Salo and Maxie sorted and arranged the medical supplies brought by the fighters. Isidor and I brought pots of boiling water. Karl and Hermann Cohen cleaned and disinfected the male survivors and changed their clothes. Tsila and Miriam washed the women.
The activity was conducted with meticulous concentration and care. For the first time I saw Big Karl in action: power and dedication combined.
In the meantime, Werner’s condition worsened, and Dr. Krinitski came to inspect his wound. “As I already told you,” he said, “this requires surgical intervention.”
“We brought all the instruments from your clinic.”
“There are no sanitary conditions here.”
“We’ll provide them.”
It belatedly dawned on Dr. Krinitski that he was a prisoner, and he agreed to operate on the wounded man. Salo and Maxie assisted him. It turned out that the damage to Werner’s internal organs was not severe. If he could survive the loss of blood and the infection, he would pull through.
Salo thanked him.
“You should not have treated me the way you did.” Again he could not restrain himself.
“What could we have done?”
“And you will give me back my instruments?”
“As soon as the war is over,” said Salo, with his hand on his heart.
“The Jews have so many doctors; where are they?”
“I think there’s an obvious answer to your question.”
“The Hebrews are generally a well-mannered people,” Dr. Krinitski said, avoiding the word “Jews.” And for a moment it seemed that he didn’t believe his eyes. Jews, who only yesterday were being abused and killed, had captured him and were now his masters.
DANZIG RECOVERED but not completely. He doesn’t go out on missions but helps wherever he can be useful and devotes much attention to Milio. At first it seemed that Danzig’s injury would induce Milio to speak. There’s no doubt that he is keenly aware of everything that goes on around him, including the arrival of the survivors. But his speech is still blocked. Earlier on, Danzig would find excuses for this. After he was wounded, he became convinced that Milio was just developing in a different way. At his own pace. His intelligence was beyond doubt. Presumably he would soon overcome his impediment, open his mouth, and words would emerge.
Dr. Krinitski examined the survivors and declared that two of them were sick with typhus and must be quarantined. Some were suffering from malnutrition and needed to be fed very carefully.
The hope that the survivors would recover within a week or two was dashed. Their recuperation will take months, said Krinitski. Kamil knows this. The big, critical missions still lie ahead, but Kamil’s morale is undiminished. He recognized a schoolmate among the survivors, and every few hours he goes over to him and whispers, “Bruno, you are in good and loving hands. Soon, with a bit more effort, you’ll get through this.”
AT NIGHT I DREAM that among the women we rescued lay my mother. A long pink scar crosses her face, but this is definitely Mama. The mouth and forehead are hers, as is the way she moves her head.
I kneel down and want to call “Mama!” but I don’t dare. The women beside her have lost consciousness and don’t move. Finally, I can’t hold back and cry out, “Mama!”
Mama opens her eyes slightly, looks at me, and closes them immediately. I don’t remember this facial gesture, but her collapse is familiar to me. She sometimes lay in this position on the sofa in the afternoon. In my childhood I would study her every movement and expression.
“Mama,” I repeat. Mama again opens her eyes and says, “What do you want of me?” Her words sting me, but I get over it. “Don’t you recognize me?” I ask.
“Even here I get no rest,” she responds without opening her eyes.
I stand up but stay where I am.
Again I study her: This is without a doubt my mother. Among the debilitated women her face had lost its uniqueness, but most of its features confirmed that this is Mama.
“Mama,” I again call out, although I know it’s best to leave her be. She needs rest more than talk. Her face is shrunken, and the pain that had subsided as she slept has clearly returned. She places her hand over her mouth. I know that gesture well, for whenever she was distressed, she would cover her lips. I am glad. Any doubts are gone; this is Mama coming back to me. I kneel down again, but awkwardly. I hurt myself, and I wake up.