A Murder in Auschwitz (20 page)

“I got separated from my regiment and joined a group that two brothers had started, a resistance group that fought the Germans and the Russians. We developed strategies which made us look as if we were appearing out of nowhere. Then we'd make our attacks, and disappear. We earned a fearsome reputation, especially amongst the Russians, who were much more superstitious than the Germans.

“They called us ‘Prizrak’. It is Russian for 'ghost'. Some of them thought that we were the ghosts of Polish soldiers from the past coming to take revenge.” Ziegler laughed out loud as he slapped his hands against his chest, keeping the blood flowing to his fingers.

“Sometimes,” he continued, “we would leave one of them alive. If it had been a particularly silent attack, we would never speak during it and try to use only knives, we would leave one of them alive so that he could tell his comrades about the Prizrak.

“We fought them in the woods and forests near the border of the Russian and German sectors, just north of Lvov. We could pass over that line easily to escape any attempt to capture us whereas the Russians would never cross over into German-held territory, and vice-versa.

“There were not enough of us to fight like an army. We couldn’t take land, fight for a village or town and hold it against a counter attack. All we could do was cause fear. We hoped that if the Russians or Germans feared us, then they would stay in their barracks, do less patrols, stay off the streets. Especially at night, which might give the people a little bit more freedom, a little bit of hope every time we attacked.

“We would make our attacks against the Russians for a few weeks, just long enough to cause fear in the local area but not long enough to provoke a full-scale search for us. Then we would move over to the German sector and make our attacks on them.

“Of course, it couldn’t last forever. We were short of food, our clothes were ragged, and it was only a matter of time before we would end up either dead or captured.

“I was taken prisoner by a Russian unit in February nineteen-forty-one and handed over to the Germans. The Russians didn’t realise I was a Prizrak or I am sure they would have shot me there and then. When the Germans discovered I was Jewish, they took me and several others to Warsaw and we were put in the ghetto there. It was their great Nazi plan at the time, ghettos. As well as the one in Warsaw, I know for a fact that there was one in Lodz, and I heard rumour of more in other Polish cities.

“You would only have believed it if you saw it. They had built a wall all around a part of the city. Right the way around, so no-one and nothing could get in or out without them knowing. They then rounded up all the Jews in Warsaw and the surrounding areas and made them all live in this walled city within a city.

“They took me to a gate in the wall and sent me inside. I had nothing to take in with me except the clothes I was standing in. Once I was inside, it was a different world. And for the first few minutes it seemed like time had been turned back. There were people walking in the streets, there were no enemy soldiers or checkpoints, no tanks or trucks, no hammer and sickle or swastika flags, and for the first time in a long time I didn’t think that at any given moment I would be shot. But then I began to notice what was wrong with what I could see. The people were thin, like the prisoners here. Their clothes were shabby, and the shop windows were all empty.

“I wandered the streets until a Rabbi stopped me. He could see that I had just arrived and wanted to know if he could help me. I explained about being a soldier and having been in the resistance before being taken prisoner and brought there. He had heard of the Prizrak and personally thanked me for causing so much fear amongst the invaders. Then he took me to an apartment block not far from the gate where I had come in, where he introduced me to some families that shared a floor.

“They gave me what little food they could spare and a corner of a room that I could call my own. The next morning, the Rabbi returned. He had a spare set of clothes for me and asked me to join him for a walk back to his apartment.

“On the walk, he explained how the ghetto worked. He told me that there was an infrastructure in the ghetto; schools, soup kitchens, hospitals, and even libraries had been started. How it was run by a Jewish committee, but how there was very little food and no work for the people.

“The biggest problem by far was the lack of food. He asked me to think about the way, as a member of the resistance, that we had collected food while hiding from the Germans and the Russians and to visit him in a day or two if I had any ideas.

“On the way back to the apartment, I saw a boy, only about eight years of age, slipping out of a doorway from a building that was right up against the ghetto wall. Although he was trying to hide it, I could see that he had some bread inside his jacket. He took off down the street as if the devil himself was after him. So I took a look in through the doorway and you know what I found? A stairway down to a basement which had a boarded-up window leading to the other side.

“It wasn’t long before we had gangs of youngsters bringing back food and raw materials that were needed inside the ghetto. We found other places along the perimeter where they could safely get in or out. It was the children of the ghetto that kept us alive.

“Then, one day, the Rabbi came to see me again. This time he wanted to talk about organising armed resistance inside the ghetto. He was worried that one day the SS would come and try to take everyone away. If that day came, he wanted us to be able to fight. There were already some armed groups inside the ghetto, but they didn’t communicate or work with each other. Some were communists. Some were right-wing. Some were criminal. But if the SS had entered the ghetto at that time, there would have been no coordinated resistance.

“We managed to get guns smuggled in. We traded with those outside the ghetto walls and bought ammunition and weapons. The underground Home Army supplied us as well. Those of us who had been in the army trained those who hadn’t, and before long we had a reasonable sized militia. The problem was that it seemed like a hopeless cause. How could some armed civilians keep the Waffen SS at bay? If they decided to enter the ghetto, what would stop the members of our resistance from just putting down their weapons and melting away?

“That was when we used the same sort of idea that we used for the Prizrak. That was where Ishmael came in. He was like a ghost with a secret band of followers. No-one knew what he looked like, or what his real name was. We heard stories of him crossing over into Warsaw from the ghetto and slitting the throats of German soldiers. There were rumours of Ishmael and his men manning the rooftops of the ghetto, moving fleetingly from building to building.

“Various men were suspected of being Ishmael; normally tall, handsome types,” Ziegler laughed.

“Some said they had seen him and his men in the moonlight. Some had met him, some were part of his inner circle.”

Zeigler blew into his hands to keep them warm and looked down towards the cart, where the soldiers stood laughing and chatting. Steam rose above them like smoke.

“Then, of course, the day arrived when the gates opened and the soldiers came to get us. It was Passover and they came to take us to the camps. But we were waiting for them. We had well-laid plans and defensive positions which we took up. We fought the might of the German Army and kept them at bay for over a month. Throughout that time, there were reports of Ishmael’s unit from all over the ghetto. Stories were told of him taking control of a German truck full of weapons and ammunition outside the ghetto, by attacking it from a sewer and driving it back inside. We heard that Ishmael and his unit had been attacking SS troops outside the perimeter, that they were in the sewers, that they were on the rooftops. They were everywhere.

“But the Germans were too much for us. We ran out of ammunition, ran out of weapons, out of people. It ended in Muranowski Square. We were surrounded and it became a final stand. As we tried to hold them off, rumours reached us that Ishmael was among us. It gave the remaining fighters heart.

“Then something extraordinary happened. In the midst of the fighting, two boys began to climb onto the roof of one of the buildings in the square to raise the flag of the Jewish resistance and the Polish national flag. The SS could see what was happening and pinned them down. Ishmael was seen leading his men in a final charge against the Waffen SS unit, sacrificing himself so that the two boys could escape.

“The flags were still flying four days later, as I was taken away in the back of an SS truck. But do you want to know the strangest thing of all? Ishmael never existed except in the mind of the people. He was an invention of the Rabbi and myself. A ghost. Prizrak. But he was needed. He gave everyone hope. So much so that two boys climbed a roof in the middle of a battle and raised two flags to give the people strength.

“The German truck
was
stolen and driven to the ghetto, but it wasn’t Ishmael, it was the ghetto resistance. It wasn’t Ishmael that patrolled the rooftops or used the sewers, it was the resistance.”

Zeigler looked longingly at the cart. He could smell the hot coffee and the black bread that it held.

“Then they brought me here to Auschwitz. I haven’t met anyone else that was in the ghetto. They must be somewhere, but they are not here.

“I have thought about escaping from here, to try to get back into the safety of the forest and become a Prizrak again. Maybe in the spring,” said Ziegler.

The guards had finished at the cart and shouted for the prisoners to be sent down.

“I couldn’t leave here anyway,” said Meyer. “Even if I had the chance.”

“Really? Why not?” asked Ziegler.

“My wife and children are here somewhere. I couldn’t leave them.”

Ziegler nodded and started down towards the cart.

Berlin, 15th June 1931

FRIEDRICH Bauer had been careful in his choice of cases which he had passed to Meyer and Weber. Meyer had conducted his defences with great skill and Weber had fulfilled his position as assistant in a professional and accomplished manner. Bauer had slowly built up the complexity of the cases handed to the pair until he felt that Meyer was ready for his first murder case as principal defence lawyer.

The case he passed them was the defence of Wolfgang Kolb, a young apprentice upholsterer, originally from Nuremberg but now working in Berlin for Josef Pfeiffer & Sons. He was accused of the murder of one of the sons of the family firm, Josef Pfeiffer Junior, on the site of the upholstery workshop.

Bauer had provided Meyer and Weber every resource they required, including his personal guidance in the preparation of the case. He moved them into Deschler’s old office, which afforded Meyer the services of a secretary, freeing up time for both himself and Weber. Bauer had even accompanied Meyer to the Renaissance-era Spandau Prison to interview Kolb on two occasions.

On the evening before the start of the trial, Bauer called in on Meyer in his office. Meyer smelled the man's pipe tobacco before he saw him.

“I see you are working late tonight, Manfred,” said Bauer, allowing the smoke from his pipe to visibly punctuate his words.

“Yes, Herr Bauer. Just finishing a few things off in preparation for tomorrow,” he replied, rubbing his eyes.

Bauer looked around the office. “Has Otto gone home?”

“Yes, Herr Bauer, I sent him home an hour ago to get a good night’s rest.”

“Very wise advice, young Manfred. Advice you should take yourself.” Bauer sucked deeply on his pipe and filled the room with a long cloud of smoke. “I have never seen a case so well-prepared as this one. There is nothing further you can do. Go home, Manfred, go home to your lovely family. Have something to eat and get a good night’s sleep. That is an order.”

Meyer nodded and closed the folder he had been studying.

The next morning, Meyer woke with a start. Klara was already up with Anna and Greta, and the sound of their laughter lifted his heart.

“Good morning, sleepy head,” giggled Klara.

“Good morning, darling. What time is it?”

“It’s okay; it has only just turned seven o’clock.” Klara had Anna in her arms and Greta was holding onto one of her legs. “I have made you some breakfast. Nice hot coffee and some bacon and a boiled egg. Some fresh bread as well.”

Meyer smiled. “Ah, you are such a good wife.”

Sun streamed in through the window of their apartment and Meyer could hear the birds singing in the nearby park. He had had a good sleep that night and looked forward to eating his breakfast, although he was not sure if the feeling he had in his stomach was hunger or nerves. He got out of bed and got dressed in between tickling Greta and kissing Klara and Anna.

“It is such a beautiful day,” said Klara. “I am going to take the girls to the park this morning, after you leave.”

“That is a good idea,” replied Meyer, while finishing off the last of the bacon and a mouthful of sweet coffee. Klara smiled.

“Are you enjoying that?” she laughed, pointing at the space on the plate where the bacon had been. Meyer caught her laugh and sat back.

“Can you imagine your mother’s face if she knew your good Jewish husband was stuffing bacon into his face?” he joked.

“I am sure that the fact that you are a lawyer on the rise would blind her to your blatant pork-eating,” replied Klara. She lifted Anna from her knee, leaned over, and kissed Meyer on the lips. “You need to go, or you will be late for your first big case, lawyer husband.”