Silence. Tadek held his breath, wondering what the American thought of him. He knew well enough what his own fellow inmates had always thought of him.
Corpse-carrier.
Nazi accomplice.
Gas-chamber attendant.
“When the Soviets liberated us, I volunteered for their army,” Tadek murmured, as though in some perverse self-defense. For some reason, it was better to be a former soldier and not a Nazi slave, even though his soldier’s career only lasted a little over three months.
“You fought on the front then?”
In response, Tadek extracted his two medals from the pocket of his trousers. The American studied them carefully and nodded his appreciation.
“What’s your name, kid?” The tone was still warm, fatherly almost.
In the American’s brown eyes, surrounded by a net of wrinkles, kindness shone. Glasses, chestnut hair, sprinkled with gray near the temples – Tadek’s father had the same intelligent eyes, same build, and coloring when they were still free people; when neither the camps nor the ghetto existed; when Tadek’s father was still a respected Professor Baumann and not a disposable Jew.
“Tadek. Tadeusz Baumann.”
“From Poland?”
“Yes.”
“Jewish?”
He nodded and lowered his eyes, as though in an apology.
“How old are you?”
“Twenty.”
The American whistled through his teeth. It was not a good kind of a whistle.
“Any living relatives?”
“No.”
“Have you searched for them through the Red Cross lists?”
“No need to. They all died in Auschwitz. Mother and father gassed upon arrival, along with my little brother and both sisters. My other brother lived for a couple of months but then he died too.” He paused and then added as though in an afterthought, “I helped put his body on a gurney. So, no. No relatives. I’m the only survivor.”
After a long moment of silence, the American offered him his hand. “Lieutenant Morris, OSS.”
Tadek grasped it firmly.
“Your English is very good.”
“Thank you. My father was a professor of linguistics.”
From Morris, a nod of approval. “And how is your German?”
“As good as my English. I also speak Polish, Russian, Yiddish, Hebrew, French, and a little bit of Italian.”
“Your father taught you?”
“Yes. I wanted to become a linguist as well.” Tadek looked somewhere above Lt. Morris’s shoulder. “The SS made me into a corpse carrier instead.”
Something flashed in Lt. Morris’s eyes. “I assume, you’re not too fond of them, are you?”
“The SS?” A dark shadow passed over Tadek’s features. “That’s one way to put it.”
After another pregnant pause, the American asked quietly, “do you know what the Office of Strategic Services concerns itself with?”
Tadek shook his head.
“We’re the US Army Intelligence. During the war, we coordinated espionage activities behind enemy lines. Now, our interests have shifted in a slightly different direction. For instance, the group that I’m in charge of is a part of a bigger detachment that concerns itself with finding runaway Nazi war-criminals. As a matter of fact, I came here for a report from my men but…” He appeared to be working things out in his mind. “With your knowledge of languages and considering your history… I could really use your help in finding one particular SS criminal.”
Tadek made no reply, just stared at him without blinking, without breathing even. “Someone from the camp?” He managed to speak at last. “If that’s the case, then I wish nothing to do with it. I can identify him by a photo if you like, but don’t make me—”
“No, no,” Morris rushed to reassure him, “someone who gave orders to the men in the camp. Someone from the office in Berlin.”
For a long time, Tadek considered.
“You won’t have to look him in the eye. We don’t even think he’s in Germany. His daughter is, though. We need to make sure that when the said Nazi returns, she’ll inform us immediately.”
“Do you truly believe a high-ranking Nazi’s daughter will listen to a former Auschwitz inmate’s arguments?” Tadek’s mouth pulled into a skeptical smirk.
“She lives under our constant observation in the American sector of Berlin. She’s not allowed to leave the house or socialize with anyone besides her housekeeper. We don’t even allow her to read books, in the hope that it’ll help us crack her faster. She’s entirely isolated from the outside world.” Morris’s palm was back on Tadek’s shoulder. “She needs a friend, Tadeusz.”
Tadek laughed vacantly, quick to see the joke. Fat chance that a Nazi’s daughter would be all that desperate as to befriend him.
Morris only grinned. “When pushed to desperation, people befriend even their enemies. Did you not just tell me that you played ball with the SS?”
Tadek’s smile dropped at once. An expression of pure torment was back in its place; he had just opened his mouth to speak in his own defense but Morris already had his hand in the air to prevent any misunderstanding.
“In no way is it my intention to paint you as a guilty party here. That was not why I just said it. I only said it so you would see my reason.”
Pacified by the American’s non-hostile attitude, Tadek was listening.
“I know you doubt my plan but trust me, I know what I’m doing. The only question is whether you want to stay here and slowly drive yourself mad with panic attacks that I’ve just witnessed or concentrate on a task and clear your head, at last, from all that garbage of the past few years? I see that frontline life didn’t help you. Something tells me though, what would really help your mental state, is to see the man who is guilty of your family’s death, finally face the justice he deserves.”
After a moment’s thought, Tadek enclosed his palm into the OSS agent’s one. Perhaps, the American’s words were only aimed at making him agree to this doubtful enterprise. Perhaps, he would always be trapped inside this never-ending nightmare. But one thing Morris was right about – sitting here and driving himself mad was a certain way downward, if there was any bottom to Tadek’s misery, to begin with.
2
After hours of interrogation, the cigarette smoke scratched the back of her throat but Gerlinde’s stony face betrayed nothing.
