The next day, the fourth group arrived, commanded by Sontag. Sontag was astounded by the teeming train station and the soldiers in the streets. When he got over his shock, he told us the descent had not been easy. No one had ambushed them, but several survivors couldn’t handle the hardships of the journey and had to be carried. In the end, brotherhood prevailed.
Sontag constantly surprises us. This muscular man, sometimes prone to visions and hallucinations, is an outstanding fighter and commander. Now he stood with all of us, amazed at the new life that had begun to blossom here.
The survivors came to him and thanked him, and he returned their compliments. Finally, he said, “We protected everyone, and everyone is still with us,” but he was embarrassed by the words he had spoken.
Yet again, hunger saved us from fear and anguish. Tsila, Hermann Cohen, and many of the fighters and survivors joined in to prepare dinner. We peeled potatoes and boiled them in five large pots, on Primus stoves we found in the small warehouse. The noise they made was music to our ears.
That night Victor left us to enlist in the Red Army. Before he left, the survivors hugged him and asked him to stay. But Victor was determined to join up, come what may. “If they don’t take me because of my wound, I’ll come back to you. It’s not easy for me to leave you,” he said with tears in his eyes.
And then, for a moment, it seemed as though Paul was nearing the train station. But it was just an illusion. The tall, well-built man, who from a distance looked like Paul, was a local. He paused, briefly puzzled that we were looking at him, and then he went on his way.
ONCE A DAY a military truck appeared and distributed supplies. We stood first in line and stocked up on bread, salt, sugar, canned food, and cigarettes. We also got a big package of tea.
When we were leaving the summit, we thought our lives would change overnight. We would cheer the liberating soldiers and greet those who returned from the camps; our hearts would be as one, and joy would blend with the sorrow.
On the final night on the summit, I dreamed that Tsila’s family had returned and that Tsila fainted, overcome with emotion. But when she recovered, her face lit up and she said, “God Almighty, how can I ever thank you.”
THE ISOLATED REFUGEES who turn up at the train station are mainly men who had hid in the homes of farmers or pretended to be Ukrainians and managed to survive. Now, because they had not spoken for years, they can barely utter a word.
One of them approached us and asked, “Where were you?”
We told him.
He looked at us suspiciously and moved aside. When we asked him where he had been, he made a strange gesture with his right hand, as if to say, Why does it matter? It’s not worth telling.
And there was one refugee, of medium height, who was proud that he had been able to fool the Germans. Once he even masqueraded as a priest. He seemed like a grown-up child who sticks out his tongue and brags, “I won. They didn’t catch me.” But the rest of the refugees walked around mutely, with blank expressions, dragging their feet and looking for a corner where they could rest their weary bodies. Only the young soldiers of the Red Army were alert and energetic. No full-bodied young woman escaped their attention.
FELIX AND THE VETERAN FIGHTERS feel that for the time being we should wait here for those who will return. The place is a crossroads, and in the coming days the trains will start running again. There were several survivors who ignored the commander’s advice and went on their way. Felix didn’t try to persuade them. “If they want to go,” he said, “they’re entitled.”
It’s strange: These survivors, whom we carried on our shoulders, whom we fed, and whose wounds we bandaged, didn’t say a word of goodbye. No one, in any event, said a thing to them. They went off without a backward glance.
THE SPRING REVEALS its beauty anew each day. From the train station we can see the flowing river and the flowering gardens, the cows and sheep grazing in the meadows, as if the horrible war had never happened.
With the help of the fighters and survivors, Tsila and Hermann Cohen prepare two meals a day. The meals are spare but still taste a bit like the food at the summit.
The days of the summit grow more distant from us, but it sometimes seems that we will return there one day, together with Kamil and all the comrades who died. When Felix mentions the summit, a little smile flits across his lips, as if to say, Those were, in the end, clear days with no fog and no illusions. We knew what to do and we did what we could.