––––––––
I flung myself upon his withered frame, almost sending him to the floor, screaming, “Maxim? Maxim? I cannot believe it is you!”
Then, as realisation dawned, “Raisa? What of Raisa? Is she here with you? Tell me she is well, Maxim. Please tell me she is well?”
It took all Maxim’s strength to peel my body from his and bring me to arms length, hushing me urgently, anxious glances cast about him. He turned to his fellow Romanian and said quietly, “It is alright. She is no Nazi stooge. This is Anca Pasculata, daughter of Petre Bogdan, the Romanian resistance leader executed this year. I will deal with her. You go. Keep the Kapo occupied. I will join you as soon as I can.”
There were further excited exchanges in different languages. Maxim addressed his fellows in Romanian, then Russian, then Polish. Someone else translated his words into a further language, possibly Magyar, and the men began to exit the barrack, casting nervous glances at me, before disappearing from view. As the last man left Maxim drew me to the window, where he could keep watch.
“Forgive me, Anca, if I am brusque and appear unfriendly. I mean you no harm, you know that, but if you are caught here then you and I, and a dozen others to set an example, will be stood before the Black Wall before this day is out. Now, quickly child, how did you get into our quarters?”
I tried to explain, but my words gushed and were incoherent. I wanted to know of Raisa, my best friend, and of Mama, of course, but my urgent tones made no sense to him.
I put my questions again, demanding he enlighten me. Of Raisa, was she well?
He said, “Anca, I was hoping it was you who would tell me. Did you not see her, in the women’s quarters?”
His question was one of hope, for of course he supposed I had somehow just come from there, but I could only disappoint him.
“We have not been that far yet, Maxim. We...”
It was impossible to explain, and I suspect I would not have been believed had I attempted to do so.
“We have just arrived. Mama was sent here and we are looking for her.” Then, “Maxim... Do you know if she is here?”
Maxim took my hands, offering physical comfort to substitute the bad news I realised he was to impart. I prepared myself.
“Anca, I have not seen your mother since before you left Medgidia. That is not to say she is not here. That she is not alive and well. There are thousands, perhaps tens of thousands, of prisoners here. But too there is death.”
He hesitated, as if unwilling to continue.
“Typhus is rampant here, my child, though that would be a merciful release.”
He stopped himself, looking into my eyes, then, “Death is all around us, Anca. I am sorry, but it would not be fair to raise your hopes.”
I struggled to control my emotions, wanting, needing to know more.
“We have been here some three months now, Anca. We were dragged from our homes one night, not long after your own family were taken. Ours was a less dignified exit. Being of Russian descent the Nazis believed we would be troublesome, for rumour has it the Red Army is making much progress in the east. Why they could not kill us there and then and be done with us I do not know, but rather we were crammed into cattle trucks and transported into Poland.”
I nodded to confirm I understood.
“I was sent to Treblinka first, but that has been closed now, torn down brick by brick as the Red Army advanced. Raisa and her mother were brought directly here to Auschwitz. I feared I would never see either of them again, but I glimpsed Raisa only a week or so ago, across a fence, so I can tell you she, at least, has survived so far.”
My heart leapt at this news. “Oh Maxim, I am so relieved. I will find her. I promise you. But what of Catherine? Your wife? Raisa’s mother?”
Maxim’s eyes glazed, his voice stricken. “Anca, you will remember Catherine was lame of leg, crippled by polio from when she was herself a child.”
I nodded, indifferent to this fact. Her infirmity had never prevented her being a fine mother to Raisa.
“They have no use for cripples here, Anca.” Maxim clutched my hand and I watched a lone tear roll down his cheek. “She was taken to the showers on the first day, Anca. Somehow, for some reason, Raisa was spared, thank the Lord, but Catherine...”
He could contain himself no longer. Weak of body and spirit his emotions were released and he wept openly in my arms.
I persisted, “Maxim, you say she was taken to the showers? You make no sense to me.”
Still crying he took my arms as if to provide support for me. “I do not begin to understand how you can have arrived here so ignorant, my child, but let me make this clear to you.”
He looked directly at me. “The Nazis have no use for the elderly or infirm, Anca. Nor for the ailing or sick, nor for young children or the unskilled. Those who can work, who can make some contribution to the German war machine, are selected for their labour. I was lucky, Anca. I am a lapidary by trade, as you know, so I was plucked from the crowd to do their bidding. My skill is in the setting of precious stones. Even in war these barbarians still have the ability to appreciate beauty.”
Maxim paused, searching for the right words to continue. “The rest, Anca... Those that had no skill or ability to offer, those too old or too young to be of use to them, were sent to the showers.”
“The showers?” I looked at him in bewilderment, still not understanding.
Maxim grasped me tightly. “Anca, the showers do not spray water, they spray gas. Lethal gas.”
I was shaking my head, no words forming, unwilling, unable, to believe what I was hearing.
Maxim clutched me to his skeletal chest and I flung my arms around his wasted body, touching protruding bone through translucent skin.
He said quietly, “This is not a labour camp, Anca. This is a death camp.”