We are raiding every day and bringing food, utensils, clothing, fabrics, and sheepskins to the base. Sometimes a fancy shirt or household items used only by Jews turn up in the haul. In one raid we found a pair of candlesticks inscribed with the words Shabbes Kodesh, Holy Sabbath.
It’s impossible for many reasons to raid a house we’ve already raided. So we go farther out, to isolated houses on the hillsides or tucked away in the woods.
Kamil wants to go down to the flatlands every week and derail a train carrying Jews to the death camps. But for the time being, we are unable to do so. We continue to patrol and to lie in ambush. A gloomy feeling has taken hold among us, that from now on our sole activities will be theft and looting. And eventually the farmers will band together, join the Germans, and surround us. They hate us no less than the Germans do, and they have plenty of weapons.
My friend Emil has recovered. He can stand on his feet and go to the toilet, but he still appears listless and confused. He didn’t ask about my parents but told me about his blind parents, who barely supported themselves by weaving baskets and rugs. Emil has helped them since childhood, but it was only after his bar mitzvah, when he began giving private lessons, that the specter of poverty was lifted from his home.
Emil’s parents were among the first to be deported from the ghetto. When he talks about his parents, it’s clear that he’s tied to them with every fiber of his being. He doesn’t speak of them in the past tense but says, “Mama is so conscientious. Every rug she makes is flawless, without any imperfection. Papa likes to talk while he weaves. For this reason he makes mistakes, and his merchandise sells for much less money.”
Emil has been observing his parents since his childhood, and something of their blindness has rubbed off on him. Even now.
It’s strange how we—as well as those who’ve come to us lately—don’t talk much about the families we left behind. We’re busy with daily needs, we listen to the radio, but we don’t delude ourselves that life will soon return to what it was before.
THE TENTS ARE CRAMMED with agony. Salo and Maxie lack the drugs to ease the suffering of those in pain. The captured doctor grumbles and blames his captors, who took him away from his home and his patients. Felix has warned him again several times that if he continues to make accusations he will be executed, even without a tribunal.
“I don’t care; I’m not afraid,” he says, without looking Felix in the eye. It’s hard to comprehend this audacity, until you realize that for Krinitski taking care of Jews is humiliating, a deep insult to his dignity. He would rather die than be a prisoner of Jews and care for their sick.
Victor says not to despair. There is a pharmacy nine miles away, which happens to have belonged to a Jewish pharmacist. It’s still functioning, and we should raid it without delay. Kamil spreads out the map and finds the exact location.
The German officer continues to blaze with fever. We have no medicine, but we give him an extra blanket. All night long he calls out loudly, swearing his allegiance to his homeland and leader, berating his fiancée, who doubts his loyalty. He wants his parents to denounce her to her face. He bellows other delusional commands regarding personal issues and questions of honor.
MY FATIGUE WON’T LET GO of me. I sleep standing up, while walking, any chance I get. My sleep is not peaceful, and it’s a good thing the images vanish when I open my eyes.
Last night I imagined, as clearly as I could, Anastasia, in full. But her tall, cylindrical body was covered in brown fur. I wanted to go touch her but realized she was likely to bite me. Indeed, she turned her head toward me and flashed her big white teeth.
“Anastasia,” I called to her, “don’t you recognize me?” She stared at me with a feral gaze. I couldn’t tell if this was a threat or a promise of intimacy. I asked again, “Don’t you recognize me?” Hearing my question a second time made her smile. I thought she was about to ask me something. I was wrong. She looked at me defiantly, as if to say, What are you doing here? By all accounts you had gone away and would not return.
When I awoke, I remembered the dream vividly. I thought that the squads had gone off and left me behind because I’d overslept, and I wouldn’t be able to catch up with them. But I went into the kitchen and found the fighters relaxing on the mats of twigs, drinking tea and smoking, and I felt relieved.