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A memoir of the Holocaust
By Jacob Zylberman
The online version
© Copyright 1995, 2000, Jack Zylberman
The awful truth
They shared a booth in a semi-dark hideaway. Shumacher, savoring the rich beer, wiped the foam, saying:
"Jackele, what happened to your latest conquest, Andrea?"
"Yes," echoed Gershon. "I have almost forgotten. How are you making out, Jacob?"
"I am afraid I won’t see her anymore," Jacob replied. "I anticipated a romance, a flicker of vanity, not turning out my way, each consecutive date becoming more complicated.
"As the days progressed I began to realize what I faced: our backgrounds, conflicting feelings clashed head-on and I had to cut it short, break it up."
"But why?" Shumacher asked. "What is the mystery? If two people enjoy each other’s company, what is there to prevent them? I cannot dig you, you speak in riddles."
"I think I’ve said it already, I am sure you know what I mean, but I am willing to elaborate.
"In the beginning I met her on Saturdays, then twice a week, counting the hours to be rewarded with her appearance.
"This may sound silly, mushy. We went to a matinee of ‘La Boheme.’ Impressed with the drama, the heartbroken girl did not stop crying. Afterward, she wanted to see where I lived, so I took her over to my garret, sharing the edge of the bed, tuned in to Beethoven. …"
"And," interrupted Gershon, "go on." His ears pointed like a retriever’s tail. "What happened next?"
"Nothing, absolutely nothing. We held hands, kissed, until it was time for her to leave."
"Is that all? Nothing more? Is that all?" He, staring at the other, both simultaneously exclaiming "He is in love!"
"That is wonderful," Shumacher said. "Our friend is in love, a great feeling I used to know. Then why won’t you see her anymore? I am still in the dark."
"Every Saturday she leaves, to see her parents," Jacob continued, "inviting me to come along, very tempting indeed, but I refused, offering a lame excuse. The following week she asked me again, I still avoiding an answer.
"She missed one train, then another, the station almost deserted, her hand in mine, her lovely eyes poised, steady.
"‘Why?’ she suddenly asked. ‘Why do you refuse to meet my family? If you love me, why do you refuse to see them?’
"I knew eventually it would come to that, not expecting it so soon. What could I tell her? That I dread the thought of seeing her father, her mother, or her older brother? That I wanted to be only with her, no one else, just the two of us.
"She seems naive, but no fool. She’s an intelligent, unscrupulously honest girl. Her heart, soul, fully exposed; giving of herself, demanding in kind, her eyes imploring, her mellow voice attempting to soften my inhibition.
"‘Come with me, my darling,’ she pleaded. ‘They are such nice people, you’ll see for yourself. I told them about you, and they look forward to meeting you. Say yes, come with me.’
"‘Not now, next week for sure,’ I said, knowing that I would not.
"It is ten days since I’ve seen her, ten long days.
"It was a late balmy Saturday afternoon. Rushing toward me, she gracefully leaped over a tiny puddle, her golden hair in midair, her pale yellow dress sprinkled with tiny flowers shimmering.
"Strolling silently toward the opera plaza, we stopped at the lake; ducks, geese, swans, their long graceful necks gliding on the peaceful green water creating ripples – when I blurted it out.
"‘I can’t see you anymore!’ Startled, she stared at me.
"‘It is not true,’ whispering first to herself, then she turned to me, her voice quivering. ‘No! It is not true. Tell me it is not true.’
"‘Yes, it is true. I am in love with someone else.’
"‘No. No. I don’t believe you. You are a liar, a terrible liar,’ tears filling her eyes, her voice breaking.
"‘Why aren’t you fair? Why don’t you tell me the truth? You reject me because I am German, because my father and mother are German. That is the only reason. … Admit!
"‘My father is a gentle man, my mother is so wonderful, all my family are such good people.
"‘Is it my fault that some Germans did so much harm? Do I have to suffer for their acts, for their sins?
"‘I love you,’ she sobbed. ‘I do, since the day I met you. You sounded so sad, so hurt. How much I was looking forward to nurse you back to health, to make you happy again. I want to help you. Let me, please, don’t do this to me – to us.’
"There was a deadly silence, her sniffing disturbing, and me miserable, disgusted with myself.
"How I wanted to hold her trembling fragile body in my arms, tell her how much I loved her, but I could not. I had lost my voice.
"It was she who said, barely audible, ‘And I was looking forward for you to see them, waiting in vain, all in vain.
"‘Then if that’s what you want, so be it.’ She abruptly straightened up and ran away.
"That’s the story of my romance, my love."
"Don’t be disheartened, Jacob. By right you should be envied, this is an old pro speaking," Shumacher said, nodding. "I was in love also, though long ago, oh yes, back at the cold Siberian nights, yet warm memories, and won’t mind if it happens again. It’s sure a wonderful feeling, though often painful, yet cherished. Anything of value has a price, and you have paid for it. What you did demands guts, courage, steadfastness, and you cut it with surgical precision, shortened the pain, avoiding lingering doubts, and for that I admire you.
"So let it be, maybe it’s better this way."
The steins in the smoke-filled alcove were refilled with the golden fluid. Gershon crushed the butt, taking over.
"I am fascinated by your noble love and empathize with you, indeed I do. But if it could be of any consolation, I’ll recount an event which occurred recently here, thus shedding light on your stirring narrative.
"Take a look at the guy with the dark glasses. Okay?"
"Isn’t he the fellow with the big fancy car, showing off the Fraulein with the mezuza on her neck?" asked Shumacher.
"Yes!" Gershon finished the last of his beer, inserted the half-Camel into his holder, taking his time lighting it.
"He was one of the first Katzetlers, to make money, real money – buying, selling. Truckloads of American cigarettes, coffee, liquor changed hands, bribing the authorities, all to his advantage. A daredevil, protected by the M.P.s
"At one of the fancy parties he met a girl, an exquisite beauty – fell in love, eventually she exchanging her older companion for the dashing young tycoon. Men accosted her now knowing whom they were contending with, but after seeing her in Mickey’s company they hastily retreated.
"She introduced him to her parents, who benefited greatly from his generosity, leaving the young couple while touring the country, and he a part of the household, she anxious to marry him, getting ready for her conversion.
"One Sunday morning, her parents were out on one of their many disappearances, his girl prepared brunch, he in his robe half-asleep, looking for a handkerchief, trying one drawer, then another, pulling one too hard, it snapped, finding an album, richly decorated bundles of letters, and postcards from the occupied Eastern territories.
"Intrigued, he examined the gold-covered book, photos of infants, on the next page a little older, their parents cuddling them fondly. Bodies growing in age, and stature. A lovely girl with books in her hands, a handsome boy on a bicycle waving. On another page was his girl, attractive maidens, handsome boys, boarding a train.
"Her brother, young officers at attention, saluting the crooked cross, his parents staring at him with admiration.
"Page after page, uniformed men drinking, her brother in front, marching the famous goose steps, caravans of trucks, soldiers with bayonets landing, saluting him.
"Then, what he saw made the blood rush to his head. His heart began to beat faster, a feeling of uneasiness, anxiety overcoming him, determined to see it all, to the end.
"There was a railroad station, a long train of cattle cars, the engine smoking. At each door a sentry with a bayonet, indistinguishable images in the distance.
"His blood rushed from his head, draining him, trembling fingers turned to the next page.
"His body stiffened, his eyes glued to the images before him, a veiled film blurred his vision, gasping for breath. It was only a moment, yet a lifetime of panic.
"‘Oh, oh’ a subdued cry reverberated, total darkness, then he collapsed.
"‘What happened, what is it, darling?’ his girlfriend asked, her hands trembling, kissing his bruised forehead.
"‘Shatze, please, tell me,’ she implored. ‘Mickey!!!’
"‘Who is this man?’ he asked, pointing to the officer, a revolver aiming at a man with one hand firmly gripping the hand of a little girl, in the other a small bundle, at his side a bewildered woman clutching a young boy.
"‘Why? That is my brother,’ she said, her face white. ‘Why? My brother Hans!’
"‘And they are my parents, my little brother and sister,’ he said, his head in his hands, sobbing.
"‘Oh, my God, my lieber God,’ she cried out.
"‘Schauderlich! Schauderlich, oh, my dear, dear God!’
"‘What am I to do?’
"When her parents returned he was gone. One can find him here most of the time, alone, his eyes without any luster, imprisoned within himself."
There was nothing to add, the heavy smoke, and the thunderous beating of Jacob’s heart filled the empty room.
Yet, he missed Andrea terribly, he longed for her touch, her smile, her voice, trying to forget her, drowning himself with work, still the days were long, and the nights longer.
Awakening in a cold sweat he was haunted by nightmares, gray faces accusingly pointing at her, and she beseeching, ‘Give him to me, I love him. He is hurt, let me comfort him,’ her crying ringing in his ears.
He wanted to leave but the emigration office took its sweet time, procrastinating.
The C.I.C. displayed more preferential treatment to anyone else, but the inmates of D.P. camps. The bureaucracy was at its worst. One wondered why?
It was a late autumn afternoon and there was Ruth at the door in a fancy suit, an orchid on the lapel, a little hat and tiny veil adorning her pretty face.
"What is the occasion to bestow such a pleasure on me? You look stunning. Lucky for me, a few minutes later and I would have missed you," Jacob said, turning her around. "Where are you going? To a wedding?"
She did not answer, just looked at him.
"Tell me how is life treating you? It’s been a long time since I have seen you. I think at the theater, the famous Stolz operetta. You were in company with a handsome looking blond, a hunk of a guy.
"I don’t blame you for neglecting me, he probably has more to offer." Jacob’s hands brushed her cheeks, her neatly arranged black hair.
For a long moment she stood, staring, then said, "I came to say goodbye. In a few hours I am going to marry the man you saw. I want you to wish me good luck."
She unbuttoned her jacket, unpinned the tiny hat and put the gloves on top of it, then buried her head in Jacob’s shoulder, the fragrance of her limp body intoxicating.
"Close the door," she bluntly ordered him. Before her command was fulfilled she started to undress, her clothes put aside, her milky white body inviting.
"Love me," she said, pulling him toward the bed. In a fierce embrace, her hips in an ecstatic dance, she savored every moment, collapsing in a tumultuous climax.
"Now, I have to go," she said, repairing her tear-smudged mascara, handing him a little box.
"This is a small token of my feelings toward you. I want you to have something to remember me by."
"What is it?"
"Open it."
Inside were silver cufflinks engraved with his initials, a tiny pin, and a tie clip to match.
"It is a beautiful set, but I cannot accept it. I have nothing to give you in return."
"No, my dear, no, you are wrong, very wrong. You gave me more than I had ever dreamed of. Love, warmth, tenderness, unselfish consideration, I will cherish it forever."
With her gloves in her hand, she turned, and with a quick kiss she left.
"Someone else slept here beside me," complained Lisa.
"Don’t fret, don’t get excited, save it for later, it won’t happen again. As of today there are no others, only you," Jacob said, quieting her with a kiss.
"Good. Wunderbar. I’ll keep you happy for two."
"It was good, wasn’t it?" she said after a night of torrid lovemaking, kissing the tip of his nose. "Wait, just wait, I have more tricks in my bag and will be happy to teach you. But now, I have to leave. I’ll see you Thursday night at the same time – be good until then."
She was a great distraction, a gift from heaven, keeping him warm on the cold winter nights.
Spring came, the snow disappeared, and so did Lisa. She left for Baden-Baden to see her mother, inviting Jacob along.
There was a young voluptuous nurse with a sunny disposition, Jacob had a yen for her, her manners, behavior encouraging, and like a good radio fan his ears, and for that matter his eyes, were tuned in.
The three of them strolled toward the Leipziger Platz, Gershon as usual denouncing the politicians, unaware of the darkening skies, when Jacob spotted her.
"Leo, isn’t she the friend of your next-door neighbor?" he asked. "The nurse?"
"Yes, and what a nurse indeed! I would even pretend to be sick to be taken care of. But I can’t, there is a thin wall separating us," he said, grinning.
"But is it all right to avail myself of her services?"
"Go right ahead, if you can, then more power to you."
"Go, shikse kriecher, go," added Gershon.
She approached the little park, challenging the steep hill, outpacing the threatening clouds.
"Hello! Aren’t you a friend of Dr. Morgen?" Jacob asked.
"Yes, I am," she replied. "Are you his friend, too?"
"No, but I had the privilege of meeting you a while ago, and cannot forget you."
"That is flattering. But I am sorry, real sorry."
"I am not."
"Why?" she measured him with a smile. "Why?"
"Because you are beautiful."
"Thank you. But sorry, I am not a pickup girl."
"Forgive me, I am not trying to pick up anybody. I am here to protect you. It is going to rain at any moment. … It’s raining already." He threw his raincoat over her shoulders.
"Oh, mein lieber," she grumbled peevishly, "it’s pouring. This is terrible. I should have taken an umbrella."
"It’s not that bad, come," he said, finding shelter under a heavy oak tree, her soaked dress sticking to her body, an explicit indication of what she had to offer.
"I hope it doesn’t thunder," she said, trembling, clinging to Jacob, her breasts teasing. "It’s dangerous here."
"Don’t worry, the worst is over – and my dear, I do not intend to die, I have more pleasant ideas."
The following night she was with him. Before he finished the cigarette she already was in bed. That innocent-looking nurse was more than one could have ever asked for, her lovemaking a holy act, her ardent desire for sex boundless. That angelic nymph turned into a lustful nymphomaniac.
"Go home," said Henry. "You hardly keep your eyes open, you’ll prick yourself with the needle. Are you sick?"
"No! He is not sick, ask me," said Jacob’s partner. "He is okay. He is not pricking with his needle, just the other way around. He is ‘ausgepupped.’ He has a new girl, the one you like, the nurse. She is his new tzatzke."
"Oh," he said, smacking his lips – "some bombshell!"
"What the heck does she see in you? There are bigger ‘knockers’ than you. What do you have that others don’t? Do you know, Leo?" he asked, smiling.
"I thought so, too. Never did I expect that Miss Hoffman would sleep with him. And Ruth, another gorgeous girl, would you believe it? On her wedding day she came to him for a goodbye screw. … Obviously there is a reason."
"Yes, why don’t you tell us?" added his partner.
"Do you want me on a podium?" Jacob began. "Because it’s important to my psyche, what I have to say is a clue to my behavior."
"You can remain seated, but you’d better be convincing."
"Friends, you must know by now that I like women. I love them. My eyes are thankful for her smile, my ears pleasantly ring with her laughter, pleasing submission, vulnerability, I, looking up to her with reverence and admiration.
"Her stroll, the rustle of her clothes, make my heart beat faster. Her touch, yielding arms, mischievous tease create a stirring, aching desire.
"An embodiment of beauty, form, texture, a mysterious, complicated riddle I am eager to explore, not intending to solve. I am a slave of my own volition, a thankful companion, anxious to travel alongside and enjoy the excitement.
"She is a goddess, each season more beautiful, desirable, more enticing. Life without her would be dull, without any substance or meaning.
"In Warsaw I did not have to reach far, I was surrounded by a combination of beauty, virtue and innocence, a symbol, a personification of the city. They provided food for my thoughts, golden threads for my dreams.
"But dreams were not always realized, it was just wishful thinking, an escape of boyish imagination.
"Then came the war. For six years I didn’t have a woman. The constant struggle for survival turned the fantasies into hallucinations, dreaming of nothing else but food.
"Now the situation has reversed. Not hungry anymore, I have sufficient time for bodily gratification and the girls are forthcoming, wholeheartedly dedicated to love.
"If I am successful that is the reason. As they say, ‘quid pro quo,’ especially when enjoying it. Therefore I do it gladly."
"No wonder," interrupted Henry, "particularly when one had accumulated it for many years."
"No, Henry, you are wrong," said Shumacher. "You miss the point altogether. That is not the reason – by far not.
"If I may, let me draw you a parallel.
"Take one who is rationed, suffers from malnutrition, then the situation changes, he has enough food. If you fill his belly without stopping he’ll bust. One can only eat one meal at a time, no more.
"Hunger stops when rationing stops. When food is all over the place – when one’s eyes and mind get used to it, then it becomes normal. He passes it not even touching.
"It is the same with sex. It is fitting to say that love comes through the stomach, and our friend’s belly is full, therefore nature takes its course.
"As long as he does not have a permanent girl – he’ll be anxious, hungry, insecure. So let him have his thrills, it will not last forever, it will end, he’ll get hooked, days will pass and he will not even touch her. …Think of it.
"But this I can assure you: Someday he will look back with nostalgia, fond memories.
"But that is a horse of a different color."
"That reminds me," said his partner, laughing. "I better leave, and see my wife if I don’t want to get into a pickle."
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