No Light (13 page)

I am shocked at how human life can so quickly be manipulated. We appear to be in a medieval madhouse. I see a man defecating in full view of everyone. People tell him he is disgusting. Another is crawling on his hands and knees licking the steps. We pity him for losing his mind. A woman goes completely crazy, tears her false teeth out of her mouth and throws them at a group of gendarmes. Everyone laughs. The tannoy begins playing popular music and some begin dancing. There are constant fights and brawls. People are robbed or worse, murdered. At night there are always the sounds of more basic desires. Couples copulate openly. There are also rapes, again quite open. Then one day, in the middle of this bedlam I see a small fat bald man sitting on his suitcase and playing his violin. He is playing Beethoven’s Concerto in D Major, practicing the same passages over and over again. I know now that we are living on the edge of nothingness.

By the fifth day we are weak and desolate and living in a perpetual state of anxiety. I still continue praying but the numbers who attend now are very small, four or five at most. Annabelle does not speak anymore. She lies asleep in her blanket most of the time her lips cracked with thirst. Martin tries to comfort her but he too seems lost. I haven’t seen Paul since yesterday and my concern for his safety is making me angry. He left when he said he recognised someone and disappeared into the crowd. When he does return he is carrying a walking stick.

“I found this lying beside the body of an old man.”

At first I am horrified.

“Take it back. Maybe he was sleeping.”

“He was dead.” I reluctantly accept it. The stick is a polished hawthorn with a brass handle shaped as a bull’s head and looks expensive. I say a quiet prayer and try walking with it. It is slightly too long but I am grateful.

“Where have you been?”

Paul tells me he has spent some time with friends. I wonder who they are but he doesn’t elaborate. He does tell me that tonight we are being moved to an internment camp. Our ordeal seems to have ended. I do not really know what an internment camp is or what happens there but it seems a better proposition than this hell hole.

Later the tannoy tells us to line up at exits. A lot of people can barely walk and I am grateful for my new friend. Paul carries Annabelle and we make our way to the nearest line. Then I see Anshel. He is walking quickly towards us with his clipboard. When he reaches us he grabs Paul’s arm.

“Come with me, now!” he exclaims.

Paul resists and almost drops Annabelle.

“I can save you and the child”, Anshel continues. But you must come with me now.”

Everyone is confused and frightened. Suddenly I see an SS officer approaching us. I recognise him immediately. It is Hartmaan. Under his cap I can see a bandage. On the side of his face is an angry wound. Paul freezes when he sees him.

“Show me the clipboard.” he demands. Anshel hands it to him. He scans it.

“Your name is not on the list Monsieur. Why are you here?”

“I am with my father”, Paul replies.

“This is your father?” Hartmaan asks, pointing at me. Paul nods. He looks in despair.

“Your father is being re-settled in the east. You cannot accompany him.”

He calls two soldiers over.

“Whose child is this?” he asks Paul.

“She is mine.” Martin replies.

“Gib sie ihm.” He orders. The soldiers pull Annabelle from Paul and hand her to Martin.

“The child stays. Nehmen sie ihn weg!”

The soldiers grab Paul’s arms. Hartmaan looks at him before leaning over and whispering in his ear,

“Go home and bury your wife Monsieur.”

The soldiers lead Paul off. He looks back, tears streaming from his eyes. Hartmaan follows.

Outside we are herded on to buses and driven to the outskirts of the city. It is late and the streets are empty save for a few army patrols scouring for anyone who has dared ignore the curfew. Occasionally we pass a group of soldiers interrogating those who have either forgotten to go home at the prescribed time or simply ignored the order. An hour or so later the buses stop at what looks like a housing complex. I have heard of this place. It is a high rise project called Drancy. There are many soldiers here. We are taken from the bus and formed into lines. The soldiers now pass through the lines and they seem to be particularly interested in the children. When they reach us one of them grabs Annabelle and attempts to prize her from Martin’s arms. He begins imploring them not to take her.

“She is only six years old. How can she survive on her own?”

Annabelle begins crying and wraps her arms tightly around her father’s neck. The soldiers ignore our pleas and push us aside. One strikes Martin on the back with his rifle butt.

“Sie gehen lassen!” he shouts.

Another soldier raises his rifle and points it at him. Instinctively I move between them.

“Stop! I will take her.”

I turn to Martin and he reluctantly lowers Annabelle to my side. He wipes the tears from her face and straightens her clothes.

“Monsieur Politzer is going to look after you for a while.”

She holds on tightly to Martin. The soldiers have no patience and one grabs Annabelle arm and drags her screaming from her father towards the housing complex. I try to follow but the soldiers prevent me. Martin frantically tries to push his way past. The guards use their rifles to push him back. He again rushes at the soldiers. One raises his rifle and smashes the butt against his face. Martin recoils and falls to the ground. In the distance I can barely see Annabelle disappearing into a throng of children, all crying and screaming for their parents.

I have never experienced such cruelty. We are ordered to move and they begin to push us away from the houses and towards the railway. It is clear to me now that there will be no mercy for us.

We are now standing on a platform. Martin seems to have recovered a little but he is disorientated and keeps calling Annabelle’s name. Now we are being loaded on to boxcars and told to keep moving. The soldiers appear calm telling us we are being relocated to the East. Surely not Poland I think. It will take days to reach there. We reach the wooden platform leading to the carriage. Some people help Martin and I have difficulty using my stick. Finally we are inside and I jostle my way towards a corner. Then I hear a voice.

“Rabbi! Solomon!”

I am surprised and search for the source of the voice. To my delight I see Esther Guillard’s smiling face.

“Esther! Oh how lovely to see you. You have been with us all along.”

She pushes towards me and we embrace warmly. I can feel her damp face against mine.

“Please allow the Rabbi some room”, she says. Those around us comply willingly and soon we are sitting on the wooden floor, our hands clasped together.

“I can’t believe I haven’t seen you before now.”

“I thought I saw you once in the stadium but you were on the other side.” she replies, “I recognised your wonderful beard”

I laugh and stroke my beard. Esther turns to Martin who is slumped beside us.

“This poor man’s eye has been badly damaged.”

She reaches down and tears off a piece of her skirt. Suddenly the carriage shudders and the train slowly leaves the station. I feel very nervous, but Esther is now carefully removing the blood from Martin’s face.

“Do we have water”, she shouts?

No one replies. I stand up. There must be fifty packed into the carriage, mostly older people and there appears to be more women than men. I can see only two small windows to provide light and air. People are already coughing and the heat inside is beginning to build. I enquire about a latrine and am told there is a bucket in the corner. I decide to take some action and push my way to the centre of the carriage. I announce that I am Solomon Politzer and I am Rabbi at the Synagogue in Rue de Pavee. Most turn to listen.

“We must try and help each other survive this journey. We have no idea where we are going and how long it is going to take. There are only two windows so I suggest we rotate to give everyone an opportunity to breathe fresh air and cool down. We have been given one bucket as a latrine. That is completely inadequate and will soon be overflowing, so please think of everyone and only use it as a last resort. We do not seem to have any food or water so life will become difficult for us the longer we travel. If anyone has food please be generous and share it with those most in need.”

“Maybe you should take charge of the food Rabbi.” someone suggests.

I ask him his name.

“Claude Buchman.” he replies.

“Listen everyone, Claude has made a suggestion that we pool what food we have but firstly can I ask if we actually have any.”

A woman announces that she has a few pieces of bread.

“What is your name?”

“Batya Fiedler!”

“The daughter of God. Thank you Batya.”

This prompts others to offer their food and soon we have a small store of bread, seven apples, and a small packet of chocolate cookies, some candy, six potatoes, a few radishes and a large sausage donated by Jakob Klauber who receives a generous round of applause for his kindness.

“We have a meal”, I announce and for a short while the boxcar is filled with laughter and renewed optimism. However as our journey progresses I discover that some people have chosen not to share their food yet are content to eat the meagre portions shared among everyone.

The train moves relentlessly towards our destination and when my turn comes to stand by the small window I can see the countryside rolling past. Esther stands beside me gasping at the puffs of warm air thrown in occasionally by the motion of the train.

“Paul? Camille?” she asks.

I tell her what has happened.

“I wonder why Hartmaan released him.”

“I don’t know.” I reply.

Everything outside appears normal while inside the carriage life is becoming unbearable. There is not enough space for fifty people to sit so we have tried to arrange another rota that allows each person some time on the floor. This works for a while but is now being largely ignored due to the exhausted state we now find ourselves in. Some of the passengers, including Martin, are unconscious and I fear they will never awaken. The cruelty of these people who have taken us from our homes and family seems to have no limits. There are times when the train stops presumably to re-fuel but they never open the doors despite our pleadings. We are unable to empty the bucket which is now overflowing and once again we have to endure the intolerable stench of excrement. Two days have passed since we left Paris. Esther has become withdrawn and no longer speaks with any conviction or hope. I still manage to pray but the response from my fellow passengers is diminishing. Propped up in the corner with Esther sleeping beside me and resting her head on my shoulder I think again about Paul. I have difficulty now picturing his face which now moves in and out of my consciousness like a ghost. The more I try to picture him the more I am forced to confront my own reality. I am lying in a stinking cattle cart slowly dying. I try to resist the unimaginable fear that now lurks in my soul. I cannot despair. At the time of my Semikah I was authorized to uphold the teachings of the Torah so in those times when I am faced with darkness and desolation I pray aloud compelling my voice to fill this decrepit world with the word of God.

You, O Lord, are mighty forever you revive the dead you have the power to save.

You sustain the living with loving kindness you revive the dead with great mercy

You support the falling, heal the sick, set free the bound and keep faith with those who sleep in the dust.

Who is like you, O doer of mighty acts?

Who resembles you, a king who puts to death and restores to life and causes salvation to flourish?

And you are certain to revive the dead.

Blessed are you, O Lord, who revives the dead.

I force myself to remember Anna but she too seems to have deserted my dreams. I cannot blame her so I speak to her quietly. I ask her how she is and not to worry about me. She must care for Paul wherever he is. I ask her to sing to him and in the distance I imagine I can hear her voice.

After three days another stop! I am still awake.

I hear German voices and the sound of dogs barking. I want to go to the window but it is impossible to walk across the bodies that now litter the floor. So I wait. Then unexpectedly I hear the sound of the bolt being drawn on the doors. They are slid open and a voice shouts,

“Schnell! Schnell!”

The people begin to rouse. The German at the door begins pulling at those nearest him.

“Schnell! Schnell!”

I help Esther to her feet. She is groggy and doesn’t understand. I tell her we have arrived. I cannot rouse Martin. He looks dreadful. We are soon jumping off the carriage on to an improvised platform. I have no idea where we are but it is wonderful to feel the cool air on my face. We are surrounded by soldiers some with dogs that snarl and growl at everyone who passes. There is some light in the sky but I am not sure if that means early morning or evening. Esther clings to me among the commotion. We are jostled and separated into two lines, one for men the other women. Esther is terrified and holds me tightly. A soldier wrenches her from me.