Annelies полностью

Anne’s gaze goes hot. “I was his child. He was supposed to protect me,” Anne says. “He was supposed to protect us all.”

“Yet he could not even protect himself,” Mrs. Zuckert points out. “If he had died in Auschwitz, would you still find him so culpable?”

“But he didn’t die.”

“No, he didn’t. And I’m thankful to God for that.”

Anne says nothing. Mrs. Zuckert trims the ash from her cigarette on the rim of Kleiman’s ashtray. She appears to be making some sort of internal choice. And then she says, “At Birkenau I was part of the Kanada Kommando. You know ‘Kanada,’ yes?”

Anne nods. Kanada was the name of the warehouse filled with the stolen luggage of prisoners. It was called such because Kanada was believed to be a land of great riches.

“I was assigned to the White Kerchief work group. Most of the women were Hungarian, and since my father was born in Budapest, I had a bit of the language. And there were advantages to be had as a Kanada Jewess. We all kept our hair. The work was not physically debilitating. The SS mostly turned a blind eye to our eating the food we found, so that was good, but still a horrific job in its own way. We had a direct view of the Krematorien as people were marched into the gas chambers, which pushed us all to the edge of insanity. We heard what went on inside,” she says, “the screaming, the cries. And then nothing.”

Silence. A tear dampens Anne’s cheek, but she does not wipe it away.

“So I do understand your rage,” Mrs. Zuckert tells her. “I do understand your grief.”

“Why do you think you survived?” Anne asks bluntly.

The woman lifts her eyebrows. “Why?”

“I ask this question of Pim, and he tells me that it was because of hope. But how can I believe that? Because when I ask myself the same question, I have no answer. So now I’m asking you. Was it luck that sent you to the Kanada Kommando? Was it God?”

“God? I should be so presumptuous. Actually, it might have been nothing more than my ability as a typist. The SS were lazy, I found. They hated typing up paperwork, so I did it for them.” She shrugs. “In the final months, I was transferred from Birkenau to the Siemens camp in Bobrek to work as a stenographer. The food was not as plentiful, but no Jews were gassed there, and I could keep my sanity.”

“So. You are an excellent typist,” Anne says. “That’s your answer?”

Mrs. Zuckert gazes at her. “It’s the only one I can offer.” And then she says, “You know, Anne, we have all suffered. You, me, your father. But for me, losing everything has made it easier to embrace the idea of starting over. When you have lost everything, then you have nothing else that can be lost. Only gained.”

The smoke from Anne’s cigarette drifts upward.

Mrs. Zuckert draws in a breath before slowly releasing it as if she is drawing in strength. “Your father has insisted that I keep silent about this till he can determine that the correct time has come. And I’m sure that he’ll be piqued with me when he finds out that I couldn’t hold my tongue any longer, but honestly, when does the ‘correct time’ ever come? And I have never seen the point in surreptitious behavior. To me, if a thing needs to be said, it should be said. So I think you should know. I think everyone should know.”

Anne still stares, though she is feeling a queasiness in her belly.

“Anne,” the woman says, pronouncing her name as if it’s a solid piece of iron. “Your father has asked me to marry him. And I have accepted his proposal.”

Anne blinks. The room seems to have gone crooked. Then there’s noise on the stairs, rising with a thumping urgency. The door shudders open, and it’s Pim. He’s winded. Shaken. Hunted. The sight of Anne and Mrs. Zuckert together at the desk shoves him backward a step.

“Otto,” Mrs. Zuckert says, “Anne and I were just having a conversation.”

“Yes?” he asks with a blighted anxiety. “Were you?” It’s obvious he’s guessed. It was obvious he’d guessed the second he heard her call him by his given name. He glances at Anne, who meets his eyes with steel.

“How did things develop with the bureau?” Mrs. Zuckert wants to know.

Pim breathes roughly. Shakes his head at his answer to her question. “It’s still very complicated. There are still obstacles to be overcome, and the questions are endless. I’m quite confident that the matter will be properly resolved, but it will take more time than originally anticipated. I’m sorry,” he says quickly, “but I stopped by only to pick up my spectacles.”

“Your spectacles, Pim?” says Anne. “Since when do you ever wear your spectacles?”

“Anne, you shouldn’t question your father,” says her father’s fiancée. “There must be something he needs to see clearly.”

Pim blinks at them both. “Excuse me,” he says, and exits down the hall toward his private office. A moment later he is out again and hurrying past the door, heading down the steps. For a man who’s in his mid-fifties and who has endured ten months at Auschwitz, he can certainly move with clean agility when he decides it’s warranted.