We spend the days at the train station, standing around restlessly or sitting on the doorstep of the warehouse, doing almost nothing. Military trucks arrive daily at the station square, and soldiers hand out food generously. We take what we need but do not hoard. Several survivors who have recuperated hoard cigarettes and sugar and barter these in secret. Felix eyes them disapprovingly but doesn’t say anything. The will to live that had once made us flexible and nimble has suddenly been cut off. Overnight we have become idlers. We fall asleep in the middle of the day. No one asks what we should do or where we are going.
Michael woke up and asked, “Who are we waiting for?”
“The train,” Maxie replies absentmindedly.
“And where will we go?”
“To one of the big stations, I presume.”
Michael looks at him as if to say, What does “I presume” mean this time?
Refugees have stopped coming. Once in a while one of them shows up, stares into space, and disappears.
Every few days we visit the graves of our friends, and Isidor softly chants the Kaddish.
The abandoned cemetery is now our secret haven. We stay there a long while, wandering among the desecrated headstones, but we don’t bother to erase the swastikas and hateful slogans. Finally, filled with anger and confusion, we fire our guns in the air and return to the warehouse.
Felix is again not what he was. He sits at the entrance to the warehouse, drinks tea, and chain-smokes. Sometimes the commander in him awakens, and he stands us in a row, checks our guns and ammunition, and repeats that the war may be over but not for us. Gangs lie in wait for us; if we’re not alert they won’t fail to surprise us. They are no less fanatical than the Germans. The guns need to be cleaned and the bullets kept close at hand. This clear warning doesn’t pull the fighters out of their apathy; they sit in front of the warehouse, smoking and staring into space.
Refugees are not to be found. Sometimes a person or a couple who look like refugees turn up, but they are just poor people from the area. For this reason there are fighters who believe we should head south and reach our city and the surrounding villages as soon as we can, without further delay. On the other hand, there are fighters who say that this railroad station is an important hub, and it’s best to wait.
Felix doesn’t express his opinion. He has gone back to being Felix: a man of few words. Kamil’s absence is felt at every moment. I sometimes imagine I hear his voice, see him stooped over as he hunts for a word or a slogan, and then it’s clear that nothing comes easily to him; he is always digging deep inside. Only one person is content: Danzig. Milio adds a new word every day, sometimes two. Last night he pointed at the sky and said, “Sky.”
Days of inactivity have stunted our speech. Disorganized thoughts and fantasies race through our minds but not one logical idea. Last night I saw from a distance a man and a woman slowly shuffling along, and I was sure they were Papa and Mama, who had come back; I ran toward them. Then reality hit me in the face. They were a local couple and were startled by my running.
I see Felix grumbling about those recovered survivors who are busily bartering goods. “It’s unbecoming for people who endured the seven circles of hell to peddle their wares at the station,” he says. “You would expect their conduct to be more dignified.”
Danzig is less harsh than Felix. “We didn’t take the survivors up to the summit to correct their values,” he says. “So long as there are people who suffer, we will do whatever we can for them. They don’t owe us anything.”
In truth, we no longer argue; we just quibble over this and that. We have easily gotten used to our idleness; nevertheless, we’re tired and exhausted, and whenever possible, we lean our heads against the doorpost of the warehouse. Last night Emil thought he saw his father and mother exiting the station and approaching him. He ran toward them. They were in fact a blind couple but not his parents.
So the days go by. Were it not for guard duty, we would sleep all the time. One squad patrols the warehouse area, and another is ready if needed. This is not a whim of Felix’s. Suspicious people are hanging around the station. Some of the survivors have recuperated, and some have left to search for their families, but we still have about thirty-five sick and frail people who depend on us.
Michael suddenly got back to business, solving math and geometry problems and reading a book by Karl May. Maxie promises Michael what he has already promised: he will skip at least two grades at school. Maxie’s words encourage him, and he asks for more difficult exercises. Once in a while Michael picks his beautiful head up from his notebook, as if to say, I believe that God will bring my father and mother back to me.
Tsila keeps cooking. The Primus stoves make a deafening noise. Not long ago her hands juggled pots and pans with ease. Now she cooks everything with a sort of perpetual bewilderment. It’s hard to know what she’s thinking. She asks nothing, and no one asks her anything. Her kitchen at the summit teemed with life and appetite; now it’s bare and empty. Once in a while a survivor approaches her and says, “God will bless and repay you for all you have done.” Tsila does not respond to this blessing.
Salo and Maxie continue to care for those in need. Each day, two or three survivors rise from their beds and say, “We need to go.” They eat breakfast and leave. We watch them walk away and feel that part of us is going with them.
I close my eyes and see the summit blanketed in snow, the brilliant light, and all of us in heavy coats and boots and the thick stocking caps knitted by Reb Hanoch. The night before, we had been on a raid. All the food, blankets, and household goods we brought have already been arranged in Hermann Cohen’s storeroom. He takes careful inventory of the loot, and whenever he comes upon a Jewish item, he smiles, as if to say, What was lost has returned to its owner. Then comes the meal in Tsila’s kitchen: the generous sandwiches, the coffee and cigarettes, and not long thereafter, you are wrapped in sweet, deep sleep.
Our evenings of study and poetry also came to mind. Kamil taught us to use words precisely. More than any other activity, our studies by candlelight and flashlight reminded us that we were free men seeking to connect with texts that can nourish the soul even in days of disaster.
The entire time we spent in the wetlands, especially at the summit, the books that we’d brought from that abandoned house were our secret sustenance.
“I CAN’T CALM DOWN,” Isidor tells me. “Ever since we stopped going on raids, I have nightmares and I prefer not to sleep.”
“What are you thinking about?” I ask him cautiously.
“I don’t think. I see things. It’s hard to banish the things I see.”
I understand exactly what he means and ask nothing more.
We’re sitting at the entrance to the warehouse, and our lives are coming apart. Not long ago we fought using the stratagems Kamil taught us. True, we were defeated more than once, but there were also battles we won and from which we came away with booty. Now Kamil is gone, and we’ve grown weaker. Felix apparently has things to tell us, but he is bound up inside himself, and what we hear are mumblings that are hard to understand.
One of the survivors whom we had brought half dead to the summit approached Felix and said, “Commander, permit me to thank you in my name and the name of those you took up to the summit for giving us life. It’s hard for us to thank God.” Felix listened and looked at the man as if to say, What do you expect me to say?
We’re again sitting in front of the warehouse. I’m peering into the depths, and my face and my friends’ faces are reflected in the water. One time I see Felix and another time Kamil, and another time Danzig hugging Milio. Hermann Cohen is also in the depths, not budging from his niece Teresa. And, suddenly, Karl and Werner and Miriam are floating in the cold deep waters. Why are we drowning in the abyss?, I ask myself. Why are we not extending our hands to others? We are well trained in climbing and bending metal bars. Why now of all times is it hard for us to move from place to place?
We go to visit our friends buried in the cemetery, and we can see that the desecration of the gravestones has continued. Several more stones have been shattered and several have been uprooted. Danzig believes it’s our responsibility to set the stones upright and erase the graffiti, to ambush the desecrators and beat them up.
We’re very angry, but to be practical, what’s the point of erasing the graffiti? We’re leaving tomorrow, and the cemetery is open and unguarded. The vandals will just repeat their acts. But Danzig insists. “It is our duty to do this,” he says. “Not every action brings immediate benefit. For our friends who are buried here, we are obliged to remove the blasphemy and protect what remains.”
Felix eventually orders the squads to stand in a row, and he asks Isidor to say Kaddish. Isidor recites the Kaddish in a quavering voice and nearly chokes up. Felix orders the squad to cock their weapons and raise them. Then he says, “In honor of our friends buried in this holy ground—fire! In honor of our glorious commander, Kamil, who led us through the wetlands to the summit, who did not live to see the victory—fire! In honor of our loved ones who were taken to the camps and for whom we will wait forever—fire!”
The gunshots deafen the ears and shake the heart. We hurry to leave. Felix marches in the lead with quick limping strides, and we follow a short distance behind him. There is a feeling that we should not have parted this way from our friends. We should have sung a quiet song or remained silent, but what was done was done.
When we reach the train station, we learn that a gang of rioters has surrounded the warehouse and is about to burst inside. Sontag, in charge of the squads, attacks swiftly. The rioters withdraw, leaving three wounded men in the area. A large mob begins cursing and demanding revenge. The fighters keep shooting, and the crowd disperses.
Felix assesses the situation and orders the women and equipment to be moved to the train station. The squads quickly do so. Within an hour a military train enters the station, and we are packed together in one carriage, pleased that we have managed to transport both the survivors and the equipment.
One of the survivors, who stands beside Felix, asks, “Commander, where are we going?”
“Home,” he answers right away.
“Which home?” asks the survivor.
“There’s only one home we grew up in and loved, and we’re returning to it.”
The survivor is astonished by Felix’s answer. A smile, thin and unintended, spreads across his face.