by Guy Rosmarin
“What Hebrew school did he go to?” Jack asked, and a wave of laughter followed.
“Make no mistake,” Nate said, “this handsome lad is fluent in nine languages and can carry on a conversation in, what…twenty more?” He glanced at Andy for approval. Andy dismissed the claim with a smile and a headshake.
“I’ll take it from here,” Sarah said. “I am still the youngest. The Four Questions are mine.”
Grandma was the only one who seemed oblivious to the merriment. Her eyes remained fixed on the guest, and she kept quiet, only to break her silence when it was time to serve food.
The meal commenced with the infamous gefilte-fish Andy had heard so much about; a pale ground carp patty covered with transparent jelly-like matter that did not look too appealing at first. But when smeared on a piece of matzah, topped with thin slices of steamed carrot and a coat of beet horseradish, it was quite an unexpected delicacy. For the second course, Grandma served her signature soft, puffy matzo balls in chicken broth. With a perfect balance of spices and flavor, it was like no soup Andy had ever tasted before, a pure culinary delight with every mouthful. He was tempted to go for seconds, but Sarah and Nate collaboratively advised him to save room for the main course.
Sarah and Janet helped their mother clear the empty bowls and returned to the table with a pot roast of veal and potatoes accompanied by tzimmes, a side dish of baked carrots and raisins soaked in sweet wine and honey. Grandma made sure her special guest got the first serving and watched closely as he consumed the tender meat with delight. This time, Andy did not refuse a second offering, after which he rubbed his belly and smirked in genuine satisfaction.
“Compliments to the chef. What’s your secret?” Andy said. Grandma nodded and thanked him with a bashful smile.
“If we tell you our secrets,” Jack interrupted with his mouth full, “you will either have to convert to Judaism or we’ll have to shoot you.”
“Tell me, Andy,” Grandma’s somber voice pierced through another wave of laughter. Do you have any relatives who lived in Europe during the war?”
“I don’t.” Andy shook his head. “My roots nearly go as far back as the Mayflower on both sides. Oh, my paternal grandfather served in the Pacific during the war.”
“Forgive me for being so…intrusive, it’s just that you remind me of someone I used to know. I still have the photo…somewhere.” Grandma rose to her feet and walked away from the table. I’ll be right back. Why don’t you get dessert started in the meantime,” she said before disappearing in the hallway.
“Good idea,” Janet said. “Should we take it to the living room?”
Andy offered a helping hand clearing the table but was instantly ordered to join the men in the den.
“House rules,” Nate shrugged. “There’s not too much you can do about it.” He exchanged sinister grins with his future father-in-law.
The girls quickly followed with crystal bowls filled with colorful chilled compote. Janet handed one to her fiancé and sat on his lap. “Did you ask him?” she whispered.
“Ask what? Oh… him,” Nate pointed at Andy. “Well, I don’t really need to ask. He knows he’s our best man.”
“You actually did bring it up,” Andy said, “and I said I’ll think about it.” He slowly chewed on a soft sweet prune and tried to think of things he could say to extend the dialogue, but by the look on Janet’s face, he could tell she did not appreciate the humor. “I’m only joking, Jan,” he tried to put out the fire he started. “I was born to be your best man. No thinking needed. Have you settled on a date?”
“Sunday, September 9th.”
“That’s less than six months away.”
“Five actually,” Sarah joined the conversation. “But it should give you plenty of time to make room in your busy schedule.”
“Speaking of which, I heard you’ve got plenty on your plate these days,” Andy said.
“You heard right. I’m almost as busy as you. I started teaching in the conservatory and there’s a very good chance I’ll be sitting in as first violinist for the Symphony Orchestra on a few concerts this season.”
“That’s huge. Congratulations! You must be very excited.”
“I am. But it’s not going to be easy. It’s a little scary. So much work and so little time.”
“Tell me about it. Sometimes I wish I could throw all that dedication away and just stay in bed.”
“There are days that I just…” Sarah caught a glimpse of Grandma slowly striding from the dark corridor, holding an old framed photograph in her hand. “I don’t know what has gotten into her tonight,” she whispered.
“Who?”
“Grandma. She’s not herself. I’ve never seen her so…quiet. She’s usually very vibrant and loud when it comes to family dinners and holidays. But tonight, she did not say a word, just kept staring…at you.”
Grandma’s eyes were buried in the photo she held in her hand. “What is it?” Rachel asked, and walked up to her.
“Here, see for yourself,” Grandma handed her the photo and put her glasses on to get a close look at Andy’s face.
Rachel took a minute to closely examine the photo then glanced at Andy and nodded. “I see the resemblance,” she said.
Nate sprang behind Grandma to get a view. “My goodness, this guy really does look like you, Spence. Come, see for yourself.” Andy reluctantly accepted the invitation. He took a close look at the photo and his face drained of color.
Chapter 9
“What happened to you back there?” Nate finally broke the long silence on the drive back, his voice tainted with slight irritation. “One minute you are super sociable and loving everyone and the next, you’re as cold as an ice cube.”
“I don’t know, man,” Andy mumbled.
“Is it that old photo? Is that what’s bothering you? Look man, it could have been anyone in that photo, though I must say that guy really looked like you.”
“Did you see what he was wearing?” Andy said.
“I didn’t notice anything special. Why?”
“A Harvard sweatshirt. Just like the one I have.”
“Really? I didn’t see that…”
“Go back and take a closer look.”
“Wow! Easy there, bud. Even if he was wearing a Harvard sweatshirt, what are you trying to make of it?”
“I don’t know. The past three days have just been…too crazy. First, it was Victor Callo, then, Ivan Gresko, and now Grandma and her photo, and to top it all I have this dream to deal with. I swear to God, Nate, if that dream returns to haunt me, I’m going to lose my mind.”
“If it does, you give me a call.” Nate stopped the car next to Andy’s apartment building.
Andy stepped out of the car. “I will.” He shut the door and began to walk away.
“One more thing,” Nate shouted, rolling down the passenger window. “When you dream, you can do anything you want if you know you’re dreaming. Keep that in mind and you’ll be safe.” Andy turned back and nodded.
“Good point. I’ll try to remember that when I’m dodging German bullets.”
***
The long day mixed with the full meal and all the sweet wine he had consumed was a perfect recipe for the good night’s sleep he craved, but when utter darkness engulfed his consciousness and began to pull him downward, he knew there was no sleep awaiting him on the other side.
Streams of blood and boulders of burning armor filled a hazy landscape, illuminated by the first rays of dawn. It was a different landscape than the one he had left when Nate’s rings woke him the previous morning. This was the aftermath of a bigger and bloodier battle. Death penetrated his nostrils and filled his lungs with the stench of burning soil and decaying flesh. He was still in the back of the dead bodies transport truck, wearing the dead Czech’s uniform. His hands were still tied behind his back, but the ca
rgo of corpses and severed body parts was much higher than he remembered. He felt no physical discomfort or pain other than paralyzing horror. He closed his eyes, hoping to see the ceiling of his bedroom next, but instead of falling out of sleep, he remained bound to his surrounding through his senses. His ears picked up a conversation in German. It sounded like it was held inches from his face. He opened his eyes in panic, but there were only dead bodies around him. The voices came from the front cabin. He gazed at the open field, spotting the remains of a burnt armored personnel carrier in the far distance. He could read the small letters of the maker imprinted on the charred metal. Impossible, he thought. It has to be at least half a mile away and I don’t even have my glasses on. He looked down at the road. Somewhere in the fringes of his consciousness it seemed the world around him was slowing down; the voices coming from the front, the moving truck, and the pebbles flying from under the tires nearly froze to standstill. He could even see specs of dust caught in midair, refusing to yield to gravity. It terrified him. He closed his eyes and shook his head, and then looked back at the road; everything moved at normal speed. I am losing my mind, he thought, keeping his eyes on the road with a frantic gaze, as if guarding it from more peculiarities.
The truck suddenly slowed down. A sign of more oddities to come, he thought, but this time, he heard the screech of the brakes. When they came to a stop, he hovered over the rear gate of the truck and watched the exhaust fumes drift as the engine idled. A brief exchange of words from the front stole his attention. A metallic squeak followed and the truck began to move again. Andy saw a guard lower the gate soon after they’d passed. Barbed wire extended from each side of the post as far as the eye could see. They had just entered a military base and the thought of an inevitable confrontation filled him with dread. A glance at the empty road compelled him to think of escape, but with his hands tied behind his back there was not much he could do. Under normal circumstances, my hands would be gone by now, he thought and tried to pull his arms apart just to get a feel for it. Much to his surprise, the tourniquet-tight leather strap snapped effortlessly. He pulled his hands up and closely examined them. Yes, I’m still dreaming. There were no missing parts and no feeling of numbness. The truck stopped again. It was his chance to make a move, but then he heard footsteps approaching.
“Scheisse,” a soldier in combat fatigues shrieked at the sight of him. Andy remembered that face. It was the man who clouted him with his rifle. Now, Andy could sense his terror. He looked like someone staring at a ghost. “Aus! Schnell!” the soldier screamed and drew a Luger sidearm. Andy noticed his hand trembling and instinctively interpreted it as a sign of weakness.
Jump, now, and run as fast as you can! He pushed himself over the gate, but as soon as he hit the ground he found himself surrounded by a pack of bloodthirsty wolves in Wehrmacht uniforms, their claws exposed and ready to shred him to pieces. His last window of opportunity slammed shut. He looked around and sensed rage blazing in every pair of eyes staring at him. There was nowhere to turn. He felt the muzzle of a pistol thwack his forehead and wished for someone to pull the trigger and end the nightmare. He closed his eyes, but his wish was not granted.
“Nein!” a shout came from afar, and approaching footsteps followed. “Anschlag sofort!”
Andy slowly opened his eyes. A Wehrmacht officer in captain ranks circled the pack that was now lined up in perfect order.
“Anyone daring to lay a finger on the prisoner will be punished severely,” the captain said in high German diction.
Andy let out a quiet sigh of relief, but then came the speech on the importance of keeping the prisoner in good health before interrogation. So much for my so-called good fortune, he thought as the captain ordered two of the men to take him to the chamber and await his appointment with the doctor.
“Der Doktor,” Andy heard one of the guards say. He looked up and was immediately “rewarded” with a not-so-modest shove. “Keep moving with your hands up, and don’t turn around,” the guard screamed, keeping a safe distance behind him.
They marched across the vast compound passing by lineups of young recruits, heavy equipment, and lots and barracks. No matter how hard Andy tried, he could not avoid the condescending stares from by-passers, military men and women, and civilians alike. He tried to fight off the bitter sense of humiliation and trepidation by focusing on the scenery, but he could not stop thinking how real everything seemed.
The three approached the central edifice in the garrison, a majestic medieval fortress of clay and stone that stood apart from the rest of the concrete barracks. Andy tried to keep his eyes on the ground as they marched, but when they walked past the main entrance veranda, curiosity stole his attention for a quick glance that made him stop on the spot. Everything around him froze. The only audible sound was his own heart pounding. A red flag covered the entire front wall, a black swastika dead in its center, and a narrow black banner with two white lightning-shaped S’s on each side. Underneath the flag, the words “Bohemia and Moravia Front Headquarters,” in bold German, blemished the ancient wall.
The six-decade shield, which separated him from the evils he had explored for his entire career, was broken, leaving him exposed to the horror he knew so much about. Caught up in the sullen thought, he failed to notice that time had shifted into slow gear, just like in the gravel road from the back of the truck, and just as unnoticed it sped back up.
He slipped a cautious glance at the guards, sensing the confusion in their eyes. They must have felt something. The two exchanged looks, and a rifle butted straight into his back. His lack of reaction further heated their aggression and they screamed for him to move along.
They stopped in front of a two-storied gray building. The infamous Gestapo and SS emblems sent shivers down Andy’s spine and filled him with dread. One of the guards walked inside. A short minute later, he called the other to follow. They entered a dim hallway and the door slammed behind them. Andy shuddered. A sharp turn and seven stories down a dark stairwell led them to an underground corridor. Andy felt the rugged concrete floor under his feet. A pungent smell of mildew drilled through his nostrils.
“Halt!” one of the guards shouted and pointed his flashlight at the wall. The other pulled out a big iron key from his pocket and shoved it into a crack in the concrete. He turned it twice, and pushed. A loud tremor shook the hallway as part of the wall moved inward. There was utter void on the other side, and before Andy could see where he was going, he was pushed inside, and the wall yanked shut behind him.
Darkness fell upon him and his head started spinning. He pressed his palms hard against his eyes.
Chapter 10
Andy gasped for air the instant his eyes opened. When he recognized the walls in his bedroom, he let out a long sigh. The radio clock on the nightstand displayed a blinking 12:00. He turned to his wristwatch. It was half past noon. Under normal circumstances, he would never allow himself to sleep that late, even on a Sunday morning, but he was too drained to follow routine. He continued to lay flat on his back with his eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling for another twenty minutes. When he finally gathered enough strength to pull himself out of bed, he dragged his feet to the kitchen and gorged on a bowl of cereal.
The dream was still fresh and very much alive in his head. He gazed at the milk dripping from his spoon, wishing for the dream to fade away, like ordinary dreams do. There was plenty on his agenda, but all he could think of was calling Nate. He pushed himself away from the table and cleared his breakfast, but when he grabbed the phone on his desk, he noticed the unmarked school papers. He put the phone down. After all it’s just a dream, he reminded himself, and grabbed the first paper from the top of the pile.
The late morning quickly turned to afternoon and then early evening. Andy finished typing a long commentary and glanced at the pile. He let out a slight moan, realizing he had barely scraped the surface. Reluctantly, he picked the next one. Just from the l
ooks of it, he could tell it exceeded his two-thousand word limit and he was ready to dismiss it as unacceptably long. “Methods of Investigation and Torture in the Gestapo.” He sighed. He couldn’t see how anything under that title could be relevant to the topic he assigned, but he started reading anyway.
Two thirds of the way in, he grew impatient. Some of the paragraphs looked suspiciously familiar, and with no footnotes, he figured he could nail the kid for plagiarism. He skimmed a bit more and was about to dismiss the paper with a big red F when the words Baldur Ziegler caught his attention. Where have I heard that name before? His eyes froze mid-paragraph. The sentence that followed refreshed his memory. “A high-ranking Gestapo officer who served as a direct deputy under SD Obergruppenführer Reinhard Heydrich in occupied Czechoslovakia, infamously known for his use of unorthodox ‘medical’ methods to extract information from his subjects,” Andy read out loud, and then put the paper down and looked away. “Doktor Schmerz,” he whispered, and turned his eyes back to the page, only to confirm that Ziegler’s notorious deeds had earned him the title Doctor Pain.
He stared at the page a long minute, and then threw it on his desk as if dropping a hot object. He wrote a short meaningless, comment at the bottom of the last page and dismissed it with a C minus.
He grabbed the phone and dialed Nate. After four long rings, the answering machine picked up. He hung up and tried his cell. “Come on pal, pick up now.”
“Spence?” Nate’s cheerful voice cut off the second ring.
“Nate?”
“What a coincidence, everyone here is talking about you. You’re the star of the evening.”
“Oh, I hope I’m not interrupting.”
