There’s still what to be glad about: every day, two or three more survivors recuperate. They are pale and can barely stand, but they stare in amazement at the training exercises and the fighters leaving for raids and ask, “When will we also be able to do our part?”
“Your job is to get stronger,” says Kamil. “It’s too bad we don’t have more nutritious food, but not to worry, tomorrow morning we’re going to break the ice on the lake and bring back fresh fish. Tsila will make us a feast fit for a king.”
It’s hard for the stoves and campfires to overcome the fierce, biting cold at the summit. If we’d hoped the bunkers would be warm, we were mistaken. The cold bites us there, too.
Dr. Krinitski doesn’t stop complaining. “Why did you bring me here? Why did you snatch me from my home? There are no medicines or sanitary conditions. Take me back home; if you don’t, I will die of the cold.”
“And you can’t empathize at all with those who suffer?” asks Felix.
“What are you talking about? How is it possible to empathize with a hundred and seventy starving, sick, and exhausted people?”
“We should leave them to die?”
“That’s their fate; what can we do.”
“If you can’t empathize with those who suffer, we’ll do it for you. We’ll bathe them, and we’ll feed them with what we have. We’ll warm the tents with the stoves we improvised. We’ll protect every one of them. Our faith in humanity, thank heaven, has not expired.”
“Am I to blame?”
“From my standpoint you are no longer a member of the human family. A man without human dignity or the dignity of a doctor is an insect. A worm.”
“Jews don’t talk that way,” protested Krinitski.
“How do Jews talk? Come on, tell us, so we’ll know.”
“Jews accept their fate quietly.”
“Not here, not in these mountains, not under my command. Here we are on a sacred mission: to judge people as people. We will love the good ones and condemn the despicable.”
“You’re going to execute me?” Krinitski looked up fearfully.
“First you must judge yourself.”
“I don’t care about anything anymore. I am done for,” he said and rested his hands on his knees.
I LOOK AROUND ME and know: these are the last days on this wondrous mountaintop. Everything that happened here, and all the people—the commanders, my friends—will stay with me even if we are far away from one another. The summit broadened our minds, if I may say so. Everything I saw—and I saw a great deal—will be with me like a warm coat.
I feel bad about all the equipment we carried here on our backs: every pot and spoon and fork, every cup, not to mention the tripods, the various metal scraps that we hammered and welded into stoves, every utensil I ate or drank from—they are part of me, and it hurts that we will soon leave them behind.
Edward comes and latches onto me. Ever since the dog arrived as a wonderful guest, everyone wants to be near him. The closest are Maxie and Michael. Maxie talks to him a lot and reminds him of the days at home: in the summer he slept in the doghouse and in winter in the house. It sometimes seems like Maxie is fishing for information about the fate of those who were sent to the work camps.
Edward excites us whenever he hops into view. One thing can be said for sure: After Edward came, Maxie changed. His steps became small and cautious. Sometimes he stands as if straining to hear a sound, or he stares ahead with wonder. More than once I heard him ask Edward, “How did you know how to find me? I always knew you were loyal and had a rare sense of smell.”