A Murder in Auschwitz (34 page)

Friedrich Bauer always welcomed Meyer into his office, and Marie would bring them coffee while they chatted about old cases and how much things had changed since the Nazis had come to power. Over the years, Meyer had given Bauer a full account of his family history and how he had met and fallen in love with Klara.

Bauer had also given an account of his history and that of his brother, Herbert. They had been of landed farming stock and had grown up on a large estate in the north, in Pomerania. He and his brother had been the first in their family to go to university in Berlin, and Friedrich, being the youngest, followed his brother to study law and then into the same practise. Over time, the two brothers built up substantial reputations as legal representatives, and eventually, with some financial help from their father, they started their own firm.

From the outset, they had made the choice not to discriminate against those less fortunate financially. As long as they believed that the client had a good case, the fee would be kept low, and would be allowed to be paid in instalments, or sometimes not at all.

Before long, they had outgrown their small office, and they made the decision to buy the office building on Potsdamer Platz. It had been the day after they had made the purchase when and Friedrich and Herbert Bauer had been admiring the building from the opposite side of the street.

“It was a beautiful day,” explained Bauer. “Beautiful. We stood on the other side of the street and talked about how well we had done and how proud we had made our father. It was all very self-congratulatory and I could see a future of prosperity and happiness ahead of us both.

“And then...” Bauer faltered.

“It came out of nowhere, a carriage pulled by two horses which had bolted. Animals feed off each other’s emotions. Did you know that, Manfred? I had seen it on the farm, one sheep would be spooked and before you knew it the whole flock had panicked.

“I don’t suppose it matters what it was that frightened the first horse, but its fear spread to its companion and then passed back amplified, fear turning to panic turning to terror. The driver lost control and fell from the carriage before we even saw it.

“It was a woman’s screams that first alerted us. A little girl was crossing the street and was right in the path of the horses. I didn’t even have time to shout, so I don’t know how he moved so quickly. One second he was standing beside me, the next he was on the road. I just saw the back of Herbert, his jacket flowing behind him as he pushed the girl from the path of the carriages. And then the horses were past and the girl was crying but alive. But poor Herbert. His last words to me had been with his hand on my shoulder, of how proud he was of me. My brother. You remind me of him.”

Meyer did not know what time it was when the first knock came. At first he thought it was a dream that had woken him. Neither of them had moved after falling asleep on the sofa and Klara was still cuddled into his shoulder. There was enough light from the glowing embers of the fire for Meyer to see the outline of the furniture in the room. He looked down at the top of his wife’s head, at her hair, and breathed in her perfume, drowning in her presence as his eyes closed and he sunk into the warmth that was Klara.

And then the knock came again and did not stop. “Manfred Meyer, open the door!”

Klara woke with a start. “Manfred, who is it?” she asked in a gasp.

“It is the police! Open up! Or we will break down the door!”

Meyer jumped to his feet, leaving Klara to collapse into the space where he had been sitting, and ran to the door. He flicked round the brass escutcheon which covered the security spy hole in the door and peered through. His heart stopped when he saw the uniforms of the other side.

“Who is it, Manfred?” shouted Klara from the sofa, fear in her voice. This woke Anna and Greta, and they called out for their mother.

“It’s the SS,” replied Meyer, as he unlocked the door. As soon as the key had turned, the men on the other side of the door pushed it open, forcing Meyer backwards. One of the officers pulled a piece of paper from his breast pocket and unfolded it.

“Manfred Meyer?” he asked.

“Yes, I am Manfred Meyer.”

“You and your family are being relocated to the East. You have twenty minutes to get dressed and pack before you will be required to leave the building,” said the officer.

“I don’t understand,” said Meyer. “I have two children and it is the middle of the night, why are we being taken away?”

The SS officer stared at Meyer, surprised that he was being questioned about something that to him was so obvious. “You are being sent to the resettlement areas with the rest of the Jewish population. You will feel at home there, with your own kind.”

He then motioned with his head, and two of the soldiers pushed past Meyer into the apartment.

“Go on. Get your wife and children ready. You don’t have much time,” continued the officer.

Klara struggled past the two soldiers as they made their way into her home. “Manfred, what is going on?” she asked, and he could see tears welling up in her eyes. Before he could answer, Anna and Greta came out of their bedroom, yawning and looking in bewilderment at the soldiers.

“Papa, why are there soldiers here?” asked Greta.

Meyer turned away from the officer and pulled Klara into his arms. “They say that they are going to relocate us. We have twenty minutes to pack.”

“Twenty minutes?” cried Klara. “How can we pack everything in twenty minutes?”

Meyer kissed her on the forehead. “You get the children dressed and pick out enough clothes for them both to fit into two of those small suitcases. I will start with our things.”

“But where are they taking us?” she asked, her tears now streaming down her face, her bottom lip quivering like a child’s.

“I don’t know, Klara. I don’t know, but get the children back into their room and get them to get dressed as quickly as possible. I will get the cases.”

Klara turned, took Anna and Greta by their shoulders, and led them back into their room. Meyer watched and saw them looking up at their mother, asking what was happening, why were there soldiers in the apartment, why was mummy crying, while Klara deflected the questions with instructions on what they needed to do.

“Twenty minutes,” said the officer behind him. “My two men will stay in the apartment while you pack, just in case.”

Meyer turned around to face him once again. “In case of what?” he asked.

“In case you require assistance, of course,” the officer replied, and made his way back out onto the landing, where Meyer saw Frau Fischer’s door slightly ajar.

Meyer went straight to his and Klara’s bedroom. His head was swimming. He had worried for so long that something would happen to his family, but now that something was, he was unsure of what to do.

He retrieved the family suitcases from on top of the wardrobe and from under his and Klara's bed. As he put them on the bed and opened them up, he wondered what was in store for the four of them. He knew that there was not some Jewish homeland built in the conquered territories of the east, no Israel rebuilt. He worried that it may be labour camps where he and his family may be forced to work. He tore through his memories and experiences, desperately trying to find a way to escape what was happening, to find a way to get his family away to safety. Meyer felt that he would give up everything, even his own life, if he could give Klara and the girls the safety and security that was being stripped away from them. Meyer looked at his watch; he had eighteen minutes.

He pulled open the drawers which held his and Klara’s clothes and allowed his lawyer’s methodical mind to guide him. He started at the feet and made his way up the body; socks, underwear, vests, then trousers and skirts, dresses, tops, shirts, jackets.

His mind filled with questions about what they would need. They had to be warm, but the summers would be hot. They needed money and things they could sell. He picked up Klara’s jewellery case and poured its contents into one of the cases. He then opened the top drawer of the bedside cabinet and took out the three gold watches which he had collected over the years. These went into the other case along with the some of cash which they kept in the house. This he split between the four cases and his jacket pocket.

Everything else of any worth was too heavy or too big to consider taking; pictures on the wall, clocks, and ornaments. He quickly looked around the room and into the cases. He decided that he had not missed any clothing or footwear that they may need. Meyer checked his watch. Nine minutes.

He closed the suitcases, picked up the two smaller bags, which Anna and Greta would use, and ran through to the children’s room with them. As he crossed the hallway he noticed that the two soldiers were still stationed in the living room and, in the instant that thoughts take to flash across the mind, he wondered how often these men had stood as sentinels to the upheaval of a family being forced from their home.

By the time he had arrived in the girls’ room, Klara had stopped crying and was organising the girls into bringing her various different types of clothing. Meyer opened the cases and started putting the two piles of children’s clothes into each one.

“Have you packed our bags?” asked Klara, tears beginning to form once more.

“Yes, I think I have everything we might need. I have put money in each of the bags and split up your jewellery between them in case one of the bags goes missing.”

“Five minutes and we need you out. There is transport outside waiting for you,” came a shout from the landing.

Klara looked around her, “Only five minutes? Oh, Manfred.”

“I know, Klara. Anna, help Greta on with her coat. We need to go now,” said Meyer. “Do you have your bears?”

“Yes, Papa,” the girls said in unison tucking their toy bears inside their coats.

Meyer helped Klara on with her jacket. “Put on your big boots, I’ve got mine on. What are the girls wearing?”

“Their leather lace-up boots for the winter,” she replied, as she left the children’s room to get her own footwear. While she was back in their bedroom, Meyer kneeled down and checked that Anna and Greta’s jackets were buttoned correctly.

“My girls, we have to leave here very quickly now. We will be going with the soldiers and they will take us to a place which is very far away from here,” he explained.

“Why, Papa?” asked Anna.

“I am not sure, Anna, but I need you to be good grown-up girls and do what we say, when we say it. Do you think you can do that?”

“Yes, Papa,” they both said.

“Good girls. I love you both, all the way up to the stars,” he said.

“And all the way back down again,” they chorused.

Klara was at the bedroom door with both of the large suitcases in her hands. Meyer stood up and took one of them from her. “Come on, girls, take a bag each. We need to go now.”

“Manfred,” said Klara, her voice faltering.

“Yes, darling?” replied Meyer.

“I’m frightened,” she said, looking at the girls.

Meyer was about to tell her that he knew that she was frightened, that he was also uncertain what was in store for them but he was sure that they would be together and he would be able to look after them, when there was a shout from the door.

“Time is up. Herz, Scholl, bring them outside, now.” The two soldiers from the living room started to move Klara towards the door and indicated to Meyer to bring the girls. Meyer took one last look at his home as he was herded outside, the only home he had known in Berlin, where his girls had been born, where he had lived his life.

Outside was an army truck, open at the back and covered in canvas. The tail door was dropped down and darkness filled the chasm inside.

“Into the truck,” the officer ordered.

Meyer had lifted Greta in first and handed her a bag when the darkness inside the truck was chased away by the lights from a car which pulled up directly behind them. Meyer turned but was blinded by the headlights, even though they had covers over them, allowing only a slit of lamp to show.

The SS officer and the soldiers stopped and waited as the car door opened. Meyer tried to see through the glare, to the figure who had climbed out of the black Mercedes-Benz. Meyer thought he recognised something about the figure.

“Scharfuhrer, I am afraid there has been a mistake made here.” It was Deschler. Meyer’s heart jumped.

“There is no mistake; I have this family’s name on my warrant. And who are you?” asked the officer.

Deschler reached into his inside pocket and pulled out his identification wallet, which he handed to the officer. “And what is your name, Scharfuhrer?” asked Deschler.

The officer held Deschler’s identification papers open in the beam of the headlights. He quickly handed them back and saluted. “Scharfuhrer Mahler, Herr Kriminaldirektor.”

Deschler returned the salute and placed the wallet back in his coat. “Scharfuhrer Mahler, this family is not on the list of those being relocated. They are to return to their home.”

Mahler pulled out his folded piece of paper from his breast pocket. “Kriminaldirektor Deschler, the names Manfred and Klara Meyer are on this warrant,” he said, handing it over to Deschler’s dark figure. He took it and glanced at the typewritten sheet before folding it carefully again and placing it in his own pocket.