Finding Rebecca: A Novel of Love and the Holocaust (35 page)

“Are you
all right, Herr Obersturmführer?” one of the soldiers asked with a sneer on his
face and Christopher realized that he wasn’t going to shoot him.

He
managed to raise his head to look at the SS man. “Yes, it’s just, you know,
seeing the blood from the little girl.” The soldier shook his head and mumbled
something under his breath about desk jockeys and joined the rest of the men
milling around outside the warehouses.
 

The
searches took less than fifteen minutes, and the troops moved on to search the
crematoria before the final light of day faded. The effort of not grieving was
tearing Christopher apart and his whole body was shaking as he went into what
remained of his office. Christopher balled his fingers into steel knotted fists
and a tear broke out and slid down his cheek, but he wiped it away as quickly
as it had come. His desk had been cleared, the papers all over the floor, and
the shelves opposite torn down. The suitcase that he was to pad for Anka was
opened and turned upside down, and the glass was still all over the floor from
where Schultz had broken in to try to save her. The safe behind his desk,
packed with suitcases full of money, remained unopened. He closed the door
behind him, the cold air of winter seeping in through the broken window. He
turned over his seat and placed it behind his desk. Then he heard the door
opening. Friedrich turned the chair over and sat down opposite Christopher.

“I have
some questions for you, Herr Obersturmführer,” Friedrich said looking at the
broken window and then around the room. “My men tell me that the window was
already broken when they came into the office.”

Christopher
felt the pistol at his side, had his hand on it. He hesitated for a second
before reaching past it, into his pocket for a cigarette. Friedrich was still
looking at him. “I have no idea about the window. Were any of your men checking
the outside?”

“No,
they were all at the front of the building. It was only due to the Kapo, Frankl,
that we found Schultz and that child he had been hiding. How on earth does that
happen?”

“Once
more, I have no idea. Perhaps you should be having this conversation with
Kommandoführer
 
Strunz. Schultz must have smuggled her
out of the children’s camp and kept her in Crematorium 4.”

“She was not from the children’s
camp. She wasn’t tattooed.”

“I wish I could help you, Herr
Rapportführer, but I have no idea what happened with Schultz and that girl.”
Christopher looked down and saw the childish drawing on the floor underneath
the window, covered in broken glass. He twitched in his seat. “I received a
message to meet you down in Auschwitz, Herr Friedrich, just before the searches
began.”

Friedrich stared back at him and at
the smoke billowing into the air from Christopher’s cigarette. “So sorry about
the mess, Seeler, but no one is above the law here. I realized that the only
place that hadn’t been searched properly was here. Now, that’s hardly fair, is
it?”

“No, Herr Rapportführer, I don’t
suppose that it is.” Christopher’s teeth gnashed down as he spoke, his jawbones
almost burrowing out through the skin on his face.

“So let’s go back to the window. It
seems that Sonderkommando Schultz broke it.
 
I spoke to the guard in the tower nearby
but he didn’t see anything. Why would Schultz do such a thing Herr
Obersturmführer?”

“I can only imagine he wanted to take
advantage of the confusion in the camp and break into my office to steal some
of the valuables that he thought might have been inside.”

“With a young girl in tow?”

“Who knows how the Jewish mind thinks,
Herr Rapportführer?” Christopher stared back across at him.

Friedrich stared at him for five
seconds or more before he finally spoke. “Well, soon we won’t have to worry
about that anymore, will we?” Friedrich said, raising himself to his feet. His
boots crunched on the broken glass and Anka’s picture below. “Well, I will
oversee the rest of the searches today. You have quite enough to do here.” He
left. Christopher watched him close the door behind him before he got out of
his seat. He walked around his desk to the window and reached down for the
picture, picking it up by the corner before blowing tiny specks of glass off it
and onto the floor. It was a new one. She had drawn it that morning.
Christopher looked at the farmhouse and the sun high in the sky above it, the
cows in the fields and the stick figures outside and saw his tears falling onto
the page.

Christopher took a deep breath of
cold air into his lungs and forced himself upright. He was an officer, and had
to be seen to be taking charge. He walked out into the main office where Muller
and Flick were picking papers off the floor. Breitner was nowhere to be seen,
presumably still at Friedrich’s side helping to direct the searches.
Christopher called for someone to replace the windowpane in his office and had
several of the Sonderkommando come in to help with the cleanup; so that in less
than an hour it was just like it had been before, except that everything was
different now.

The time was approaching. It was five
o’ clock, the train due in half an hour and he went to the bathroom, looked at
himself in the mirror, but only saw Anka’s bloody hair on the snow. He wondered
if Rebecca would recognize him. He hardly recognized himself now. His time in
the camp had changed him. He was so many people now. Would she still know him
or were the scars too deep? Could she still love the person he had become, in
the uniform of an SS officer? It didn’t seem like the places where he had known
her could possibly exist anymore, not in a world that could create somewhere
like Auschwitz-Birkenau. And what of her, how had her own experiences changed
her? There had always been an uncommon strength in her. She would need every
bit of it here. He looked at his watch and it was time to leave. Christopher
straightened his back and coughed, putting his hand in front of his face. It
was still him looking back in the mirror.

Christopher made his way down to the
train station with Muller. Breitner was already down there as they arrived but
Christopher didn’t even look at him. He didn’t want him to sully this moment.
The doctors arrived, conspicuous by their white coats. They were the ultimate
power here. They were the ones who decided who should live or die. It was
important that there should be no mix-ups, so Christopher made his way down to
where they were standing, waiting for the train to arrive. Some of the
Sonderkommandos from Canada were there, and Christopher looked at his feet
wondering if he could ever be as truly noble, as truly brave as Schultz had
been. He pictured him running through the snow towards Christopher’s office,
seeing the troops already there, knowing what chance he had of succeeding and
still refusing to give up on the girl trapped inside, still refusing to give up
on Christopher himself.

The smoke of the train came into his
sight, grey against the black of the night, and the engine pierced into view,
pulling into the train station. She was on this train. The Sonderkommandos
threw back the heavy doors on the boxcars and the shouting began. The bewildered
prisoners dropped down onto the gravel and he scanned the crowd. Christopher
walked back and forth watching for her through the dim light the lamps
provided. There weren’t many women on the train, mostly middle-aged men and
children. They formed into lines, separated by sex, the doctors at the front of
each, choosing who looked most fit to work and those who were only fit to die.
Christopher saw one of the administrative staff, pacing back and forth with a
clipboard, ready to call out the names, and he heard him shout, “Rebecca
Cassin, Rebecca Cassin.” The comfort in hearing her name quenched the horror
inside him, if only for a few seconds. There was no answer to her name. He
moved between the two lines of people, calling her last name this time. “Cassin,
Cassin.” Christopher saw a hand go up, but couldn’t make out anything else and
ran towards the arm being held up by Pierre Cassin. Christopher felt his heart
exploding within his chest. Cassin looked older; his face even more lined than
before, as if every drink he’d ever taken was finally exacting revenge. His
facial hair was gone and he looked thinner, but he looked as healthy as
Christopher remembered him being, not like most of the prisoners here. Pierre
Cassin stepped out of line and Christopher stopped, puzzlement and dread
flowing as two tributaries into the river within him. The administrative man
was talking to him and Cassin shrugged his shoulders. Christopher walked over.
Cassin didn’t look at him.

“Yes, this one is with me,”
Christopher said, gesturing to Cassin and Cassin’s eyes bulged as he recognized
him.
 
Christopher took him by the
shoulder and walked him away from the line, past the doctors and the guards
with their dogs, but still Cassin didn’t speak. They were far enough away when
Christopher turned to him, speaking in English. “Where is Rebecca? Is she on
this train?”

“No. I, I don’t know what you’re
talking about…. why would Rebecca be on this train?”

“She was meant to be transferred
here, on this train. What the hell are you doing here?” he shouted. One of the
SS guards looked across at him, holding his stare for a second, and then back
at the prisoners.

“I got orders to transfer. I wasn’t
in a position to refuse.” Cassin said, seemingly unable to look at Christopher.
Cassin looked terrified, as if Christopher was about to kill him any second.

“But you’re not meant to be here! Where
is Rebecca?”

Cassin paused and looked up at
Christopher and then down at the ground in between them. Christopher asked the
question again and Cassin shook his head, wide eyed. “Rebecca is gone.”

“What?” Christopher felt the pain
twist inside him and his eyes were hot. “What are you talking about?” The SS
guard was looking again. Christopher didn’t care.

Cassin cringed as if Christopher was
about to hit him. “They killed her. I’m sorry. They transferred me here.”

The officer in charge of the site
walked over. “Who is this prisoner, Obersturmführer?”

Christopher immediately stood firm
and straight, his instincts kicking in. He saluted. “He is a transfer going
into my section in Canada, Herr
Hauptsturmführer.”

“So he
is your responsibility then?” Christopher nodded in reply and felt his heart
dead in his chest. “Well then, get him out of here before I lump him in with
the others. He looks old, not of much use in this camp.”

“He is
highly skilled, Herr Hauptsturmführer. Thank you.” Christopher took Cassin by
the shoulder again and led him back towards the car they had driven down in,
and the pain for Rebecca, for Anka, filled his entire body. Pierre Cassin. He
was all there was left of her, the only other person in this godforsaken place
who knew what it was to have their life touched by her.
 

The shared car ride with Breitner and
Flick offered no chance to speak with Cassin. Christopher was opening the door
before the car had come to a stop and was dragging Cassin by the arm towards
his office. Cassin looked across at the smoke from the crematoria, the barbed
wire and the guards. He looked into the last warehouse where the ladies were
sorting through the mass of shoes. The office was empty, the darkness of night
upon them. Christopher flicked on the light switch. There were no words between
them as Christopher unlocked the door to his office. The window had already
been replaced and the glass on the floor was cleared away. There was nothing
left of Anka. Her drawing in his pocket was the only sign that she had ever
existed. Christopher directed Cassin to sit in the chair opposite him and he
took his seat behind his desk. Every move Cassin made was guarded now. He sat
in the chair as if he were made entirely of stone. Christopher stared at him
for a few seconds and put his hand to his face. He said the words and asked the
question he was so afraid to ask.

“What happened to Rebecca?” Cassin
stared back at him, seemingly unable to get the words out. “Tell me.” His voice
was lethargic, his throat and eyes sore and tired.

“They killed her.”

“Who? Who killed her?” Christopher
managed to say before the force of the tears behind his eyes burst and they
flowed down his face. His head was on the desk and he felt the papers against
his face. He spread out his hands and tried to think of her but the picture of
her as an adult was somehow blurred, and when he saw her it was as a child. The
six-year-old girl he had found. He stood up. Cassin was just staring at him,
still had not answered. Christopher looked down at the uniform he was wearing,
at the uniform that he wore every day now for her. He reached into the drawer
in his desk. Everything had been replaced from earlier and somehow the bottle
had remained unbroken. The glasses had been among the litter of broken shards
on the floor so he walked out to the main office. There were several glasses
sitting on the men’s desks. Christopher took two. He laid them out on the desk
and took the half full bottle of whisky in his hand. He poured each of them a
generous glass and took out his pistol and placed it beside the bottle on the
desk. Cassin took the glass of whisky and looked at it. “Go on, drink.”
Christopher said, the tears still thick in his eyes.