The German Suitcase (18 page)

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Several days after the incident in the Officers Club, Max was ordered to report to the commandant’s office. He found Colonel Weiter staring out the window at the ramp and railroad spur that dead-ended at the Jourhaus. Max stood at attention in front of the desk with growing anxiety. “You wanted to see me, Sir?”

Weiter remained where he stood without replying for a long moment. Finally, he turned, and locked his eyes on to Max’s. “You’ve been accused of disloyalty to the Führer, captain.” He let Max live with it, gauging his reaction; then, in a more friendly tone, added, “I can understand why you might show some weakness on your first tour on the ramp. It’s not uncommon. One gets used to it over time; and, being a reasonable man, I’m willing to overlook it…” Weiter paused. His lips tightened into a thin line. His eyes burned with intensity. “But mass murder?!” he erupted with seething anger. “You accused the Führer of mass murder and racial extermination?! In front of other officers?!”

Max had been lulled by the commandant’s preamble, and shuddered, visibly, at the outburst.

Weiter removed his glasses and blew a speck of dust from one of the lenses, using the time to settle; then almost pleading, said, “Please, Kleist, tell me you didn’t make such accusations against the Führer. If you did, you’ll soon be facing a firing squad.”

“No, Sir, I didn’t,” Max replied, undaunted by the steely-eyed images of Hitler and Himmler hanging behind the desk. “I did not accuse the Führer of mass murder and racial extermination.”

“In other words, Lieutenant Radek is lying,” the commandant challenged, slipping his glasses back on as if to assess Max’s veracity.

“Yes, Sir. If that’s what he told you. Captain Kruger and Major Heiden can testify to what I said.”

“Then, why would Radek make such an accusation?”

“I’d attribute it to a personality conflict, Sir. He seems to resent that I don’t enjoy this assignment as much as he does; and he shows no respect for—”

“I’m not enjoying it much either as of late,” the commandant interrupted, reflectively. “Dachau was originally an indoctrination camp. Many political prisoners were educated here in the National Socialist vision, and released. Now, whether by typhus or pistol shot, it’s a death camp. You were about to say?”

“That Lieutenant Radek shows no respect for the protocol of rank, Sir.”

Weiter’s brows went up. “Oh? And how has this disrespect been manifested?”

“It began during orientation. Not only has he used my given name, but he has also alluded to my having had a Jewish lover; and refers to me in front of other officers as ‘the Jew-lover’.”

Weiter seemed caught off guard. He tilted his head in thought, then wondered, “How could Radek know about that? About your Jewish lover?”

Max looked puzzled. “May I speak freely, Sir?”

Weiter nodded, curiously.

“I assumed he learned it from you, Sir.”

“You assumed, incorrectly, captain.”

“I apologize, Sir. I meant no offense.”

“None taken. Radek is a zealot, a degenerate who has no conscience—” The colonel smiled thinly. “—and he has his uses. On the other hand, as I said when you reported for duty, the officer who used your lapse in judgment against you is a low-class climber unworthy of a commission in the SS let alone his rank.”

“I believe you’re referring to Major Steig…”

Weiter nodded. “He’s a political hack whose zeal to prove your family guilty of harboring Jews is self-serving. I have your best interests at heart, Kleist; and am counting on your performance, here, to undermine Steig’s unprincipled ambition.”

“And I’ve been striving to justify your faith in me, Sir,” Max said, searching for a way to insure Weiter’s support. His eyes darted to a row of file cabinets, taking special notice of the combination lock centered on each drawer front. “I recall you said Major Steig’s report of my having a Jewish lover is in my file, Sir.”

“Yes, and as you can see they’re well-secured.”

“That’s my point, Sir. I can’t imagine Lieutenant Radek gained access to it.”

“Nor can I. Therefore…”

“Well, the process of elimination suggests some form of collusion between Lieutenant Radek and Major Steig, doesn’t it, Sir?”

The commandant’s brows arched with intrigue. “Yes, yes it certainly does. You’re very astute, captain. Very, very astute.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

“Leave them to me,” the colonel said, his eyes alive with a strategic vision. “Please, be at ease.” He circled the desk, joining Max who had taken a more relaxed stance. “I gave you good advice when we first met, captain…as did Major Bruckmann, so I’m told. Take it. Take it to heart. Take it to protect your family.”

“I have, and will continue to do so, Sir.”

“Good luck, captain. Dismissed.”

Max turned on a heel and strode from the office, suppressing a relieved smile. He had been dealt a bad hand and had played it brilliantly. If anyone would be facing disciplinary action, now, it would be Radek and Steig; but the feeling of triumph was tempered by the knowledge that being chastised by the commandant would intensify their zeal to destroy him and his family.

That was almost a month ago.

Today, February 24th, was the first day of Lent. Temperatures had risen above freezing; and the sun was bathing KZ-Dachau in blinding brilliance as Max, in his black greatcoat, crossed the grounds to the ramp where yet another trainload of prisoners was due to arrive. On any other Ash Wednesday, he’d have been at Mass in the family chapel with his parents and sister, their foreheads marked with an ashen cross. On administering the sign of repentance, the priest would have said, ‘Remember man that thou art dust and unto dust thou shalt return. Max was acutely aware they were the same words Lieutenant Radek had used with macabre callousness when pointing out Dachau’s crematoria.

Though the trauma of making selections still haunted him, Max had been able to maintain the robotic detachment required to get through them; and had worked his tours without incident; but today would be different. Max knew it the moment he checked the Duty Roster and saw that Radek had been assigned to the same tour. He had a habit of making a grand entrance with an entourage of SS guards and Sonderkommando in tow as the train arrived; and, now, as the locomotive thundered down the gleaming spur that paralleled the platform, Radek emerged from a cloud of steam like a haunting specter. He went to his station in an arrogant stride, tapping his riding crop on his gloved palm in eager anticipation of using it.

As of late, most of the trains carried prisoners being transferred from Auschwitz, Chelmno, Treblinka and other camps in Nazi occupied countries. The advancing Red Army had driven German troops from Warsaw, Budapest and Belgrade, causing Reichführer Himmler to issue an order prohibiting Jews and other prisoners from being liberated by enemy forces. He was so intent on concealing the atrocities that, when faced with a shortage of freight cars, he ordered tens of thousands of prisoners force-marched hundreds of miles through sub-freezing cold. Those unable to walk were executed prior to departure or left to die en route.

Prisoners being transferred didn’t erupt in a chaotic surge when the doors to the freight cars were opened. They gasped for air and craved water as they had when first arrested and deported; but, this time, they didn’t believe they were being relocated, only to discover upon arrival that many would be executed. No, they knew the ugly truth. Now, weary and emaciated from slave labor, starvation and physical punishment, they were more orderly and subdued, conserving their energy to survive for another minute, another hour, another day.

The announcement from the loudspeakers atop the guard towers was always the same. “There is no need to panic. Follow instructions. Go to the line to which you are assigned. You will be given hot meals, soap and towels for showering, and assigned to heated housing units. If you are a doctor, a nurse, or have other medical training, raise your hand or make this known to your processing officer. There is no need to panic. Follow instructions and go to the line to which…”

The absurdity wasn’t lost on the prisoners as they emerged from the first freight car, and were forced to queue at Radek’s station by members of the Kommando. They had no luggage, no personal belongings, no valuables to be confiscated, and selections were made swiftly. Many were barely able to walk, let alone work, and were marked for immediate execution by Radek whose cruelty was unrelenting.

One of the prisoners raised his hand in response to the announcement. “I’m a doctor,” he said, dragging a suitcase on the ground as he came forward with a group of prisoners, about a half dozen in all. Like him—and unlike the others whose only possessions were the clothes on their backs—they were clutching suitcases and small leather satchels.

Radek eyed the man’s bony face, pale skin, shaved head and yellow triangle sewn to his filthy uniform, and recoiled as if accosted by a street beggar. The corner of his mouth curled in disgust. “Liar! You take me for a fool?! You think it will get you special treatment?”

“You asked for doctors, sir,” the man replied, cringing at the outburst. “I’m a doctor. So is the woman behind you. We were—”

“Lying Jewish swine!” Radek shrieked, lashing him across the side of his head with his riding crop; then, whip poised to strike, he grasped the woman. “He’s a doctor?! You’re a doctor?! Everyone’s a doctor?!” he shouted with vitriolic sarcasm.

The terrified woman nodded, and managed to whisper, “Yes, yes, I’m a doctor.”

Instead of striking her, Radek flinched as if taken by surprise. Despite the terror in her eyes and the hardships she had endured, the woman’s face still had an arresting beauty which, along with the yellow triangle on her uniform, had more than gotten Radek’s attention. His eyes flickered with intrigue. The riding crop fell to his side. “Your name, fraulein?”

“F-F-Friedman,” the terrified woman stammered. “Doctor H-H-Hannah Friedman.”

The man, who had identified her and himself as physicians, called out, “Yes, yes, she’s a doctor as am I. The others are nurses and medical technicians. We were working in the Hygienic Institute at Auschwitz. It’s being relocated here, and—”

Radek silenced him with a slash of his riding crop. It whistled through the air, again and again. The man fell to the ground, raising his suitcase to protect himself as the whip slashed across the personal data painted on it. When finished, Radek turned his attention back to the woman and, with eerie calmness, said, “Ah, Fraulein Friedman, I’m sure we can find something for you to do here.” He nodded to the work line which was considerably shorter than the one which led to the courtyard where executions were carried out. The woman hesitated, exchanging a forlorn look with her colleague who had gotten to his feet and was motioning for her to go. Radek glared at him as she shuffled off, and called out, “Get this lying Jew out of my sight!”

An SS sergeant and several guards began pummeling the man and the remaining members of his group with their rifle butts and truncheons, driving them toward the execution line.

Max had been waiting for the occupants of the next car to be released and queued at his station. Sickened by the brutal savagery taking place at Radek’s, he realized the prisoner’s claims might be the key to saving him and his group. “Lieutenant?!” Max called out, dashing along the platform to where Radek was overseeing the onslaught. “Lieutenant?! I think he’s a doctor as he says! And that these people are—”

“He’s a lying Jew!” Radek shrieked. “This is my station, Kleist! Mine! It’s none of your business!”

“They’re a medical team sent here to deal with the typhus!” Max retorted, having no idea, whatsoever, if it was true. “Major Heiden told me about it. Look! They’re the only ones with luggage! Some even have doctor bags!” he argued with an angry gesture, referring to the fact that Himmler had given prisoner doctors and skilled medical workers certain privileges because they were vital to dealing with the typhus epidemic raging through the camps. “Now, have these men stand down, lieutenant! That’s an order! Have them stand down!”

Radek glared at him, bristling with anger.

“I gave you a direct order, Lieutenant! Have these men stand down! I’m warning you. If you don’t, I will.”

Radek stood his ground, continuing to stonewall.

“Enough!” Max called-out to the SS guards. “That’s enough! Sergeant?! Sergeant, stand down!” He grabbed the back of the man’s collar and yanked him aside, then pushed his way between the other guards who were pummeling the cowering prisoners.

The prisoner crouched in their midst had lost hold of his suitcase, and had been protecting his head with his arms and hands. Sensing the onslaught had subsided, he lowered them, slowly, emitting a frightened whimper at the sight of the black-cloaked SS officer looming over him, the hollow eye sockets of the silver skull on his cap staring at him spookily.

Max had glimpsed the man from a distance; but, now, staring at his terrified face, Max’s eyes flickered with recognition. It vaguely matched one in his memory; but the damage and pain that had been inflicted on it made the past and the present almost impossible to resolve. Max couldn’t process the discord at first; then refused to process it, unwilling to accept the heartbreaking truth that he so desperately wanted to deny: He had barely recognized his closest friend; and, now, almost blurted out, Jake! But he caught himself, staggered by the fact that in a matter of months Jake Epstein had been transformed from a robust man in his early twenties with a zest for life and the practice of medicine into a cowering, sickly human being with a shaved head and a swollen face covered with purple bruises.

Jake was staring at Max with uncertainty, relief and hope. Max sensed he was on the verge of saying or doing something that would reveal their friendship which could be catastrophic if overheard by Radek. Max locked his eyes onto Jake’s with penetrating intensity and used several imperceptible shakes of his head to drive the message home. “What’s your name, doctor?” he asked sharply, fighting to keep his voice from breaking. “Your name, doctor. I asked you your name.”