by Malka Adler
I said, no, no, I don’t want to draw. He took the pencil and drew circles on the paper, some with x’s some without x’s, and there was no room for children with grandmothers and he took out another sheet of paper, and drew a long convoy on the path, in the meantime some of the children and grandmothers rested in a wood, as if they were on a picnic, and then I put a finger on his paper and said, put the orchestra here.
He tossed away the pencil and cried out, orchestra? You mean an orchestra that plays music?
I said, yes, yes, marches. There were also happy songs, depending on the time, we went with marches to work, to the crematorium we went with a happy song, or the opposite, the Germans wanted to please the people on their way to death, nice huh?
The officer took out a handkerchief from his pocket and rubbed his forehead and I thought, oy, the Russian officer is also beginning to itch, poor man. And then he said, go on, go on. He wanted to know exactly where the showers were, and where they put the suitcases, and tell me, what color was the smoke from the chimney?
I said, you have no color for that, and the smell is missing from your drawing, yes-yes.
We were in a bloc. I’m talking and I see the bloc in the drawing filling out, the bunks like sardines in a tin, and he says, but there’s no more room, Icho, and I say, push, push, now you can take them all out for a parade. Prisoners stand in straight rows, some fall to the ground, and there’s already a huge pile behind the bloc, and I tell him, add rats, but what comes out is a small mouse, and I say, Mr Officer, a rat has a huge belly, and I want to vomit but I hold back, and on the fourth sheet of paper naked prisoners stand for Selektion, and there are already three prisoners on the fence, and on the fifth sheet, I’m on the train to Buchenwald, and I’m thirsty, and hold my throat, and the Russian officer says, have another cup of tea, eat cookies, and he trembles and swallows, coughs, takes out his handkerchief, gets up to the window and boom. Bangs his fist into the wall and immediately comes back to me, go on, and I went on.
After a short bathroom break I still didn’t understand why the Russian officer wanted to hear about the fate of wretched Jews. After four or five or six hours, the Russian officer stood in front of me, slightly stooped, slightly tense, gave me a long questioning look and I didn’t know what to do, so I stood in front of him, a little tired and tense. Suddenly, I saw his eyelids beginning to tremble like the wings of a butterfly about to die, and then it happened. He fell on my shoulder, and began to cry, aaah.
I froze on the spot.
Then I raised my arms, lowered them. Raised them again, and stopped three centimeters from his back. He sniffed on my shoulder and said in Yiddish, Icho, I’m a Jew like you, I’m a Russian officer who is Jewish like you and it’s a secret. And then he left my shoulder and said, I fought against Germans on several fronts, doesn’t matter, the Russians believe I’m a Christian.
I choked, a Jew, a Jewish officer?
He sat down on the chair and wiped his face. Said, my parents are Jewish. We’re Jews living in Russia. I joined the Russian army and hid the fact that I’m Jewish from my commanders. After the war, they posted me to your village. I’m in charge of the whole area. I heard you’d come to Tur’i Remety. I called you in because I wanted to see a Jewish child who survived the camps. I heard hard stories about the Nazis, I also saw things, I didn’t understand how you managed to hold on, I wanted to meet you, Icho. He got up and hugged me hard, his weeping increased.
I didn’t understand a thing.
A Jewish officer. In uniform. A Jewish officer in a goy army. I couldn’t believe such a thing existed. After all, a Jew was nothing, a cockroach, a rag. A Jew walked in a convoy to the crematorium. A Jew was a blue number on an arm. A Jew was a slave for soldiers, and here was a Jew in charge of soldiers, with bars on his shoulders, and stars on his chest, telling me in Yiddish that he’s a commander of the Russian secret police in my village, it’s impossible for him to be a Jew like me. He’s tall, good-looking, he has light colored hair and blue eyes, like a successful goy, no, no, it’s a mistake, but why is this officer crying on my shoulder as if we were brothers, and why is he hugging me with his strong arms, aah, my father used to hug like that, papa, where is papa, I want my papa, I …
And then it came.
A great weeping from the throat, chest, shoulders, belly, a terrible weeping. As if I was weeping for every hour, every day, month after month, for almost a year and a half. My nose dripped like a tap on the officer’s shirt and he didn’t let go. Held me hard and said, we’re both Jews, Icho, we’re like family. He gave me a handkerchief he took from the drawer and stroked my head.
I fell into the chair. Said, forgive me, Mr Officer, I’m not used to crying. He put a finger on my mouth and said, thank you, Icho, thank you for telling me your story, it was important to me to hear you, I’m glad we met.
I went to the door. The officer stopped me, saying, I want to help you, just tell me what you need, do you want your house back, I’ll have them out in a day.
I said, no, no, I’m going away from here.
He said, you’re sure Icho, I can arrange it.
I said, sure, but maybe call the farmer and his wife in for questioning, yes, papa hid Mama’s jewelry on the lintels of the barn, I didn’t find it, you won’t either, but bring them in, let them sweat a little.
The officer, said, do you need money?
I said no, no, I don’t need anything, well, food maybe? Clothes? What do you need? I told him, nothing.
He didn’t give in and thrust money into my pocket, for the train, and buy yourself food. And then he said, do you need help crossing the border, wait. Maybe you want to live in another village in the area, I can easily arrange that, what do you want, boy, just tell me.
I took the letter from Sarah out of my pocket and showed him the address in Sweden. I said, I wrote to Sarah and told her to come to Israel. My brother and I are going to Israel. I’m done living among goys, don’t want to live in Tur’i Remety anymore, don’t want another village in Hungary, don’t want Germany, I want to live in a country of Jews, things will be good for us there, I’m certain of it.
The officer put his arm around my shoulders and we went out to the path. The soldier at the gate saluted him and he didn’t remove his arm. We stood on the road. He hugged me and said, look after yourself, and remember, if you need something, I’m here. Opposite, a minute’s walk away from where we were standing, stood a group of villagers, and they looked at us.
I said to the officer, maybe call in the neighbor who didn’t look after our house or my cat, ask him if he received money, and what he did with the money, and maybe, in the end, call the entire street in for questioning, call them in maybe once a week, or once every two weeks, can you do that?
The officer smiled, I can, I can, it will be an honor to call them in and question them on how they took a house without paying for it, and I felt like nice hot oil on a sore, and my tongue filled with the taste of hot, sweet chocolate, and I thought, at last I can throw away that damned ax and I never ever want to hold an ax in my hand and chop people in half again.
I returned to my Godfather’s house. I couldn’t speak. I lay in bed and pressed the pillow to my head. After a few hours, I heard a knock at the door. My Godfather stood in the doorway. He called me to come outside.
In the yard stood a wagon and horse. Two farmers began to unload things from the wagon. Chairs, food utensils, a scale, a sewing machine, blankets, candlesticks. I knew these objects. I thrust my fingers into my hair and shouted, I refuse, no, what do they think they’re atoning for? How dared they break up our home while we were stinking on the trains, huh? My Godfather said, they’re afraid. Maybe they hoped the Russian officer would put you and me on trucks, or on a train to Siberia, and they’d get rid of the last two Jews. Maybe they’re in shock. They thought you’d cry and pray and they came to see the final performance of the Jews. They took tough punishment right in their ugly faces because they saw the police commander hugging y
ou and now they’re praying and weeping for themselves. I said, excellent, and I don’t want anything from them, tell them to go away.
My Godfather watched the farmers’ every movement, they’re groveling to you, Icho, don’t you understand? They’re used to groveling. First they groveled to the Hungarian soldiers, then to the Germans, now they’re groveling to the Russians and their friend, you. Grovelers.
Another wagon came into the yard. Two farmers from the end of our road unloaded Mama and Papa’s beds, a third farmer unloaded pillows with embroidered slips. I went into the house and slammed the door. I felt my heart shatter in pieces. I sat on the floor with my head between my knees. My Godfather stood beside me. He said quietly, what should I do with the things in the yard?
I said, nothing in the meantime. Let the goys sweat for a few moonless nights and we’ll see. I’m leaving the day after tomorrow, you can have everything.
A few hours later the farmer who lived in our house arrived. He came in with a cake and wine and a jar of sour cabbage, put them on the table and wept that they’d called him to the police station. He rolled the edge of his hat and wept louder, I told them at the station that I was willing to leave the house, if they’d just give me a few days to get organized, but the secret police told me, stay there for the time being, what will happen, I don’t know what to do, you tell me what to do, are you staying? Are you coming back?
I didn’t reply. I left through the back door of the house, passed quickly through several yards, reached the field in front of the forest, began to run, just run and run.
I returned towards evening. My Godfather was waiting for me in the backyard. He said, come, you have to see this, and pulled me into the house. My Godfather’s kitchen was full of things. Jars of jam, bottles of wine, loaves of bread, a bag of corn, a tin of sauerkraut, a pot of eggs, smoked meat, a piece of fabric tied with a ribbon. All the gifts were spread over the floor. He held his head and said, they’ve blocked up my house. I asked, who, who? The people from your street, they say they’ve been called in for questioning, what can I do with all these things?
And then we heard a knock at the door. My Godfather said, you open it. I didn’t move. My Godfather opened the door. An old farmer stood at the door with a chicken under his arm. The chicken’s legs were tied together. My Godfather whispered, this man barely has enough to eat, look what he’s brought you. I jumped over the package of sugar and the sack of potatoes, approached the door and said to the farmer, I don’t want your chicken, take the chicken and go back home. Next time help Jews in trouble, do you hear me? And tell this village that Jews are returning and they’re not to inform on them, it’s disgusting, do you hear me?
The farmer smiled shyly and held out the chicken, I said, no need, there’s no room. He lifted one leg over a jar of jam and a can of oil, put the chicken on a sack of wheat and looked for the way out. I told my Godfather, go after him and tell him I’ll try and tell the Russian officer to leave him alone. My Godfather took a bag of sugar and ran after the farmer. I saw him thrusting the sugar at him, he didn’t give up.
I looked at the packages. My belly hurt. I said to my Godfather, I’ll tell the Russian officer that if any more Jews come back from the camps to the village, he must help them, but that he shouldn’t stop his interrogations for at least three months, even half a year. Let them cry. Let them sweat. Let them pray in their church.
I left Tur’i Remety forever.
I left the way I came. With a small bag, a coat and a hat on my head. I got onto the train and bought a ticket with the money the Russian officer had given me. I returned to my aunts in Slovakia. Ate chicken soup, rested and, two days later, I parted from them. Went on to Indersdorf in Germany to meet my brother.
Chapter 40
Dov
I was so happy when my brother, Yitzhak, returned to the monastery.
I wasn’t worried about him. I knew he could manage. I was sure the Russians wouldn’t hurt him. My brother Yitzhakhad endured Germans and dogs, would the Russians be a problem?
We prepared to leave the monastery. Vassily, my friend from the village, begged me to take him to Israel. I didn’t take him. I didn’t know a goy could come to Eretz-Israel. I think I made a big mistake. Today, Christians come to Israel. I could have brought him. He’d have been circumcised and lived with us in Israel. I’m sorry he didn’t come. Vassily was a born farmer and we loved each other.
Vassily ran away from Tur’i Remety to Prague because of the tuberculosis. All his brothers in the village died of tuberculosis. There were thirteen children in his family. His parents and sisters were unharmed. Just the boys. They didn’t know there were tuberculosis germs in cows’ milk. Every year or two one of his brothers died. It affected him. Vassily wept when I parted from him. We wept together.
Vassily left Germany and went to England. He wrote me and my brother a letter. He wrote about his life in England and wanted to know about us. I don’t know why we didn’t reply. I regret that too. Vassily Korol was his name. He was my best friend and I miss him.
From May, 1945, until August, 1945, I was in a hospital in Germany. From the hospital I moved to a convalescent home at a monastery near Munich. While at the monastery I was hospitalized again. At the end of March, 1946, we left the monastery. We left with a group of Jewish youngsters. They took us to France, to Lyons, and from there to Marseilles. We left on a ship called the Champollion. We reached Israel legally and went straight to Camp Atlit.
Chapter 41
Yitzhak
On the ship to Israel, I felt like an idiot.
I couldn’t understand what was wrong with me. I had no contact with anyone, not even the youngsters who were with me at the monastery. I was anxious from the moment I woke up in the morning. We had no family, no language, and no profession. We had no money in our pockets. Nonetheless, I was glad I’d chosen to travel to a country of Jews. I dreamed of a farm. I dreamed of a dairy farm of my own with dairy cows, like my father had.
Our instructors on the Champollion taught us Hebrew songs.
They were cheerful young men with strong hands, and they insisted on singing. Reluctantly I pretended to sing so they’d leave me in peace. Dov also pretended to sing and clapped his hands, more or less. After the Hebrew songs they told us about the country, about Haifa and Tel Aviv. I listened to their stories. I knew that if I wanted a good life in their country I had to do what they told me. Dov didn’t have the patience to listen to stories. He went to the stern of the ship and gazed at the sea.
One day Dov found a girl and wanted to be alone even more. I wandered among the instructors and asked them if there were farmers in Israel. They said, there are lots of farmers and they told me about life on kibbutz, like a commune. I asked, and are there single farmers, not together? They told me, there are, on a moshav – a farmers’ cooperative – and don’t worry, everything will work out.
I couldn’t stop worrying.
Mainly because of peoples’ nerves on the ship. People walked about the deck as if they had a screw loose. They’d quarrel over nonsense, like where they’d sleep at night. They slept crowded together in storerooms below deck and I couldn’t understand why it was important to sleep on the right side of the storeroom or the left side of the storeroom. People would fight over the line to the toilet, it was always dirty there. They’d fight over the line to food, and there was enough food for everyone. People would hide bread in their pockets like thieves. We could stand in line for food and suddenly I’d see two people attack each other, and for what, because one had unintentionally touched the other’s foot, or one had spoken loudly near his neighbor’s ear. One fellow ripped a plank out of the deck in order to hit the man standing in front of him over the head, why? Because he left a gap in the line for food. There were men and women who stuck close to one another and were inseparable. They even stood together at the toilet. At night they slept close together under the blanket, as if SSman might come to the ship and say: Men to the right, women to the left
. I remember catching cold because of all the worry, how could we become one people with all these nerves.
And there were hours I gazed at the sea. I planned my farm. I didn’t know where my farm would be, but in my mind I could see a home in a yard with geese, and a cowshed with dairy cows, and a barn full of hay, and a green field near the house. In the meantime I followed our course. We sailed out of Marseilles. We passed Bizerte in Tunisia. From there we went to Alexandria in Egypt and, finally, arrived in Haifa.
Chapter 42
Dov
I almost got married on the ship to Israel.
We left Marseilles on a ship with many decks, and below there were storerooms. They made place for us in the storerooms. We slept on the floor, without mattresses, just blankets.
We sailed for seven days. There was tension in the air, there were high waves. People walked about the ship in groups. Some asked questions, and some made up answers. Anyone who walked around with a cigarette behind his ear and who had a loud, deep voice could usually be found next to people with questions. He’d listen to them with a serious face and nod his head, finally answering everyone as if he knew. I wandered around the deck with a few friends I knew from the monastery and prayed, just don’t let us capsize at sea. And then a miracle happened to me.
I was eighteen and I fell in love with a girl.
One day I was sitting on the deck with friends, counting waves. There was a cold wind. A man and a woman I didn’t know approached us. The man pointed at us and asked in Yiddish, which of these young men do you like? I remember deciding, this man lost his mind in the camps if he thinks we’re goods in a market. He must have been in Auschwitz for a long time.
