elderly couple inserted themselves into Adam's vision.
They looked lost and tubercular, as their children and grandchildren had been
before them. They were two of Duritz's five. After a brief fit of coughing, in
which spots of blood could be traced upon the filthy handkerchief that the wife
placed over the husband's mouth, he politely asked the policeman
"Is there a special car that we are due to travel in Mister
Duritz?"
"No, any car will suffice," the policeman replied,
attempting to keep his distance from the contagious couple - whilst not wishing
to appear he was doing so.
"But you did say we could travel together?"
"Yes. Stay close to each other and everything will be
fine."
"Thank you Adam."
Still looking detached and diffident the pair shuffled off
into the direction of the train. He wondered how they had survived this long.
They looked like ghosts. His noble intention of trying to save the fittest and most
valuable of his people was redundant; he was but delaying their deaths -
prolonging their suffering. The British would not come. The Americans would not
come. The Russians would not come. The French were even corroborative. Adam
remembered again Czerniakow's suicide note, "I am powerless. My heart
trembles in sorrow and compassion. I can no longer bear all this. My act will
prove to everyone what the right thing to do is". Adam had also heard
rumours of a speech that Jacob Gens, a fellow ghetto administrator, had given
in Vilna, "When they ask for a thousand Jews, I hand them over. For if we
Jews do not give our own, the Germans will come and take them by force. Then
they will not take one thousand but many thousands. By handing over hundreds, I
save a thousand. By handing over a thousand, I save ten thousand". The
philosophy student's heart had been blighted for having to deliver up five
souls each day, how much blood and conceit besmirched those who had to offer up
six thousand?
Adam stood at his post - a careworn, feverish marionette. He
had nothing to do. The sepia stream of rags was directed and damned in, fluid.
The processing time had been cut but the day was still tortuously too long for
the policeman. It took more energy and concentration to do nothing and remain
impassive than it did to police a disturbance. Adam's position was to just keep
watch.
Finally the whistle sounded, drowning out the moans and
cries, and the train's wheels creaked into motion. Duritz observed the few who
had been spared for the day; either their work cards were valid or excellent
forgeries. Or they had mustered temporary salvation through a bribe. Despite
the ordeals and emotion (relief, sorrow, shock, guilt, happiness) their faces
remained colourless, blank. He observed with distaste Yitzhak Meisel next to
them as the mercenary scoured with his malignant aspect the empty Umschlagplatz
for any coins or jewellery shining back into his rapacious eyes.
Sleep-deprived, famished, the young policeman was momentarily aroused from his
jaded state by the sight of the German. Still indignant from the sight of
Meisel and burning with hate Duritz glowered at the moral soldier. At that
moment it was as if Adam held Thomas personally responsible for all he had seen
- and would not get to see - that day. His nostrils were flared, his teeth were
vice-like compressed together and his eyes were darkly ablaze. Perhaps the
reason why Duritz expressed such raw contempt in his features for his old
acquaintance was that he knew that Thomas would not react or reciprocate his
antagonism. Adam's hate quelled remorse. The soldier could act as the
policeman's scapegoat. Any other German perhaps would have stormed across the
open space and coldly executed the Jew for such an impudent gaze. Upon registering
the perplexity and then worry, hurt, on the soldier's face the policeman,
experiencing a sense of petty victory, then grinned, sneering at the German. So
as not to allow Thomas to respond, or approach him, Adam abruptly turned his
back on the goy and
They looked lost and tubercular, as their children and grandchildren had been
before them. They were two of Duritz's five. After a brief fit of coughing, in
which spots of blood could be traced upon the filthy handkerchief that the wife
placed over the husband's mouth, he politely asked the policeman
"Is there a special car that we are due to travel in Mister
Duritz?"
"No, any car will suffice," the policeman replied,
attempting to keep his distance from the contagious couple - whilst not wishing
to appear he was doing so.
"But you did say we could travel together?"
"Yes. Stay close to each other and everything will be
fine."
"Thank you Adam."
Still looking detached and diffident the pair shuffled off
into the direction of the train. He wondered how they had survived this long.
They looked like ghosts. His noble intention of trying to save the fittest and most
valuable of his people was redundant; he was but delaying their deaths -
prolonging their suffering. The British would not come. The Americans would not
come. The Russians would not come. The French were even corroborative. Adam
remembered again Czerniakow's suicide note, "I am powerless. My heart
trembles in sorrow and compassion. I can no longer bear all this. My act will
prove to everyone what the right thing to do is". Adam had also heard
rumours of a speech that Jacob Gens, a fellow ghetto administrator, had given
in Vilna, "When they ask for a thousand Jews, I hand them over. For if we
Jews do not give our own, the Germans will come and take them by force. Then
they will not take one thousand but many thousands. By handing over hundreds, I
save a thousand. By handing over a thousand, I save ten thousand". The
philosophy student's heart had been blighted for having to deliver up five
souls each day, how much blood and conceit besmirched those who had to offer up
six thousand?
Adam stood at his post - a careworn, feverish marionette. He
had nothing to do. The sepia stream of rags was directed and damned in, fluid.
The processing time had been cut but the day was still tortuously too long for
the policeman. It took more energy and concentration to do nothing and remain
impassive than it did to police a disturbance. Adam's position was to just keep
watch.
Finally the whistle sounded, drowning out the moans and
cries, and the train's wheels creaked into motion. Duritz observed the few who
had been spared for the day; either their work cards were valid or excellent
forgeries. Or they had mustered temporary salvation through a bribe. Despite
the ordeals and emotion (relief, sorrow, shock, guilt, happiness) their faces
remained colourless, blank. He observed with distaste Yitzhak Meisel next to
them as the mercenary scoured with his malignant aspect the empty Umschlagplatz
for any coins or jewellery shining back into his rapacious eyes.
Sleep-deprived, famished, the young policeman was momentarily aroused from his
jaded state by the sight of the German. Still indignant from the sight of
Meisel and burning with hate Duritz glowered at the moral soldier. At that
moment it was as if Adam held Thomas personally responsible for all he had seen
- and would not get to see - that day. His nostrils were flared, his teeth were
vice-like compressed together and his eyes were darkly ablaze. Perhaps the
reason why Duritz expressed such raw contempt in his features for his old
acquaintance was that he knew that Thomas would not react or reciprocate his
antagonism. Adam's hate quelled remorse. The soldier could act as the
policeman's scapegoat. Any other German perhaps would have stormed across the
open space and coldly executed the Jew for such an impudent gaze. Upon registering
the perplexity and then worry, hurt, on the soldier's face the policeman,
experiencing a sense of petty victory, then grinned, sneering at the German. So
as not to allow Thomas to respond, or approach him, Adam abruptly turned his
back on the goy and
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