The Brothers of Auschwitz

by Malka Adler

  I held the bottles close and hurried to the hospital.

  Evening was falling. The street was almost empty. The lamp lights drew circles with holes on the pavement. I could barely restrain myself from calling Doctor Spielman from the main road. I ran inside the hospital. Shouted to the nurses, where’s my doctor, where is he? Doctor Spielman approached me. I took the bottles out of my shirt and arranged them in a row on the table.

  Doctor Spielman laughed and laughed, said: Cognac, whiskey, vodka. Pinched my cheek, said, ay, ay, ay, Icho, none like you, none. I felt as if I had grown at least ten centimeters higher. I even felt as if I’d grown a beard. Doctor Spielman hid two bottles in a cupboard with a key, took the cognac and two glasses and said, come on, we’ll go down to your brother. We went down. The German doctor came with us.

  We reached Dov.

  He was lying there as usual. Doctor Spielman stood beside him. He gave me the bottle and glasses to hold, sat Dov up in bed, clicked his fingers and said, open the bottle and pour into the glasses. Half a glass is enough. I opened the bottle and poured in the cognac. My hands were trembling and cognac spilled on the floor. Doctor Spielman said, one glass for you, Icho, one glass for your brother. Come on, come on, come closer. I came closer. He put one hand on my shoulder and turned me to face Dov. And then he said, wait, a bit closer. I came closer. Dov looked at my hands. And then Doctor Spielman said, you drink first, then give your brother a glass and tell him, drink, drink, understand?

  I said, yes, but he can’t drink by himself.

  Doctor Spielman said, we’ll try. Come closer. My foot touched the bed. Dov tried to catch my hand. I didn’t let him. I saw Doctor Spielman take his handkerchief from his pocket and wipe his head. The German doctor smiled at me and nodded his head, wanting to encourage me. The patients next to Dov showed no interest. I counted silently, one-two-three, raised the glass and swallowed at once. Waaach, it burned. I felt as if a huge cough was coming but managed to swallow. I gave Dov some. He took the glass from me and waited. Aha.

  I said to him, drink, drink. He raised the glass, drank all the cognac and began to cough.

  Doctor Spielman clapped his hands. The German doctor cried, bravo, bravo and I had an attack of laughter. I couldn’t stop laughing.

  I fell on my brother and hugged and cried, you will get well, and we’ll leave the hospital. I felt as if there was rain in my brain, on my face, my spine, I wanted to hold back, but the rain falling from me wet my brother. He wasn’t upset and examined my hand. I said, turn my hand around as much as you like, I don’t care. In the meantime the cognac began to dance in my belly, gallop up to my throat, I clenched my teeth and wanted to run to the toilet. I managed to get to the aisle and then waaach. A dark spurt shot out. Dirtied the aisle between the beds. Dizzy, I saw black, grabbed the nearest bed rail and stayed bent over.

  The German doctor raised my head and held my forehead, said, you aren’t used to drinking, come with me, we’ll go to the shower. I didn’t move. I don’t know why, but the German doctor from Bloc 8 in Camp Buchenwald popped into my mind. The doctor who took healthy children away and didn’t bring them back. I remained with my head down and in my ear, I heard danger! I looked at Doctor Spielman. His hand was in Dov’s hands. He saw I wasn’t standing straight and said, go to the shower, Icho, you have to wash.

  I said, how long will it take, and don’t tell me a few minutes, I’m not stupid, there were children from my bloc who went with a German doctor to some experiment, so tell me straight, Doctor Spielman, how long will he keep me in the shower.

  Doctor Spielman became grave. A thick furrow dug across his forehead. He said, don’t worry, Icho, this is a good doctor, you remember him from the first day, go with him. I want to stay a while with your brother.

  I began to walk. I had a bitter taste on my tongue and a sour smell. The doctor wasn’t revolted by me. He held me by the arm as if we were father and son. I glanced at him. He had a small tic under his eye and a closed smile. We marched with long strides as if we were in a stadium. I thought, in Bloc 8 I managed to escape, I was lucky, and maybe I won’t be lucky, and what will happen if something happens to me in the shower, who will notice. Not even Doctor Spielman is paying attention to me. In one of the beds an American nurse was feeding a patient. We approached her. I called her, nurse, nurse, pay attention, I’m going with the German doctor to the shower. You saw, right?

  She raised an eyebrow, said, what? And smiled at the doctor. To make sure I told two other nurses.

  We came to the shower I knew from the outside. My head was spinning, like a wheel spinning on a road. I leaned against the wall. The German doctor brought me a towel and clean pajamas. I said to him, I can do it alone.

  The doctor said, all right, just leave the door open. I went into the shower. Undressed slowly. The clothes had a sour smell. I stood under the shower. I couldn’t open the tap. I heard the German doctor behind me, he asked, do you need help?

  I said, no, no, I’ll open the water, this is the doctors’ shower, right?

  He said, yes, don’t worry. But I did worry until I opened the tap. I poured a lot of water over myself, washing my whole body with soap at least five times. Then I put on the pajamas. The German doctor called me to the office. He poured me a glass of tea and I wanted to check what he’d put in the tea. The doctor put in three cubes of sugar, stirred thoroughly, said, drink, you’ll feel good. I drank the tea and my belly fell asleep. We didn’t speak again.

  Chapter 28

  Dov

  The cognac I drank made me want to laugh.

  No laughter came out of me. My throat burned, my fingers tingled and the veins I saw on the wall thickened. The beds in the basement started moving. Sometimes they twisted. People couldn’t walk straight. They had to lean against the wall to advance. A loud buzzing of bees began in my ear. Sometimes it became fainter, usually it got louder. I looked at myself, I wanted to see if I was also traveling in my bed. I traveled rather quickly, like a carousel in a lunar park, I knew everything by a small hole I saw in the wall. I finished one turn and began another.

  The cognac I drank made me miss a melody.

  I so wanted to remember the melody. Couldn’t remember the name, but in my mind there was a melody I had to catch. I’d catch a sound, and the melody would escape. I’d pressure, another sound, and it would escape. I wanted to tell the guest sitting beside me to bring me a harmonica. I wanted to say, look in the pocket of my trousers, there’s a harmonica there. I didn’t know where my trousers were. I wanted to tell him that we’d drink to life and I’d play the harmonica for him. I pressed his hand and wanted to speak clearly to him, but what I said in my heart traveled, traveled, and returned to the heart. As if the words circled about us and returned to the same place. I said to myself, harmonica. Bring me a harmonica, and it stayed in my heart. In the end, I got tired and fell asleep in a second.

  Chapter 29

  Yitzhak

  We continued with the whiskey three times a day.

  I drank, Dov drank. I spoke, Dov was silent. I saw that we were about to finish the third bottle, and then what? I’d steal more cognac and we’d drink to life, and more vodka and liqueur, and we’d be stuck in the hospital for a year-two years, no! I don’t agree with Doctor Spielman’s arrangement, I hate the hospital. I felt I was beginning to catch my brother’s illness. Morning, noon and night I’d get a fierce heat in my palms, mainly after we’d had a drink. I started turning my hands over and looking for signs because of the tingling in my skin. I thought, maybe I’ve got a kind of lice I don’t know. Hospital lice. I looked under my shirt. Found no lice. Just red marks and scratches. Maybe my body was beginning to produce special lice? Maybe I have lice eggs from the camps and they’re developing well because of the food and the whiskey I’ve taken three times a day, for a week, two weeks, and I’m full of lice again. I began to check hands, belly and chest after every meal. During the day I went out into the sun. At night I’d take a magnifying glass from the docto
rs’ room and check myself.

  One night a nurse with a ponytail and a ribbon touched me, what are you doing?

  Looking for lice, can you see anything? She took the magnifying glass and examined me thoroughly. I said, check my back too and I removed my shirt. No need, you’re clean.

  So why am I itching?

  She said, ask Doctor Spielman.

  The next morning I went to Doctor Spielman who was standing with several doctors. He smiled at me, how are you Icho, do you have any whiskey left?

  I said, the whiskey is almost finished and I’m going crazy itching, what’s wrong with me, doctor? I lifted my shirt and showed him the scratches. He frowned and thought and thought, and I was alarmed, maybe I’d caught some severe illness and if he tells me again, patience Icho, I’ll slap myself, two slaps, and that’s it. Maybe a slap for Doctor Spielman with his bald head and white folded kerchief at the starched collar of his shirt, and one for the German doctor, even for the American doctor who doesn’t talk to me at all, for my brother, too, ah. My brother will get ten slaps, twenty slaps, ten on each side, because I’m sick of him and his nonsense. He drinks his whiskey three times a day, eats a meatball, good soup, and doesn’t want to speak. Fine. What the hell is he thinking, that I have the nerves for this illness that he’s invented, I don’t, and I’m getting out of this hospital and that’s it. If he wants to rest in his bed for three-four years, let him. I’ll have nothing to do with it.

  I approached Doctor Spielman and shouted in his ear, I can’t bear this itching anymore or the smell of your dead, understand? Doctors in the group stopped talking. A patient with a bandaged head sat up in bed and began to cry. Doctor

  Spielman said, shhh … shhh … and took me away.

  In the doctors’ room he said, sit, sit down, pointing at a chair. I didn’t want to sit down. I wanted to scratch at the floor with my shoe, and at my hip under the belt, and my belly. Doctor Spielman tapped his fingers on the table tarrarram. Tarrarram. And said, it’s difficult for you and difficult for all of us. And then he gazed thoughtfully at the window, his fingers quiet. Suddenly he turned his head sharply towards me and said, I need a fishing rod.

  What?

  Find me a fishing rod.

  I threw up my hands, Doctor Spielman, sir, what do you need a fishing rod for in a hospital?

  He leaned towards me as if he had a big and special secret and said, I’ll go with your brother to catch fish. Fish? Is he making fun of me. But his face was very serious. I thought, this doctor has caught an illness of the mind from his patients down below.

  I looked straight at him and said cautiously, maybe you have ants? Because I know these ants from my brother, do you have them?

  He breathed heavily and said in the voice of a healthy specialist, don’t ask questions, first, bring me a fishing rod.

  I don’t know why, but I was filled with happiness.

  Like a burst of warmth in my heart. As if father had taken me aside and whispered in my ear, it will be all right Yitzhak, don’t worry, it will be all right. As if father Israel had come to the hospital especially for me, and held me in his strong arms without touching, like he did when I was little. I was a little boy, was I? I left the hospital and began to run without itching.

  I stopped near houses in the first street and they looked familiar and happy. I knew they had no fishing rods and didn’t know where I’d find one. I didn’t believe there was anyone in Neuberg von Wald who felt like going fishing. And then a tremor came into my heart, maybe there is a scrap of river in this town, or a small lake where you could use a fishing rod. Best to look for water and grab someone’s fishing rod. I asked people. Didn’t manage to get an answer. And maybe I didn’t know how to explain myself. I decided to go inside people’s houses, as I had with the cognac. I looked for houses I didn’t know.

  I started going from house to house and knocking on doors. If they opened I quickly went inside and looked on my own. Didn’t touch the cupboards, I went round the rooms and into the attic, and out into the yard. No one tried to stop me. The residents followed me about as if I was a soldier with bars on the shoulders and a rifle. I remember my head hammering, idiot, idiot, why didn’t you try and resist during the war. I wanted to kill someone.

  After two days I found a rod.

  I ran to the hospital with the rod. Gave it to Doctor Spielman. I saw he was excited, holding the rod with trembling hands, and said, very good, now we’ll see if we succeed, let’s go to your brother.

  We went down to the basement. We found Dov staring at the ceiling. Doctor Spielman said, stand on the side and don’t interfere.

  He stood in the aisle facing Dov.

  Dov examined his hands. Breathing heavily, Doctor Spielman waited a few seconds and then he brought the fishing rod forwards, flung it back and threw it forwards.

  Doctor Spielman said loudly: Bernard, do you want to go fishing?

  Dov sat up quickly and said, but there’s no water here, how will we fish?

  This is exactly what happened, three and a half months after the war.

  Chapter 30

  Dov

  The bald man stood next to my bed holding a fishing rod.

  I couldn’t understand it.

  I knew there was no water in the room. I checked because for a long time my bed traveled like a boat in the room. One night I put my foot down and found a dry floor. I felt my pajamas too. The pajamas were dry. I couldn’t understand how come I traveled through water and stayed dry.

  The bald man approached me. I wanted to take his hand and couldn’t remember why. He didn’t give me his hand, just threw down the rod and invited me to go fishing with him.

  I said, but there’s no water here, how will we fish?

  How, how can you fish without water? In my village there was a river. I knew fishermen. They’d throw rods with worms into the river and fill buckets, he must be a fool, he also had the laugh of a madman, because I saw him laugh loudly, and beat his hands against his chest, and call to people standing not far from us, come, come, we have a miracle here. I know nothing about the miracle he mentioned, but at least five women in white coats came over, and at least three men in white coats, and they all hugged me, and shook hands with the bald man, and he flung the rod up to the ceiling again and said, miracle, miracle, ach, how fortunate that it succeeded, and he had tears of laughter on his cheek, and one man sat up in bed and began to clap his hands, and another began to sing like a cantor in a synagogue, what is this, are they giving me a Bar Mitzvah, and me in my pajamas, wait, where are the stripes? And why are there beds all around, and where am I? And then I saw my brother Yitzhak.

  He stood on one side, his hand on his face. He was wearing clean clothes, and his body trembled like it had when we walked in the snow. Yitzhak looked clean and healthy with hair on his head. I felt myself getting warmer and warmer but Yitzhak didn’t stop shivering. What’s wrong with him, is he ill?

  I wanted to call him, tell him clearly, we’re together, come closer. I realized he couldn’t hear me because everyone was talking excitedly, joyfully, and the cantor continued to sing with trills. I tried to raise my leg, my leg didn’t move. I tried the other leg, the same. And then I saw that the room was full of beds with sick and wretched people, was I ill? I lifted my pajama shirt, saw no signs of illness, and my bed stayed in place. I searched the ceiling, found no veins, and there were no veins in the beds. Where was I?

  The bald man approached my brother and hugged him like a father. Everyone fell silent. The bald man said, your brother has recovered, nu, what do you have to say? We succeeded with the cognac and the fishing rod, eh?

  And now, with everything behind us, I can safely say: there were days I didn’t believe we’d manage to rouse him, yes, I’m overjoyed.

  Yitzhak swallowed, didn’t say a word.

  The bald man approached me, held out his hand and said, I’m Doctor Spielman, a pleasure to meet you. I shook his hand.

  What’s your name?

&nbs
p; Bernard.

  What is your brother’s name?

  Icho.

  He smiled at me and said, very good, Bernard, very good. You’re in a hospital in Germany. The war is over. You’ve lain here unconscious for three and half months, you’re all right now. Your brother sat beside you every day and these are the doctors and nurses who’ve taken care of you.

  The people in the white coats nodded hello to me. And then he said, in the coming days we’ll help you to get out of bed. You’ll have to get used to walking, like a baby. It will take a little time, don’t be alarmed. In a week or two you will both be able to leave the hospital. Congratulations, you’ve recovered and your brother is also healthy.

  We heard choking sounds. Doctor Spielman turned around. I saw my brother holding his throat, his cheeks a dark red. The cough became a howl, like the one I’d heard from a wolf or a fox in the forest near our village, can’t remember exactly. My brother walked backwards and leaned against the wall, pressing his fist to his throat, and kicked his shoe hard against the wall.

  Doctor Spielman’s eyes darted between the two of us. I couldn’t understand why my brother didn’t come to me. I didn’t understand why everyone was happy and only his face was sad. I wanted to go to him. I wanted to hold hands, like we used to. I put out a hand to Doctor Spielman, said, help me to get down. He held me and I tried to sit up in bed. All the white coats began to spin. I fell back on the pillow. I was tired. In the meantime I saw that my brother had disappeared.