We got moving without delay. We carried the empty stretchers at intervals of one hundred feet. Luckily, we encountered no rioters. The path was rough for walking and seemed longer than it was. We didn’t reach the base until late at night.
We saw at once that our friends hadn’t sat on their hands. They set up more tents to house the sick and wounded. Salo and Maxie looked drained and could barely drag their feet. Maxie hugged me and said, “I don’t dare ask what it was like. Thank God you got back safely. And thank you for doing the most painful duty of all.” It wasn’t Maxie talking but rather his grief and fatigue.
Hermann Cohen greeted us in the kitchen and served everyone a sandwich and cup of coffee. I was hungry and thirsty and ate with a great appetite. At the same time I hated myself because only a few short hours ago we had buried our friends in the ground, and now I was enjoying food and a hot drink.
Emil also hugged me and said, “I’m happy you returned safely.” I didn’t know how to respond. “We did our duty,” I said, “and it was lucky Isidor was with us. When words fail us, it’s good to have prayer to hold on to.” That’s wasn’t exactly what I wanted to say, but I was glad I was able to string a few words together. Emil told me that the medical team stays close to the wounded, bandaging and splinting as necessary. The wounded don’t stop thanking them. In the camps where he had been, people didn’t help each other. Whoever got sick knew the end was near and that no one would prevent it.
Danzig wrapped Milio in his arms and told him that Kamil, Karl, Miriam, and Werner had gone up to the sky and were resting there now. Milio listened with his mouth open, not making a sound. Tsila, who cared for him when Danzig was away, looked at him with loving eyes and said nothing.
I was tired and wanted to close my eyes, but Felix asked to speak. He began: “We thank the squads headed by Danzig, who brought our friends to their proper burial. This was a difficult mission, and you performed it with perfection; it’s good that you are with us.”
That’s how Felix is. He’s good at not talking, but when forced to, he relies on convenient words like “mission” and “performed.” Only this time, they weren’t the right words. I was tired and oversensitive, so I paid attention to the way he spoke. I knew that criticizing a friend’s language at a time of pain is either foolish or wicked. I learned that from Kamil, who was famously precise when it came to speech.
After a short pause, he continued: “Our hold on the mountaintop is about to end. We have enough food for a few days. There’s no point in more raids. We’ll go down and see what we have to do.”
“And what about our equipment?” somebody asked.
“We won’t take the tents. We’ll take the blankets and sheepskins. Also pots and pans, personal items, plates and cutlery and cups. And of course all the books.”
“And everyone will go home?” asked a survivor who recently recovered from illness.
“We’ll have to see what the conditions are. We must not rush. The descent must be orderly and secure.” Felix’s dry, logical words filled me with melancholy, and I sat down.
Salo approached me. “What’s the matter?”
“It’s hard to return to everyday life,” I said.
“At this moment, dear fellow, we can’t be weak. We have to bring the survivors to a safe place. Let’s pray that the worst didn’t happen and that most of the people who were taken to the camps will return. Our mission is not over. Our beloved Kamil surely wants us to bring the survivors to their families.”
Again I didn’t know what to say, so I just said, “I’m sorry.”
“There’s no reason to be sorry. You are a wonderful fighter, a loyal friend, and devoted to the survivors.”
I knew he wanted to appease me. “Soon I’ll come to help the medical team,” I said.
“Rest a while; the medical team is well staffed.”
The survivors are recovering, and some of them are eating hungrily and asking for second helpings.
SUDDENLY I HAD a vision of Kamil as I’d never seen him before, collapsing with anguish. Many a time he would leave the big tent and seclude himself in the small command tent. It sometimes seemed he was angry with us. Only later did we learn that, among other reasons, he would seclude himself out of depression. Kamil was a strong man, and when he fell, he fell hard. Once, in a moment of great enthusiasm, he said, “We will be together from now until forever!” His tone of voice attested that he had just emerged from black despair. Kamil never spoke about this hidden wound. Now it came to me in a flash: all his life he battled the abyss.