by Karla M Jay
“Explain that,” Marshall said.
“I told them the gas was spoiled during transport. The railway crews buried the canisters because of my false report that the gas would not work.”
Marshall’s associate tapped his pencil on the table. “In your travels, you saw many disturbing things, you took notes, and shot photographs and developed them. What made you finally decide to desert and seek safer shores?”
Falk bristled at the insinuation. He was not a mere deserter. The brutal death of the boy with the strings flashed through his mind. It had been the final straw.
In measured tones, he said, “I had waited to see what the people I wrote to would do. When too much time passed, I knew it was up to me.”
A man to the left of Donovan asked, “How did you receive mail without getting caught?”
“I kept a secret mailbox in Brussels, and I checked it whenever I could.” He leaned forward, careful to cradle his arm. “I was caught when I received a letter from the United States from Theodore Graf. I was called to a meeting with Himmler and knew that this was the end for me. I went to Italy and changed clothes with a dead soldier who looked like me. Incidentally, Pastor Graf was not involved in my plans. I used the man. He was the only person I knew to send my information in America. Please allow him to return to his church.”
“We will take that under consideration.” Donovan pinched the bridge of his nose as he met Falk’s gaze. “Are you trained as a military strategist?”
“I am not.” Where was this going?
“So, if we assume the descriptions in your papers are correct, how do you believe the United States can halt the genocide”—the colonel steepled his fingers and rested his chin on them—“from a plant supervisor’s point of view?”
He ignored the jab. Finally. His recommendations would be heard.
“If you give me a map, I can show you the layout of many of the extermination camps. The worst of the perpetrators live nearby, for example, Josef Mengele. If the military bombed their homes, you would cut off the head of the snakes. The remaining guards would flee, and the camps could be freed.”
Murmurs rippled between the five men. Did they know of Mengele’s medical experiments? Or, was this another of the top leader’s best-kept secrets?
Donovan sat back in his chair, his face a mask of concentration as if struggling toward a decision. “Any more you’d like to add?”
“Stop bombing innocent civilians in German cities. I understand it frightens the population and puts pressure on the government, but it won’t scare these men in power. You need to target the railway tracks leading to the camps and find the SS residences. I drew critical regions for you. American forces have German citizens fleeing, afraid that another hundred thousand of them could be burned to death, but these people are only citizens. They are not complicit in the mass murders.” Ilse and his boys—his chest thudded—they had to be safe in the Netherlands, or this was his family he was talking about.
Donovan nodded. “We will take your ideas to Washington.” He stood and the officers rose alongside him. The meeting was obviously at an end. “Here’s what we need from you, Herr Falk. Write down everything you have learned that wasn’t already included in your notes. We’ll reconvene tomorrow at eleven a.m.”
“The United States will do what is essential?” He had persuaded them to act. This was all he wanted at the start of his journey. Relief flooded through him.
“Our orders are simply to interrogate you and to report back to the president. A decision like this will have to come from him, our commander in chief.”
Falk stood as the panel members left the room. The guards returned to his side and escorted him back to his stark white room. He collapsed into the chair beside his bed. On a nearby writing table lay a notebook and pen. He stared into the distance for a moment. A warm wash of sunlight pushed into the room, leaving the pattern of the barred windows on the linoleum in front of his feet. And he dreaded revisiting the horrors they asked that he describe.
Hiam’s face floated before his eyes without invitation, resurrecting his shame. Old questions resurfaced—issues he suppressed. What if he had tried harder? Could he have supplied the Polish resistance with inside information about safe passage out of Poland? Derailed a few trains? Should he have at least attempted that? These thoughts weren’t new. He cycled through these options every moment during the eighteen months he wore the German uniform. But he was here now. He’d withstood deprivation, pain, and setbacks but hadn’t lost focus. His cyanide pill was confiscated, but he no longer needed it. Now, as he reached his goal, the sun through the window felt like a celebration of finding himself in the place he fought so long to reach.
A fly buzzed against the window, skirting the edges in search of an opening. Then the tiny tap tap sound of its attempts to break through. He had been that fly. Now he’d found his opening.
He smoothed out the top page, determined to remember every sight, every indignity, even if it took all night.
Izaak Tauber
Terezín, Czechoslovakia - June 23, 1944
Izaak had forgotten how much fun it was to skip instead of walking everywhere. He hadn’t been strong or happy enough to do this for a long time. Tomorrow was the day he and the other children rehearsed for, the day they would perform a play in front of the Danish International Red Cross. He wasn’t sure who they were, but there was a lot of hustle and bustle in the town and they were almost ready to show off the nice city they made.
The Jewish Council gave everyone parts to perform throughout their city during the Red Cross visit. Izaak had three parts, all pretty easy to remember, and he was a fast runner, so he could dart down back alleys to get to his next scene. It was exciting, almost like being in a make-believe storybook. Although, something about what they were being asked to do, also seemed made-up.
Adults whispered in worried tones but stopped when he was nearby. And Mama was nervous, squeezing him extra tight each time they got near each other. He loved it but also worried because she acted as if she might not get the chance again one day. He wanted to believe everything was as celebratory as it seemed but sometimes wondered if this play was a one-time show. And when the curtain came down at the end, they’d go back to how it had been. But he pushed that thought away. It would be silly to go through so much effort to make the town nicer if it wasn’t going to stay that way.
Mevr. Friedl Dicker-Brandeis moved their artwork into a clean building with lots of lights. She called it the showroom. “No more hiding your wonderful work in the barracks,” she announced. Every inch of the walls was covered with their colorful paintings, and from a distance, the room looked like a beautiful quilt. The new sign on the building read Children’s Art Gallery. Mama gave him an extra big squeeze when she saw that eight of his paintings were hung on the first wall people would walk past when they entered.
His friend Aden’s family and other people from Denmark were moved into newly painted houses that came with an added surprise—now families could live together! Mamas and Papas and children all in the same house. When Izaak visited Aden at his new home, there were normal beds with linens and blankets, and even a small kitchen. This meant Aden and his family could eat at home and not in the warehouse. Most special of all, a toilet and shower were attached outside the house just for them.
Soon he and Mama would get a house all their own. Right now, they only had four other people in their room, but the old woman named Greta snored like a big, brown bear. And Izaak was sure she was the one passing gas every night.
In the last couple of weeks, men busily painted the rooms in the houses yellow or white, and women, including Mama, sewed blue curtains for the windows that faced the square. Izaak hoped they would get a house near the new playground and pool. So far, he and the other children were not allowed to play in either, but after tomorrow that would change.
And as if the town
wasn’t already so nice, they now had a school. Somehow the hospital patients were allowed to move someplace else. Probably, to a much better place because the old hospital smelled like broken toilets and rotten food. The whole building was fixed up and repainted with bright colors, and inside, there were rows of benches and desks and a new chalkboard. A small note on the door said the school was closed for vacation. It wouldn’t be long before he and the other students could stop hiding in attics to learn. He’d be back in a real class with honest-to-goodness books. The only question was what grade he would be in since he’d missed most of second grade.
He waited in their room until his mama returned from work then they could walk together to the dining hall. She didn’t seem as thrilled as he was about having menus made of pretty paper with typed words. The first night the menus appeared he held one up. “Look! They’re like the ones in the restaurants we used to go to with Papa.” She used her pretend smile, the look he’d seen on her face so many times since they left Amsterdam.
They needed to find Papa. He always made Mama laugh no matter how sad she was. He’d put on funny clothes or walked like a monkey, or used silly voices that made Mama giggle even when she tried not to.
Footsteps sounded on the stairs leading to their room. Mama turned the corner of the doorway. When she smiled this time, it was real. “Did you have a nice day, love?”
He told her about delivering messages to new buildings while she bandaged two fingers. Sewing curtains was prickly work. As they walked to the warehouse to eat, Izaak held her not-sore hand. “Soon we can eat at home like Aden’s family. Won’t that be nice?”
She was quiet for a few moments. “I suppose. But I don’t really mind the long tables and all the company, Izaak. I find strength in these friendships.”
After they sat down, her words ran through his head as he ate a stew loaded with chicken and potatoes. Mama and the other women talked and talked. He realized he did the same with his friends in art class. Maybe they didn’t need a house of their own, after all, just lots of friends.
They finished and put their plates in the bins to be washed.
Mama rubbed his back. “Let’s go see the new pavilion.”
At the town square they sat on the lawn. Musicians were practicing one last time before the guests arrived in the morning.
The grass was soft, tickling the back of his legs when he straightened them to lie back and study the darkening sky. Once, he tried to mix paint the color of what happens between the blue of day and the black of night. But it wasn’t just one color. Rose, purple, and blue moved in and out as night took over, changing again and again, but slowly. He doubted he could ever mix that shade just right.
Later, he awoke as Mama laid him on their mattress and snuggled in next to him. He didn’t remember falling asleep, but that was the thing about the Sandman—he was tricky.
Mama softly ran her fingers around his cheek and chin. “You have been the bravest boy, Izaak.” She trailed her fingers down his arms, a touch that always relaxed him. “And I want you to remember something. If there comes a day when we aren’t together for a while, I’ll need you to stay strong.”
A hot feeling of worry shot through his body, and he was wide awake, sitting upright. “But we will always be together!”
Mama pulled him back to her side and held him close. “Maybe the Red Cross will see your talents and want to take you and the other children to a better town.”
“I won’t go with them.” What was she thinking? “I will always stay with you.”
“Of course, Izaak.” She kissed his forehead.
He fought the urge to cry because she just called him brave and he wanted to live up to that name. “Besides, we’re in a good place now. We need to stay and wait for our own house and for a swim in the pool, and I’ll go to school here.”
“Things are much better now, I know.” She moved backward, so she could see his face. He knew she saw a few tears there. “Our lives might stay this way until the war is over, but . . . I need you to promise me that if it’s God’s will that we are separated, you will do everything you can to stay well and be strong until we meet again.”
He didn’t want to promise anything like that because promising might mean what she said could happen. After losing Papa, he couldn’t lose Mama.
“Izaak?”
Tears fell, and he couldn’t stop them. Now he was worried about this Red Cross group and what they had in mind for children. His mama seemed to know a secret about them. Suddenly, he didn’t want them to come to their freshly scrubbed town. He hoped their train got lost.
She wrapped her arms around him and scooped him closer, whispering in his ear. “Remember when we talked about the stars?”
He nodded, holding real still, afraid they might be separated at any moment.
“God gives us all a light, and after we die, we carry it to heaven . . .” she whispered. Izaak always liked this story. “And hang it in the dark sky, letting everyone below know we are safe, that we are watching, especially when times feel gloomy.”
He shifted on the mattress and relaxed his death grip on Mama’s hand. “Lots and lots of people are already there.”
Mama nodded. “Watching over us.”
“Do Catholics take lights to their heaven?” He wasn’t sure what he understood about who belonged in God’s group and who didn’t.
She laughed for the first time in a long while. He loved the sound.
“We all have the same heaven, love.” She fluffed the skinny pillow under his head even though it never changed the softness. “Let’s get to sleep. You have important things to do tomorrow.”
The next morning, he dressed in the new clothes he was given and kissed his mama goodbye. “Have fun with the babies,” he called before dashing down the stairs.
Mama’s part in the play was to work in the new infants’ home. It had real cribs and clean blue baby blankets. The glass bottles and nipples arrived, so the babies didn’t have to suck on rags dipped in milk. That was messy, and the babies often cried for more after they ate. Today, Mama wore a clean, white nurse’s uniform, a lot like the one she wore in Amsterdam.
Izaak stopped by Aden’s house, but no one was home. The family must have already left for the train station. He ran the rest of the way there, dodging Ghetto guards who were also dashing around to make sure everybody knew it was time for the big show.
The musicians were ready to play at the bandstand, and the café was full of people—some inside, some at tables out front. Izaak joined his fellow actors, the children who were there to meet the train. There was so much excitement in the air that it was hard to stand still. He spotted Aden, who nudged in next to him, and they admired each other’s shiny shoes, clean trousers and shirts. Before this, Izaak only saw his friend in used-up clothes. Now he looked like someone to get to know all over again.
Commandant Rahm sat in the back seat of his polished black car, waiting like the rest of them. In just a moment, the train carrying the Red Cross would arrive.
And just like that, the ground rumbled under his feet. Dark smoke from the engine showed up first. Then the black engine, pulling passenger cars, slid into sight from around the last curve.
Time must have broken. After an extra-long screech, the train finally stopped and sat vibrating on the tracks for a longer period. His legs quivered from the vibration or excitement. He couldn’t tell which.
The steps on the passenger car unfolded. Soldiers in crisp-looking black uniforms came down first and then moved to the side to help two men and two women off the train. They were dressed in light-grey matching uniforms, suits for the men, dresses for the women. A white band encircled their arms with a red cross in the center. The same marking was on the little hats they wore. They looked important and kind, not at all like children-stealers. Mama would be relieved. He most certainly was.
Rahm, now out
of his car, shook their hands, and then turned to introduce the Ghetto elder, Dr. Paul Eppstein, who said, “Welcome to Theresienstadt.” This was the German name for Terezín, and they told all the actors to use it if addressed by the visitors.
Izaak’s part was about to begin. The group followed Rahm, and when he passed close to the children, he offered them candy. They each took a piece, and all together said, “Thank you, Uncle Rahm.”
He laughed, patting the back of one boy and tousling the hair of another. “You brighten my day, children.”
Izaak was always afraid of the commandant. As an SS officer, he was dressed like the mean guards he came to distrust. Rahm never spoke to them before but since rehearsal, it now seemed the man learned to like children.
Then Rahm smiled once again before leading the Danish officials away. The Red Cross workers waved at Izaak’s group as they walked by, and on command, the children offered their greeting in the Danish language they practiced. “Welcome to our town” or in the case of Izaak’s line, “It’s nice to have you here.”
With a scout running ahead of the visitors, the orchestra was playing Verdi’s Marcha Triunfal de Aida before the group reached the town square. This was Izaak’s cue to get to his next station while Aden ran off to his family’s house, where the officials would stop later. Aden and three other children from his country were lucky enough to be seen playing on their front lawn with a rocking horse and a tetherball pole.
Izaak dashed through the back streets and reached the main route ahead of the visitors. Here, bakers dressed in white smocks and white hats busily kneaded bread. A load of fresh vegetables arrived on a clean wagon, and hopefully from now on, the hearse would remain parked in the distant alley where it was now hidden.
On Market Street, which used to be D Street, a group of the prettiest girls in town stood in front of the newly opened market, ready with baskets of fresh fruit. Izaak’s part was to pay for the produce as the Red Cross people passed by and then carry his sack away, humming. In his pocket were real Korunas, not the fake money The Bank of the Jewish Autonomy paid his mama.
