The German Suitcase (20 page)

“Cocktails at the bar once,” Stacey said in response to Tannen’s query.

“Let’s make it twice,” Tannen said, cheerily, as he got to his feet and led the way from the office.

“I can’t afford it.”

“Me neither. Gunther’s buying. Maybe we’ll have dinner too.”

“Like this?” Stacy said, indicating her worn jeans and skimpy tank top as she hurried after him.

“Sure. Put on your sunglasses and act like you own the place. They’ll think you’re a rock star.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

They were inside Dachau’s prison compound now. Separated from the surrounding SS military installation by the high walls, electrified fences, and broad water-filled moats; their every step monitored by vigilant SS guards in the towers with their machineguns.

“Where are we going?” Jake asked wearily as he, Dr. Hannah Friedman and their entourage of technicians and nurses, carrying their suitcases and physician’s bags, followed Max down the Lagerstrasse. They were all shivering from the cold and squinting at the sun that was still painfully blinding after their long journey in the darkened railroad car. “We haven’t eaten in days, Max. We need food and water…”

“And you’ll have them,” Max said with the clinical detachment that had become habit. “The typhus is rampant. Delousing comes first.” He led the way to a cluster of buildings in the northwest corner of the compound, and opened the door to a vast, windowless hall, where a sign proclaimed: Wirtschaftsgebaude.

The group stiffened in horror at the sight of a communal shower. It was divided into Men’s and Women’s sections, and could accommodate hundreds. White tile covered the floor and walls. Perfectly aligned shower heads ran to infinity. Frightened looks darted among Jake, Hannah and the others. They had heard of the gas chambers disguised as showers; of how the SS tricked Jews being ‘relocated to work camps’, to go calmly to their deaths; of how, after being promised soap, towels and hot showers, they were gassed, instead.

“Don’t go in there!” Hannah exclaimed with alarm.

“What is this, Max?! What’re you doing?!” Jake demanded, his voice trembling at this cruel betrayal.

Max looked puzzled. Having just saved them from Radek’s death sentence, he couldn’t imagine they would think he was about to carry out his own; and it took a moment for it to dawn on him. “No, no, oh my God, no!” he exclaimed, on realizing they were about to panic and bolt. “No, no wait! Wait, don’t run! You’ll be shot. Don’t. Please, it’s okay,” he went on, shifting to Yiddish which had become the lingua franca among prisoners, and which he hoped would gain their trust. “It’s safe. I promise you,” he added, exhorting them to follow as he strode inside, turning on one of the shower spigots and then another and another, first on the men’s side, then the women’s.

The sight of water gushing from showerheads, of neatly stacked bars of soap and folded towels, of Max inside the shower hall, and his fluent Yiddish, proved reassuring. When Jake, Hannah and their group finally joined him, Max explained that years ago, when only political prisoners were incarcerated at Dachau, inmates were allowed one shower every two weeks. Now, the mass internment of Jews and other groups, and large number of prisoners transferred from camps about to be liberated had increased the population from five thousand to nearly thirty thousand. The unimaginable overcrowding had put an end to even the pretense of hygiene, causing the typhus epidemic. Though delousing had once been routine for all prisoners, the system had broken down and few, if any, were treated. Since Jake and his group had come from Auschwitz, where the disease was also rampant, and would be working with infected inmates at Dachau, Max arranged the delousing for their own safety.

While Jake and the others scrubbed head to toe with antiseptic solutions and disinfectant soap, luxuriating in, what for them was, a rare moment of normalcy, Max had their clothing and belongings treated in an adjacent facility. Germany had no DDT, let alone a vaccine to protect its citizens, and Zyklon-B—the lethal gas used for mass exterminations, was also used on personal items to kill typhus bacteria and the lice that carried it.

After a meal of moldy bread and broth with bits of herring and boiled potato at the prison kitchen—a feast after days of starvation—Max took them to the prison hospital. The Revier was located in the row of housing blocks east of the Lagerstrasse. As Radek had explained, due to the typhus epidemic that was killing hundreds of prisoners a day, the hospital had been expanded, and now occupied Blocks 1 through 15. They were linked by the long, exterior corridor that had been under construction the day of Max’s orientation tour.

In the main typhus ward, members of the medical staff were meeting in a windowless administration room as they did at every shift change. Prisoner doctors and nurses going off-duty were briefing those coming on when they heard the clack of jackboots in the corridor. Seated around a crude wooden table, they all stiffened with apprehension as Max came through the door in his black greatcoat and cap with its silver death’s head. They couldn’t recall the last time a member of the SS—other than Dr. Bruckmann who they referred to as Dr. B—had visited the Revier. Even the guards avoided it out of fear of contracting typhus. Indeed, the camp’s Prisoner Committee held their meetings here, in this very room, because it was safe from SS oversight.

Dr. Ezra Cohen, the prisoner doctor in charge of the hospital sat at the head of the table beneath a large poster that proclaimed: Rauchen Verboten. The Führer abhorred smoking, and signs prohibiting it were displayed everywhere. “Have you a death wish captain? Or have you and your Kommando come here in some official capacity?” Cohen asked, making the obvious assumption about the prisoners who had accompanied Max.

“No, I’m a doctor, like you,” Max replied, in Yiddish, which seemed to have the same effect on Cohen as it had on Jake’s group. “They’re here to help you. As am I,” he explained and, in an oblique reference to Dr. Bruckmann, added, “along with another SS physician who seems equally committed to his oath as a doctor.”

Cohen sat up straighter, taking his measure of Max. “We heard medical personnel from other camps were being sent here to help deal with this—this nightmare. Was that the case with these people?”

“No it wasn’t,” Jake interjected in a low voice, smiling at what he was about to say. “But thanks to Captain Kleist, it is, now.”

“Good. We need all the help we can get,” Cohen said, shifting his look to Max. “With all due respect, I haven’t been able to bring myself to thank an SS officer for anything, not even Dr. B. whom I believe you referred to earlier.”

Max nodded. “I understand.”

“So do I,” Jake said, his eyes finding Cohen’s. “But this SS officer saved our lives. He’s my best friend and medical school colleague,” Jake added, going on to explain how he, Max and Eva had been working together at the University; and how Max and his family risked their lives to save them from being arrested by Major Steig. “As you can see, Max isn’t a typical Nazi doctor.”

“No, I guess he isn’t,” Cohen conceded, his brows arching curiously. “And he just happened to be on the ramp this morning when you arrived from Auschwitz?”

“That’s right; and with some quick thinking he kept us from being executed. It was pure luck.”

“For all of us,” Cohen said, sounding energized. “Get them settled, captain, and we’ll put them to work.” He stood, then noticed the gash Radek had inflicted on Jake’s head. “Better take care of that. Around here, an open wound can be as lethal as a bullet.”

Unlike other prisoners, doctors were housed in rooms that had been carved out of the open wards. They also served as examining rooms, and were where the few medical supplies allotted to the prison hospital were kept. The single bed, like the triple-decked ones in housing and hospital blocks, had a simple straw mattress on wooden slats. A small table and chair stood in a corner. There was a sink with a mirrored cabinet above it; but no closet or dresser. A bare bulb hung from the ceiling.

Jake looked about, then set his suitcase on the floor and slid it beneath the bunk. When he got to his feet, he saw Max standing in the doorway, and began to weep. “God Max…” Jake muttered, barely able to speak. “I can’t believe I’m standing here…with …with you…”

Max closed the door and embraced him. He could feel Jake’s ribs through the coarse denim of his uniform. It was like hugging a sack of barrel staves. The dam of military discipline crumbled on seeing what had become of his friend. “I’m so sorry,” Max said, his eyes welling with emotion. “I’m so, so sorry.”

“Sorry for what?”

“For all that’s happened to you. For the degrading shower, the disgusting food, this pathetic room; but it’s all there is, Jake. I just want to keep you alive until the war is over. You’re going to get through this. I promise.”

Jake pulled a sleeve over his watery eyes. “I want to believe that, Max; but after all I’ve seen…”

Max grasped Jake’s shoulders and stared into his eyes. “You can’t give up, now, Jake. You can’t.”

Jake nodded unconvincingly, then stiffened, struck by the unfathomable absurdity of hugging someone in an SS uniform. In the past, he had compartmentalized the black tunic, jodhpurs, jackboots, and death’s head in one box; and had put his friend and fellow physician who, with his family, was helping Jews and others escape the Nazis in another; but after all Jake had endured, Max’s ringing ‘Heil Hitler!’ and Nazi salute at the gate; his clinical detachment as they crossed the grounds; and his initial insensitivity at the shower hall were breaking down the wall between the compartments. Had Max become one of them? Jake wondered. One of the monsters?! So many decent men had. “What are you doing here Max?” he asked in a distraught wail. “How did you end up in this place?”

“Steig,” Max replied grimly. “Disciplinary action. My choice was report for duty or sign my family’s death warrant. He’ll have them in front of a firing squad if he can prove what he suspects.”

“I know. He tried to ‘convince’ me to sign a statement implicating them.”

Max gasped. “Please tell me you didn’t…”

“My choice was my freedom for my signature.”

Max sighed with relief and remorse. “I’m sorry, Jake. I should’ve known better than to ask.”

Jake shrugged and absolved him with a weary smile.

Max returned it, then pointed to Jake’s chest where the top buttons of his uniform were undone, revealing a single key that hung from a string around his neck and a few reddened sores. “What are those? I spotted them when you were showering.”

“Nazi love pats,” Jake replied with a sarcastic smirk, fastening the buttons as he sat on the bed to gather his strength. “I bruise easily.”

Max looked unconvinced. “Okay, we’ll keep an eye on them,” he said, going on to examine the laceration on Jake’s head. He was at the medical supply cabinet, fetching some disinfectant and gauze pads when Dr. Hannah Friedman knocked and slipped into the room. “Why don’t I do that?” Hannah offered, taking them from Max.

After cleansing the oozing wound, she covered it with a bandage which she affixed with strips of adhesive tape; then, with heartfelt concern, said, “You look so exhausted, Jake. You should get some rest.”

“Rest? We have work to do, Hannah,” he protested, getting to his feet. “People are sick and dying.”

“Yes, and they’ll still be sick and dying tonight when you’re on duty. I prevailed on Dr. Cohen to assign you to a later shift. Now, get some sleep.”

Jake decided the better of arguing and flopped back onto the bed. Hannah leaned over and tucked a ragged blanket around him, lingering for a moment as they exchanged a tender kiss, a lover’s kiss; then she joined Max who had drifted into the corridor.

“I’ve got to get back to the ramp,” Max said as Hannah closed the door and they began walking. “I’ll check back later.”

“Good, Jake will be pleased. By the way, when we were eating, I was teasing him that your Yiddish is better than his. Did you really have a Jewish nanny?”

“Yes, and I still do,” Max replied, making her laugh. “Tovah’s been with us forever. She runs the household, now. She’s like a member of the family.”

They had reached the vestibule at the end of the corridor. The exit door was on one side, the door to the now empty meeting room on the other. “Thank you for everything you’ve done,” Hannah said. “Especially for Jake. He’s a fine doctor and the sweetest man.”

Max nodded emphatically. “How did you manage to find each other in a hellhole like Auschwitz?”

“Happenstance. We were both assigned to work at the Hygienic Institute. A horrible place where horrible things are done to people. We helped each other through it, and became close friends.”

“It seemed like more than that back there.”

“It is…sometimes,” Hannah said with a demure smile. “This is a little awkward, but if you have a moment,” she said, leading the way into the meeting room. “I care for Jake, deeply; but, at times, his heart seems elsewhere. He often speaks of a classmate. Eva, the one who was with him when he was arrested? It’s almost as if he’s smitten with her.”

“Not surprising,” Max said, keeping the details to himself. “If I were on the run with an attractive and intelligent woman like Eva, I’d be smitten too. Knowing Jake, the more taken he seems with her, the more he’s falling in love with you.”

“Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind if we have the good fortune to survive.”

“You will. The war is lost. I’m sure the camp will be liberated, soon.”

Hannah’s expression darkened. “I just hope Jake is alive to see it.”

“What makes you say that?”

“He’s developing splotchy sores.”

“Yes, I saw them. He claims they’re bruises.” Max paused and held Hannah’s look. “You’re concerned it’s typhus, aren’t you?”

Hannah pursed her lips and nodded.

“So am I. An antibiotic could help.”

“Antibiotics? For prisoners?” Hannah prompted with a sarcastic toss of her head. “They’re so scarce you probably couldn’t even get some for yourself.”

“That won’t stop me from trying.”

“You’ll be wasting your time,” Hannah said with a despondent sigh. “They’ll kill us all before they’ll let us be liberated. Every prisoner who dies of typhus is one less they have to execute. They didn’t even bother taking names or numbers when we got here.” She pushed up her sleeve revealing the number tattooed on her forearm. “No one knows we’re here. We’re just going to vanish off the face of the earth.”

“No you’re not,” Max said, struck by an idea. “I know you’re here. And I’ll make an indelible record of it…you, Jake and the others; but I can’t do it now.”

“The sooner the better,” Hannah said grimly.