Too Many Men

by Lily Brett

  Nobody who was on one of those transports ever had the same life again. And they were the lucky ones, Ruth thought. The ones who still had a life. Rooshka had told her that the first thing she had been told, when she was still in the unloading area, was that there were no questions. “There are no questions,” a German officer had shouted at her. “And no answers.”

  Ruth felt fearful.

  “Don’t cry, Ruthie,” Edek said. “Let me show you the barracks.”

  “I hope they’re still there,” she said. She followed Edek. They walked for several minutes, and then Edek broke into a run. “Don’t run, Dad,” she shouted. “It’s raining and you could slip.” Edek kept running. He ran across a vast empty field. He ran, with his small, short steps. Ruth ran behind him. She was terrified he would fall. She looked behind her. Jerzy was running, too. She could hear his breathlessness.

  A group of teenagers suddenly materialized. They had been in one of the barracks. They were Israeli, Ruth realized. They all looked very subdued.

  One of them was carrying a large Israeli flag. It was almost an act of defiance to carry this flag, Ruth thought. They were defying anyone to object.

  Ruth was glad the Israeli kids were there. She felt calmed by their presence.

  Edek was waving to her. He was standing outside one of the wooden barracks. Ruth started to tremble. Was this where Edek was housed? Was

  [ 4 0 2 ]

  L I L Y B R E T T

  this the barracks he had lived in, if “lived” was the right word for the days and nights that he existed in this netherworld. These decrepit wooden barracks, which were built to house fifty-two horses, housed up to a thousand men. The men slept on a bare concrete floor, squashed together, in rows and rows. Edek was standing at the doorway shaking his head. “This was my barracks, Ruthie,” he said. He shook his head again. “I did not think I would come again, here, to these barracks,” he said. He paused. “Come in,” he said. Edek issued his invitation to her almost in the manner of a host inviting a guest into his house.

  Ruth stepped in. Edek walked in behind her. As soon he was inside the door, he let out a loud gasp. Ruth was startled. She turned around. “It is everything exactly the same,” Edek said. “Exactly the same.” Ruth looked around her. She couldn’t believe she was standing in Auschwitz-Birkenau, in the very barracks her father had been in. The long rectangular barracks had large wooden doors at each end. There were several holes in the doors.

  The wind was coming through the holes. “The doors was like this when I was here,” Edek said. “In winter it was shocking.”

  The light in the barracks came from a small skylight high up on the walls, near the ceiling. There was one fireplace and a chimney at each end of the barracks. A brick flue ran down the length of the barracks. “The smoke from the fireplace was supposed to pass through here,” Edek said, pointing to the flue, “and it was supposed to heat up the barracks.”

  “Did it?” said Ruth.

  Edek laughed, grimly. “Of course not,” he said. “We was frozen. Every morning there was many dead frozen men.” Ruth started shivering. Edek ran to the far end of the barracks. “I did sleep here, Ruthie,” he said, pointing to a spot in the middle of the left side of the barracks. He stood there, staring at the empty spot where he had slept as a twenty-six-year-old. A tall, five foot ten twenty-six-year-old, who already weighed less than eighty pounds and was going to weigh even less. Ruth felt overwhelmed.

  It was very quiet in the barracks. Ruth could feel the absence. And the presence. The presence of all of those poor young men. She knew they were young. Mostly under forty. She knew the older ones had been weeded out in the selection process on their arrival. Ruth couldn’t stop shivering.

  She could feel the calamity in the air.

  The rain leaked through the wooden roof. Everything was as gray as it T O O M A N Y M E N

  [ 4 0 3 ]

  must have been then. These barracks still held the horror. She could hear the horror in the silence. It was palpable. It hadn’t vanished. A four- or five-inch gap was at the top of the doors at the back and front of the barracks.

  Edek was standing at the back door. “It was just like this,” he said. “I remember it like it was yesterday. I did sleep in the middle not to be so close to the door. I was lucky.”

  Ruth wanted to ask him how he managed to hold on to his spot on the floor in the middle of the barracks, but she didn’t want to bother him with small questions. “Nobody did want to sleep in the middle,” Edek said.

  “You could get badly crushed.” He must have read her mind, Ruth thought. He must have known what she was thinking. The wooden walls were damp with rain. Puddles of water were on the floor. “It was not so wet in the middle,” Edek said.

  Ruth looked at Edek. He looked tired. He was walking slowly along the length of the barracks. He looked enveloped in the silence. The cadaverous quiet of all of those who were gone. Ruth sat down on the brick flue. She was still trembling. She wanted to cry. “You want to see where the toilets was, Ruthie, or maybe not?” Edek said after a few minutes.

  “I want to see everything,” she said.

  “You are a funny girl, Ruthie,” he said. He took her arm. She thought that he was pleased she wanted to see the toilet block.

  Jerzy had been waiting outside. He looked impatient, as though they had taken too long. Ruth and Edek walked past two more of the wooden barracks, and then stopped. Jerzy, who was walking behind them, also stopped.

  “Forty-five buildings made of brick have survived in Birkenau,” Jerzy said. “And twenty-two buildings of wood.”

  “Here is the toilets,” Edek said.

  All three of them went inside. What looked like three broad concrete benches ran in parallel lines along the length of these barracks. The top of each of the concrete constructions had hole after hole cut out of the top of the bench. The holes were the size of a dinner plate. Not one of the new, large decorative dinner plates it was fashionable to use now. Just an average-size dinner plate. There was not much space between the holes.

  They almost touched each other.

  The holes, Ruth knew, were where the prisoners sat, in the brief time

  [ 4 0 4 ]

  L I L Y B R E T T

  they were allowed for their ablutions. Although “ablutions” was not the right word, Ruth thought. This is where they had to defecate and urinate in a very short period of time, while Kapos screamed and urged more speed.

  And other prisoners, diseased and starving, jostled for their turn before their bowels and bladders emptied where they were standing. Thirty-four circles were cut out of the top of each block. They were inches apart. It was impossible not to touch the person next to you. Everyone had diarrhea.

  The surface of the concrete was always wet and slippery.

  Edek was standing in front of the concrete benches that had passed for latrines. He was shaking his head. Ruth hoped that he wasn’t remembering anything overwhelmingly horrific. Then, she realized there was nothing but overwhelmingly horrific memories in these barracks, in the other barracks, in the camp. There were no quiet moments. No better days, no pleasant afternoons. Every second of every minute was unbearable. No wonder that anyone who had survived had been surprised to find themselves still alive after all that horror. Years later some of those who had survived were still not sure that they were alive. Part of them had remained behind with the dead. Always attached, always affixed to that terror. Even in their dreams.

  No matter how hard they tried, they couldn’t retreat. There was no exit.

  No way out. They couldn’t absent themselves. They couldn’t leave.

  Ruth looked into the holes. There were scraps of what looked like dried mud, dust particles, and normal debris. She wondered if anyone had cleaned these toilets out. She assumed they must have been cleaned. She peered in again. Whose lives were these specks remnants of? With DNA testing today, they could probably tell who had been here. Her father had been here. Was anything of hi
m left in the bottom of this pit? The thought made her feel sick.

  Ruth counted the holes. Two hundred men could relieve themselves at the same time on these holes. “Relief” was not the right word to use here, she decided. The pit underneath the holes must have filled up fast, she thought.

  “It was full nearly to the top,” Edek said. He made a face and shuddered at the memory. “It was shocking,” he said. “So shocking I cannot believe it did happen to me. Sometimes I do think it must have happened to someone else.”

  Ruth felt bilious. She looked at Edek. He didn’t look too well. She felt T O O M A N Y M E N

  [ 4 0 5 ]

  worried. She was starting to sweat despite the cold. She thought of Martina and her cool, blond hair. Why was she thinking of Martina now? she wondered. Her mother would have liked Martina. Rooshka admired blue eyes and blond hair. “She has such beautiful blue eyes,” Rooshka would say, or,

  “Look how beautiful is her blond hair.” The looks Rooshka had admired most were so Aryan it had disturbed Ruth. It was as though Rooshka was in accord with the Nazis on that issue. Blue eyes were superior. And blond hair. Still, Ruth thought, it was understandable. The Germans had flung so much shit about dark-haired, dark-eyed Jews, that some of it must have stuck.

  Ruth was struck by the fact that she was standing in the latrines, in Birkenau, thinking about shit. Her mother had swallowed that Nazi line about blue eyes and blond hair. Her mother had swallowed that Nazi shit.

  What a sentence. Ruth reeled. The sentence had winded her. Images of her mother swallowing shit filled her head. She bent over. She felt so sick. She quickly moved closer to one of the holes. She started vomiting. She vomited and vomited. When she finally stood up, she was surprised that she could still stand. She couldn’t believe what had just happened to her. She had vomited so many times on this trip to Poland. She must have been making up for a lack of vomiting in her previous forty-two years. She wondered if people had a fixed quota of vomiting that they had to get through.

  She hoped she had fulfilled hers. She couldn’t bear to go through this again.

  She felt terrible. She straightened herself up. She was sure she must smell of vomit. Jerzy was standing in front of her. He looked horrified. The look of horror on his face almost made Ruth laugh. She would have laughed if she hadn’t felt so weak. Edek looked worried. He put his arm around Ruth. “Are you all right, Ruthie darling?” he said. He gave her his handkerchief. He patted her on the head. “It is all right, Ruthie,” he said.

  “It is all right.” He held her arm as they walked back to the car.

  Jerzy drove them back to Auschwitz.

  “You want me to pay him?” Edek said to Ruth.

  “No,” she said. “I’ll pay him.”

  They got out of the car. Ruth paid Jerzy.

  “I hope I was a satisfactory guide for you,” Jerzy said. He counted the money Ruth had given him. He looked bothered.

  [ 4 0 6 ]

  L I L Y B R E T T

  “Did you give him a tip?” Edek asked Ruth.

  “No,” Ruth said. Edek gave Jerzy twenty zlotys.

  “You was satisfactory,” Edek said to him.

  Edek was quiet in the taxi on the way home. Ruth was glad of the silence.

  She had to collect herself. Collect herself. What strange words. Where did she think she had left herself? In Auschwitz? They were nearly at the Hotel Mimoza, when Edek looked at her. “You did not eat your pears,” he said.

  “But maybe now is not the time to eat pears. You can have something to eat later.” Ruth drank some more of her water.

  Ruth and Edek walked through the front door of the Hotel Mimoza.

  Ruth felt a bit better now. She was so relieved to be feeling better. She looked up. Zofia and Walentyna were sitting side by side, on a sofa, in the lobby. Zofia was dressed in a deep red cotton shirt. The first few buttons of the shirt were undone. Even from the front door, Zofia’s cleavage was visible. Zofia’s breasts were lifting up and down, gently, with her breath. The red shirt was tucked into a straight, bright white skirt. The tan on Zofia’s polished, bare legs gleamed. This was winter in Poland, Ruth thought.

  Zofia was dressed as though she was on her way to St. Tropez.

  Walentyna was wearing a blue dress. Ruth felt a terrible pang of sadness for Walentyna. Clearly, no one had ever told her she should never wear sleeves gathered at the shoulder. Women as petite as Walentyna shouldn’t have any puckers in their clothes, let alone a giant, billowing bal-loon of fabric, puffing out into a sleeve, on the top of each shoulder. Zofia spotted Edek. She got up and ran toward him, a concerned expression across her face.

  “My poor lamb, my angel,” Zofia said in Polish to Edek. She put her arm through Edek’s arm. “How on God’s earth did you survive that trip?”

  she said. “How are you feeling?” Ruth wondered if she had heard that correctly. Her poor lamb? Her angel? Edek wasn’t hers. What was “angel” in Polish? Anio l. Anio l ek was the diminutive. Mój biedny anio l ek. My poor angel. Yes, that was what Zofia had said.

  Zofia took the arm she had linked through Edek’s arm away. She stood in front of Edek and looked at him. Then, in a brisk movement, she threw both of her arms around Edek. “My poor, poor angel,” she said. Edek T O O M A N Y M E N

  [ 4 0 7 ]

  looked startled, but pleased. “I am fine,” he said. “Fine.” “I don’t believe it,” Zofia said. She pressed herself against Edek’s body. “You have to be looked after, after such an experience,” Zofia said. Ruth couldn’t believe what she was witnessing. “You need something to eat,” Zofia said. “To face such terrible memories and tragedy takes a lot out of even a big strong man like you.”

  Ruth thought that Zofia might be upsetting Edek. She was about to interrupt when she noticed that Edek looked much more cheerful than he had when they had arrived back at the hotel a few minutes ago. “You need something to eat my poor lamb,” Zofia said. There it was, again. Zofia was staking a claim. Moja biedna owieczka. My poor lamb. Ruth felt stunned by the brazenness, the directness. Women in New York could take a lesson from Zofia, she thought. In New York, women went out of their way not to appear too interested in a man. Showing too much interest in a single man was considered the kiss of death in New York. Ruth was speechless with admiration. She stood there looking at Zofia and Edek. A big strong man like you? Or, a poor angel? Which one was it? Was it a contradiction? Or could Edek encompass both? Edek seemed to be encompassing Zofia. She was hugging him again.

  Walentyna caught up with them. “I am so glad you are back, dear Edek,” she said. “We were worried.”

  “We were very worried,” Zofia said. “We were waiting here for two and a half hours. I didn’t want to go anywhere. I did want to be here when you got back.”

  “I also didn’t want to go anywhere,” Walentyna said.

  The spectacle of Zofia and Walentyna and their concern for Edek almost erased some of the morning’s worst images. Images of her mother, and the image of the Vistula River choked with ash, and the image of herself vomiting into the latrines, began to recede. Zofia and Walentyna’s studious concern was overpowering. Zofia and Walentyna were both clucking around Edek. Ruth was on the verge of laughter. She was amazed that she could find anything funny. But this was funny. Two grown women competing for an elderly man. Ruth thought that they were competing. She thought Walentyna was still in the competition.

  “Come and eat,” Zofia said to Edek. “We will have a little fish and a little liverwurst. I noticed yesterday how much you did like liverwurst.”

  [ 4 0 8 ]

  L I L Y B R E T T

  “I noticed, also,” Walentyna said.

  “Okay,” Edek said. “Come on, Ruthie, we deserve to eat after a day like this.”

  “He deserves to eat,” Zofia said.

  “He deserves to eat,” Walentyna echoed.

  “I think I’ll go for a walk, Dad,” Ruth said. “You go and have a bite to eat. I think I need some fresh
air.”

  Edek looked miserable. “Come, just for a few minutes,” he said.

  “Please, Ruthie, you do need to eat. You did bring up all the bananas from Auschwitz and you did not eat the pears.”

  “You can buy bananas and pears in Auschwitz?” Zofia said.

  “No,” Edek said. “Ruthie did bring them to Auschwitz, in the car. Then she did bring some bananas up in Auschwitz and she did bring the pears back in the car.”

  Zofia and Walentyna looked bewildered. “She did bring up the bananas when she was in Auschwitz and she did bring the pears back,” Edek said to the two women. He said this with a finality. As though this explanation would clear up the matter. Both women looked perplexed.

  “She did eat pears in Auschwitz and bring bananas back from Auschwitz?” Zofia said.

  “No, she did bring the pears back,” Edek said.

  “Back up?” Walentyna said.

  “No,” Edek said. “Back in the car.”

  “I was a bit sick in Birkenau,” Ruth said. “And I am fine now.”

  “I thought it was Auschwitz you were sick in,” Zofia said.

  “Auschwitz-Birkenau,” Ruth said. If she talked about this subject any longer, Ruth thought, she could well be sick again.

  “What is the difference?” Edek said. “She is better now. And that is the main thing.”

  “That is the main thing,” Zofia said.

  “That is the main thing,” said Walentyna.

  Ruth really didn’t want to sit in the lounge with Zofia and Walentyna.

  Their company felt too robust for the way she felt at the moment. She wanted to be quiet.

  “Please, Ruthie, you do need something to eat,” Edek said. “You did vomit up everything what you did eat.”

  T O O M A N Y M E N

  [ 4 0 9 ]

  “She did vomit?” Zofia said.

  “You vomited?” Walentyna said to Ruth.

  “Yes, but I am fine now,” Ruth said.