The Compass (11 page)

Minutes passed. Rudy sat next to Jacob and just let him cry. Tears ran down Rudy’s face silently at the sight, and reaching out, he put his arm around Jacob’s back. His heart was bursting with love for this man, with such compassion for all he had endured and held in all these years. He understood Jacob’s reticence toward him and felt guilty for being the reminder, the trigger of his past.

After a while, Jacob looked up, wiping his eyes. Rudy asked, “You okay, Jacob? Is there anything I can get you?”

Jacob just shook his head and patted his cheek. “Forgive an old man crying like a baby. Just stay here and let me finish what I have begun.”

“Okay, Jacob, okay.” Jacob blew his nose on an old handkerchief and took a deep breath. After a minute, he continued on.

“My mother sat on one side of Blanca and I sat on the other. I reached out to take her hand, but there was no reaction; she just stared, not at me, not at anything, just a blank, empty stare. My father watched with an anguished look on his face. I knew he wanted to kill the man who had done this to his beloved daughter, but all that would accomplish was being killed himself. And then who would be there to look after us? My father, Rudy, was a good man. He kept his anger bottled up just so he could stay with his family. He didn’t yet know there was nothing he could do to protect us.

“The truck took us to the train station where a long line of railway cars with their side doors gaping open wide waited to transport us to places unknown. We didn’t know where we were going; we only knew it couldn’t be good. We knew that people who disappeared in the middle of the night were not seen again. The boxcars were empty but for hay strewn on the floor. There were no beds, no chairs, no heat, no toilets, only a bucket in the middle of each car. No privacy either. We were packed so tightly, like sardines in a can; most of us had to stand the entire journey, let the old folks and the sick sit or lie down if possible. The car began to stink as the bucket filled. We had small air vents which circulated frigid air. We prayed to get to our destination, for surely it would be better than these conditions. How little we knew—how innocent we were of what was coming. We were on the train for days and realized that we had left Germany behind and moved into western Poland. Some people speculated about where we were headed, others had heard things, terrible things, but surely these stories could not be true.

“Blanca was quiet during the trip and ate very little of what we had brought with us hidden in our clothes. The rhythm of the moving train seemed to keep her lulled in a near catatonic state—the twinkle gone from her eyes. Every now and then, tears would flow from them, yet there were no sobs, no sounds, as if the act of crying were not connected to any thought process. As hard as I tried, she could draw no comfort from me. How bitter I felt. I had failed to protect the sister I loved as dear as myself. Little did I know that time in the train would be the last I would be with her.

“We finally arrived at our destination. It was raining and cold when we got there. We had arrived at Auschwitz.”

Rudy looked shocked. He had heard stories of what happened there—stories too hard to believe.

“Ah, I see by the look on your face that you have heard of Auschwitz.”

Rudy nodded,. “I never heard of anyone surviving.”

“Many times I have wondered if it would have been better for me if I had not survived. My entire family died there, Rudy. Why was I spared? Spared to remember the brutality, the inhumanity, and the terror? Spared to remember my family, all gone too soon in horrible deaths? It has not been an easy life. I have not been able to move past it, the way Yoshito and Frederick have moved beyond their painful histories. It still haunts me, even in my dreams, as if it were yesterday.” Jacob struggled to regain his composure.

“Maybe today, Rudy, you are helping me. I told you, I have not shared this story with anyone for decades. But in telling you, I am somehow beginning to feel less burdened, less fearful. I am afraid that in my giving, you, my friend, may now carry some of it with you for the rest of your life. Forgive me for that.” Jacob patted him on the back, and Rudy nodded his understanding.

“Tell me the rest, Jacob. I can take it. How did you survive? What happened there?” Rudy questioned, and Jacob slipped back into that time and place.

“Bad things happened almost immediately. When they opened the car door, it was very cold and wet. It had been raining and now a light, persistent drizzle fell. Most surely it was heaven weeping. We could see that the women and men were being divided; women going one way, men going another. My family panicked. My father quickly told us that if we were separated, we should find our way back to the Reinholms’ after the war. They would take care of us until we could all get there. Father, mother, and I agreed. My sister, with the terror of a caged animal and a wildness in her eyes, said to me in a voice that was too calm, too determined, ‘I can’t do this, Jacob. I can’t bear anymore. I’m afraid, Jacob! I am too afraid.’ Then she added, ‘Remember I love you and explain to mommy and father.’ As I held her hand, I tried to assure her that she just needed to do as she was told; be strong and we would all be together again someday, and what had happened would be in the past. She just looked at me blankly as we were pushed along with the other people. Soon our hands were separated by the throng of others being pushed along. I kept yelling not to give up. My father and I managed to push my mother through those ahead of us to ensure she stayed with Blanca. My father and I were veered off into another direction. We waved and yelled I love you along with the other husbands and fathers being separated from their families. My mother’s only thought was to stay close to Blanca, and she did not look back.

“We did not see them again, and little did I know that my sister would die within hours. We heard later that after we were separated, the fit women were taken to an area where they were stripped of their belongings, including their clothes and their shoes. They were then led to an area where their heads were shaved. It would be humiliating for anyone, but my sister… well, she was in a fragile state of mind. They were issued gray-colored dresses and wood shoes, and then marched to their barracks. On the way, they were forced to walk by a huge pit. Inside there were dead, naked bodies, along with the barely living bodies of the too old and infirmed who were of no good to the work camp. They were left to die along with the dead in the freezing cold. Through the camp grapevine, my father and I found out that my sister, upon seeing the bodies in the pit, began screaming hysterically. My mother tried to quiet her, but my sister had lost her mind. An SS soldier came up to them, threatening them, ordering my sister to stop. My mother pleaded with her, but Blanca was inconsolable and kept screaming. The soldier dragged her out of line, pushed her in the pit, and shot her. Her screaming stopped, and she was gone from this world—just like that.

“Then without so much as an afterthought, as if he had just kicked some trash out of his path, the soldier ordered the others to move on. The surrounding women grabbed my screaming and crying mother, quieting her and telling her to move on or she would be joining her daughter. I’m sure the only reason my mother did not jump in after Blanca was the thought of my father and me.

“I can only imagine my mother’s heartbreak; I saw the look of grief seize my father’s face when we were told the story, saw the pain in his eyes. I think he aged ten years in that moment. I know my heart broke; my beloved sister, my twin—a part of me was dead. I think we were both numb, almost confused by what we were hearing, that we were not able to even cry. Maybe it had been a mistake, maybe it was another young girl named Blanca. But we knew better, knew the tenuous, delicate state my sister had been in. The men around us tried to console us and offered up prayers for the dead. I don’t know what I would have done had I been there when it happened; probably would have got myself shot, too. Rudy, I hate the monster that did that to my sister. I hate the pain my mother suffered watching her daughter being handled like she was less than nothing, but a part of me is so grateful that she did not have to endure the years and untold horrors in that camp. She was with God at last where she belonged—and there were many times I wished I were with her.”

“Don’t say that, Jacob,” Rudy begged.

In a voice charged with anger, Jacob replied, “Rudy, you think we live in a hard world, but you are still very innocent. Terrible, unspeakable acts happened while I was there: live babies thrown into bonfires, old people beaten, medical experiments conducted on us like we were guinea pigs, and yes, the gas chambers and the crematoriums. What kind of human beings can do those things? I still don’t understand it after decades of living with those memories.”

After a time, Jacob cleared his throat, and in a quieter voice said, “I suppose I never will. Only God can understand the complexities of each human heart and will judge accordingly.”

“Do you still believe in God, I mean, after all that you went through?” Rudy asked tentatively.

“That’s a big question for a young man. But the answer is easy: with all my heart, Rudy. I’m afraid He may be disappointed in me, however. I stopped going to temple when I could not rid myself of the nightmares, even though I knew it was not God that did this to us. It was human beings who made a pact with the devil. I know that God wept with us in our bondage and marched with the Allies and rejoiced when we were liberated. It was God that helped me live on when I didn’t know if I wanted to, who steered me to this house, next door to two men who would understand me and help me and fill my loneliness; it was God that whispered your name into Frederick’s ear and who sent you to pull down this fence. Oh, yes, Rudy, I believe in God.” Jacob studied Rudy’s face trying to read his thoughts.

“Sometimes in searching for answers to things we can’t understand, we humans find it easier to blame God instead of our own free will. But you have asked a big question which you will have to answer for yourself. You’re a smart boy, Rudy. Just look around, and you will feel the answer in your soul.”

Rudy thought of his mother dragging him to church each Sunday. He had seen her praying a million times and thought it was nonsense, but now he wondered if maybe God really did exist, did listen to prayers. If Jacob and Frederick and Yoshito all believed after what they had been through, perhaps there was something to it. Maybe he would listen more closely the next time he went with her, listen more to what the pastor said. Jacob interrupted his thoughts.

“But let me continue. My father and I were issued striped work clothes that were not nearly warm enough, and we were housed in overcrowded barracks, hundreds of men to a barrack, several to a bunk. Everyone received a tattooed number on their arm. That’s all we were, a number,” he said, as he showed the now familiar inside of his forearm to Rudy.

“My father and I were lucky that we were healthy and strong. We were put to work almost immediately after getting there. We dug pits mostly, for the dead. It was a horrible job, but we knew as long as we worked hard and stayed out of trouble, we might survive and not end up in the pit or gas chamber ourselves. That is, if we could avoid the illnesses in the camps. There was so much death, so many diseases: dysentery, pneumonia, tuberculosis, typhus, and then just exhaustion from being malnourished and being worked to death. Someone might have a broken bone or a cut, but with no medical attention, the infection could kill them. You could only pray to God in heaven to die quickly if that was your fate, otherwise you would end up in the pit—alive or dead—or later on in the crematorium. The smell of death was everywhere; even outdoors it seemed to live in your uniform, stay permanently housed in your nostrils. It is something I will never forget.

“On the second morning after walking out of the camp gates forever, I was finally far enough away that when I went outside and breathed in fresh air. I finally did not smell burning flesh and rot. Do you know what I did, Rudy? I wept for joy. I cried and cried and cried. I was so happy, yet so sad. I think some of those tears were also for my family.” Again, Jacob paused, trying to reign in his emotions.

“But I am moving ahead in my story. My father and I somehow survived for years without too much incident. Oh, we got very skinny, just bags of bones, but we were able to keep relatively disease-free. We saw terrible things being done to others, but somehow we were able to stay under the radar. My father suffered great depression over Blanca’s death. I think he blamed himself for keeping us so innocent for so long, saying that Blanca may have coped better had she been more aware of what was happening. I tried to reassure him and refocus his thoughts on what life would be like after the war, but even that was a challenge. We had heard nothing of my mother.

“There was a lot of turmoil going on the last months before the war ended. In October 1944, SS soldiers began rounding us up telling us we were moving to another camp and that we were walking for part of the way, another train for the remainder of the trip. The sick and the children were being left behind, to die no doubt. These evacuations were called the death marches. It was extremely cold outside, and my father and I wondered if we could survive. We didn’t understand what was happening then, but we know now that the German military leaders were getting scared. They wanted to leave the scene of the crime and take as much of the evidence with them—and hoped that we would die along the way. The journey was brutal; we lost half the number we started with. Men were left to die if they were weak or sick, or were shot along the way. There was little food, and the temperatures were freezing. We ate snow for water. My father made the trip, but his strength and stamina clearly deteriorated. We ended up at Bergen-Belsen, another concentration camp.

“Although there was always talk of the war ending, most of it was wishful thinking to keep us alive. But after the move from Auschwitz, the rumors seemed more believable than ever; yet, how could we get our hopes up? Right around Chanukah, my father caught pneumonia. He was very ill but still went out on work detail. Each night we said our prayers which were so dear to my father. You asked if I believe in God? At that time, secretly I wondered where God had gone. I did not yet understand the complexities of free will and to what extent Hitler had mesmerized so many German people.