Meyer and Geller sat on the same cut log and watched as the guards drank from the cups, which had heralded the arrival of the water cart.
“You know, we used to call them ‘dead soldiers’ when I was in the army,” said Geller, before qualifying his statement. “The water tank. On the western front we called them ‘dead soldiers’ for some reason.”
“Do we get to drink?” asked Meyer.
“Yes, but only once they have quenched their thirsts. Then it will be our turn. They sometimes bring bread too, but don’t get your hopes up. The SS feel that one meal a day for Jews is enough.”
Meyer was thirsty but he had no appetite at all. He felt that his metabolism had slowed right down. He hadn’t really felt hunger since he had arrived, and he certainly had not needed to pass a stool. But he was thirsty and could not keep his eyes off of the soldiers drinking deeply from the tin cups.
He wondered about Klara and the girls. Where were they at that moment? Geller had explained that they would be barracked in the women’s camp near the crematoria in what was known as Birkenau. The men rarely saw the women, except occasionally, when they passed while being marched to their work details.
“I had been here for only a couple of weeks,” Geller had told him. “As we were walking back from digging drainage ditches along the road outside the town, there was a column from the women’s camp being taken in the opposite direction. Well, one of the men saw his wife and broke from our party to try to embrace her. You can imagine how the SS dealt with that. It was tragic. He never got to even hold her before they shot him. And then they shot her, too.”
Meyer winced as he remembered Geller’s story and wondered if he could stop himself from suffering the same fate if he saw his wife or children. Would he be able to stop himself from running to them?
“What work do the women do?” he asked Geller.
“The same as us,” he replied, “they don’t make any allowances for sex or age.”
“I was wondering what my wife was doing just now.”
“I often wonder where my wife, Magda is,” said Geller, “and my boy Franz. I hope they are safe somewhere. I always imagine them both in a little village somewhere high in the mountains.”
It was the first time that Geller had mentioned family. He saw that Meyer was seeking more information from him but did not want to ask too much.
“We were trying to get out of Austria, to Switzerland. We were from Salzburg and had managed to save up quite a bit of money and provisions. We left on the train for Innsbruck, and from there we were going to travel by bus and on foot. There were only the three of us; our parents were no longer with us, so apart from friends we didn’t have anyone to leave behind. We only carried one small case. It was big enough for us to look like we were perhaps visiting friends for a weekend but small enough so that it didn’t look like we were fleeing the country with all of our belongings, and so arousing any suspicion. Franz had his canvas school bag. We carried our money sewn into our clothes, and I had painted two gold watches that I owned with black lacquer to make them look like cheap models from Romania. I wore one and kept the other in the case. Otherwise, we wore most of our clothes. It was winter, and no-one would question us being all bundled up with jackets and coats.
“Anyway, we made it to Innsbruck took the bus to the border with Liechtenstein. We were planning to cross into Liechtenstein by foot and then, from there, into Switzerland.
“It’s funny, you know, you think everyone is watching you. You think that they all know what you are doing and where you are going. I think perhaps this in itself makes you look guilty, and then people really do start to look at you.
“We had a real close shave in Innsbruck as we were getting ready to take the bus. We managed to buy tickets even though our travel permit was only from Salzburg to Innsbruck. Maybe the teller informed the police, as after we got on the bus there were three policemen who came over and were talking to one of the drivers. Just when I thought that they would be getting on the bus to check permits, the air raid sirens sounded. The bus driver started the bus and headed as fast as he could out of the station and away from the centre of town. About ten minutes later, I could hear the explosions behind us. Everything was okay on the bus ride. We even managed to laugh a little.
“Then, maybe it was because we were so close to the border, maybe it was just bad luck, but we had just got off the bus. Magda and Franz had gone to the bathroom when this policeman started to follow me around the bus station. I don’t know what had made him suspicious. I don’t even know if he had seen us get off the bus. But he was definitely interested in me. I was waiting by a kiosk when he started to approach.
“Magda was just coming out of the bathroom and she saw the policeman heading my way so she hung back and acted as if she was waiting on someone. She managed to catch Franz as he came out too, and she held on to him.
“We only had travel permits for travel to Innsbruck, so when the policeman asked for my papers I made a big show of looking for all of my papers and then ‘finding’ them one by one. I was hoping that it would take so long that he would forget to ask for my travel permit. It was a forlorn hope though. Of course, when I handed it over, it only said travel from Salzburg to Innsbruck was allowed. I knew that when I showed him it that it was all over for me. But then I thought, there is nothing to say that I am travelling with someone except the suitcase, which had some of my wife’s clothes in. My arrest would leave my wife and son free to get away from the bus station and start walking to the border. The only problem was that I had the case at my feet.
“I could see out of the corner of my eye Magda and Franz watching. She was looking at the case and knew that if the policeman noticed it and looked inside then he would also be looking for a woman. She leaned over and said something to Franz, before heading my way with Franz being pulled along behind her.
“The policeman was now telling me that I would have to be put under arrest and all I could see was Magda getting closer. I didn’t know what she was going to do but I was certain she was about to make a terrible mistake and have herself and Franz arrested too.
“But then she did the most extraordinary thing. And it showed her to be...I don’t know, the strongest out of the both of us. With Franz in tow and not really knowing what was going on, she pushed past the policeman and me, excused herself and then picked up the case, giving Franz an ear-bashing about not leaving it alone in case someone stole it, then smiled and marched off.
“It was the last I saw of them as they rounded the corner out of the station. Magda managed a look back and I could see her face streaked with tears.”
Meyer patted Geller on the leg and said that he was sure that they would have made it. Geller wiped his nose on his sleeve and agreed that she would have definitely made it over the border.
Their talk was interrupted by shouts from the guards. They had finished with the water and it was now the prisoners' turn.
As much as Meyer missed his wife, on the march back to the camp in the late afternoon he walked in absolute terror of seeing her. What if he couldn’t stop himself from running to her? What if she didn’t know the dangers and ran to him? What if his girls ran to him? Would he be able to hide himself from them? Would he want to? He felt a strange feeling of relief as he walked under the gate of lies and back into the death camp.
Berlin, 17th July 1930
MANFRED Meyer sat outside Friedrich Bauer’s office in the walnut hall. It seemed like it was such a long time ago when he had last sat here, desperately hoping for a job with the firm. He had only seen Friedrich Bauer in passing three or four times since starting in November of the previous year, but each time, Herr Bauer had nodded and, on one occasion, had asked him how he was getting on, to which Meyer had said that he was doing very well and very much enjoying his work.
This was true, up to a point. He did indeed feel that he was doing well, but Herr Deschler had never told him so. In fact, he often seemed very angry with him, although M
eyer could not really fathom why. Yet, Deschler also gave Meyer a great deal of responsibility, especially in the research of documents and background checks on clients and witnesses. This is what Meyer enjoyed the most in his work, although he also itched to be up there in the courtroom running his own defence.
Deschler also had moments of great kindness, which seemed to be entirely uncharacteristic. Only a month ago, Deschler had sent Meyer home for a few days when he found out that Anna and Greta were both ill. And then when he returned, apart from an initial query on his children’s well-being, Deschler resumed his impatience and underlying anger with Meyer.
The door to Herr Bauer’s office opened, and Herr Muller beckoned him in. He indicated the hidden chair behind the door and asked him to take a seat while he took his own chair behind his desk. Muller resumed the tasks he had been performing before asking Meyer in to the office; signing papers which would then be placed in one tray, stamping others which would be placed in another tray, and occasionally stopping to ponder some secretarial or filing procedure, at which points he would stroke his moustache.
After a short while, the large oak door on the back wall opened and Friedrich Bauer’s large frame filled the doorway. He had his broad grin across his face and that twinkle in his eye which Meyer always thought made him look like a mischievous child.
“Come in, Herr Meyer. Have you had breakfast? Would you like a coffee?” he asked, but did not wait for an answer, nodding to Muller who immediately picked up his telephone to ring down to the kitchen. “Come now, sit down.”
Meyer was surprised to see that someone else was also in the room as Bauer made his way back to his capacious desk. Bauer continued talking as he took his seat, “I have asked Herr Deschler to join us today. I hope you don’t mind, but I thought it was important that we were all aware of what was going on and how things would be progressing, as far as your career is concerned.”
“Of course not. Good morning, Herr Deschler,” Meyer said as he sat in the empty chair next to Deschler. Deschler nodded and sat with his left hand balanced on his walking stick and a cigarette in his right.
“Herr Meyer, it has been eight months since we were lucky to have you join the company,” beamed Bauer.
“Yes, Herr Bauer, eight months to the day.”
“I have been discussing your progress with Herr Deschler and, you will be pleased to know, he has been very impressed with your abilities. He feels that you have an excellent memory with an attention to detail which has shown a capacity to extract relevant facts and discard extraneous information. This has aided him considerably with his cases, and in fact, on two occasions you have found a peculiarity which has changed the way he has built his case.”
Meyer did not know what to say. He glanced at Deschler, who was taking a long drag on his cigarette, then back to Herr Bauer who had begun a search of his jacket pockets.
“Needless to say, Herr Meyer, that Herr Deschler does not suffer fools gladly. In fact, let me tell you a story, I am sure Herr Deschler will not mind.” Then, with a sudden look of satisfaction, he retrieved his pipe tobacco from his inside jacket pocket. Pulling an ashtray towards him, he began the pipe smoker’s routine of banging the bowl of the pipe on the hand and blowing and sucking on the stem to ensure a clear draught through the bore, before stuffing a new mass of tobacco into the bowl. He then performed a further search of his desk for some means of lighting his carefully prepared pipe. Deschler fished around in his own pocket and then handed over a box of matches.
“A few years ago,” Bauer started, while striking a match and sucking the flame into his pipe, “we had a young man start with us. He was from a very good family and had an impeccable reputation from both his university here in Berlin and his employer where he interned. In fact, upon meeting the young man for the first time, I myself was most impressed by both his demeanour and his intelligence.
“Now, at that time, Herr Deschler did not have an assistant, the previous having decided to continue his career in law with a company which dealt, in the most part, with property purchases. I think it would be fair to say that Herr Deschler was also delighted with the employ of this charming young man.”
Deschler shrugged at this comment, but Bauer continued between puffs on his pipe and checks that the tobacco was fully alight.
“So, this young man, let’s call him Schmidt, performed the same tasks as you have been performing for Herr Deschler. He assisted him in court, ran background checks on witnesses, and collected statements and the like. You know the kind of thing, probably better than I do. I was planning on asking him to commit to his first case but...”
Bauer was interrupted by a knock on the door, and a young girl carrying a tray of coffee entered. She had a broad face, childlike eyes, and a button nose.
“Ah, Marie, thank you. Just place the tray on the table. We shall help ourselves to the cream and sugar.” Marie did as she was asked, giving Bauer an enormous smile, and, without a word left the room.
“Lovely girl,” commented Bauer, as he poured a spot of cream into one of the cups and dropped in a lump of sugar. “She had an Italian mother. She's entirely mute and, how can I put this, a bit simple of mind, but very reliable, and really just a wonderful girl.”
Deschler and Meyer helped themselves to cups of coffee. Meyer rarely drank coffee as he found it rather bitter but did not wish to offend Bauer, so filled his cup with as much cream as he could and dropped in three of the irregular shaped sugar lumps. Herr Bauer returned to his story.
“Where was I? Ah yes, it was all going very well with our young star until a particular case. Herr Deschler was defending a client, Walter Baumann. A name neither myself or Herr Deschler will ever forget, isn’t that right?”
“Walter Baumann,” replied Deschler. “A very interesting case indeed.”
“Yes, a remarkable case of theft. Herr Baumann was accused of stealing from a bank. Nothing particularly unusual in that, you may think except Herr Baumann worked there as a bank teller.
“Now, you would think that if you were a bank teller and you wished to steal some money from the bank, you would do so with the money which is kept in the drawer at your desk. With transactions happening all day, and every day there would surely be an opportunity that someone with a criminal bent who worked in that environment would spot and digest and mull over until they had formulated a plan for stealing money with a reduced risk of being caught.
“But not our client, Walter. He had come up with a much riskier but essentially more lucrative plan for defrauding his employer.
“At the end of every day, a bank counts the money that it has and compares this to the amount given out and received by customers. So, once a week, the bank manager and Walter arrived early at the bank to open the safe, and several armed guards would either remove an already agreed-upon amount to the central bank, or replace currency when funds dropped below a certain amount due to customer withdrawals.
“Over the period of a week, Walter dealt with customers as he normally did. By all accounts, including Herr Deschler's, he was a quietly polite man, perfectly suited in his role as senior bank clerk. Yet over this week, every time he had a customer deposit cash into their account, or move money from one account to another, Walter made a small adjustment to that total; he added a certain amount to each transaction, marking the correct amount in the customer’s book, to his eternal credit, he made sure that none of the customers lost out due to his crime, but having a smaller amount in the banking record. And as he was head bank clerk, he was the one who tallied up the amounts from each desk at the end of the day.
“He also had the responsibility of going to the safe every morning and distributing the regular amount of cash to each of the tellers' desks. For that week, he carefully removed the amount of Reichsmarks which he had fraudulently misrepresented in the banking record the day before. This he put into a safety deposit box which was kept in the safe room next to the bank’s main cash safe.
“By the end of th
e week, on the day before the addition or removal of money from the safe, Walter had managed to increase the amount of funds that the bank was in error of holding by an exact number. One hundred thousand Reichsmarks. And this is where the genius of his plan was. As senior clerk, he also did the weekly tally which he then passed to the bank manager. The bank manager then checked the amount of money in the safe and as long it was within tolerance, then all was well.
“Of course, the removal of the one hundred thousand Reichsmarks had been covered in the discrepancy in the banks records and Walter fully expected the two to tally and the bank manager to put in the regular request for either more cash or to have cash removed.”
Bauer drained the last of his coffee from the cup and stared into the glowing bowl of his pipe. “Now, Walter was near retirement and, as we found out later, this was the main reason that he decided to alleviate the bank from some of its money. However, up to that point, he had been a diligent and conscientious servant of the Berlin Bank. No money had ever gone missing and the banking accounts had always been faultlessly accurate.
“Perhaps it was because Walter was so engrossed in his own crime that he had taken his eye off the ball, or perhaps it was just a case of misfortune that such a thing would happen in the same week, but Walter was not the only person stealing from the bank.
“A young teller with a secret mistress who had become pregnant needed some cash to pay for her silence, so, in desperation, he simply took cash from his desk at the end of the day. Walter didn’t notice this as he was certain that he was the only person stealing money from the bank and so all of his effort went into covering his own crime, rather than his actual responsibility of detecting any anomalies in the books at the end of the day.
“So this young teller, emboldened by not being caught on the first day, removed yet more cash the next day. And the next. And so on until the end of the week. So that poor Walter, when he handed over the final total which he had doctored by an amount of exactly one hundred thousand, was actually inaccurate by several hundred; the amount that the young teller had stolen.
A Murder in Auschwitz Page 9
