Read Online Hostage by Elie Wiesel - Free Book Online
Authors: Elie Wiesel
Tags: Historical
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courage to ask the question.
The count’s face hardened; then he agreed.
How can one entrust wooden pieces with the life and death of loved ones? A doubt crawled into my mind and it upset myconcentration: Even if I won, wouldn’t the count go back on his promise brutally and with impunity?
The question was beside the point. I lost. The count was kind enough to comfort me instead of telling me the blunt truth.
“First of all,” he said, “the deported are not going very far; they’ll be back. Secondly, even if you had won, it wouldn’t have changed anything. It’s too late to step in and do anything. The ghetto is already being emptied. The freight cars are filling up.”
My father and Arele returned—after the war. Their empty eyes stared into space then, and they had numbers tattooed on their arms.
Dorothea, the count’s governess, how old could she have been? I was too young to care. In fact, for a long time I remained convinced that women were primarily for others.
Then Blanca chose me. It is a fact. Undeniable. Though she didn’t succeed in changing my life, she did change many things in my life. Even if it had been a long time since I expected love to bring happiness. I don’t feel like struggling to justify love anymore. But I admit that, thanks to Blanca, I’ve succeeded in getting closer to my truth. Or in simpler terms: After about twenty years, I was finally able answer a question that had troubled me for a long time. Was Blanca really the only woman in my life?
Until the end of the occupation, I lived in the officially “empty” and dilapidated house of Count Friedrich von Waldensohn. Even though he was protecting me, I lived in anguish.
With time, I wanted to believe that in spite of my Jewish origins, the German count liked me. Didn’t he pluck me out of the ranks because he discovered me in front of a chessboard? Was it that he appreciated my way of playing? What intriguedhim most, I think, was my natural talent, a hereditary gift no doubt (was one of my ancestors a grand master?). As a boy, I owed nothing to the handbooks and their teachings, all based on the methods of the illustrious champions whose names I didn’t even know. I had told the count: I had never heard of Alekhine’s valiant gambit or Steinberg’s original defense. In fact, I didn’t need examples. I followed my intuition.
I missed my family, of course. Sometimes, when I was lonely, I couldn’t prevent tears from streaming down my face. Sometimes I would cry silently even while I was considering my strategy as we played. The count would try to calm and console me.
“Your loved ones aren’t far away, I guarantee it. They’re working, like everyone, but they’re well.”
Could I believe him? I tried to convince myself that he was my protector, that he cared about me. Why would he lie? But deep down, I mistrusted him, though of course I never showed it for fear of arousing his anger.
The count was such a good liar. One day, with my heart in my mouth, I asked him, “You say my family is well and not far from here. But what about my mother? How is she? She has intestinal problems. She was going to be operated on.”
“Oh yes, she was very sick. But she recovered. I’m positive; I got it straight from her physician. The one who operated on her. In fact, if you want, you could write her a little note; I’ll give it to her when I next visit her camp.”
Naturally, I quickly composed a letter, expressing in Yiddish all my nostalgia, sorrow, loneliness and love. The count tried to read it but gave up; he remarked that he didn’t know my language, which seemed to him a vulgar corruption of German,but that he trusted me. My note would be given to her within a week.
One week later, he was beaming.
“Mission accomplished. Your mother cried when she read your letter. She showed it to everyone. It was a good idea you had, a generous idea, my boy. Now that contact has been established, things will go better.”
He
The count’s face hardened; then he agreed.
How can one entrust wooden pieces with the life and death of loved ones? A doubt crawled into my mind and it upset myconcentration: Even if I won, wouldn’t the count go back on his promise brutally and with impunity?
The question was beside the point. I lost. The count was kind enough to comfort me instead of telling me the blunt truth.
“First of all,” he said, “the deported are not going very far; they’ll be back. Secondly, even if you had won, it wouldn’t have changed anything. It’s too late to step in and do anything. The ghetto is already being emptied. The freight cars are filling up.”
My father and Arele returned—after the war. Their empty eyes stared into space then, and they had numbers tattooed on their arms.
Dorothea, the count’s governess, how old could she have been? I was too young to care. In fact, for a long time I remained convinced that women were primarily for others.
Then Blanca chose me. It is a fact. Undeniable. Though she didn’t succeed in changing my life, she did change many things in my life. Even if it had been a long time since I expected love to bring happiness. I don’t feel like struggling to justify love anymore. But I admit that, thanks to Blanca, I’ve succeeded in getting closer to my truth. Or in simpler terms: After about twenty years, I was finally able answer a question that had troubled me for a long time. Was Blanca really the only woman in my life?
Until the end of the occupation, I lived in the officially “empty” and dilapidated house of Count Friedrich von Waldensohn. Even though he was protecting me, I lived in anguish.
With time, I wanted to believe that in spite of my Jewish origins, the German count liked me. Didn’t he pluck me out of the ranks because he discovered me in front of a chessboard? Was it that he appreciated my way of playing? What intriguedhim most, I think, was my natural talent, a hereditary gift no doubt (was one of my ancestors a grand master?). As a boy, I owed nothing to the handbooks and their teachings, all based on the methods of the illustrious champions whose names I didn’t even know. I had told the count: I had never heard of Alekhine’s valiant gambit or Steinberg’s original defense. In fact, I didn’t need examples. I followed my intuition.
I missed my family, of course. Sometimes, when I was lonely, I couldn’t prevent tears from streaming down my face. Sometimes I would cry silently even while I was considering my strategy as we played. The count would try to calm and console me.
“Your loved ones aren’t far away, I guarantee it. They’re working, like everyone, but they’re well.”
Could I believe him? I tried to convince myself that he was my protector, that he cared about me. Why would he lie? But deep down, I mistrusted him, though of course I never showed it for fear of arousing his anger.
The count was such a good liar. One day, with my heart in my mouth, I asked him, “You say my family is well and not far from here. But what about my mother? How is she? She has intestinal problems. She was going to be operated on.”
“Oh yes, she was very sick. But she recovered. I’m positive; I got it straight from her physician. The one who operated on her. In fact, if you want, you could write her a little note; I’ll give it to her when I next visit her camp.”
Naturally, I quickly composed a letter, expressing in Yiddish all my nostalgia, sorrow, loneliness and love. The count tried to read it but gave up; he remarked that he didn’t know my language, which seemed to him a vulgar corruption of German,but that he trusted me. My note would be given to her within a week.
One week later, he was beaming.
“Mission accomplished. Your mother cried when she read your letter. She showed it to everyone. It was a good idea you had, a generous idea, my boy. Now that contact has been established, things will go better.”
He
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