Amid all this, the patrol returned with the news that the Red Army had indeed captured the train station and the surrounding military camps and was running wild, looting and singing Russian marches.
Oddly, this news we had awaited for years did not make us happy. It was as if the river of time had frozen solid. The sedative paralyzed Tsila’s face, and her eyes bulged from their sockets, wishing to pull free.
Salo, Maxie, and Victor treat the wounded and exhausted without a moment’s pause. No one goes near the dead, as if it has been agreed that they are cut off from us and now live their own silent lives. The question of when we will go down to witness the victory is not being asked. The medical team feels that for now we must save the sick and wounded and not move them.
Felix, who has taken command, announced that two squads will go out tonight to raid distant houses, and the others will prepare stretchers so we can carry down the sick and wounded when the time comes.
Patience has run out among some survivors; they want to descend right away. Felix found the right words and explained that there is mutual responsibility at the summit; people help one another, protect the weak and wounded, and obey orders. We will not return to the days when every man cared only about himself. The survivors listened and did not respond.
Felix is alert and focused yet addresses the people quietly. Unfortunately, he sprained his right foot and is walking with a stick. His new walk and tight lips suggest a man of determination, free of self-pity.
Were it not for the dead covered in blankets, life at the summit might return to the routine established by Kamil and Felix. Kamil’s spirit hovers over us with great intensity. One of the fighters, preparing for a raid, said in passing, “I’ll be sure to do exactly what Kamil taught us.”
An old man went to Felix and said, “It is forbidden to leave the dead lying here.”
“What should we do?” asked Felix.
“We must bury them.”
“Soon we will go down and bury them in the Jewish cemetery,” said Felix and moved aside, as if he had not encountered a man but a ghost. The old man, who could barely stand on his feet, kept standing, as if wanting his words to be heard and carried out.
AND THEN I SAW a spectacular vision of Kamil standing tall: his chest wide and arms outstretched as if protecting us all. But his chest is too narrow to include everyone. Kamil does not give up. He broadens his chest and lengthens his arms. And it’s a miracle; now he’s a giant, and more people are shielded in his shadow. Kamil is pleased and wants to express his satisfaction in words, but the words defy him, are stuck in his mouth. This strong man, who knew how to inspire life even in the darkest hours, now stands at full height with the words trapped within him.
Why don’t you speak?, one of the fighters asks him.
As he hears the fighter’s question, Kamil breaks out in a smile as if to say, There is no need for words now. A tight bond requires no words; let us stay silent, as we know how.
Kamil’s face is so powerfully expressive that even his opponents don’t dare contradict him. Because they do not speak, Kamil maintains his silence, which tells us: we will always be together. Everyone who was at the summit will take it with him everywhere. He will carry the living with him, and also those who passed away: Paul, the noblest of men, whom we could not save; Miriam, from whose hands everyone received not only a bowl of soup or mended clothes but also a part of herself; Werner, whose comments when we studied at night were now hidden inside us like an eternal light; and Karl, beloved by all of us. Grandma Tsirl said again and again that the partition between life and death is very thin; today we are here and tomorrow we are there. Not to fear, our togetherness is like a walled fortress.
THIS VISION STAYED with me a long time. Isidor, who had not uttered a sound since the shelling, came by and asked me if I felt all right. I didn’t know what to tell him. It’s hard to talk about visions. He bent down and said, “Thank God I’m not being asked to pray. Prayer has been taken away from me.”
“I understand you,” I said.
“Thank you,” said Isidor.
“Don’t be afraid. People will not force you to pray.”
“But the dead are waiting for the prayer to protect them,” he whispered.
“Say whatever you can; no one will blame you.”
“Thank you,” he repeated.
I wanted to tell him, we are beyond good and bad; we are in the world of silence. But I didn’t say so.