A Curable Romantic (104 page)

“she’d tell you how much she loved you. But, of course, Dr. Sammelsohn, she doesn’t remember any of that.”

“As far as she knows,”
said, “she’s merely acting on a strange impulse, an impulse she’ll never be able to explain to herself. Which is not an uncommon experience, I’m told, among you human beings.”

Ita took a limping step backwards, and the driver mounted the wagon. Picking up the reins, he alerted the horses of his intention, and the wagon began to move, its wheels slipping in the muddy ground. I kept my eyes open a slit, so I could see her. In her white medical smock, its edges smeared with dirt and blood, she kept watch over the cart as it juddered off, with
and
standing on either side. The distance between us grew.
lifted his truncheon in a salute of farewell. After the cart rounded a corner, I could see nothing more of them.

I shivered, aware of the inert bodies beneath mine, swaying with the movement of the cart. My head was on the breast of some poor woman’s coat. I tried not to look at my companions’ faces or at their grey hands. We passed beneath the arch of one of the Umschlagplatz’s doorways and were soon out on the street, the horses’ hooves clopping against the cobblestones, the sky wheeling above my head. Snow fell on my face, and I let it. The wind blew a freezing blast and, for a moment, I feared I might sneeze. I didn’t. The cemetery was outside the ghetto wall, and it was there that the driver abandoned us, with no guard of any kind. The fear of typhus was too great, I supposed; and certainly, I imagined him telling himself, these dead were dead enough, and could do no one any further harm.

When I was certain I was alone, I scrambled off my bier. My legs collapsed, and I retched violently, the force buckling me in two. I fell onto my hands and knees, and vomited again. Wiping the damp grass and the snow from my hands, I stood. I was struck primarily by the ridiculousness of my situation. Though free, I had no place to go and also no means of getting there. My choices seemed to be starving here in the cemetery or taking my chances in the world, where no doubt I would be quickly recaptured and returned to the Umschlagplatz. Twice I headed towards the cemetery gates, and twice I doubled back.

• • •

IT WAS AN
hour or so before nightfall when I heard my name being called softly. The rebbe had entered the cemetery from Karolkowa Street, the two angels behind him.

“Greetings, Dr. Sammelsohn,”
said. “I see you made it out safe and sound.”

“Thank Heaven,”
said.

“Cousin!” the rebbe said again, kissing me and holding me to his breast. “Thank God, you’re alive. I’ve managed to bring you a few essential things.”

Food and money, I hoped, and a coat and warm gloves, but he seemed to be carrying nothing at all.

“A blessing,” he said.

“Food and money,”
laughed, shaking his head. “They never learn, do they?”

“Bow your head, my son,” the rebbe said, and he intoned the patriarchal blessing.

“You’re coming with me, of course,” I said, when he was done.

“Oh, no. Not at all. No, I’ll remain here where perhaps I may yet do some good. Who knows?”

“But they’ll kill you.”

I looked at the two angels for help, but they avoided my glance.

“Perhaps,” the rebbe said. “However, one may unite with the Holy One in grief as well as in joy. And also, don’t forget, I’ve got a book to finish. After which, my dearest cousin, I plan to bury it in one of Ringelblum’s milk cans. Perhaps after the war, if I don’t survive — ”

“He won’t,”
whispered.

“ — you’ll be kind enough to dig it up and see that it’s published.”

“I’ll see to it, Dr. Sammelsohn,”
said. “You needn’t concern yourself.”

“You know,” the rebbe said, “it was only in your merit that we were able to storm the Gates of Heaven yesterday. You thought you were clinging onto me, but in fact, I was clinging onto you.”

“In my merit?”

“Yes, as we told you,”
confirmed,
made a deal with the Heavenly Court.”