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A memoir of the Holocaust
By Jacob Zylberman
The online version
© Copyright 1995, 2000, Jack Zylberman
A night of passion
"May I come in?" asked Gershon, peeping into the dimly lit cubicle, his eyes wandering.
"Since when do you have to ask permission?" Jacob said. "You can come into my palace anytime you wish."
"I have someone with me," Gershon said, winking mischievously. "I wanted to make sure the coast was clear."
"It’s all right, come in and whoever is with you."
A moment later, a young woman entered the room.
"This is Ruth, and this is Jacob," Gershon said, gesturing.
The light from the lamp reflected her ebony hair, cut short, long eyelashes protecting dark brown eyes, ivory, high cheekbones, her red lips.
She was older than Gertrude, but everything was in its right place, neatly stacked. Her brown perfectly fitting dress emphasized the contours of her breasts. Graceful as a geisha, teasing as a courtesan … an image of Cleopatra.
"I have to hand it to you, my friend. She is beautiful, mysteriously oriental, a goddess. I would not mind to bow to her, kiss her feet all the way up to her bottomless eyes," Jacob said, and she, pleased with herself, smiled.
"Go on," interrupted Gershon, "but don’t overdo it. Though she is beautiful, I cannot stay. Duty calls. I have important business to attend to." Then he asked her if she would not mind waiting to be picked up later.
"Do you think I’ll be safe?" she said.
"As safe as you want to be," Jacob answered nonchalantly. Moments later Gershon left, closing the door behind him.
"Would you care for a cigarette?" Jacob asked, lighting one for her, a Pall-Mall, she inhaling deeply, exhaling a lingering smoke through her nostrils, saying matter-of-factly, "I get from your friend cigarettes, butter, luxuries only the Ami’s can afford," noticing the bag of coffee. "You have Bonen Caffee, real Bonen Caffee. Let me make it, Bitte," squeezing through to the electric stove.
"If you want, then do it right," he said, taking her jacket. She carefully measured the right amount, not spilling a grain, and Jacob measured all of her, not missing anything either.
"Okay," she said. "It’s ready. You are going to enjoy the best coffee you ever tasted."
"I am sorry, I didn’t hear," he replied, gazing at her, an expression she could not miss.
"You are a flatterer sparing no compliments. I must tell you, I was warned that you are a Don Juan, quite a lover, and I intend to find out."
"Then why wait?" he said, waving her over. Instead, she poured two cups of coffee, handing him one, laughing heartily.
"Isn’t that coffee delicious? Oh, mmm, what an aroma!"
"It’s good, heavenly, marvelous," he said, not letting her go on, "but I’ve had enough. I want only the taste of you."
He unzipped the top of her dress, her body responding, but before long she protested.
"No, not now," she said, pulling his hands from her pulsating breasts. "Not tonight. I’ll be here Saturday at eight. We’ll have all the time to ourselves. I want it to be beautiful. … Not now," she muttered, her Bavarian accent disarming.
"All right, then," Jacob said, retreating. "If I don’t sleep tonight, it’ll be your fault."
"No, no. Sleep tonight, tomorrow night. Just make sure to be wide awake Saturday night." Just then, there were steps in the hall, a knock at the door, and Gershon entered. Minutes later they left.
It was a pleasant afternoon, Gershon on the Leipziger Platz on a bench behind a heavy tree unwrapping his lunch.
"Come here! Sit down, Jake," Gershon said, offering him a part of his sandwich. "Where were you the last couple days? How did you make out with Ruth? She is a beautiful girl, isn’t she? How was she in bed?" he inquired, all in one breath.
"If you will give me a chance to speak, I’ll tell you. But first shut up, okay! I must admit that she is exquisite, the most striking, exotic piece of ass I have ever seen. But how she is in bed? I don’t know."
"No?" Gerson gasped, staring at Jacob wide-eyed. "You mean to tell me you did not touch her? After all that build-up? I introduced you to such a juicy peach, and you didn’t have a bite? I don’t believe it! Why do you think she came up to your room, you dummy! To read poetry? Discuss world politics? You had a golden opportunity, a little persuasion would have done it, and you blew it!"
"Is it that important?" Jacob asked. "Did you sleep with her?"
"No, my gentleman friend. She happens to be my girl’s best friend – I like my girl – but you let me down."
"Then, don’t worry, I’ll correct it; tonight she’ll be at my place. Tomorrow I’ll give you a detailed report."
"I like the way you phrase it. I shouldn’t worry," Gershon said, laughing. "You’re staring at the watch and I shouldn’t worry. She was with you for hours, and you could have used it to your advantage. Next time, strike while the iron is hot!"
A distant clock struck eight, his ears tuned to his heartbeat and watch. Fifteen minutes past and still no sign of her. He was all steamed up, mad at himself. Gershon was right, it doesn’t pay to be a gentleman. … Next time he’d be smarter.
But Jacob was not sorry. If he could not be forced to do anything against his will, then he had no right to impose his will on others, especially on a woman, even at the cost of his pride. It is against his character, he thought, when hurried steps, clicks of high heels in the hall, a knock on the door, and there she was, gasping for breath.
"Men are terrible," she uttered. "They stopped me, asked lurid questions. I felt undressed" – kissing Jacob.
"I am sorry, I should have warned you, but then who knows, it might have scared you away. Now that you are here, you are safe, and if there is any undressing, it’ll be by me."
The vanishing sun gave way to the dim moon, her perfume, soft music adding a touch of intimacy.
"Now, I would love a cup of coffee," she said. "I need one."
"Here it is. That’s your task, you know what to do. I am sure your fingers have the right feel, the right touch."
"You are so right!" she responded, winking.
She unbuttoned his shirt. He slowly unclipped a tiny ornament on her dress, peeling off their clothes. Their lips met, her eely tongue exploring, then pulling him toward her throbbing heart, murmuring. …
"Make love to me."
With one hand he caressed her breasts, with the other he massaged her, her streamlined swaying hips responding in a steady rhythmical dance, she moaning.
"Now, let’s come together," she cried, like an erupting volcano, in wild tremor collapsing, dark smudges underneath her moist eyes, contentment on her flushed face.
"I could use a cup of coffee," she said.
"So can I," Jacob concurred. "Make me a sandwich, I am famished."
"Yes, master!" she bowed, helping herself to a slice of salami. … "I like it! It’s good, delicious."
"I know. Everything here is good, me too."
"How do you know?"
"Because the other girls tell me."
"They do? But I don’t. I am not convinced yet," she said, her bare foot kicking him, exposing her pubic hair.
"If that’s so, I’m willing to prove it. Let’s try again."
"No, no, Liebchen. I believe you," she said, pulling him over, "but I am better," wrapping the robe around him, purring. "But this time I’ll do the loving. ‘Gell?"
Tossing away the robe, her knees secured at the bottom of the bed snaking upward, taking her time, like a marathon runner approaching the finish lined gasping for breath. Then, in a fit of spasmodic convulsions, achieving her goal.
Contented, they fell asleep. When Jacob awoke, she was already dressed.
"What time is it?" he asked, startled.
"It’s past midnight, Liebchen. … Now I must go."
"Wait!" he said, dressing in a hurry.
With her hands in his, cuddling on the dark steps, she whispered, "You were great, magnificent. I’ll see you next Tuesday, at nine," and with a quick kiss she was gone.
Back in the warm bed Jacob could not help but wonder. If only physical attraction brought people together, how much true love would. … Life would be worth living."
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