Shores Beyond Shores

by Irene Butter

  “How’s your father?” Mr. Roseboom asked, his forehead rippled.

  “We’re afraid he’s sick again,” Werner said.

  “He’s not sick.” Mr. Roseboom paused.

  I looked at Lex, who held my gaze.

  “Your father was beaten today…by a Kapo.”

  “How bad?” asked Werner.

  Mr. Roseboom didn’t say anything, which was the answer we didn’t want.

  “Why?” Werner pressed.

  “I don’t know. I didn’t witness it myself, and your father didn’t say.”

  “We heard the news about the exchange at work,” said Lex, “Maybe the Kapo was jealous.”

  “What do we do?” I asked Lex. I had barely traded words with him, but now he and his father seemed important.

  “Let your father rest for now,” said Mr. Roseboom. “We’ll check back in an hour.”

  “What if he needs a doctor?” I asked.

  “We can’t,” Werner said. “Not now.”

  “He’s right,” said Lex.

  They left.

  “Pappi,” I said, and put my face next to his. His breath was weak and cool. “You have to report. We can only be exchanged if we’re healthy. You can’t look too sick. Please, for all of us.”

  He nodded in agreement and looked at me with glassy eyes.

  “Reni…you’re right.”

  “Can you make it?” I asked.

  “Yes.”

  “I can help,” Werner offered.

  “No,” Pappi said. “Not good. For your foot.”

  “I’ll go with you,” I said.

  Werner stayed with Mutti. We decided to let her rest more before taking her to be examined, praying the extra time would help. With short steps, Pappi made it outside and walked a few meters before bending over, hands on knees, swaying. Instinctively, I wrapped my arm across his back and tried to support him. He pushed himself up while leaning into me. I smelled the sweat and dirt on his clothes and skin, and something else cold and metallic.

  “I’ve got you,” I said, hoping I did.

  He fell into me a little more. I could hardly support him against my bony frame, and I felt we might topple. I kept taking deep breaths and adjusting my posture. I was always hungry, but I now craved anything in my belly that would fuel my efforts. I summoned whispers of energy, knowing I had to get my father in front of the Stabsarzt.

  If it was this hard with Pappi, I knew it would be impossible for Mutti. I imagined being trapped in Bergen-Belsen weeks from now, listening to the rumors of those who had made it out. Or worse, we would be split up like Anne and her family, with Mutti and Pappi left behind and Werner and me forced to go on. I couldn’t bear that, I couldn’t. I could handle a lot, and I had, but not that. How could we have come through so much only to risk losing it all at the last hour? I steeled myself, preparing to plead with the Stabsarzt on Mutti’s behalf.

  The line had dwindled.

  Soon we were again facing the men behind the small table. This time, a guard, an older man in a uniform meant for someone bigger, stood behind them. A taut leather strap crossed from the guard’s right hip up to his left shoulder, hugging a heavy rifle against his back. The Stabsarzt looked up at me, his expression indifferent as if he had never seen me before. Again, he searched my face. My God, I thought, what would he see when he looked at Pappi?

  Pappi gave his name when asked by the Stabsarzt.

  “Are you sick?”

  Pappi shook his head no.

  With his right hand the guard pulled on the strap holding his weapon. He lifted it above his helmeted head, and let it rest on his other shoulder. He then shifted his weight and stood back at attention.

  With a flick, the official on the left made two marks that bled into the paper.

  “Herr Doctor,” asked Pappi, “A question?”

  The doctor didn’t say no.

  “Our passports?” asked Pappi.

  “We have them,” said the doctor. “Your children, Werner and Irene, have already been here. Be ready early tomorrow morning, all of you.”

  A flash of confusion crossed Pappi’s face before he glanced at the list and then slowly nodded.

  I was baffled. What did he mean by “your children?” Pappi took my hand, thanked them, and guided me toward the door. Outside, and with a little space between us and the officials and guard, he groaned and fell on my shoulder.

  “That was luck,” Pappi said, “or something.”

  “For you, yes, but what about Mutti? You barely made it. How will she?”

  “She doesn’t have to.”

  “Why?”

  “They thought you were Mutti.”

  “Me?”

  He nodded yes.

  Did I look that old? Were Mutti and I that much alike?

  Back at the barracks, Pappi crawled into bed. Werner and I had to pack, but with so little, it didn’t take much time. We decided to leave almost everything behind, and packing smaller things like Pappi’s razor kit, our two brown pots, forks, knifes, and spoons. The only thing I wanted to hold on to was my soft, pink blanket. Everything else was filthy and threadbare. I told Werner what had happened with the doctor.

  “Maybe they were confused. Maybe they were just being nice. Maybe they just checked off our names anyhow,” I said.

  “Does it matter, Reni?”

  Werner was right. Asking for an answer wasn’t important. Why fret over another miracle?

  31

  Camp Bergen-Belsen, Germany

  January 20, 1945 evening

  The news of our departure was the talk of the camp. Maybe I just imagined it, but it seemed as if everybody was looking at us. Prisoners from other camp sections peered through the barbed wire, pointing in our direction with their heads close together in talk. The guards who normally ignored us, except to hit or yell, looked at us like we were the newest animals in the zoo. We were called the glück, or lucky. What a change. I was used to dreck, filth. A word we heard every day. The guards used it at us. The prisoners used it. Even the kids used it between themselves, though never in front of adults. It was not a nice word, but it fit Bergen-Belsen. On the other hand, glück was the most rare, and the sweetest, of words. I rolled it around my mouth like a piece of hard Danish candy.

  There was milling and fussing—more activity than we had seen in a long time. Parents told their kids to pack. Kids responded there was nothing to pack. They just had what they wore. Couples debated what to bring: some string, a torn jacket, or a dented water cup. Some friends and family offered to help. They cared, and they knew they might benefit from whatever was left behind. Most of those staying, though, offered only steely glances.

  “Imagine if we were the ones staying behind,” said Werner as we sat on his bunk.

  “I don’t want to,” I said.

  “Everybody knows we’re going and yet they walk past us, frowning and not looking up, like we have already gone. All our time together and it’s like we don’t exist.”

  “Not everybody is like that,” I said.

  Still, how generous would I feel if I were seeing a few “lucky” ones leave? It made the people helping us all the more special. They had nothing to gain, except maybe a bit of stale bread or threadbare socks to help protect them against a place where life was fading away faster and faster. Maybe they looked at us as we had looked at the group that had left for Palestine months earlier: we were now the reminder that escape happened.

  With Pappi and Mutti so sick, some of our barracks’ friends approached Werner about getting our parents to the train by carrying them on a makeshift stretcher. Pappi tried to say something.

  “What, John?” asked Mr. Roseboom, his son Lex behind him.

  “Too risky,” Pappi said, adding, “They could decide we are too sick to leave. The Germans need to exchange Jews who are living. Just because we passed the initial test doesn’t mean they won’t be looking for any sign of weakness.”

  The men looked at one another.

 
; “We’ll walk,” Pappi repeated.

  “Okay,” the small council agreed.

  “And Werner,” Pappi said, “give them the powdered milk, sugar cubes, and jam.”

  Pappi was talking about what had come in the second, and recent, care package, which we had been rationing. The daily, single spoonful of jam was amazing, and my entire body and soul didn’t want to part with the treat.

  “All of it?” I asked. “Can’t we at least keep the jam? I mean, just in case we need it?”

  “Reni, I know you like it, “ Pappi said, “but freedom will be much sweeter.”

  True, I thought, but I still didn’t see why we couldn’t bring the jam.

  “Understand?” Pappi quietly asked.

  Not really, but I knew the right thing was to agree.

  “So,” said Mr. Roseboom, “that’s why they let us have the care packages.”

  “To fatten us up for the trade,” finished his son.

  The council of friends agreed that we would hand over the food in the morning, after we had had some for breakfast. They promised to divide it equally. One by one they shook hands with Pappi, including Lex, who also stuck out his hand to Werner and then me. It felt so oddly grown up.

  We talked about leaving the rest of our belongings, but there was always the chance we might end up in another camp, and it was winter. With everything either packed in our one suitcase or wrapped up in blankets, and Pappi and Mutti asleep, I went in search of Hanneli. I knew she wasn’t on the exchange list. She was lying in her bunk.

  “All our food talk is finally going to come true for you,” she said.

  “I know. I can’t believe it,” I said. “I’ll think of you with every bite.”

  “I’m so happy for you. For your family. Your mother needs real help. The Red Cross will take care of her.”

  “My Pappi isn’t well either. He was hit. He seems really hurt.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Please tell the others good-bye. Including Anne. I’m sorry I can’t help again.”

  Hanneli nodded. She shrugged. We sat together. Two bunks over, some adults made hushed talk. We could hear them. Just barely.

  “No train has ever left here for a better place. It’s another Nazi lie.”

  “I agree. Commandant Kramer and all the Nazis would rather we rot here. It will be a train to more hell, I’m sure of it.”

  “Poor folks. They think it’s what they’ve been waiting for, and it’s just a trick.”

  Trick or not, I thought, what difference did it make? Like Werner said, this was at least a chance—the best we’d had since we’d arrived here. Sticking around Bergen-Belsen didn’t look good with the increasing numbers of prisoners and dead, but I didn’t say any of that to Hanneli.

  32

  Camp Bergen-Belsen, Germany

  January 21, 1945 morning

  I awoke early the next day and stared up again at the bottom of the bunk above me. It seemed to press down like the lid of a coffin. I shifted my gaze to the rows of bunks and bodies around me, to the rafters above, and to the roof above that. Beyond that was a waiting train, cold, clouds, blue sky, and…who knew? Leaving this camp alive was everybody’s hope and anybody’s guess.

  The squeal and shudder of hinges opening stopped my musings. The door thudded against the wooden wall, followed by heavy boots stomping. I sat up in my bunk. Two Kapos, looking as self-important and well-fed as always, stood, dripping water and snow.

  “It is seven o’clock,” one of them said. “Everybody who is leaving on the train must report to the disinfection center and bath house for cleaning and delousing.”

  He repeated himself, then added that we should bring everything, including our baggage. We had two hours to get ready. He clapped his hands twice for emphasis. With another slam of the door, the two Kapos were gone, leaving behind small clumps of mud and wet boot prints that I wouldn’t have to clean up anymore.

  Pappi, however, didn’t seem any better than the day before; in fact, he moved more slowly than I could remember. His pale face was stretched, and his thin hair was matted. Mutti didn’t move at all, and I felt a flash of terror until I saw her arm drift to her chin.

  “We have to get going Mutti,” Werner said.

  Mutti didn’t respond.

  Werner tried again.

  Mutti muttered something.

  “What?” Werner asked.

  “Too tired,” she managed.

  “Pappi,” I said, “please help with Mutti.”

  Werner and I exchanged concerned looks as Pappi edged to her side and whispered to her: “Trudi, liebling. Trudi, muster. This is our chance. Our one chance.”

  “Eat something,” I added. “You will feel better.”

  She stirred. We all ate extra helpings of Red Cross jam, then fastened all our buttons and pulled our coats tight. Werner and I tested the strings used to tie together our bundled knapsacks, and slung them over our shoulders. Somebody took our suitcase. Friends carried Mutti. Our final good-byes were small nods and looks, though Hanneli ran up with a quick hug, and Vogeltje made a point of making sure we were snugly dressed and asked if we had everything. Satisfied with her work, she stood back and hummed.

  The day was as cold as the rest of the month had been, and a thin frosting of new snow covered everything so that the barracks, fencing, and people stood out like a painter’s first strokes on a fresh canvas. The gray sky was as thick and inviting as a new wool scarf. We were marched to the bathhouse building where Mutti and I were separated from Pappi and Werner. The men and boys were instructed to undress. We looked away. Then they filed through the door to the large shower room. We heard the pipes rumble and we heard a sputtering spray, followed by shocked voices that reminded us the water was not heated. There were sharp shrill commands from the guard at the doorway.

  “Scrub harder!”

  “Get in the crevasses! Ha, especially those crevasses you Dreck!”

  “Get behind your ears!”

  “No amount of water will get swine like you clean.”

  About ten minutes later the water shut off. Dripping tailed off.

  “Stay! Don’t move. Your filthy clothes are being cleaned. You will remain here until they are done.”

  We heard feet moving, and shaky, meek voices requesting to borrow something to dry off with. To wrap around.

  “Stay!”

  I thought of a watch on a guard’s wrist, and its slow sweep. Minutes. A half hour.

  “Ha, yes, hug each other. That’s a child’s way to stay warm!”

  I could feel the shivering from the other side of the wall. Meanwhile, I dared not move.

  “No sitting!”

  A half hour. Slow sweep. An hour.

  “What, you think we enjoy this? Watching you naked?”

  “Swine have never looked so skinny.”

  “I said, ‘Stand!’”

  A slap.

  Was that Pappi’s tired skin being struck? I could only imagine that some others were helping to keep him up. Kapos arrived, dumping piles of damp clothes on the ground around us. We turned away as the men and boys came out, found theirs, and dressed. A tap on my shoulder; I looked up at Werner.

  “We’ll s-see you s-s-soon,” he said through chattering teeth. “It, it’s rather ch-chilly.”

  My brother and Pappi filed out with the others, Werner limping more than usual, the ends of dark socks poking from his toeless shoes. Two men were on either side of Pappi. He was not being carried, but he was not walking on his own either.

  Mutti and I undressed while sitting on long benches, handing our clothing and bags to female guards who took them away to be steamed, holding them at arm’s length. Mutti sighed, leaning more on me as we walked into the large showering room. The walls were brick. Triangular, metal-tubed structures that reminded me of swing sets were scattered about. Each had six showerheads, one on each end and two off each side, and two soap bowls that dangled in the middle from rusty chains. Mutti was able to hold a le
g of one shower structure while I helped her clean.

  I didn’t want to look at her or at the other women, but I couldn’t help it. Everybody was so thin, especially their arms and ribs. Shoulder blades and hips pushed against the whitest of skin. The water took away my breath, and I shifted a little so it only hit me on one side.

  “Mutti, will you be okay for a moment?” I asked.

  She nodded.

  I dipped my head under the water, wetting my hair, which was too thick and stiff to easily run my hands through. I tried frothing it up a thin wedge of soap, but the wedge stayed hard and sticky no matter how much I rubbed it. Three times I ran what soap I could over my head. In the end, my hair still felt waxy. Mutti was shivering more. Just as I thought she would faint from the cold, the water died with a snap of vibrating metal. Mutti’s shivering worsened. My embarrassment of touching her disappeared in my need to get her as dry as possible as fast as possible. I swept my flat open hands down over Mutti’s hair and down her limbs and body to get the water off her as fast as I could. My hands moved like the relentless tongue of a cat. Her face stayed taut, her eyes closed. Two other women came over and we huddled together in a group, not talking, breathing hard, and staring at our curled feet on the concrete. I wanted long arms to wrap what little warmth I had around Mutti. I kept a hand on her elbow as she clung to the pole. Numbness spread over my fingers and toes.

  Stiffly and slowly, as if walking for the first time, we exited when instructed. We found our clothes damp, but supposedly free of lice, and we dressed with fumbling fingers. I helped Mutti dress first. Many women just draped what they could around their shoulders.

  “I need to lie down,” Mutti said, her teeth chattering, body shaking.

  As I turned to her, she collapsed onto the wooden bench against the wall. A woman scrambled out of the way. I gasped and leaned into her so she would not fall on the floor, and eased her onto her side. Her head lay on her long thin arm. I hadn’t even had a chance to pull down her dress so her hipbone jutted up like a large shell.