Finding Rebecca: A Novel of Love and the Holocaust (27 page)

“On your
feet.” Christopher was almost a foot taller than her. “Never approach me again
like that in front of the other prisoners.” He took a deep breath before he
continued. “Go into the warehouse next door, where they are sorting the
eyeglasses.” Christopher gestured towards her striped uniform. “Rip the edges
of your clothes and sit down in the mud before you go in.” Martina did as he
told her and scratched at her own face leaving a long red line across the white
of her cheek. “Come on.” Christopher undid his belt and dragged her back around
and into the warehouse. Christopher knew the guard on duty. It was Ganz, the
card player. He nodded at Christopher, who smiled back. Christopher threw
Martina down on the floor in front of him.

“What’s
this?” Ganz asked.

“She
thinks she can grab my uniform in front of the others, thinks she can ask me
for favors,” Christopher sneered. “I drew my own favors from her.” Christopher
smiled and Ganz laughed. “Put her back to work.” Ganz grabbed her by the scruff
of her neck and dragged her towards one of the sorting tables. The other ladies
didn’t look up from their work as he threw her to the floor. Christopher stood
there, staring at her as she raised herself to her feet, but then caught
himself. Ganz gestured to him once more, but Christopher gestured that he had
to go and walked back out into the pouring rain.

It was
still raining when the shipment came in. Christopher had seen no one, done
nothing, just sat in his office since that morning. The damp of his hat was
cold against his skin as he put it on and slipped his arms into his coat.
Breitner was preparing to go down to the train station with Flick when
Christopher emerged from his office.

“I’m
going to go down for the selection this afternoon.” Breitner and Flick looked
surprised, but Christopher just nodded. “Breitner, you stay here and go over
yesterday’s ledgers.” Breitner stood still for a few seconds before slipping
his coat off and murmuring something about being glad he wasn’t going out into
the rain. Christopher walked past the two men without acknowledging Breitner
further and Flick followed after him. Flick drove them down in the car, but
Christopher didn’t say a word during the short ride. Flick looked nervous.

“Is
there something wrong, Herr Seeler?” He looked genuinely concerned.

“No, I’m
fine. It’s just the pressure of the job.” Christopher tried to smile. “There’s
always something to worry about.” He wanted to go on, to actually talk to this
man, but he stopped himself.

They
arrived at the train station a few minutes late. The selections had already
taken place. There would be no time to decide. If he were to do it, it would
have to be now. He knew where he would find her, the line where women with
children were automatically put. The two men got out of the car and Christopher
dispatched Flick towards the suitcases that the Sonderkommandos were hauling
off the train. The rain had thickened and the smell of damp was everywhere.
Christopher looked around at the other SS guards as he made his way over
towards the Sonderkommandos. The line of healthy adults selected for labor was
moving off towards the main camp in Auschwitz, while the other line waited.
Christopher stopped and walked over towards the camp doctors, who were hurrying
back towards Auschwitz having made their selections. He stopped one, a tall
fit-looking middle-aged man. “I’m looking for a prisoner,” he shouted, his
voice almost lost in the pounding of the rain. The doctor gestured towards the
Rapportführer on duty, a huge man with a black baton in his hand. Christopher
stopped and looked around at the SS men barely holding back wet snarling dogs.
There was no reason to risk his own life for this. There was no point to it.
This wasn’t what he had come to this hell to do. This wasn’t smart. He turned
back towards the station, back towards his duties and, as he went, he looked at
the line of people, ragged and cold, huddled together. “Herr Rapportführer, I
am Obersturmführer Seeler, from Birkenau. I work in Canada.”

“Ah, the
new Dollar King?” The Rapportführer smiled, letting the baton fall by his side.

Christopher
hesitated. “Yes, I suppose you could say that. You have one of my prisoners.”

“What?
Who?”

“Her
name is Petra Kocianova. She is one of my ladies in Canada.”

“What’s
she doing mixed up with this lot?” He tilted his head as he asked, the rain
flowing down the angle of his cheek.

“She was
transferred out and then came back with her children. She’s one of mine
though.” The SS man looked towards the prisoners. “I would really appreciate if
you did this for me. I wouldn’t forget it.” Christopher stared into the dark
brown circles of his eyes.

“This is
most irregular.”

“I would
be very grateful if you did this for me, very grateful.”

The
Rapportführer looked at him and nodded his head. “All right then, my name is
Heinrich Schwarz. I expect something in return for this.”

“Of
course,” Christopher nodded.

“And
Obersturmführer,” he called out as Christopher jogged towards the line of
prisoners who were already being loaded onto the trucks. “The children, they
stay with me.”

Christopher
stopped, opened his mouth, tried to think of something as Schwarz stood there,
but there was nothing, nothing he could do. He nodded and walked on, his heart
aflame in his chest. He called out to the line of people moving towards the
crematoria, called out her name. She was about his age, with long brown hair and
stained white porcelain skin. Her two children huddled close to her, one
holding each leg. “Petra Kocianova?” She nodded. “Come with me.”
 
She looked around at the other prisoners
for some kind of indication but there was none and she moved to get out of
line, her children clinging to her. “No, sorry, just you.”

She
looked back at the two boys. “What about my children? I won’t leave them.”

Christopher
swallowed hard. “We will see them later. You can see them after their shower
and disinfection. They are going to be taken to our kindergarten, just behind
where your living quarters will be. You’ll be able to visit them every
day.”
 
The lies tore him inside. The
line was moving off now, and he could feel the weight of the stare from the officer
in charge. There were only seconds left to do this.
 
Christopher tried to smile. “We need to
get you away from here.” The two boys were crying now, clamping their arms
around her thighs. He gestured towards an elderly woman. “Will you take care of
the boys, mother?” The old woman nodded and went to take the two boys but they
moved around their mother’s legs to get away from her. The line had moved on.
Rapportführer Schwarz was walking towards them shaking his head. “Please, you
need to come with me, right now.” Christopher’s voice was shaking.

“I won’t
leave my boys.”

“Come with me, right now!”
Christopher shouted and grabbed at her arm. The old woman managed to grab a
hold of the younger boy, who looked about three years old. Petra looked down at
her sons and knelt down to hug them. She whispered something to them and
gripped them tight to her. They stood there in the driving rain, watching as
her sons were taken away and an hour later Christopher took her up to Canada.
Christopher led Petra into the warehouse as the workday was ending. The guard
on duty scowled as Martina Culikova hugged her sister and Christopher walked
out of the warehouse, knowing that her children were already dead, their bodies
soon to be consumed by the flames of Crematorium Four.

The
children stayed with him. The act of saving Petra Kocianova seemed futile. He
saw her in the warehouse over the following days, her face lifeless and ashen.
There seemed little point to any of it. The only thing to do was to wait for
news of Rebecca and then extricate himself from this horror. Who would ever
believe what he was here to do when he could tell no one? All the murderers would
be making their contritions once all this was done, and one more from him would
not be noticed. He was guilty, by association or otherwise, and that guilt was
starting to erode him inside. There had to be more he could do. There had to be
more than just preventing the casual murder of his workers. The beatings still
continued. There was no way he could stop them, and the ladies in Canada
regularly limped into work with gaudy purple bruises covering their faces.

He had
been counting the hours until his next trip to Berlin, but when the day arrived,
it greeted him with little relief. Nothing was enough now. His mouth was dry as
he awoke, the taste of whisky still on his breath. Drinking with Lahm and his
friends seemed the only way to sleep now. It was easier to go along with them,
easier just to drink than to resist the constant goading. Lahm was asleep as
Obersturmführer Seeler pulled on his uniform. The jackboots slid on easily.
They fitted him like a second skin and made little noise as he walked out into
the morning. The winter air bit at his exposed skin and he lifted the lapels of
his SS coat. The sound of prisoners marching to work and the SS soldiers and
Kapos snarling at them as they went, permeated the air, and somewhere
Christopher heard the distinctive crack of a rifle. Christopher felt the pain
rising in his chest. There was a starling on the hood of the car. He stopped to
look at it, tilting his head to get a better look at its grey brown feathers.
Its plumage almost shone in the dull early morning light. It had a sprig of
green in its mouth that twitched and shook as it moved. Christopher watched and
followed it through the air as it took off until it disappeared into the sea of
grey sky above.

Christopher
thought of the children all the way to Berlin, the way they had clung to
Petra’s legs, longing for the protection that she could no longer provide. He
tried to assure himself that he had done a good thing, that he had saved a
life, that it was better that she survive, but it was no good. He cried for
them as he drove, white-hot tears down his face.
 
He thought of the boy shot in the face
at selection and the man that had killed Northen. He thought of Rebecca, trying
to push aside all else, trying to remember the times before all of this, when
the sun cast long beams through the kitchen of his father’s house, illuminating
Rebecca’s hair as spun gold.

They
were all there as he got out of the car outside cousin Harald’s house.
Alexandra ran to him and swallowed him in an embrace and his father after her.
He looked up to the house as Karolina stepped out with little Stefan holding
her hand. The pain inside subsided, washed away. He felt Alexandra kiss him
again and he broke free to make his way up towards the house and he picked up
his cousin, embracing Karolina once Stefan was in his arms. Just for a second
everything that he was embroiled in, the storm of murder and death, was
forgotten, but as he put Stefan down again he noticed the black glare of his
jackboots and the pain was restored. Alexandra came up from behind him to take
his hand and led him inside. Harald and Steffi were there, standing just inside
the door.

“Welcome
to the returning hero.” Harald smiled.

Christopher
managed to smile back. “I’m so happy to see you all. I just wish I could stay
longer. I have to get back to the camp.”

“Come
on, you can join us for a cup of coffee at least,” his father said. Alexandra
pushed him into the living room where he sat at the head of the table. She sat
down beside him with his father on the other side. Karolina smiled and hugged
him before claiming she had to take Stefan out for a walk. Harald and Steffi
made their way into the kitchen. Stefan closed the door so they could talk in
private, and Alexandra’s face changed.

“Oh, my
God, Christopher, are you all right?”

“Of
course I am, what are you talking about?”

“It’s
your skin, you look ill,” she said as she raised a hand to touch his cheek.
“You look grey, cold.”

“Thanks.
I’m fine. It’s a long journey here.” He smiled. “How are you? How is your job?
You must be missing Tom terribly.”

Alexandra
looked down at her hands, clasped together in front of her on the tablecloth.
“There’s not a moment that goes past in the day when I don’t think about Tom,
or you, or Rebecca. I just wish things were the way they used to be, the way
they should be.”

“They
will be again,” Stefan interrupted. “We just have to get through these times.”

“Father
told me about the camp,” Alexandra said.

Christopher
looked at his father with accusing eyes, the old flashes of anger returning for
a brief second.