear. Again, please do know how much you mean to me and always will. Take pride and joy in what you did for me, but don’t assume any responsibility.

  May God give you the happiness that you so richly deserve, and if I should one day find mine, you will be the first to hear about it. No doubt, we will talk more in the morning. May only good things happen to you in your life. I am enclosing a little parting gift, a tiny mezuzah* along with my ardent wish that it may protect you from all evil. Please keep it with you, with all good wishes from your ever understanding

  Gerda

  I remember crying bitterly after I wrote that letter, feeling hardly as brave as I had pretended to be. Yet at the same time I was satisfied that I had pulled it off. It was some sort of comfort, and not least a matter of pride. I knew that what I had written was far from the truth, that my feelings ran in quite the opposite direction. I did not want to go to Turkey, but not for the reason I had given. I remembered only too well some remarks my uncle had made during one of his visits to Bielsko: “Die Kleine hat lange Beine und schöne Augen. Wir können eine gute Partie für sie machen.” At the time my uncle’s matter-of-fact statement did not sound strange, and I did not question that, according to him, a suitable marriage could easily be arranged for me, the “little one” with “long legs and beautiful eyes.”

  Uncle Leo, in his authoritative way, had hatched plans for Artur as well, not only insofar as his career was concerned but also when it came to matrimony. Though ostensibly in jest, he was dead serious. In Turkey alliances with influential families were regarded as business mergers. I knew that my uncle loved me and would never force me to do anything against my wishes; nevertheless he would have no qualms about taking over parental authority. And it wasn’t far-fetched at all that I might succumb to such entreaties in memory of my parents. The reason for my reluctance vis-à-vis those prospects was Kurt, and the fact that I was desperately in love with him.

  The reference to Palestine was genuine. It was something I did yearn for and was the most logical place for me. The way I saw it, in order to go there I would have to make a permanent commitment to live in that country. How would I handle that once Artur returned? Where would that leave him? Would he join me there? Above all, I must be with him. In those days I could not imagine the great mobility the future would hold. In my heart of hearts I had hoped that Kurt would offer a cogent reason to stay where I was and await further developments.

  I can only vaguely recall the conversation I had with Kurt after he received the letter in which I had tried to clarify the situation between us. I do remember that his reaction wasn’t excessive, rather making it clear that he had no commitments and that my source must have been misinformed. He readily admitted to corresponding with one girl in particular back in the States, but assured me that no promises had been made on either side. Beyond that he did not elaborate.

  I confess that I suffered pangs of jealousy when I thought of some of the wholesome American faces I had seen on photos and among the army nurses I had come into contact with. Next to them I felt at a great disadvantage, as far as my physical condition and appearance were concerned.

  Kurt did promise to take me to Munich, though, before going on leave on the Riviera, so that Mala and I could find lodgings and jobs, presumably with the American Civilian Censorship Division.

  While it was true, as Gerda had heard through her friend, that I had carried on a correspondence with one girl in particular back in the States, she had assumed that I might be bound by a commitment, which was not the case.

  Her lines made me realize all the more what a fateful encounter we had had on May 7, and how she surpassed all that I had been searching for in the woman with whom I would want to share my life. Each time I was able to see her, I would discover more that attracted me about her mind, her demeanor, and her appearance, until it became clear that I was falling in love with her. What I found irresistible was her quick wit, her unwavering principles, and that fire in her radiant green eyes, coupled with her dimpled smile, which was more and more in evidence as time went by. She was possessed of an inner as well as an external beauty that became a powerful magnet for me, and the thought of this special and rare person leaving my life became intolerable.

  Despite all that drew me to her, I was still hesitant about my right to tie her to me in view of the many uncertainties I perceived as looming in the immediate future. For one thing, the war with Japan was as yet unresolved, and there was always a chance that I would be sent there for the expected invasion of that country. Once that war ended, I had no idea what job opportunities would exist for me. All I knew was that I could not support a wife, and possibly a family, on the salary at which I had left my job three years earlier. I reasoned that in the normal course of events I would not have felt ready for marriage at that juncture. But these were hardly normal times. Before boarding a flight for my leave at the Riviera, I had spoken to Captain Presser, who was in charge of the American Censorship Division, about the possibility that Gerda and Mala might work for that agency. Gerda had a job interview there the day after I went on leave.

  Munich, August 7, 1945

  Dear Kurt,

  I’m so glad about the work I’ll be doing, now that I seem to have qualified for the job at the American Civilian Censorship Division. It will give me a lot of satisfaction. I’m working against Germany! I know I was not chosen for a noble calling, and I won’t be able to do too much, but it means a lot to me to search and perhaps ensure that some of those snakes will not slip back into their skins again.

  You know, I can’t thank you enough, Kurt. I think you know far too much, but this gives me a new purpose in life and, hopefully, some peace of mind.

  Everything went swimmingly, and I take it as a good omen that you too had “happy landings.” I’m really in high spirits today and am fully aware that it’s all thanks to you. In my mind I’m still giving you some more details. I’m sure you’re glad it’s only in my mind, aren’t you? But you know, I have to tell you everything, and glad tidings right away, so relax! You told me it’s your wish to help me, and I don’t like to accept help, but yours? Yes, it’s a beautiful gesture. In turn, however much understanding I can c
ome up with regarding everything that concerns you is meant to put your mind at ease.

  I’m looking forward to an early reunion,

  Your Gerda

  I was delighted when Kurt returned from his leave on the Riviera sooner than expected. He looked devastatingly handsome, his blue eyes and blond hair in sharp contrast to his deep tan. The reason he gave for his early return was that a severe cold had kept him from enjoying the amenities that verdant, aquamarine paradise had to offer. I had my own thoughts on that, but managed to convey how sorry I was that he had missed a few days of fun by cutting his stay short. It was hardly a true reflection of my feelings, however. “I shouldn’t get near you as long as I have this miserable cold,” he was saying even as the next moment found us in each other’s arms, and I felt his lips on mine.

  While this brief period of R and R had seemed like the exciting fulfillment of a long-standing dream, the reality was that it pointed up the emptiness of seeing these fascinating sights without the girl I had had to leave behind. My thoughts were back in Munich, and I had time to contemplate the events of the preceding months and the importance they had assumed in my life. While there were unquestionable moments of discovery and enjoyment on the Riviera, what I discovered most of all were my true feelings toward Gerda. The conclusion was inevitable that anything I experienced without her at my side was not being fully lived and that, no matter what the future might hold, I must not lose this person who had become the center of my life.