Meyer nodded a greeting to him as he stretched his toes after releasing them from the clogs. The man held out his hand, which Meyer took. “Rosenmann. Saul Rosenmann.”
Meyer introduced himself and Geller to Rosenmann, and Geller reached over and shook his hand. Rosenmann noticed Geller looking at the Sonderkommando patch.
“I was a flower seller. In Bonn. I sold flowers,” he said, almost as an excuse for what he had to do now. But then he felt the need to qualify his past with what his life had been filled with. “Now I...”
Meyer and Geller both nodded in understanding. Rosenmann gave a broken smile and lay back on the bunk. Meyer had never spoken with a Sonderkommando before. He had imagined them all to be like Langer; brutish, criminals, filled with antipathy and loathing. Rosenmann was not like that at all; he was a Jew and appeared to be gentle and amiable.
It seemed to Meyer that it would be impossible to work at the crematoria and unbearable at the gas chambers. How long could a man survive for, when each day consisted of being so close to those about to die and those who had already been murdered? Maybe it was his lawyer background, or perhaps it was a need to understand this place, but before he knew it, the question had fallen from his lips like a whisper.
“What is it like?”
Rosenmann’s eyes flicked between Meyer and Geller. He did not know who had asked the question, both men were still facing him, but he knew why they had asked it. He had been asked this before, and he had either ignored the question or had given a very brief outline of his duties; move these people over here, move those people in there, take the bodies from there and cremate them. But there was something in the way this was asked, it sounded like they had to know, and it made it feel like he had to tell them. He motioned Meyer and Geller closer to him.
“It is terrible,” he sighed. “Terrible. Everyone asks why. They want to know why I do it, why I am a Sonderkommando and they want to know why it happens.
“The first question is easy. I do it because I am told to. If I were to object? If I were to say ‘no, I won’t do it,’ then I would be next in the gas chamber. So I do it because that is where I am sent every day, just like others are sent to the mines, or the munitions factories, or the forest.”
“We work in the forest,” volunteered Meyer.
“And does anyone question you on why you chop trees and provide wood for the planes, or rifle butts, or fences of your enemy? No, and no-one questions the munitions workers making bombs and bullets for their enemy, or the miners who dig Polish coal to fuel Nazi concentration camps.”
“No,” replied Meyer. “They don’t. I know that there is nothing you can do. You are in the working groups that service the death machine here. I am not sure if there is anything that one man can do.”
Rosenmann nodded. “Yes, that is right. What could I do on my own?”
The three men sat in silence for a moment as the noise of men returning from the working parties continued. Meyer broke the silence.
“If you can’t talk about it, Saul, then that is okay. It must be very difficult.”
Rosenmann nodded his head in agreement again. “Yes, but it’s strange. You can switch off from the horror, to a certain extent, anyway.”
Once more, Rosenmann fell silent and sat staring at his hands. Geller lay back on his bunk and closed his eyes. He had mentioned to Meyer how tired he had been over the past couple of weeks. Everyone was tired. The men in the camp shuffled rather than walked due to their malnutrition. The constant work, the lack of food, and the absence of a rest day took its toll. Sometimes, prisoners would collapse while working, or on the march to or from their daily toil. Mostly, they had fainted, and if it was on the way back to the camp, the guards would order two of the other prisoners to carry them back to their hut. If it was on the way out, they were shot as they lay on the ground. But Geller had seen more than one man drop dead instead. Geller had been tired since the day he arrived there, but now he felt the fatigue attack his body like a cancer. He felt it in every bone, in every muscle and in every nerve. It even seemed to flow around his body with his blood, poisoning him slowly.
Meyer heard the snore behind him. Geller was fast asleep. A few seconds before, he had been sitting next to him. The exhaustion was etched onto Geller’s slumbering face.
“Your friend falls asleep quickly. I think he has been working too hard in the forest,” said Rosenmann.
“I think he needs a holiday,” replied Meyer, and smiled. Rosenmann laughed a throaty chortle.
Meyer lay back on his bunk, enjoying the comforting feeling of his secretly sprung bed taking his weight and bending beneath it. He stretched his legs and arms as far as he could and then relaxed, enjoying the feeling of his muscles starting to unwind and decompress. He had closed his eyes and was preparing to let sleep overwhelm him when Rosenmann whispered, close to his ear, the answer to his question.
“It is terrible. But I try to give those who die there as much dignity as I can. Given the circumstances.”
Meyer opened his eyes and turned away from Geller’s snoring to listen to Rosenmann’s account of the gas chambers and the crematoria.
“When the trains arrive, they have decided who will die, they take them past Doctor Mengele first. He picks out anyone he thinks will be interesting subjects for his experiments. They call him the ‘Angel of Death’, you know.
“The rest are passed up the line to the Sonderkommando. We are guarded all the time but it is us who get them to undress, to run to the gas chambers. They think they are going for a shower to disinfect them in case they have lice, and they run because they are naked. But they are running to their deaths.”
Meyer remembered his arrival and the removal of his clothes and the shower. How he had been made to run to the shower block. How he had tried to hide his modesty.
“So they go into the first gas chamber and, once it is full we close the door. They then run to the next gas chamber. Once that is full, we close the doors. Then the guards drop in the pellets that turn to gas when they get wet. It’s called Zyklon B. I don’t really want to tell you what it is like in the twenty minutes it takes for the gas to kill everyone. Afterwards, we take out the bodies and they go to the crematoria. We each have a station there and we cremate the dead.
“I was a flower seller in Bonn. It was a gentle life. I got up early and went to the flower market and bought my stock for the day. I would always have a provision of good quality lilies, for funeral wreaths. There are not enough lilies in the world to...” Rosenmann trailed off as the memories of a past life slipped away.
“And there are no survivors?” asked Meyer.
“No,” was Rosenmann’s emphatic reply. He turned away from Meyer and stared at the underside of the bunk above him. Meyer could not imagine what it must be like, having to live that horror every day. He looked at Rosenmann, the lines which creased his hollow cheeks and narrow forehead were an illustration of torment drawn across his face.
Rosenmann pursed his lips and turned back to Meyer, indicating with his hand that Meyer should come closer. Rosenmann's eyes betrayed a secret that he held. He wanted to tell Meyer, but he was obviously struggling with his conscience. After a few moments, he had made his decision. He spoke in a low voice so that Meyer could only just hear him.
“Only the Sonderkommando know this. It happened just at the start of summer. You must promise me that you tell no-one. Not even your friend. If they ever found out...” his voice faded again.
Meyer explained that he had been a lawyer and reassured him that whatever he told him would be in the strictest confidence, that he would do nothing which could jeopardise Rosenmann or his comrades' safety.
Rosenmann cast around to make sure no-one was listening nearby, then cleared his throat and leaned in so close to Meyer that their noses were nearly touching, before divulging his secret.
“It was a beautiful, clear day, right at the beginning of summer. It had been a cold night but the sun was out and its warmth chased
away the chill. We waited, the Sonderkommando I mean, waited at the entrance to the muster area in front of the gas chambers. No-one ever talks as we wait for them to come from the train.
“On that day, there were two trains which had arrived at the same time. That never happens. And they were long trains, from Hungary I think, but you know, it’s terrible, but I can’t really remember. Sometimes I think I should remember everything. All the faces, where they come from, what train they have travelled in. I have a good memory, I was always told by my customers that I never forgot a name or a face or their favourite flowers. My memory fails me here. But I will always remember this, for the rest of my life.
“Anyway, they came from the trains and we get them to undress. We tell them about the showers and that it will be nice warm water. There were so many of them that day that we sent them to both chambers at the same time.
“I was at the door of chamber one that morning. It was my job, along with another two men, to close the iron doors once it was full. We could see that with the huge number that day we would need to make sure that the chamber was filled with as many as we could cram in. Once we had people standing right up to the line where the doors shut we started to close them. But there was a girl; about fifteen years old, standing right where the holes in the concrete are for the bolts to go in. She couldn’t go in any further and we couldn’t close the doors. So I pulled her out and left the others to get the doors closed while I took her to chamber two.”
“How big are the chambers, Saul?” asked Meyer, matching Rosenmann’s low voice.
“Chamber one holds about eight hundred. Chamber two is much bigger, over a thousand, maybe twelve hundred.”
Meyer shook his head. Two thousand people being murdered at the same time. He knew that sometimes there was another train later in the day as well. How many were being killed here? Rosenmann’s words interrupted Meyer’s thoughts.
“I held her by the arm and we walked to chamber two, but they were already closing the doors there. The men on the doors told me it was full and there was no way they would be able to fit her in.
“The girl looked at me and asked if she would get into trouble because she couldn’t have a shower. She was a lovely girl; she looked like my niece. And then, I am not sure what happened. The doors were closed on the gas chambers and it was as if God had said, ‘not this girl’. I took her by the arm and marched her back to where all the clothes were lying. I told her quickly about this place. These weren’t showers, they were gas chambers, and she had been sent here to die because she was a Jew. One of the other Sonderkommando ran to me and asked me what I was doing and I told him. I was going to save her.
“The guards had moved off, back to the train, and the others were getting ready to drop in the gas pellets. I got her a long jacket from the piles of clothes and a pair of boots which she quickly pulled on. The other Sonderkommando picked up a suitcase, not too big that she couldn’t carry it, and pushed it into her arms. It was a woman’s bag, you could tell from the design. I don’t know what was in it but there would be clothes and maybe even something she could sell.
“Then we walked her down the embankment, the two of us, and turned her away from the train tracks. The guards were too busy with the processing of those going to the work camp.
“There, you are outside the fence. Often, I have thought that maybe I could escape from there, but there are always so many soldiers and you have the guards in the towers as well, always watching.
“But on that day, I don’t know why, maybe it was God saving a soul, but there were no guards in the towers and the track was obscured by the second train. Beyond that is the forest, where you and your friend work.
“I held her by the shoulders and whispered in her ear. Walk towards the forest, don’t run. Don’t turn round or look back. Once she was there she should try to get as far away from this place as possible. Trust no-one. And then I pushed her away towards the trees.
“It was such a long way for her to walk. She went with the case clutched to her chest. We watched and I waited for the shout from a guard or a rifle shot. But it never came and she got smaller and smaller and then she disappeared. I couldn’t see her, her dark hair and jacket and boots against the darkness of the trees. And then I maybe saw a little white spot in the trees which I thought might be her face and I wanted to wave. I nearly did, you know, lift my arm and wave. How stupid would that have been? And then she was gone. And I missed her, Manfred, it’s strange but I felt that I missed her and I wanted to hold her again and tell her that she was special and had escaped something terrible that the world may never know about.”
A smile had filled Rosenmann’s face, and the lines which scarred it were even deeper than before. Meyer realised that he was also smiling.
“Then, for a second, I thought that I could maybe make that walk to the trees too. Maybe I could escape as well and find her in the forest and we could go somewhere safe and I could look after her. But, you know, when I looked up at the guard towers, the guards were back and my dreams of following her to freedom were broken by one of the sergeants shouting at us that there were no more for the chambers and to get back to work.”
Rosenmann’s smile had gone and he looked melancholy again. “You know, Manfred, for the first time in such a long time, that night I didn’t dream of the dead. I dreamt of flowers. It was such a strong dream, I could even smell them.” His smile returned, fleetingly.
“Thank you, Saul. Thank you for trusting me and telling me about the girl.” Meyer could feel sleep tugging at him. “Good night, Saul. I hope you dream of flowers again tonight.”
“Good night, Manfred,” replied Rosenmann. He closed his eyes and tried to remember the girl's face but he could not. Instead, he remembered her walking away and fading into the trees. And then he could smell lilies, and he was in the flower market, and standing next to him, holding his hand, was the girl. He looked into her face and she smiled.
Berlin, 10th February 1931
MEYER shook the snow from his hat and brushed the flakes from the shoulders of his winter coat at the entrance to Bauer & Bauer on Potsdamer Platz. It was bitterly cold outside, and he blew into his hands, then rubbed them together. He ran up the steps to the first floor where he now shared a small office with another junior lawyer, Otto Weber.
Before heading to his own office, he went to see if Deschler required assistance with any new cases. He had noticed that Deschler had almost managed to clear his desk of cases in the run up to Christmas, and he had not needed Meyer as much.
Deschler’s office door was open, and his secretary, Fraulein Hauser, sat typing at her desk. However, the door to Deschler’s room was closed.
“Herr Meyer, I am very sorry but I am afraid that Herr Deschler is not at work today,” she said with a smile. Meyer thanked her and headed for his own office. Since the beginning of the year he had been working partly as Deschler’s assistant but had also been able to complete two further cases of his own with Weber acting as his assistant, both of which he had won. In return, Meyer had assisted Weber in his first case the previous week, which Weber had also won.
“Good morning, Otto,” Meyer called, as he pulled off his scarf and hung up his coat.
Weber was already sitting at his desk, leafing through some papers. “Morning Manfred,” he replied.
Meyer was about to take his seat at his own desk, which sat back-to-back with Weber’s, when there was a single knock on the still-open door and Friedrich Bauer’s booming voice filled the room.
“Good morning, Manfred. You look frightfully cold. Pop up to my office at nine for a nice hot cup of coffee.” Bauer did not attempt to fit his enormous frame into the tiny office and instead leaned in through the doorway. As he was about to continue on his way down the corridor he added, “Otto, I would like you to join us, if that is okay?”
“Yes, of course, Herr Bauer,” replied Weber, jumping to his feet. Bauer smiled his wide, toothy grin and then was gone.
Meye
r looked at Weber. “You are not in the Imperial Army, Otto. You don’t need to jump to attention when he talks to you.”
Weber laughed. “I know. I think it may be because he looks a bit like Hindenburg.”
Meyer and Weber took their seats in the walnut hall outside Herr Bauer’s office at five minutes to nine, just as Herr Muller arrived back from his morning round of checking on each of the offices and the secretarial staff under his supervision, while distributing and picking up mail and other paperwork. He appeared outside his office with a clutch of newspapers under one arm and a handful of envelopes in his left hand, bid Meyer and Weber a good morning, then disappeared into his office.
A few moments later, his well-coiffured head appeared at the door. “Gentlemen, if you please,” he said, and disappeared again. Weber glanced at Meyer and then followed him into Muller’s office.
Muller was standing at Bauer’s door with his hand raised and ready to knock. He waited until both men were standing next to him before tapping the oak panel with his knuckles. He did not wait for an answer from the other side of the door but turned the handle and stood back to allow Meyer and Weber space to enter the office.
Herr Bauer was sitting behind his enormous desk, reading through a newspaper while puffing on his pipe. The weather had broken, and blue sky shone through the large sash and case windows, highlighting the tobacco angels which filled the room. Bauer looked up from his paper and beckoned them over to the desk. “Manfred, Otto. Do sit down.”
Meyer and Weber took their seats in the marvellously comfortable brown leather chairs facing him. Bauer leaned back in his own chair and removed the pipe from his mouth.
“Manfred, I really wanted to chat to you about a development here at Bauer & Bauer,” started the large man, before taking another large puff on his pipe. Before he could continue, there was a knock at the door and Marie, the silent coffee girl, entered, pushing a jangling trolley.
A Murder in Auschwitz Page 13
