The Librarian of Auschwitz

by Antonio Iturbe

  “Yes, of course.”

  “What?”

  “Books.”

  “Damn it, I’m already aware of that!”

  “Excuse me, Miss Adler, don’t get upset. You asked me, and I’m giving you an answer.”

  “Yes, of course. Forgive me. What I wanted to ask you, in confidence, is if you think we can trust him.”

  “You ask some very strange questions.”

  “Yes. Please forget that I asked.”

  “I haven’t quite understood what you mean by being able to trust Hirsch. Trust in his competence as block chief?”

  “Not exactly. What I wanted to ask was if you think he really is who he seems to be.”

  After a moment’s reflection, the professor replies, “No, he isn’t.”

  “He’s not who he appears to be?”

  “No. Nor am I. Or you. Nobody is. God silenced our thoughts so that only we could hear them. No one else ought to know what we are really thinking. People get angry with me whenever I say what I think.”

  “Indeed…”

  “I think what you’re asking me is whom can you trust in this hole called Auschwitz?”

  “That’s it!”

  “I must confess that as far as trusting, or what is understood by trusting, is concerned, I personally trust only my best friend.”

  “And who is your best friend?”

  “Me. I am my best friend.”

  Dita stares as he continues to smooth out the tip of his paper bird. She’s not going to get anything useful out of him.

  * * *

  When Dita reaches her hut, she lies down on the bunk. She hasn’t seen Mengele for a couple of days. But she mustn’t become overconfident; that man sees everything. She wonders if she could talk about Hirsch with Miriam Edelstein, the deputy director. But what if Miriam is his accomplice?

  It’s all so confusing. She’ll try to talk to Mr. Tomášek. As Dita’s eyes start to close, an image pops into her head: She and Margit lie flat on the snowy ground, Renée looks on, and the three roar with laughter. As long as they keep on laughing, all is not lost.

  11.

  Toward the end of February 1944, a high-level German delegation visited Auschwitz–Birkenau. It was headed by Lieutenant-Colonel Adolf Eichmann, the Obersturmbannfürher in charge of the Gestapo’s Jewish Department from 1941 to 1945. Their mission was to pick up, in person, a report requested from the Blockältester of Block 31, Fredy Hirsch, on the operation of this experimental barrack, the only one set aside for children in the entire network of Auschwitz camps.

  Hirsch has instructed Lichtenstern to ensure that all the children, no matter what age, are lined up in a perfect state for inspection. Fredy demands good hygiene. The children get up every day at seven a.m., and the assistants take them to the washrooms. In February, morning temperatures can be as low as −25° Celsius, and there are days when the pipes are frozen.

  When Hirsch turns up midmorning, perfectly groomed and shaved, the lines for roll call have already formed. His manner is even more military than usual, a sure sign of his stress. There is the sound of whistles blowing and the thud of boots. A short while later, a couple of SS soldiers clear the way for a group of officials whose chests are overloaded with metal insignias and decorations.

  Fredy Hirsch comes to attention with a martial click of his heels. After requesting permission to speak, he starts to describe the functioning of Block 31. It’s clear that Hirsch is comfortable speaking in his native German; he’s not a natural in Czech.

  Major Rudolf Höss and Eichmann lead the retinue, which includes other members of the SS, among them Schwarzhuber, the Kommandant responsible for Auschwitz–Birkenau. Dr. Mengele is farther back, a bit off to the side. As a captain, he’s much lower in rank than the lieutenant-colonels heading up the visit, and some might think he’s stepped back out of respect for the hierarchy. But Dita watches him and thinks his expression shows an indifference verging on boredom. And she’s right. He is bored by this procession of authorities.

  Mengele suddenly looks up. He stares at Dita. She pretends she’s looking straight ahead, but she feels Mengele watching her. What does he want from her?

  Eichmann nods, and his stern expression does not conceal his air of condescension. He’s making it clear that he’s doing Hirsch an enormous favor by hearing him out. Half a meter is as close as any of the officials will come to the Jewish Blockältester. Even though he’s wearing a clean shirt and not-too-wrinkled pants, Hirsch looks like a peasant amidst the pressed uniforms and shiny boots. Dita looks at him and, despite all her reservations, she can’t help feeling enormous admiration. They may despise him, but they listen. Dita believes in him. She desperately needs to believe in him.

  As soon as the delegation moves off, two assistants arrive with the midday soup for the hut, and the normal routine is reestablished. The dented bowls and twisted spoons are pulled out, and the children beg God to let them find at least one small piece of carrot. Once the meal is over, the hut gradually empties. Only a few teachers remain, huddled around the stools at the back and talking about the visit. They would like to know what Hirsch thinks, but he’s disappeared into thin air precisely to avoid such questions.

  * * *

  There’s a gala lunch in the officers’ dining room: tomato soup, chicken, potatoes, red cabbage, oven-baked fish, vanilla ice cream, and beer. The waitresses, prisoners, are Jehovah’s Witnesses. Höss prefers them because they never complain. They believe that if this is God’s will, they have to comply with it cheerfully.

  “Look,” he says to his colleagues, getting up from the table without bothering to remove the napkin tucked into his chest.

  He signals to one of the waitresses to come forward and pulls out his Luger. He places the barrel against her temple. The other Nazi chiefs have stopped eating and watch expectantly. A hush falls over the dining room. The prisoner, unperturbed, stands stock-still, holding some dirty plates, not looking at the pistol or at the person pointing it. She’s not looking anywhere in particular as she prays inaudibly. No complaint, no protest, not even a look of fear.

  “She’s thanking God,” says Höss with a guffaw.

  The others laugh politely. Rudolf Höss has recently been relieved of his position as commander of Auschwitz because the officers under him have been responsible for certain irregularities in the Lager’s accounts. Some members of the Gestapo’s high command don’t look on him as favorably as in the past. Eichmann returns to his soup without waiting for Höss to resume his seat. These sorts of games seem out of place to him when you’re eating. Killing Jews is serious work as far as he’s concerned. That’s why, when he’s asked later on in 1944 by the head of the SS, Heinrich Himmler, to end the Final Solution in light of the inevitable defeat of the Germans, Eichmann will go on ordering massive exterminations right to the bitter end.

  * * *

  The rumor put out by Mrs. Turnovská—so rightly dubbed Radio Birkenau by Dita—that there’ll be a special meal of sausages for the prisoners, has turned out to be false. Yet again.

  Dita heads off to see her parents, but as she makes her way through the crowd, she catches a glimpse of Mr. Tomášek and decides it is a perfect opportunity to talk to him. She sets off in his direction, but there’s such a crowd on the Lagerstrasse that she has trouble making headway. At times, she loses sight of him, but then she spots him again. He’s walking toward Block 31 and the hospital hut where there are fewer people. He moves quickly despite being about as old as her father, and Dita can’t catch up to him. She sees him skirting past Block 31 and walking on almost to the camp boundary where the clothing hut is located. It’s supervised by a regular German prisoner with the rank of Kapo rather than by a Jew. Dita has no idea what he’s planning to do there since Jewish prisoners aren’t allowed to enter that hut without permission. The Germans must think that the rags stored in there are very valuable. Mr. Tomášek is probably trying to get hold of some clothing for a needy prisoner. Her parents have explained
to her that kindhearted Mr. Tomášek helps a lot of people, including finding clothes for them.

  He strides into the hut before Dita can reach him, so she’ll have to wait till he comes out. The wide avenue through which you enter Auschwitz–Birkenau is on the other side of the family camp fence. They’re finishing construction of a railway line that will allow the train transports to run under the guard tower, which dominates everything at the main entrance, right to the very heart of the camp. She’s not too happy about staying there, in full sight of the guards at the main entrance, so she wanders down the side of the hut until she comes to a crack in the wooden wall. She walks up closer to it and hears Mr. Tomášek’s mild voice. He’s reciting some names and hut numbers. In German.

  Intrigued, Dita sits down beside the wall.

  An angry voice interrupts Mr. Tomášek’s report.

  “We’ve told you many times already! We don’t want the names of retired socialists! We want the names of members of the Resistance.”

  Dita recognizes the voice and the cold, hard way of speaking. It’s the Priest.

  “It’s not easy. They hide. I try—”

  “Try harder.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Now go.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Dita scurries round to the back of the hut so they won’t see her when they come out. She slumps to the ground.

  Kindhearted Mr. Tomášek … how could he? And whom can she trust now?

  She recalls Professor Morgenstern’s words: Trust yourself.

  She’s on her own.

  * * *

  Fredy Hirsch has also found himself on his own. He’s sitting in his room when there’s a knock on the door. Miriam Edelstein comes in, sits down on the wooden floor, and rests her back against the wall. She looks incredibly tired.

  “Did Eichmann make any comment about your report?” she asks.

  “No, nothing.”

  “What does he want it for?”

  “Who knows.…”

  “Schwarzhuber was in high spirits. He was smiling at Eichmann the whole time like a little lap dog.”

  “Or a Doberman.”

  “True. His face does remind you of a blond Doberman. And what about Mengele? He seemed like a fish out of water.”

  “He’s going it alone.”

  Miriam falls silent. It would never have occurred to her to speak about Mengele like that—as if he were an acquaintance.

  “I don’t know how you are able to get along with such a repugnant person.”

  “He’s the one who authorized the delivery to Block Thirty-One of the food parcels sent to dead prisoners. I get along with him because that’s my duty. I know some people say that Mengele is my friend. They know nothing. If it were advantageous to our children, I’d get along with the devil himself.”

  “You already do.” And Miriam smiles and gives him an understanding wink as she says it.

  “Dealing with Mengele has one advantage. He doesn’t hate us. He’s too intelligent for that. But that might be why he’s the most terrible Nazi of them all.”

  “If he doesn’t hate us, why does he collaborate with this whole aberration?”

  “Because it suits him. He’s not one of those Nazis who believe that we Jews are a race of inferior, hunchbacked beings from hell. He’s told me so. He finds many admirable qualities in Jews—”

  “So why does he destroy us, then?”

  “Because we are dangerous. We are the race that is capable of confronting the Aryans. We are the ones who can defeat their supremacy. That’s why they have to eliminate us. It’s nothing personal as far as he’s concerned; it’s simply a practical matter. Hatred is unknown to him … but the awful thing is that he doesn’t know compassion, either. There is nothing that moves him.”

  “I couldn’t negotiate with criminals like that.”

  And pain flashes across her face as she says it.

  Fredy stands up, walks over to her, and asks her fondly, “Have you heard anything more about Yakub?”

  By the time Miriam and her family had arrived from Terezín six months earlier, the Gestapo already had her husband in custody and transferred him three kilometers away to Auschwitz I, the prison for political prisoners. She has neither seen nor heard anything about him since.

  “I was able to talk to Eichmann for a moment this morning. He knows me from some meetings in Prague, but at first he pretended he didn’t recognize me. He’s despicable, like all the Nazis. The guards were on the point of hitting me, but he did at least stop them, and let me ask him about Yakub. He told me they transferred him to Germany, that he’s perfectly fine, and that we’ll soon all be reunited. Then he did an about-face and left before I’d finished. I had a letter for Yakub, but I wasn’t even able to hand it over. Arieh had written a few lines for his dad.…”

  “Let me see what I can find out.”

  “Thanks, Fredy.”

  “I owe it to you,” Fredy adds.

  Miriam nods again. She knows he does, but it’s something she’s not supposed to talk about.

  * * *

  Dita makes her way along the Lagerstrasse. She’s going after Mr. Tomášek; he disgusts her more than the SS. They wear uniforms, and you know who they are and what they’re about. She fears them, she despises them, even hates them … but she’s never before felt the nausea that the thought of the elegant Mr. Tomášek’s Jewish smile provokes in her.

  As she rushes to her destination, she tries to form a plan, but she can’t come up with anything. She can only tell the truth.

  She reaches her father’s hut. In front of it she finds the usual group of people gathered around Mr. Tomášek, her parents among them, of course. A woman is talking about something. Mr. Tomášek, eyes half closed, nods in agreement from his spot in the middle of the group and, with a smile, encourages the woman to continue.

  Dita bursts in, even splashing mud on some of them.

  “My goodness, child!”

  Dita blushes, and her voice shakes. But her arm isn’t shaking as she raises it and points to the person in the center of the group.

  “Mr. Tomášek is a traitor. He’s an SS informer.”

  The muttering can be heard immediately, and people stir nervously. Mr. Tomášek tries to keep his smile in place, but he’s not entirely successful. It’s skewed to one side.

  Liesl Adler is one of the first to stand up.

  “Edita! What are you saying?”

  “I’ll tell you,” interjects one of the women. “Your daughter is ill-mannered. How dare she burst in like this to insult an important person like Mr. Tomášek?”

  “Mrs. Adler,” adds one of the men, “you should give your daughter a good slap. And if you don’t, I will.”

  “Mama, I’m telling the truth,” says Dita nervously and with less certainty now. “I heard him speaking with the Priest in the clothing hut. He’s an informer!”

  “Impossible!” says the woman who spoke earlier, absolutely outraged.

  “Either you give your daughter a slap right now to shut her up, or I’ll do it for you.” The man starts to move toward Dita.

  “If anyone is to be punished, then punish me,” says Liesl calmly. “I’m her mother, and if my daughter has behaved improperly, then I’m the one you should slap.”

  At that, Hans Adler speaks up.

  “Nobody’s going to be slapped,” he states firmly. “Edita is telling the truth. I know she is.”

  A chorus of stunned whispers runs around the group.

  “Of course I’m telling the truth,” shouts Dita, feeling braver. “I heard the Priest telling him to hand over information about the Resistance. That’s why he spends the whole day walking around the camp. That’s why he asks so many questions and gets people to talk about their problems.”

  “Are you going to deny it, Mr. Tomášek?” asks Mr. Adler, firing a look in his direction.

  Almost all of them turn their heads toward Tomášek, who’s silent. He just stands there, the customa
ry half smile still on his face.

  “I…” he begins. Everyone prepares to listen. They’re sure it’s a misunderstanding he can easily clear up. “I…”

  But that’s as far as he gets. He clears a path and hurries off to his hut. Perplexed, they all stand there looking at each other and at the three members of the Adler family. Dita hugs her father.

  “Hans,” asks Liesl, “how did you know with such certainty that Edita was telling the truth? It seemed so incredible…!”

  “I didn’t know. But it’s a trick they use in the courts. You bluff: You pretend you’re absolutely certain about something although you aren’t really, and the accused is betrayed by his own insecurity. He thinks he’s been found out and falls to pieces.”

  “And if he hadn’t been an informer?”

  “I would have apologized. But,” he adds, winking at his daughter, “I knew I was holding a good hand.”

  One of the men in the group approaches and places a friendly hand on Hans’s shoulder.

  “I’d forgotten you were a lawyer.”

  “Me too.”

  There’s still one thing to do to finish off Mr. Tomášek’s career as an informer: activate Radio Birkenau. The Adler family go to see Mrs. Turnovská. The good woman entrusts herself a number of times to God and several biblical patriarchs, and then sets things in motion. Within forty-eight hours, the entire camp has been alerted and Mr. Tomášek has fallen from grace.

  12.

  Rudi Rosenberg heads around the back of his hut in the quarantine camp and walks up to the electrified fence. Alice Munk is waiting for him on the other side. They both stop three paces from the fence and then, despite the thousands of volts running through the wires, advance one more step. They slowly sit down so they won’t arouse the guards’ suspicion.

  It’s another of the many afternoons that Rudi gets together with Alice to talk. Alice tells him about her family of wealthy industrialists from the north of Prague, and how much she’d like to go home. Rosenberg talks about his dream of going to America the day this nightmare of war and camps is over.

  “It’s the land of opportunity. Business is sacred. It’s the only place in the world where a poor man can become the president of a nation.”