“You would only have believed it if you saw it. They had built a wall all around a part of the city. Right the way around, so no-one and nothing could get in or out without them knowing. They then rounded up all the Jews in Warsaw and the surrounding areas and made them all live in this walled city within a city.
“They took me to a gate in the wall and sent me inside. I had nothing to take in with me except the clothes I was standing in. Once I was inside, it was a different world. And for the first few minutes it seemed like time had been turned back. There were people walking in the streets, there were no enemy soldiers or checkpoints, no tanks or trucks, no hammer and sickle or swastika flags, and for the first time in a long time I didn’t think that at any given moment I would be shot. But then I began to notice what was wrong with what I could see. The people were thin, like the prisoners here. Their clothes were shabby, and the shop windows were all empty.
“I wandered the streets until a Rabbi stopped me. He could see that I had just arrived and wanted to know if he could help me. I explained about being a soldier and having been in the resistance before being taken prisoner and brought there. He had heard of the Prizrak and personally thanked me for causing so much fear amongst the invaders. Then he took me to an apartment block not far from the gate where I had come in, where he introduced me to some families that shared a floor.
“They gave me what little food they could spare and a corner of a room that I could call my own. The next morning, the Rabbi returned. He had a spare set of clothes for me and asked me to join him for a walk back to his apartment.
“On the walk, he explained how the ghetto worked. He told me that there was an infrastructure in the ghetto; schools, soup kitchens, hospitals, and even libraries had been started. How it was run by a Jewish committee, but how there was very little food and no work for the people.
“The biggest problem by far was the lack of food. He asked me to think about the way, as a member of the resistance, that we had collected food while hiding from the Germans and the Russians and to visit him in a day or two if I had any ideas.
“On the way back to the apartment, I saw a boy, only about eight years of age, slipping out of a doorway from a building that was right up against the ghetto wall. Although he was trying to hide it, I could see that he had some bread inside his jacket. He took off down the street as if the devil himself was after him. So I took a look in through the doorway and you know what I found? A stairway down to a basement which had a boarded-up window leading to the other side.
“It wasn’t long before we had gangs of youngsters bringing back food and raw materials that were needed inside the ghetto. We found other places along the perimeter where they could safely get in or out. It was the children of the ghetto that kept us alive.
“Then, one day, the Rabbi came to see me again. This time he wanted to talk about organising armed resistance inside the ghetto. He was worried that one day the SS would come and try to take everyone away. If that day came, he wanted us to be able to fight. There were already some armed groups inside the ghetto, but they didn’t communicate or work with each other. Some were communists. Some were right-wing. Some were criminal. But if the SS had entered the ghetto at that time, there would have been no coordinated resistance.
“We managed to get guns smuggled in. We traded with those outside the ghetto walls and bought ammunition and weapons. The underground Home Army supplied us as well. Those of us who had been in the army trained those who hadn’t, and before long we had a reasonable sized militia. The problem was that it seemed like a hopeless cause. How could some armed civilians keep the Waffen SS at bay? If they decided to enter the ghetto, what would stop the members of our resistance from just putting down their weapons and melting away?
“That was when we used the same sort of idea that we used for the Prizrak. That was where Ishmael came in. He was like a ghost with a secret band of followers. No-one knew what he looked like, or what his real name was. We heard stories of him crossing over into Warsaw from the ghetto and slitting the throats of German soldiers. There were rumours of Ishmael and his men manning the rooftops of the ghetto, moving fleetingly from building to building.
“Various men were suspected of being Ishmael; normally tall, handsome types,” Ziegler laughed.
“Some said they had seen him and his men in the moonlight. Some had met him, some were part of his inner circle.”
Zeigler blew into his hands to keep them warm and looked down towards the cart, where the soldiers stood laughing and chatting. Steam rose above them like smoke.
“Then, of course, the day arrived when the gates opened and the soldiers came to get us. It was Passover and they came to take us to the camps. But we were waiting for them. We had well-laid plans and defensive positions which we took up. We fought the might of the German Army and kept them at bay for over a month. Throughout that time, there were reports of Ishmael’s unit from all over the ghetto. Stories were told of him taking control of a German truck full of weapons and ammunition outside the ghetto, by attacking it from a sewer and driving it back inside. We heard that Ishmael and his unit had been attacking SS troops outside the perimeter, that they were in the sewers, that they were on the rooftops. They were everywhere.
“But the Germans were too much for us. We ran out of ammunition, ran out of weapons, out of people. It ended in Muranowski Square. We were surrounded and it became a final stand. As we tried to hold them off, rumours reached us that Ishmael was among us. It gave the remaining fighters heart.
“Then something extraordinary happened. In the midst of the fighting, two boys began to climb onto the roof of one of the buildings in the square to raise the flag of the Jewish resistance and the Polish national flag. The SS could see what was happening and pinned them down. Ishmael was seen leading his men in a final charge against the Waffen SS unit, sacrificing himself so that the two boys could escape.
“The flags were still flying four days later, as I was taken away in the back of an SS truck. But do you want to know the strangest thing of all? Ishmael never existed except in the mind of the people. He was an invention of the Rabbi and myself. A ghost. Prizrak. But he was needed. He gave everyone hope. So much so that two boys climbed a roof in the middle of a battle and raised two flags to give the people strength.
“The German truck was stolen and driven to the ghetto, but it wasn’t Ishmael, it was the ghetto resistance. It wasn’t Ishmael that patrolled the rooftops or used the sewers, it was the resistance.”
Zeigler looked longingly at the cart. He could smell the hot coffee and the black bread that it held.
“Then they brought me here to Auschwitz. I haven’t met anyone else that was in the ghetto. They must be somewhere, but they are not here.
“I have thought about escaping from here, to try to get back into the safety of the forest and become a Prizrak again. Maybe in the spring,” said Ziegler.
The guards had finished at the cart and shouted for the prisoners to be sent down.
“I couldn’t leave here anyway,” said Meyer. “Even if I had the chance.”
“Really? Why not?” asked Ziegler.
“My wife and children are here somewhere. I couldn’t leave them.”
Ziegler nodded and started down towards the cart.
Berlin, 15th June 1931
FRIEDRICH Bauer had been careful in his choice of cases which he had passed to Meyer and Weber. Meyer had conducted his defences with great skill and Weber had fulfilled his position as assistant in a professional and accomplished manner. Bauer had slowly built up the complexity of the cases handed to the pair until he felt that Meyer was ready for his first murder case as principal defence lawyer.
The case he passed them was the defence of Wolfgang Kolb, a young apprentice upholsterer, originally from Nuremberg but now working in Berlin for Josef Pfeiffer & Sons. He was accused of the murder of one of the sons of the family firm, Josef Pfeiffer Junior, on the site of the upholstery workshop.
B
auer had provided Meyer and Weber every resource they required, including his personal guidance in the preparation of the case. He moved them into Deschler’s old office, which afforded Meyer the services of a secretary, freeing up time for both himself and Weber. Bauer had even accompanied Meyer to the Renaissance-era Spandau Prison to interview Kolb on two occasions.
On the evening before the start of the trial, Bauer called in on Meyer in his office. Meyer smelled the man's pipe tobacco before he saw him.
“I see you are working late tonight, Manfred,” said Bauer, allowing the smoke from his pipe to visibly punctuate his words.
“Yes, Herr Bauer. Just finishing a few things off in preparation for tomorrow,” he replied, rubbing his eyes.
Bauer looked around the office. “Has Otto gone home?”
“Yes, Herr Bauer, I sent him home an hour ago to get a good night’s rest.”
“Very wise advice, young Manfred. Advice you should take yourself.” Bauer sucked deeply on his pipe and filled the room with a long cloud of smoke. “I have never seen a case so well-prepared as this one. There is nothing further you can do. Go home, Manfred, go home to your lovely family. Have something to eat and get a good night’s sleep. That is an order.”
Meyer nodded and closed the folder he had been studying.
The next morning, Meyer woke with a start. Klara was already up with Anna and Greta, and the sound of their laughter lifted his heart.
“Good morning, sleepy head,” giggled Klara.
“Good morning, darling. What time is it?”
“It’s okay; it has only just turned seven o’clock.” Klara had Anna in her arms and Greta was holding onto one of her legs. “I have made you some breakfast. Nice hot coffee and some bacon and a boiled egg. Some fresh bread as well.”
Meyer smiled. “Ah, you are such a good wife.”
Sun streamed in through the window of their apartment and Meyer could hear the birds singing in the nearby park. He had had a good sleep that night and looked forward to eating his breakfast, although he was not sure if the feeling he had in his stomach was hunger or nerves. He got out of bed and got dressed in between tickling Greta and kissing Klara and Anna.
“It is such a beautiful day,” said Klara. “I am going to take the girls to the park this morning, after you leave.”
“That is a good idea,” replied Meyer, while finishing off the last of the bacon and a mouthful of sweet coffee. Klara smiled.
“Are you enjoying that?” she laughed, pointing at the space on the plate where the bacon had been. Meyer caught her laugh and sat back.
“Can you imagine your mother’s face if she knew your good Jewish husband was stuffing bacon into his face?” he joked.
“I am sure that the fact that you are a lawyer on the rise would blind her to your blatant pork-eating,” replied Klara. She lifted Anna from her knee, leaned over, and kissed Meyer on the lips. “You need to go, or you will be late for your first big case, lawyer husband.”
“Whatever you say, beautiful wife,” replied Meyer. He kissed Anna and Greta, pulled on his jacket, and put his arms around Klara. “Wish me luck,” he said.
“Not that you need luck,” she replied. “But good luck anyway.”
He kissed her one more time and headed down the stairs into the street, where the newspaper-seller was declaring that morning’s news.
“Good morning, Paul. More good news I see,” he said picking up a newspaper and dropping a few coins into the paper-seller’s hand.
“Yes, Herr Meyer, there are calls for the dissolution of the Reichstag and there are food riots in Berlin. The country has no money, no food, and soon, no government.” replied the paper-seller.
“Yes, Paul, where will it all end, eh?” replied Meyer. “Where will it all end?”
Meyer took his seat within the courtroom, with Weber sitting next to him. They were early and made use of the relatively relaxed atmosphere of the courtroom to organise their papers and discuss a few final points. Courtrooms held a particular serenity in the time before a trial began. If possible, Meyer always tried to get there early and enjoy the silence and calmness as he waited for the theatre which was a courtroom in session to begin.
Some members of the public had arrived and were chatting in hushed voices while court staff came and went, preparing the room for the day’s proceedings. Weber was passing Meyer a note, which was to be pinned to the biography page for Wolfgang Kolb, when he happened to glance towards the door at the rear of the court.
“Manfred,” he said attempting to get Meyer’s attention. When there was no response, he tried a little louder.
“What is it, Otto? Look, we need to bring this out in the first day...” Meyer’s voice trailed off, and he looked up from the papers at Weber. He could see by the look on Weber’s face that something was wrong. “Otto, what is the matter?”
Weber replied in a subdued voice. “The prosecutor is here.”
Meyer followed Weber’s gaze to the rear of the courtroom. The prosecutor had arrived with his assistants and was making his way slowly down the aisle between the chairs. Meyer’s stomach turned over. It was Deschler.
Meyer nodded to him as he limped past the defence’s desk to sit at the prosecutor's table on the other side of the courtroom. Deschler took his seat and hung his stick from the table, before returning Meyer’s silent greeting. If he had been surprised to see Meyer, he had certainly not given it away.
Meyer heard Weber sigh. Meyer placed his hand on Weber’s shoulder and smiled. “Otto, we must not allow the fact that Herr Deschler is the prosecutor to force us to deviate from our plan. We have a good case; the prosecution have a lot of circumstantial evidence but nothing concrete. All we need to do is find a crack and open it wide enough for the jury to see our point of view and not the prosecution’s.”
Weber nodded and smiled in return, but it was forced, and his fear of Deschler as the prosecutor was evident in his eyes.
Once the preliminaries had been concluded, Wolfgang Kolb was brought into the court. He was a handsome young man, with his shock of blonde hair and his piercing blue eyes, one of which was partially closed from a black eye which he had received in prison.
Meyer did not like him very much. There was an arrogance and brutishness about him which Meyer feared may prejudice the jury against him. However, Kolb was obviously intelligent and had spoken at great length to Meyer and Bauer about the case during their trips to Spandau. Meyer had also taken him books which he requested and, since Kolb had no immediate family, chocolate and cigarettes, which Kolb was always extremely grateful for, his arrogance dropping as he thanked Meyer.
Once Kolb had taken his seat, Meyer and Weber watched as Deschler initiated the prosecution’s case against him. As was usual practice, Deschler made a brief opening statement to the jury before calling his first witness.
It was a consummate lesson in perfection. From his questioning of his witnesses, Deschler took the jury through how the prosecution saw events having unfolded on that evening. Deschler painted a picture of how Wolfgang Kolb and Josef Pfeiffer had been working late in the upholstery workshop. As it was a Saturday evening, they had left the workshop for an hour and a half to visit a local beer hall, where they had been seen arguing. On their return to the workshop, the argument had continued between the two men due to Wolfgang Kolb’s jealousy over Josef Pfeiffer’s position within the company, as the only son. During this argument, Kolb had got hold of a sharp tool and stabbed Pfeiffer in the heart, killing him instantly.
Kolb had been found by Josef Pfeiffer’s own father over the body of his son, stained in blood. No-one else was on the premises, and no-one had seen anyone else arrive at any point during that night.
Deschler pushed home the point of the argument in the beer hall, explaining how it would have got out of control once they had returned to the workshop, and, with Wolfgang Kolb’s well-known short fuse, in an unfortunate fit of temper he had picked up the closest weapon to hand and brought Josef Pfeiffer
’s life to an untimely end. Most tragically of all, his own father had found the victim.
Meyer struggled to find pertinent questions with which to disprove or throw Deschler’s arguments off-track, and he chose not to question Josef Pfeiffer senior at all.
All of Deschler’s witnesses were either police or family members, giving credence to the prosecution’s case. Meyer sat in dismay, as he could see the jury follow the story that Deschler wove, bringing them to the position which Deschler called the ‘fork in the road’. It was as far as a good prosecution could take a jury; pointing down the correct road. Once the prosecution left them there, the defence had to turn them around and point them down the other path. This was a defence lawyer's most difficult task.
It was human nature to believe the first version of a story that was heard. This was the prosecutions greatest weapon; if the prosecutor could tell an impressive story which appeared to be airtight, then the defence rarely managed to convince a jury otherwise. And this was what Deschler had just done.
Once the prosecution had rested, the court adjourned for the day and Meyer and Weber retired to Bauer & Bauer’s offices.
“Herr Deschler has certainly taken his new role as a prosecutor in his stride,” said Weber, attempting to break the silence.
“I wouldn’t have expected anything different,” sighed Meyer. “So we now have a jury convinced of Wolfgang Kolb’s guilt. To be honest with you, I am almost convinced of Wolfgang Kolb’s guilt.
“In spite of all the witness statements and questions today, as I see it, Herr Deschler laid out a very simple case.
“Kolb and Pfeiffer argue. Kolb loses his temper and stabs Pfeiffer. He has no time to escape or hide the body since Josef Pfeiffer Senior arrives to check on their work. Pfeiffer Senior finds Kolb over his son’s body, covered in blood. Kolb makes a run for it and is picked up later by the police. Simple.”
A Murder in Auschwitz Page 15
