Love and Hate Page 12

  It hurt so badly that I shouted. A guttural shout, like an animal. Erich had tried to fashion me into one, into what he considered an animal. Something that was submissive. Something that feared pain. Those were animal traits to him and to the Nazis. He was wrong, though, anyone can be taught to fear pain, any human, but that is because we are all animals. Some of us are just predators, and that is what the Nazis were. They fed off blood and horror.

  I was bloody; he had fed off me. I suddenly got very cold. My pain almost subsided, traded for the cold and shaking. I wondered if I was dying or in shock. I could still think. That meant something. I could think through the pain, but I had to concentrate.

  I passed out again and woke in a bed. I felt like I was in a moving picture, one with missing pieces of film. I only saw parts of what was occurring. I couldn’t see much in the black room. Mostly I saw a candlelight in the corner. It didn’t illuminate much surrounding it, but it was the only light available. It flickered like my memory. I saw bits of memories, thoughts that ebbed and flowed, that appeared like still pictures with no movement, and then disappeared back in to the recess of my mind. I saw Lilo, and I tried to concentrate on the features of her beautiful face. But I couldn’t; she melted away before I could focus. I tried to clear my mind of the whirlwind of pictures with no narrative. There was no glue to stick them together into anything. I couldn’t think, and it was maddening. The pain was with me, but I was more upset that my mind had started to slip away. I felt so hot; it was suffocating and oppressive heat. I decided to look at the flame and to think only of that. Nothing else but that, to clear my mind from this manic trance. Just the light, I thought, I thought of just that—its flickering. I didn’t pass out, but I fell asleep.

  When I awoke it was daytime, and I realized that I was lying on my stomach and in intense pain again. It was more acute and focused this time. It was just in my back, but it was searing and ever present. It was all I could think about. I looked about the room, trying to concentrate on something else. It was a small, closet-like room, with an open window, and I could hear people moving about. I then saw the doorknob turn, and in walked a woman with wet towels. She looked at me sympathetically and asked how I felt.

  I had difficulty forming words at first because I was so dry throated. “I, I—”

  “Hold on, don’t speak for a moment, let me get you a glass of water.”

  She left and returned shortly with a glass of water and put it to my lips. I had trouble taking any in at first, and then I swallowed a gulp. It felt like balm to my throat.

  “My back is in horrible pain.”

  “I am sorry, I know, I have seen it. But I will tell you there are men being shot outside, and some have been blown up by bombs. You are better than those ones that I have treated. Still, it looks very painful and I am sorry.”

  “Where am I?”

  “What, you don’t know? The ghetto, in Regensburg. We are fighting the Nazis, and there is a lull in the fighting right now, so it is quiet. But I didn’t realize that you slept through the fighting last night. It was very intense. I am surprised it did not wake you.”

  It all came flooding back to me, Erich’s whipping me and the men dragging me.

  “I must ask you, who are you? Are you Jewish, and how did you end up at the gate, beaten?”

  I paused, I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t want to get myself killed, identified as a former Nazi guard. I needed to buy time.

  “Yes, I am Jewish. They caught me after I escaped the ghetto, before the uprising, and beat me.”

  She didn’t look convinced; she didn’t know what to think. She said, “Well, it isn’t my place to decide what happens next with you. I am just here to take care of your wounds. We will have to change your dressing, though, or they will get infected. That wouldn’t go well, indeed not.”

  She came up to me and gingerly took off my bandages, so carefully and expertly that I did not feel her do it.

  “Are you a doctor or something?”

  “No, but I am a nurse. A doctor doesn’t know how to do this to minimize pain. You are in good hands with me.”

  She flashed a good-natured smile. She looked to be in her late forties. “This is going to hurt when I put these bandages on. I will have to apply some pressure.”

  She put the new bandages on, and it hurt, but I held in any sound. It wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be; she was as gentle as possible. When she was done, she held my soiled bandages, red with blood and puss.

  “May I ask you, how is it that the ghetto uprising began? Or is that secret information?”

  She responded, “Well, what I know is not secret. The Jewish Ghetto Police started it.”

  “How?”

  “Some of them earned the trust of the Nazis, and some, certainly not all, were still loyal to their heritage. They found out where armaments were stored. They raided them in the night and killed the guards on duty. We lost some men, but they actually lost more. Now we do what we can to hold them at bay.”

  “But surely they will eventually take it back or raze the ghetto to the ground?”

  “Well, we will go out fighting then.”

  She changed subject abruptly.

  “They will want to come speak with you soon. But I told them that I would offer you food first. Are you hungry? What is your name?”

  “No, I can't eat right now, thank you. My name is Hans, and yours?”

  “Miriam. Well, Hans, I hope that you feel better, and I will let them know that your bandages have been changed.”

  “Thank you.”

  She smiled again, leaving the door cracked as she left.

  I could hear men approaching a few minutes later. There were two of them. They were talking, but I couldn’t make out what they were saying. Then one entered the room and spoke fast for what seemed like a very long time.

  “Hello, my name is Rolf. I hear that you are Jewish and were beaten, left for dead, I suppose, by the Nazis outside our gates. I wouldn’t believe it, that they would leave you alive, especially during this fighting. And normally they wouldn’t beat you, if you are a Nazi, and leave you outside our gates. But then again, I put nothing past the Nazis. They could be trying to trick us in some way by having you here. You have papers indicating that you are Jewish, but that doesn’t mean much to me. Those can be doctored quite easily. I couldn’t put my mind around what they could be up to—but then I saw your branding of the Star of David. And I thought, they wouldn’t ever do that to an Aryan. So I believe you must be Jewish. I cannot think of any other explanation. But Peter will want to come speak with you soon. He is better at questioning people than I am. I am just here, as I am in charge.”

  I was finally allowed to speak. “In charge of what?”

  “The rebellion, of course.”

  “Who is Peter?”

  “Peter is skilled at sniffing out the truth in people. He is an ex-police officer.”

  I heard a knock at the door, and we both looked up.

  Rolf said, “Yes, come in, Peter.”

  I thought he would be intimidating, but a very small man walked in. Short and thin. Unlike Rolf, he was armed with a rifle hanging down in front of him from a shoulder strap. He rested a hand on it as he eyed me.

  “I will leave you two for your chat. It was nice to meet you, Hans.”

  “Goodbye, Rolf.”

  They were too decent to me for me to be fearful. However, I wasn’t a fool, and I knew that they would kill me if they found out that I used to be a Nazi, or worse yet, that I was Erich Beck's brother.

  “Hans, I know that you say you are Jewish. So can you tell me your favorite thing about the Torah?”

  “My parents were not religious.”

  “Ah, I see, that is convenient of course. Well, let me put it this way then, what is a part of being culturally Jewish that you most enjoy.”

  I thought quickly. “I am only a quarter Jewish. It was my grandmother who was Jewish, so I didn’t even grow up identifying as Je
wish. But that all changed when Hitler decided that I was Jewish, or what defined a Jew.”

  “Oh, one of those? I don’t like ‘Jews’ like you. Do you think that you are too good to be Jewish?”

  “No, sir, I just don’t know any traditions, really.”

  “How convenient once again, Hans. I don’t think you have much of a story so far. How did you come to be here? Can you at least tell me that much?”

  I was about to tell him when a loud crash shook the building, and he covered his head. A little plaster shook off of the ceiling, and we heard more blasts, farther away this time.

  “The fighting has started again. We will have to continue our talk later.”

  He got up to leave, but just as he put his hand on the doorknob, it opened. Another man spoke with Peter and looked at me. When he did so, his eyes got wide, and he whispered something in Peter’s ears. Peter’s expression didn’t change.

  Chapter 29

  Dearest Hans,

  Please know I think of you every day. Well, actually, every moment of every day. I miss you, and I want you to know that. I suppose me writing you letters is silly because I have nowhere to send them, and you won’t be able to read them until you return. But it is my way of letting you know what is happening, and perhaps you will read them when you return to me. I am sure you will be happy to know that I am safe.

  This afternoon, I was walking in the fields behind Mr. Franz’s estate. He is a kind, elderly gentleman. He is providing me food and lodging—until I can find proper work. While I was roaming, the strangest thing happened—I thought of you, as I do constantly. And I got down on my knees to pray for you. I was worried that you were in trouble and that you needed my prayers right then. I prayed for your safety. But I also prayed for your soul.

  I want to tell you how I first learned of souls and what they truly are. I was a little girl and my uncle had died.

  Uncle Kurt was only in his late twenties; and he was my favorite uncle. He was a doctor and made a very good wage, and so he had a car. I was in Uncle Kurt’s car as we drove to go get ice cream in downtown Nuremburg. A car was speeding toward us and Uncle Kurt swerved, slamming into a tree. He was thrown into the tree, and I was thrown into the field adjacent to the tree, where its long, gnarled roots lay, touching me, and leading me to Uncle Kurt’s bleeding crown.

  I ran up to him; it was the first time that I had seen death. I saw the placid look of his eyes gone. His eyes were changing, looking like the clouded eyes of the fish that my papa caught and would come home with; an animal’s eyes. A thing’s eyes. And that is what he appeared to be—a dead animal, a thing. There was no life in him at all. It was like he never was, although he was laughing with me just moments before.

  I was crying and cradling him when a man on a horse came upon the scene. He got off the horse, looking at Uncle Kurt to make sure he was dead. He then told me to get on the horse with him and asked me where I lived. I told him, and we galloped to my house. Several minutes later we were there, and the man helped me off his horse and walked to the door to tell Papa. Papa and Uncle Kurt were very close. But it still shocked me to see him cry, since Papa never cried.

  I remember after the funeral, we were in our black dress attire and sitting in the parlor. Papa asked me how I felt, and I told him that I hated God, that I hated him for killing Mother with pneumonia and now Uncle Kurt. I told him that I didn’t believe in souls.

  I will never forget what Papa said to me. “Little Lilo. dear, it is okay to be angry at God. He can handle it. Come to your papa and let me hug your soul, my sweet Lilo.”

  He hugged me, and I felt safe in his strong arms, as safe as a baby, even if I was eleven years old.

  He whispered, “Lilo, I will believe in your soul for you, until you do one day.”

  And that is where my faith sprouted from, from Papa’s belief. Hans, you believe the soul is some sort of earthly measure of moral behavior. You are halfway there. You are halfway to forgiveness. So let me pray and believe for you, for now. I believe in you, Hans. I will believe in your soul and that it can be forgiven, until you believe it.

  I believe you will make a great daddy to our children someday. I know you will believe in them when they don’t believe in themselves, just like my daddy did for me.

  I love you so very much.

  Always and forever,

  Lilo

  Chapter 30

  The fighting was bad, so no one came for three whole days. The gunfire was constant and the bombs fell intermittently. Miriam still came to change my bandages, but she gave me no indication of what that man who whispered into Peter’s ear had said.

  In those three days I began to heal somewhat. I was frightened, but I felt good enough to walk and perhaps to run. I had tested myself by getting up and walking in the small room. from the door to the bed and back again. I needed to know that I could defend myself. I took off part of my bandages, and the wound still looked bad, bad enough to convince someone that I still posed no physical ability to defend myself or to escape.

  When Miriam came, I always lay there, looking pathetic as I could.

  Rolf came on the third day, accompanied by Peter. Rolf now had a weapon as well.

  I had decided it was just best to tell the truth. They listened to my story, and Peter asked probing questions; I told them why I had lied, why I had no choice, and why Erich had sent me.

  “It is too fantastic of a story for me to believe, but I don’t know how to put it all together otherwise,” Peter said, looking at Rolf for his opinion.

  “I know he is telling the truth. I know because he saved Lilo,” said Rolf. “I saw it myself. When everyone scattered, I lingered. He killed another guard and saved her life after her father had been beaten to death. I grew up with her in Nuremburg. I knew her family. I just didn’t recognize him until Jonathon did and told you.”

  “But what about the rest of his story?” Peter asked.

  “He looks like he believes his story.”

  “So do all good liars,” said Peter, looking at me with disgust and hate.

  “Well, I will have to think about what to do with you, Hans. You saved Lilo, and that is why I am not sure what to do with you. But you are still a Nazi. If you are telling the full truth, I would set you free to fight with us once you were healthy. If you are lying fully, because you could be trying to trick us, I would have to have you executed. Because maybe you are a Nazi spy or something similar. Why have the Nazis not executed you? Did you mistakenly shoot your superior and not save Lilo purposely? Is that why she is gone, because she is dead and not because you were allowed to leave the ghetto with her?”

  Rolf answered his own rhetorical question. “The most likely scenario is that your story is true in parts and lies in parts. In that case, you cannot be trusted, but you may not deserve execution. In that case, I just keep you locked up. I need to pray and think on it.”

  And they left. I heard them arguing in the hall.

  “Rolf, he is a Nazi. I believe that he must be a good liar. He needs to die. Think about what they would do to one of us in this situation. He would already be dead.”

  “We are not like the Nazis, Peter, and that is why I cannot have him executed without further information. We will keep him under lock and key. If we need to trade him back to them at some point we will. But I will not kill him. I did see him save Lilo, at least that is what it looked like—I cannot in good conscience kill him.”

  That night I was shaken awake by Rolf.

  “We must leave now. I need to get you out of the ghetto.”

  I said, “What?”

  “There is a group of men coming. They haven’t heard your story. I believe that you saved Lilo’s life, because that is what I saw. I don’t know about the rest of your story. But I cared for her and her family. Because you saved her, I will save you. If the men get here, they will tear you apart. They aren’t to blame; all they know is that word has spread that a Nazi guard is here in the camp. They know where you ar
e, and they will kill you. Get dressed now!”

  I got up and put on clothes then walked out to where Rolf was waiting for me.

  He said, “I have no control. They will not listen to your story. You must leave, and then I wash my hands of you. I cannot protect you from whatever the Nazis might do to you.”

  I nodded that I understood, and we started to leave the small building. I followed him for a walk around the ghetto. Although I knew the ghetto inside and out, I didn’t know about a small tunnel that they had dug. It was perhaps a ten-minute walk from where we were, and it allowed one man to pass through at a time. The ghetto was about half a square mile in size.

  We got to the tunnel, which was a hole in the ground. I leaned down to look and couldn’t see where it ended.

  “Here it is. Now go. You must go now.”

  “Thank you, Rolf, thank you...”

  “I may be making a mistake, Hans. I pray not. Now go.”

  I gave a half-hearted smile, my best attempt at one. I then shimmied into the hole. I crawled for several minutes, inches at a time, and heard a boom above me. The dirt tunnel shook, and small bits of earth fell around me. I stopped, nervous that this would be my coffin if it collapsed.

  But it did not, and I kept crawling for what seemed like an hour, then I saw light. Faint, and it was natural light, but it was light. The light of the moon. I kept crawling and finally got there. I hesitated for a second, because without the benefit of peripheral vision, with the tunnel blocking that, I couldn’t see but what was ahead of me. And it was dark, even with the moonlight. All I saw was what looked like a grassy field. I had to risk it. I squeezed out of the tunnel and fell into the field. I looked around. There was no one there.

  Chapter 31

  LILO