Schreiber's Secret (25 page)

Click.

Edwards shut off the tape. He looked at Danielle. Her eyes were glistening. A single tear made a slow and meandering tour of her cheek before entering the corner of her mouth.  “I turned off the tape at that stage because he was inconsolable. He was crying so bitterly I was at a loss as to what to do. I poured him another cup of tea and after a while he seemed to calm down.”

“I don’t know what to say,” Danielle sighed. “Sonntag never told me any of this, except in general terms. He didn’t mention Schreiber, but he did mention a lot of barbaric things that were done in the Small Fortress – shootings, stabbings and the like. He said Jews were ordered to eat pig-
shit ...”

“Wait, darling, Soferman comes to that.”

“Mark, you have to remember that the interview was mainly about a refugee’s success story. My emphasis was always going to be on the economic side of it.”

“I understand, darling, I understand. You can raise these issues with Sonntag when you visit him, although I hardly think he’ll cooperate. Anyway, I’ll fast-forward it a bit and you can listen to the rest. It’s utterly enthralling.”

“Oh dear, Mark ...”

“Yes?”

“There is another thing. When I went to visit Sonntag there was a very strong smell of lavender about the place.”

Edwards ran his fingers through his blond hair. “That just about settles it.”

“Switch the tape back on,” she said abruptly. She was now beginning to have serious doubts about Henry Sonntag.

Click.

I’m sorry, Mr Edwards. I will try now to be more composed. These revelations are not easy for me. Is it switched on? Good. I told Inspector Webb about the contests, but I did not tell him I had participated in them. In fact, I told him I had not. I’m sure you understand. I wanted to reveal all only after the trial. Schreiber’s counsel would try to paint as black a picture of me as he could. I’m sure you agree
.
[Pause
]
And so, my friend, I was forced to take part in these terrible contests. Schreiber always made sure my opponents were smaller, weaker or less mobile than I. Oh, I forgot. You remember my best friend, Springer? He more or less drowned himself in a ditch after Schreiber made him eat pig’s faeces. He could not take it anymore. And who could blame hi
m
[Pause
]
.

“Schreiber eventually tired of sporting with me. He put me on a work detail. We were led out to some woods. There was a trench with some shovels sticking out from mounds of earth at the top. We were told to line up at the lip of the trench. We knew the trench was full of bodies by the stench. You could smell it a hundred metres away. We were told to begin shovelling earth on the bodies. I had a gut feeling that we were next. As Schreiber ordered the machineguns to open fire I dived into the pit. Fortunately I was knocked unconscious by a body falling on top of me, otherwise I would have gagged on the stench and given away that I was still alive. When I came to, there was no one around, but I could hear the voices of the guards getting closer. I hauled myself out of the ditch and hid in the bushes. They then lined up another row of prisoners, executed them and then covered the bodies with quicklime.

“I waited in the bushes until Schreiber and his men finished their work. You can imagine how I felt. Alone, wearing prison clothes and completely penniless. Yet I was free, Mr Edwards. Free. Only one who has suffered like me can appreciate what it is to be truly free. But what to do next?The Germans were to the west and the Russians to the east. Of course, for me the Russians were the lesser of two evils. But I decided to head south towards Prague. I knew my only hope of survival was dependent on me finding one good man. I knew I could not survive alone and without help. Czechoslovakia was the home of the Good Soldier Schweik
.
[Laughs
]
Any country that could produce a character like him couldn’t be all that bad, eh? Anyway, I was much more likely to come across a Czech who would help a Jew rather than a German, that was for sure.

“It was already dark when I reached the outskirts of a town called Melnik, about twenty kilometres north of Prague. I was hungry and cold. I had to do something. You know, I once knew a man who made every decision on the throw of a die. He didn’t care, that man. An Australian.
Bush hat and all. ‘Okay,’ he said to me in London soon after the war, ‘three or more I go to Hong Kong. One to three I go to Rio.’ He then tossed the die in the air and it came down on two. The next day he flew out to Rio. You see, he had plenty of money and he had a choice. But he still preferred to let that choice be decided by something other than his own will. Mr Edwards, I had no money and I had no real choice. But what I had was willpower. Sure, I would be dependent on the kindness of a stranger, but some sixth sense told me that I would survive. Now that I was free I felt I possessed a will that could be betrayed by no man.

“Anyway, it was now or never. I didn’t have a mirror to tell me how I looked. I must have smelled terribly but my nose had already got used to it. My heart was in my mouth when I knocked on that door. The farmer opened it. He was so broad he took up practically the whole doorway. He immediately brought his hand up to his face and made a choking noise. I babbled something in Polish and then German. A lot of Czechs speak either or both languages. He didn’t say anything. He just grabbed me and pulled me roughly inside. Pushing past his wife, he took me straight to a room at the rear of the farmhouse. It was a bathroom. ‘You see those clothes hanging there,’ he said in German, ‘have a bath and then wear them.’ Mr Edwards, never in my life have I enjoyed a bath as much as that one. I just lay there for ages. For all I knew, the farmer could have been calling in the Nazis. I didn’t care. I just scrubbed and scrubbed. I felt as though I was scrubbing my body clean of Hans Schreiber.

“
[Laughs
]
I must have been a real sight. The clothes were obviously the farmer’s. He was wide and small and I was tall and thin. You can imagine. I looked totally ridiculous standing there. Pavel and Sophie Novak burst out laughing. It was then that I knew my luck was still holding out. I owe the Novaks everything, Mr Edwards. I visited them in ’68
.
[Sighs
]
They’re dead now, of course. Anyway, they treated me like the son they had lost in the early days of the war. The farmhouse was remote and I spent an idyllic summer there helping out with the harvest. I grew stronger and stronger. I had not eaten so well in years
.
[Sighs
]
But all good things must come to an end.

“By May 1945 the whole region was in chaos. Bohemia was full of every type of outlawed army. There were SS units recruited from disaffected Soviets and the army of Andrey Vlasov. God knows how many times he had changed sides during the war. They were all running away westward rather than fall into the hands of the Russians. To this day I don’t know why I gave up my safe haven for a life of uncertainty. It all happened in the first week of May. There was a knock on the door. Pavel asked me to open it. There were three soldiers standing there. They were pretty messed up. Not wounded or anything, just dirty and grimy. They tried a selection of languages with us, including Polish. They asked for food and we gave them some bread and soup. I noticed their uniforms did not have any insignia or lapels. They’d been torn off. I asked them who they were and where they were going. ‘We’ve had enough,’ said the tallest of the three. ‘If the Germans think we’re going to fight the Russians on their behalf they can go fuck themselves.
’
[Laughs
]
Yes, that’s what he said. Zbigniew, his name was. Zbiggy later became a good friend. He said he and his men – they were anti-Stalin Russians – were deserting and heading west. They said they’d heard the Americans were about to reach Pilsen and they were going there to surrender. As I said, you can call it fate if you like, but something told me that I should join these men. I was too young to really understand what I was doing. I suppose if I had been older I might have hesitated. You know, the older you get, the more set in your ways you get.

“Pavel and Sophie were dumbstruck when I told them what I planned to do. They warned me of the dangers and that I would be much safer if I stayed with them. It was a tearful parting, I can tell you
.
[Pause
]
They were the kindest people I had ever met, Mr Edwards. I cherish their memory to this day
.
[Sigh
]
But I was driven by this need to go west. I did not want to stay on a farm for the rest of my life. The Novaks gave us enough food to last us a week and the four of us set out for the American lines. When I think about it today, I must have been mad. There were Germans, Russians, Lithuanians, Latvians, a whole tangle of people heading in the same direction. Some who were former enemies now became friends. Nobody cared any more. There were outbreaks of fighting here and there but we skirted round those. After five days we reached the Americans. We just walked into town and gave ourselves up.

“I realized that I couldn’t stay with Zbiggy and the other Vlasov men. They told me their greatest fear was that they might be handed back to the Red Army. Zbiggy said he would kill himself before he’d allow that to happen. Well, I can tell you I didn’t want to be categorized as a Russian traitor. Then I did something that will make you laugh, Mr Edwards. I asked to see the commander of our DP camp. He was one of those big American types. You know, John Wayne. I told him that I was a Jew who had escaped from Theresienstadt and had fought with the Czech resistance. ‘You don’t look like a Jew to me, blondie,’ he laughed. I was desperate, Mr Edwards. I had to convince him. So, you know what I did? I dropped my trousers
.
[Laughs
]
Yes, right there in front of him, I pulled out my penis. Thank God, he had a sense of humour. He stood there for a few seconds and then nearly fell off the chair. ‘Put it away, Hymie,’ he said after he’d calmed down. He then looked me straight in the eye. ‘What other languages do you speak besides English?’ he asked me. When I told him, he wrote something on a US Army letterhead, signed it and handed it to me. It was my lifeline, Mr Edwards. Colonel John Towers had given me back my identity. The letter said I was attached to the US Army as an interpreter and was to help in the interrogation of prisoners. I knew then for certain that I would survive the war. It was all over quicker than I thought. I worked in five different DP camps. I enjoyed helping to weed out the Nazis. You see, the Americans were faced with an incredible collection of potential POWs. Many of them were disguised as civilians and displaced persons of all nationalities. To make sense of the stories they were told, they would have needed literally thousands of highly trained investigators fluent in many foreign languages. There weren’t that many of us around and we were greatly overworked. The Americans also changed. At first they were good to us, especially those who had liberated the death camps, and were very harsh on the Germans. But these troops were soon replaced by occupation personnel. They hadn’t seen the camps. They had a different attitude towards the Germans. These were the Ugly Americans. They felt more sympathy towards the Germans than towards us. It was disgusting. They were only interested in making a fast buck on the black market.

“Anyway, about six months after the end of the war I was posted to Berlin. The city was in a shambles. I went to look for the orphanage but the whole street didn’t exist anymore. I was sad for that, but not for the hell the Berliners had gone through. Never did a people deserve it more. I then realized that the letter from the colonel was my only means of identification. I suppose I was stateless. I certainly did not want to call myself German again. “It was then that fate took another turn. My commanding officer in the American zone told me I was being seconded to the British who were apparently in desperate need of a multi-linguist with experience in DP work. I worked diligently for the British for the next six months and made good friends with my commanding officer, Colonel Colin Blakemore. It was he who helped me
get the right papers to be one of the few Jews the British allowed into the UK after the war. I’m thirsty. Let me go make another cup of tea and I’ll tell you about the rest of my life. A lot less eventful ... I’m glad to say.”

Click.

“Well, darling, that’s the guts of it,” said Edwards. “The rest of the time he spent telling me about his wife and his life as a tailor. Pretty ordinary, really. You know, I was there for more than two hours.”

Danielle stared silently at the tape recorder for a few seconds. She felt stupid and cheated. She had supported a man who was clearly a mass murderer. The weight of evidence against Henry Sonntag was already overwhelming, and Herschel Soferman’s moving testimony would have a devastating effect on any jury. She recalled the all-pervading scent of lavender when she had visited Sonntag at his home. It all made sense now. Sonntag had told an awful tale but it had not contained this kind of personal detail. As far as the war years were concerned, it had more or less been
third-party.

“The lying bastard,” she hissed through gritted teeth.

“Who, Soferman?” gasped Edwards.

“No, Henry Sonntag.”

“Look,” said Edwards, relieved, “I won’t say I told you so.”

“You have every reason to. I feel so damn stupid. Your friend Müller must think I’m as naive as hell.”