Karolina's Twins (35 page)

“As the air raids increased and the Russians closed in, the Nazis began to dismantle the camp. Their plan was to destroy the camp and all evidence of the genocide. In September and October, the
sonderkommandos,
who served the Nazis by clearing out the bodies from the gas chambers and taking them to the crematoriums, were all gathered and executed. The Nazis wanted no witnesses, no one left behind to tell the story. They expected all the Auschwitz-Birkenau inmates to die or to be transferred to other camps to die.

“All but one of the crematoriums and one gas chamber were shut down by the end of the year. Instead of trains bringing in prisoners, we now saw blocks of inmates being loaded onto trains to go to other camps deep inside Germany. Half the prison population was gone by the end of 1944.

“Every day, every night, we heard the sounds of bombs and gunfire. It was music. It was the Allied air force orchestra's percussion section. Boom boom. The Russians were just a few miles from our camp and we heard their gunfire. Boom. The Germans hastily began to destroy what was left of Auschwitz-Birkenau, trying to leave no trace of the camp and its horrors. They set fire to wooden barracks, they burned buildings to the ground. They blew up the crematoriums. But they weren't about to let the prisoners go. They weren't done with us.

“On the night of January 18, 1945, my building was rousted from sleep about three
A.M.
Everybody was ordered to stand outside for roll call. It was snowing and very cold. The snow on the ground was at least a foot deep. We stood outside in our dresses, thin hooded overcoats and wooden shoes. No socks. Finally, we were counted and told to line up in groups of five. This was to be the Auschwitz death march.

“The plan was to have us walk through several villages to the Wodzislaw train station for transport to Buchenwald, Mauthausen or other camps deep in Germany. The march was expected to take less than a week and cover thirty-five miles. They gave us each a loaf of bread, a slab of butter and told us to make it last.

“Many could not endure such a hardship. The Nazis made it quite clear what our choices were. Those who were unable to walk on such a journey and wanted to stay behind could do so and they would be shot. As hard as it is to believe, some chose not to go and went back into the barracks. The rest of us walked out through the front gate into the bitter Polish night. Snow was up to my shins and in my shoes. Chaya and I walked side by side. I kept telling myself, ‘Lena, you can do this. You're a survivor. You can do this.'

“So we walked. Anyone who fell behind, anyone who stumbled, anyone who couldn't stay in line, was shot and left by the side of the road. We marched during the night and rested during the day. The SS guards had warm coats compared to our threadbare coats, but they were cold as well. After several hours of walking, they would try to find a barn or an empty building for us, and for them, to get shelter from the snow and to rest.

“We were into our second day, somewhere in Silesia, and the blowing snow would not quit. ‘Keep going, Chaya,' I said to her. ‘You can do this.' And she said the same to me, even though I could not feel my feet. They were mostly numb, except it felt like I was walking on needles. Finally, the SS found a large empty barn and told us we'd have three hours to rest. Chaya and I laid down in the corner of a horse stall and covered ourselves with hay and straw to get warm.

“The sound of gunfire, machine guns and tank cannons grew louder. The Russians were a stone's throw away. Finally, a large boom sent vibrations through the barn. I thought the walls would break apart. Even the guards themselves were frightened. ‘Get up! Get up!' they yelled. ‘Everybody out. Now!
Raus, raus. Schnell. Macht schnell.
' The inmates scrambled to their feet, the guards collected them and prodded them and they all rushed out of the barn. But not me. I slid under the hay. I covered myself up with hay and straw and did not move.

“The guards kept yelling, hustling the inmates to get in line, and I tried not to breathe. ‘Move, move, hurry up,' they yelled. ‘
Schnell. Macht schnell.
' But now their voices were fading, farther away, down the road. They hadn't stopped to count. No roll call. The sound grew thinner and thinner. I didn't move a muscle. I didn't move a single straw or piece of hay. An hour or so later I poked my head up, brushed the hay from my face and looked around the barn. Nothing. Everyone was gone. Even Chaya. And then it came to me.

“I was free!

“I was free for the first time in four years. My tormentors had rushed away in fear, heading deep into Germany. They herded their captives, pushing the women through the snow, to trains, to boxcars, to other concentration camps far inside Germany, where they would be starved and abused and worked until they died. But I had escaped. I was free. And the first thing I did was to drop to my knees and pray for those women. I prayed for Chaya. Isn't that funny? I never prayed for myself. Never believed in prayer, never gave it a second thought. But at that moment, when I stood alone in the barn, a free person, I prayed to God to protect those Jewish women, to strike those Nazis down and free those women. I knew there was a God, because I was free, and now I urged him to free the others. ‘Do it, God.' Crazy, wasn't I?”

“Not at all.”

 

F
ORTY

“A
NY LUCK RESEARCHING KAROLINA
or her babies?” Catherine asked. Liam sat at the dining room table with papers spread about, his laptop opened to the database of “Gross-Rosen in Rogoznica” Web site and a Guinness on a coaster. Catherine hung her coat and walked into the dining room.

“Not so far. Right now I'm trying to find the records that reflect registration for Lena after her stop at the main Gross-Rosen camp. I haven't found any specific databases for Parschnitz.”

“Are you doubting her story?”

“No, no. I'm just tying up all the dates, making sure she got her dates right. I want them to coincide with Muriel Bernstein.”

Catherine looked shocked. “You found Muriel?”

“Sure did. I mean, I found the record of her stays at the concentration camps, yes.”

“Did she survive? Can we talk to her?”

Liam shrugged. “I know she survived the war, but I don't know what happened after the war ended. Gross-Rosen's main camp, where Muriel worked as a nurse, was evacuated as the Russian army was advancing. The inmates were marched to a train and transferred to Bergen-Belsen, Buchenwald, Mauthausen, and other camps.”

“What happened to Muriel?”

“Muriel Bernstein, if that's
our
Muriel Bernstein—there's more than one—arrived at the Mauthausen concentration camp in February 1945, coincidentally about the same time as Simon Wiesenthal arrived there from Auschwitz. That might have been where Lena would have gone had she not escaped. On May 5, 1945, the U.S. 11th Armored Division liberated the camp. Muriel's listed as a survivor. That's as far as I got.”

“That's great. If Muriel's still alive, she'd make a great witness. She knew Karolina and the babies. She was there when the babies were born and when they were thrown from the train. Eyewitness proof. So, keep after it.”

“I know.”

“What records have you uncovered for Lena?”

“Well, she was enrolled at Gross-Rosen along with Muriel but transferred to the Parschnitz sub-camp, and as I've said, I have no records from there.”

“Any records from the Parschnitz jail?”

“Forget about it.”

“Lena went to Auschwitz on July first.”

“I know, but many of the Auschwitz records were destroyed.”

“I have someone else for you to look up. Chaya Aronovich. She was with Lena in Auschwitz and left on the death march on January 18, 1945.”

Liam nodded. “What are your thoughts with regard to Chaya?”

“She wasn't in Chrzanów and didn't know Karolina, but she was close to Lena for six months in Auschwitz. Lena may have had conversations with Chaya about Karolina and the babies as early as 1944.”

“How does that help?”

“It goes to the issue of whether those are recent delusions brought about by senility. If Lena discussed Karolina and the babies with Chaya in 1944, then her current beliefs aren't a product of a deteriorating mental state. She believed them seventy years ago. Either Muriel or Chaya would dispel the notion that her so-called delusional obsession was caused by senile dementia. That might be enough to win our probate case even if we can't prove that Karolina's babies survived.”

“I get it. I've also made requests through the Yad Vashem Museum's Central Database of Shoah Victims' Names. It's the most comprehensive identity search available, but I haven't heard back yet.”

“Well, add Chaya Aronovich. Does Yad Vashem keep current information on survivors?”

“Some. And they store millions of pages of testimony, video and audio remembrances. I've made contact with a staff member in the archives and she's agreed to meet with me next week.”

“Next week? You're going to Israel next week?”

“Yep.”

“Liam, you didn't tell me.”

“Oh, sorry, I was going to, I just forgot. May I have permission to go to Israel next week to meet with a staff member at Yad Vashem?”

“Well, maybe I wanted to go too.”

“Then buy a ticket.”

“Liam. You know I'm not flying.”

He hugged her. “Actually, it's better for you to stay and finish up with Lena. I'm going to find out what I can in Israel and then swing by Poland. Maybe I can turn up something useful.”

“Okay. Good idea.”

“Where do you stand in finishing up with Lena?”

Catherine stared longingly at Liam. “God, I wish I could have a beer. Or a stiff drink. Lena's narrative today was about as tough as it gets.”

Liam smiled and put his palm on her considerable baby bump. “My guy doesn't drink yet.”

Catherine covered his hand with hers. “He's kicking. Do you feel it?”

“So you agree it's a he?”

Catherine laughed. “Do you really want to know?”

“Nope.”

 

F
ORTY-ONE

“Y
OU WERE FREE,” CATHERINE
said. “After all those years of enslavement, you were free.”

“Yes, I was. But freedom is a relative term. The SS had left and I stayed behind, but I was in a barn, in a prison uniform, with wooden shoes. I hadn't eaten in a day. I wasn't sure where I was or where I could go. I had no money, no family, and I was scared to death of the German army and the Russian army.

“But, as you say, I was free. I stood up, brushed the hay off my body and took stock of my surroundings. I called out, ‘Anyone here? Chaya?' But there was no answer.”

“Can I stop you for a moment?” Catherine said. “Have you spoken with Chaya since that day in the barn?”

Lena shook her head.

“How about Muriel?”

“No, I'm afraid not. After the war, as I'm about to tell you, things became chaotic. All of Europe was in shambles. Millions of people were wandering around with no place to go. There was no way of contacting anyone. By the time things settled down, it was several years later. I was in Chicago. I don't know where Muriel and Chaya went.”

“But I understand there's a database. You contributed testimony to the Yad Vashem database, didn't you?”

Lena nodded. “Certainly. I gave them a video statement. They have all my information on file.”

“Isn't it reasonable to assume that Muriel and Chaya, if they survived, would have done the same, or that others might have provided Yad Vashem with information about them?”

“I don't know. Maybe.”

“I'm a little surprised. Why didn't you look up Muriel and Chaya? And what about David?”

Lena shrugged. “Life became too complicated and I just wanted to move on. I didn't want to think about the Holocaust anymore. I wanted to put it all behind me.”

“I hate to be so lawyery, but that's not entirely true. You voluntarily sat for a video statement with Yad Vashem
after
the Holocaust. You've been very active in survivor organizations for years. You were a leader in the protest against the Neo-Nazis' plan to march in Skokie, Illinois, in 1978, holding a placard on the street. You didn't exactly move on.”

“How did you know about Skokie?”

“Liam. He's pretty damn good at what he does.”

Lena sat for a moment biting on her bottom lip. “Well, the answer is I didn't search for Muriel or Chaya.”

“What about David?”

“That's a different story. May I just proceed with my narrative now?”

Catherine picked up her notepad. “Of course. Please do.”

“Everyone had left. I peeked out of the door of the barn. There wasn't a soul in sight. I saw a farmhouse a few hundred yards away, but I'd been there and done that with a woman that turned me in. I wasn't about to trust some stranger again and end up in a Nazi truck. I knew what direction the march had gone—west, into Czechoslovakia, running away from the Russians, who were coming from the east. I knew where Oświęcim was on the map. It was almost due east, and from there Chrzanów was only thirteen miles northeast. I knew I would have to circle around Auschwitz, going straight north from where I was and then east. I didn't want to take a chance on going anywhere near Auschwitz again, so I headed north.

“The road was empty. I saw no pedestrians or wagons, which was understandable because I was in the middle of a battle zone and no civilian in his right mind would be out and about. Rapid bursts of machine gun fire filled the air to the west. I was pretty sure the next town, Kobiór, was about three miles due north, but that's not where the road went. It went west toward the Nazis. Standing between Kobiór and me was a thick forest. There were no trails and the snow was fresh, but I had no choice. I would go north through the woods.