I spent my first week in the main Kiev hospital in a hall, on a long row of mattresses, pressed closely together with many other prisoners. My diet was identical to everyone else’s, and no one seemed to be aware of the special treatment I had been given during my last visit. I said nothing, asked for nothing unusual.
Perhaps the whole espionage business had burst overnight, like a soap bubble. The war is over, I thought, so what do they still need spies for? And if they no longer needed me as a spy, it was also clear they no longer needed to keep me in better health than anyone else.
I tried to be as inconspicuous as possible. The only suspicious item was my cloth bag, which I hid under the mattress. Finally I was assigned a bed, and life fell into a routine. My physical condition didn’t seem to change any longer. My pulse remained just under a high 120, my legs continued to be weak and swollen, and I had pains in various parts of my body, but since I didn’t suffer a relapse or worsen drastically, I was more or less content.
About the end of June, the head doctor came into my room. When she saw me, she seemed at first surprised, but then she smiled and greeted me. “Rauch, how are you coming along?”
“Thanks, I’m doing all right.”
“Do you want to work? The dentist needs an assistant.”
“Of course, if I’m strong enough.”
“Come with me, then.”
We went up to the third floor and entered a room where a blond and robust Russian woman was just in the process of drilling a prisoner’s tooth. She was using a foot-powered machine that would have been considered an antique in Vienna thirty years earlier.
The head doctor spoke awhile with the dentist and then said to me, “You may begin here tomorrow morning at ten. I will arrange for you to receive double rations.”
I thanked her and left. This new arrangement seemed further proof that I no longer had to worry about my job as a spy. After all, the head doctor knew about my previous status. She obviously also remembered that I had almost died because she had taken the key to the medicine chest with her on holiday. Evidently it was her slightly guilty conscience that was prompting her to do me this special favor. She had offered me the easiest job in the entire hospital for which one could receive double rations.
Nobody will ever approach me now and address me as Flussman, and Oskar, wherever he is, can continue to live in peace, I thought.
The job with the dentist brought about an additional small change in my status that would later have much greater ramifications. Bureaucracy in the camps was minimal, and one possible reason was simply a lack of paper. Whatever was written in camp by doctors or officials, whether medical reports, official notices, or memos, usually consisted of dark purple scribbles on old newspapers.
But there was one bureaucratic detail to which the Russians strictly adhered. Each prisoner was assigned two classification numbers. The first was based on his ability to work. A 0 signified that one was completely unfit for work, a 1 denoted an ability to do light tasks, and a 3 indicated that the man was completely able-bodied.
The second classification number dealt with the undernourishment/dystrophy factor: the number 1 represented the lightest degree of infirmity, and 3 the highest. I had originally been assigned fitness-for-work number 0 and dystrophy number 3 until I received the job with the dentist. That change automatically promoted me to work group 1 without any further physical examinations or particular improvement in my overall condition.
The job with the dentist was easy enough, requiring only four hours a day, four days a week. In the morning I had to dust the drilling machine and the two wooden cupboards where the pliers and drill bits were kept. Then I called in the patients one by one and handed the dentist her tools as she worked.
The most indispensable ingredient for our work was vodka. The pliers were first dipped in vodka to be cleaned, and then they were held over the burner (also filled with vodka) to be disinfected. The dentist dunked the cotton balls in vodka before rubbing the patients’ teeth or gums, and now and then she took a hefty swig herself.
One afternoon she said, “Take this bottle and come with me.”
We left the building and crossed the courtyard to the ground floor of another building, which was functioning as a warehouse. The supervisor came to meet us and greeted the dentist in a friendly fashion. We entered a huge room where piles of military blankets, uniforms, and underwear (the type worn by all the hospital prisoners) were stacked onto shelves, and mountains of mattresses and collapsible iron beds leaned against the walls. The warehouse supervisor went over to one corner and filled the two bottles we had brought from enormous glass containers of vodka. Then he and the dentist disappeared and left me waiting for an hour. I had a pretty good idea what they were doing during that time, and the manner in which they later took leave of each other confirmed my suspicions.
The following week it was quite cold when we left at the same hour for another visit to the warehouse, so I borrowed an overcoat and fitted my own two glass containers inside. When I was left to cool my heels once again, I had plenty of time in which to fill my private bottles. Thus a pleasant routine developed that lasted all summer. They had their stolen hour together, and I my stolen vodka that I was able to exchange in the kitchen for fried fish, hard-cooked eggs, and bacon.
The summer passed. My pulse remained high, and the pains in my kidneys returned whenever I didn’t keep my back at a steady temperature. Except for this, no further complications developed.
The hope that we would be sent home as soon as the war ended had been in vain. Once, when we were standing for our daily count and the number didn’t come out correctly, the Russian officer in charge became very upset. Then he yelled, “You will learn to do this right, and if you think we are taking care of you here so that you can be returned to Germany fat and happy, you couldn’t be more wrong! You will remain here for years, until you have built up again all that you destroyed!” That sentence made the rounds very quickly and produced a heavy depression among the prisoners.
All the Germans and Poles who were not patients but employed in some fashion in the hospital as kitchen help, doctors, clergy, administrators, and so on, slept in small rooms on the top floor of the building. One day a one-handed German, who spoke Russian well and was employed as an interpreter, came to my bed and said, “I noticed that you play chess. Would you like to try a game with me?”
“Why not?” I replied.
“If you wish, we can go upstairs to the room where I sleep. It is quieter there and better for concentration.”
I would later sit for hours with this intelligent partner, playing many exciting games of chess—we were about equal in our ability—and engaging in numerous interesting conversations.
There were six beds in my chess partner’s room, but his roommates were seldom present. They got used to me, and in time I also became accustomed to the manner in which these unusual prisoners lived. Once, as I entered the room, a door was closed very quickly, but not before I had caught a glimpse of one of them fooling around with one of the Russian nurses.
Then there was the matter of how the upper-floor prisoners dressed. It was obvious that some who slept in this room at night went into the city by day to pick up supplies for the hospital. They went accompanied by their Russian girlfriends and were guarded, of course, by soldiers with submachine guns who probably received a portion of the bartered-away foodstuffs or their equivalent in rubles.
Thanks to their connections to the civilian population and their financial resources, a number of the top-floor prisoners had been able to order tailor-made uniforms and boots. They were of the finest materials but so exaggerated in design that they turned their wearers into comical caricatures. Most of these men had been simple soldiers; in this manner, they seemed to be promoting themselves to officers.
The jodhpur pants were widened at the thighs, bulging to twice their normal width. The epaulettes were also 50 percent too large, with an overabundance of gold or silver thread. Topping it all off were small caps, which were so narrow that they resembled tiny canoes, almost lost on top of the bald-shaven heads.
I decided that my chess partner must not be a member of this group, since he often made disparaging remarks about the others and was dressed in a fairly shabby lieutenant’s uniform.
One day, around the middle of September, I was involved in a good chess game with my partner when a chess figure fell on the floor. I crawled under one of the beds to pick it up, and there, pushed back near the wall, were three wooden suitcases fitted with metal bands, all the same size and color. That wouldn’t have been so unusual in itself, if I hadn’t noticed a bundle of German bank notes caught in the lid of one of them.
Strange, I thought, but I said nothing.
We finished the game and I went back downstairs to my room, the money still in my thoughts. All Germans at the front had had German money with them. There had been few opportunities to spend it, but some had played cards and won or lost their pay that way. Others had made bets, and those who were able to go on leave had made good use of their winnings, I’m certain. Some, like myself, had sent most of their money home. After I was taken prisoner, we were all searched innumerable times, and everything was taken. First the Russians relieved us of our watches and any other valuables, then our boots. All that finally remained, being of no use to our captors, were family photos and German money. The prisoners were usually also permitted to keep their wedding rings, probably because it was too much trouble to get them off their fingers.
Still thinking of those mysterious trunks, I began to ask myself what became of the money after a prisoner was brought to the hospital. It was taken when we handed in our uniforms. A few of us still had a photo or two, but no one had any money.
The next time I went upstairs to play chess, I decided to get another look at those suitcases. My partner was still in the next room when I opened the box of chessmen so clumsily that they all fell on the floor and I had to crawl under the bed again to pick them up. I lifted the lid of the suitcase where the money was peeking out. Incredible! It was filled from top to bottom with German bills. I gathered the chess figures together, but before I crawled out from under the bed, I lifted the lid of the next suitcase. The contents were the same, plus a paper sack filled with gold dental fillings and wedding rings.
That afternoon I wasn’t able to win even one chess game. I kept thinking of the man, or men, who had collected all that money. What could they have in mind to do with it? I knew it was still legal tender in Germany.
Two weeks passed. On October 4, a group of Russian officers, including a few doctors, visited the hospital. They went from room to room examining all who had been assigned to work group 0 and dystrophy group 3. Only non-Germans were examined: Romanians, Hungarians, Czechs, Poles, and Austrians. I wasn’t included, of course, even though I was skinnier and weaker than many who had been chosen and placed on the mysterious list. I was no longer a member of work group 0 because of my job with the dentist.
When the officers left, the speculations began. Those who were on the list would receive better rations, would be sent home, would be transferred to another hospital, et cetera.
Two days later, on October 6, the excitement intensified when two orderlies came across the courtyard from the warehouse, staggering under piles of old uniforms: jackets and pants, coats, caps, and shoes, as well as mess kits and bread bags. The official news began blazing through the hospital like a brushfire: “Tomorrow a westbound train is leaving with 1,000 non-Germans. The transport will be carrying only sick prisoners—280 from our hospital, everyone who is on the list!”
Now, wherever you looked you saw either ecstatic faces or very sad ones. The chosen ones, those with enough strength, tried on different pieces of clothing and shoes. They were delighted if they were able to put together a uniform that more or less fit. Some on the list were too weak for this game and had to be content with whatever the orderlies laid on their beds. I was convinced that a number of them would never survive the trip.
October 7, 1945. Everyone was dressed, shoes on feet, caps on heads, cloth bags with mess kit, cup, and spoon over each shoulder. But the order to leave never came. They waited all day long, but nothing happened. Evening brought the explanation; there was no locomotive.
October 8. The uniforms were laid once more on the beds, but no train arrived that day. Everyone put on his white hospital shirt and long white pants again. I played chess, went for vodka with the dentist, and waited while she enjoyed her weekly meeting with the warehouse supervisor. I also tried to squelch the rising and ignoble wave of gloating I felt because the locomotive hadn’t arrived.
* * *
October 9. No news. October 10 and 11. The same. On October 12, I went upstairs to play chess. When we were about to begin my partner was called downstairs, and he asked me to wait for him. I leafed through a book for a few minutes. Then, from the neighboring room, through the slightly open door, I heard voices. Two men were arguing. I began to pay attention when I heard the words “the German money.”
Although they suddenly lowered their voices, I could still make out most of the conversation.
“We’ll only report one of the three who have died.”
“But how?”
“Alfred and I will take our places in the other column. We’ll be counted twice.”
“And?”
“Well, since we are the thinnest, we will have the best chance of slipping in without being noticed. We’ll carry as much as possible of the money and gold with us to Germany. You’ll get your share later, of course.”
At this moment my chess partner returned. I lost the game, making a headache the excuse for my poor playing.
I passed a sleepless night, and the next day a statement was issued that those on the list would be brought to the train station the following morning.
As I went about my duties with the dentist that day, my mind was elsewhere. Without wanting to, I had uncovered a plot that didn’t please me one bit. Two of those upstairs prisoners, healthy, overfed, and with brand-new German uniforms and Russian girlfriends, were planning to smuggle themselves in place of two dead prisoners into the group of those leaving in the first transport. What’s more, they would arrive in Germany as rich men, having plundered their dead comrades of everything, down to the fillings in their teeth.
With each passing hour and the growing excitement of those about to leave the next day, I could feel the fury building inside me. Two of the 280 would not be sick men sent home by the Russians so that the death toll wouldn’t be so high when the International Red Cross arrived for their inspection. No, those two would be Germans with Polish accents, their pockets stuffed with money and gold.
At 5:00 p.m. I went to the head physician and spoke with her a few minutes. She became very excited and upset.
At 6:00 p.m. she watched from the second floor while the afternoon count was being taken in the courtyard. She saw how two men were counted twice each.
At 6:15 she went up to the top floor, accompanied by an officer and four guards, the latter carrying submachine guns with the safety catches released. Three suitcases full of German money and an unspecified quantity of gold were brought out of the room.
At 6:25 all the German administrative and kitchen personnel were shoved into trucks and driven away.
That evening there was nothing to eat in the hospital. I had lost my appetite anyway. The next morning, as the uniformed prisoners began going down to line up in the courtyard for their departure, the head doctor came into my room with an orderly. He was carrying parts of uniforms and shoes in his arms.
The doctor glanced around the room and pointed, seemingly indiscriminately, to a fellow sitting on a bed and said, “You there, and you (pointing at me), get dressed and get down to the courtyard right away. I’m adding your names to the list!” Without another word, she turned and left.
The other man was the only German among the first thousand to leave. Many months were to pass before any more Germans were released from the Russian camps. I doubt whether he ever found out why his fate so suddenly changed for the better.