The Mascot (11 page)

“It had been more or less good-humored when suddenly the atmosphere turned nasty. Corporal Vezis tried to force one of the girls to sit on his knee and she resisted. Instead she gave a breathless laugh, pulled me onto her lap, and gave me a big cuddle. In a jealous rage, the corporal yanked me off the girl's knee, almost ripping my arm off, and tossed me violently across the room.

“He then made a lunge for the girl, attempting to kiss her. She struggled with him, and when she broke free he made a grab at one of the other girls. All the while, the other soldiers looked on, clapping and cheering.

“You can imagine what happened after that,” my father said quietly, shaking his head in disgust. “I hid in a corner. I didn't want to see what was going on, but I couldn't block out the panting and the screaming, which seemed to come from all corners of the barn. My memories of what happened next are vague.”

My father seemed to be in pain and screwed up his eyes as if torn between his duty to visualize something more clearly and the desire to forget whatever it was he had witnessed.

“I must have fainted,” he said. “When I came round I could only hear the soldiers' snoring. I peeped out and they were all asleep, scattered around the barn, wherever they'd collapsed in their drunken stupor.

“Then I saw that the girls were still in the far corner of the barn trying to clean themselves up. Their clothes were torn and they had been badly beaten.

“I wanted to help them. All I could think of was to offer them water. I tiptoed over to them. They backed away from me as if I were one of the soldiers, and then, without a word, they all slipped out of the barn.

“I stood there for a moment. I was bereft. They were repelled by me even though I felt I was on their side. I wondered if I should follow them and find refuge with them. I imagined I'd be able to tell them who I was: that I wasn't one of these men, that I wasn't anything like them. But then I thought: ‘Who would want me after I'd been with these devils?'

“Now, of course, I understand that the soldiers had been using me to lure the girls to the barn. I feel responsible for what had happened to them, even now.”

My father stared bleakly into space.

I shuddered.

I pictured my father moving amiably from one drunken soldier to the next, smiling as he solicitously poured the anesthetizing
samagonka.
I saw him on the doorstep of the young woman's cottage holding the bunch of wildflowers.

I was overwhelmed by the vulnerability of this child immersed in a world of arbitrary and deliberate brutality. How had he managed to steer himself through it? He said himself that he tried not to stand out or attract any attention, never daring to disagree with the soldiers or recoil from their pornographic forays, which must have been unfathomable to a child of no more than six or seven.

I wanted to know more about these men, these soldier-puppeteers, who had controlled and exploited my father.

Yet it was not only the horror of my father's experiences that had overtaken me; it was anxiety for my father and the possibly incredible dimensions of his story. Would people be able to accept the predicament of a child's memory, lacking comprehensive details of names, dates, and locations? Could I? Thus far my father had revealed a handful of names and the letter “S” to add to the mystery of Panok and Koidanov. The remainder were impressions and sensations about incidents seen through the eyes of a child, shaded by bloody violence and an all-consuming fear of being discovered.

I looked at the clock on the wall. It was nearly 4:00 a.m. The house was silent. Even my mother's snoring had ceased. It felt as if the very walls of the house were listening to my father's story in rapt silence. And now, like me, they waited to see if he would continue.

I rose and stretched my tired body, catching a glimpse of my face reflected in the darkened kitchen window. Opposite me, my father also stood to stretch. He smiled shyly at me, and his eyes betrayed no sign of fatigue. Instead their usual intense, vivid blue shone as if he'd just risen from a long sleep.

M
y father and I sat down at the table again, as if recommencing a formal interview.

“How long were you with the soldiers on patrol?” I asked. “From when they picked me up, which they later told me was in May 1942, until toward the end of 1943,” he replied. “I wasn't on duty all the time. Sergeant Kulis sometimes took me to visit Riga, the capital of Latvia.”

“How often?”

“At least twice, perhaps even three times; whenever he was given leave.”

“Does the length of time the soldiers claim you were with them make sense to you?”

“It does,” my father said, “because I spent one winter alone in the forest before the soldiers captured me, and then I was on patrol with them for a second freezing winter before I was taken to Riga for a short time in the late spring of 1943.”

“Do you remember much of 1943?”

“I do,” my father answered, “especially after reaching Riga, where life was more stable. When I was with the soldiers on patrol, nobody paid any attention to dates and times as far as I could tell. It was chaos. And I was older in Riga. I remembered when people mentioned dates, and I was learning to read, so I could follow details in newspapers and magazines.”

“If these dates are correct, the extermination of your village, wherever it was, must have taken place in 1941.”

“Late in 1941,” my father said.

“Why late 'forty-one?” I asked.

“It was getting cold and the nights were drawing in when it happened in my village.”

“I am trying to picture where your village might have been in Russia,” I said.

“They never mentioned where we were, apart from insults…”

“Insults?”

“Yes, you know, curses and swearing. Incessant.”

“Such as?”

My father's face turned red with embarrassment. He coughed and looked around.

“If you'd rather not say,” I said.

My father nodded gratefully. I realized that I had rarely, if ever, heard him swear. Perhaps his aversion stemmed from his being forced to listen to the soldiers' abuse.

I changed the subject. “How far was the ‘S' camp from Riga?”

“I couldn't say, but the train journey to Riga with Sergeant Kulis seemed to take forever. But then everything does for a child. We would have to change trains at least once and also spend one night on board—it was always uncomfortable, and I would cuddle up to the sergeant, who'd wrap me inside his big army coat.”

“What did you do in Riga?”

“It was a real treat for me.” My father's face lit up.

“Even though things must have been scarce during wartime they treated me very well. I did all the usual things that kids like doing. Sergeant Kulis would take me to stay with his mother and father, and we'd spend lots of time with his fiancée, Wilma, as well. We'd go to one of the parks if the weather was fine. That always attracted a lot of attention, especially from other children. Boys in particular were envious of my uniform. ‘How can we join the army?' they used to ask me all the time.

“Once the Kulis family took me to see a movie, and before it there was a newsreel about the war. Believe it or not, I didn't like it: it was just propaganda. I'd been at the front. I knew the difference between what really went on and what was on the screen, which was just fantasy. I was a real soldier.

“The more time I spent in Riga, the more well known I became. One day Sergeant Kulis and Wilma took me to a café for ice cream. When I entered holding Wilma's hand, the entire café seemed to recognize me and several people rose from their seats and applauded.

“I can taste it now, that ice cream. Strawberry, it was.” My father smiled nostalgically. “I hadn't had ice cream since I was a child in my village.”

“It sounds as if you no longer hated Sergeant Kulis.”

“I'm not sure what I felt. I never forgot or forgave what he'd done that day when the building was burned down. But Commander Lobe had put him in charge of me, and I just made the best of it, trying to get along with him and everybody, for that matter. I was a quick learner, too, so it wasn't long before I was chattering away in Latvian with the soldiers and people I met in Riga.”

“You were turning into quite the little Latvian,” I joked.

My father gave an uneasy laugh. “No,” he said. “I wasn't one of them. I could feel them loving me, but I didn't want any part of it. Deep inside me I wanted to be free of them. Always. Anyway, it was in the late spring of 1943 when Sergeant Kulis told me that he and I would be making another journey to Riga. I imagined that it was going to be one of our typical visits together and began to anticipate the many treats that I knew would be coming my way.

“But as soon as the train pulled into the main station in Riga, I had an inkling that something was up. Wilma was not there to greet us as she'd been on other occasions. Instead an enormous shiny black limousine waited at the curb outside the station exit.

“The sergeant gathered my knapsack and ushered me toward the car. A chauffeur dressed in a soldier's uniform stood to attention and held the door open for me. I couldn't believe the luxury inside the car; the seats were covered in leather and there was even a small cocktail bar. The engine was almost inaudible as we wove our way smoothly through the streets of Riga. I gazed out from the passenger window, but I didn't recognize anything I saw—we were in a different part of Riga.

“I stared across at Sergeant Kulis, who was still gripping my hand. ‘Where are we?' I demanded with a growing sense of panic. ‘We'll be there soon,' he said, and I could tell that he, too, was uneasy about something. This visit seemed to be going very differently from other visits when he took me by bus to his family home.

“Then the car turned, and moments later we pulled up outside a building that seemed to tower above the street. I was a village boy, and I'd never seen anything like it before. I peered up at it through the car window. I was enchanted: I thought that it was a magical palace, with all its colored lights and its pretty lit sign above the entrance. The sign said
LAIMA CHOCOLATES
.

“It was then that I noticed a man was standing in the shadow of the building near the entrance. I stared intently at him, but I couldn't quite make him out.

“The chauffeur came around and opened the door on my side, at which point the mysterious man stepped forward into the bright morning light. He wasn't a soldier. Instead he was wearing a well-cut suit of a fine shiny material. He seemed very formal: he stood very erect and rigid with his hands held behind his back, and I thought that he must be a well-bred sort of person.

“He came toward the car and stretched out his hand to shake mine, but I held back. I waited for Sergeant Kulis to join me, and when he did I instinctively tried to take his hand. But he shrugged me off and instead shook hands with this superior man. Then he turned to me. ‘This is Mr. Dzenis,' he said. ‘Say hello.'

“I hid behind Sergeant Kulis's leg. He tried to nudge me out to the front, but I had frozen to the spot. Then the sergeant said, ‘Mr. Dzenis is going to look after you.' My heart sank. My intuition that something was wrong had been right, but I had never imagined that I was going to be given away.

“Sergeant Kulis nudged me again, trying to get me to greet this forbidding man, but I remained mute.

“Suddenly, before I even understood what was happening, the sergeant lifted me off the ground and gave me a hug, as if I were a child and not a soldier. ‘Farewell, my little friend,' he said. With that he put me down and strode away. I lost control, again forgetting that I was a soldier, and began stamping my foot. I set my jaw stubbornly. I wanted Sergeant Kulis and not this Mr. Dzenis, even if he did live in a beautiful palace. I have always remembered that moment and the sergeant's parting words to me.

“Mr. Dzenis literally began to drag me back toward the limousine. I was kicking and screaming, but then I got hold of myself. I told myself not to make any trouble. I'd learned better than that.

“For a moment we paused on the pavement, and I got one last chance to search the street with my eyes. By then there was no sign of the sergeant. At that moment I didn't think I would ever forgive him for deserting me.”

“Why were you reluctant to leave the soldiers?” I asked.

“I'd gotten used to them and the way they cared for me,” my father replied. Then with a shrug of his shoulders he added, “Besides, I had nobody else.”

“The limousine set off again. This time I was in the company of Mr. Dzenis. Like Mr. Dzenis himself, the part of the city we passed through somehow seemed more well-off than where I usually went with Sergeant Kulis. There were shops with bright and colorful displays in their windows, and the ladies walking on the pavement appeared happy and fine-looking.

“Eventually we turned off a main road and into a narrow street. There was a sign that said
VALDEMARA IELA
. Shortly after that, we came to a halt outside a well-kept apartment block. It was as impressive as the palace I'd just seen. There was a long path leading from the curb up to the front door. On one side of the entrance the Nazi flag—a giant swastika—was flying, and on the other, the Latvian flag.

“I climbed out of the car and waited for Mr. Dzenis to join me. He took my hand as we headed up the path and entered the building. We were in an elegant foyer, and for a moment I was transfixed by a chandelier that hung from the ceiling and sparkled like a jewel. Then I was seduced by the overpowering scent of a spray of beautiful flowers that sat on a side table.

“Mr. Dzenis told me that we should hurry. ‘Everybody is waiting for you,' he said. I was curious—who was everybody, and why were they waiting for me? But another part of me was confused and angry—I was still thinking about my duties and my comrades in the troop. ‘What could be more important than that?' I thought to myself.

“We climbed the stairs to the top floor and outside the door to the apartment Mr. Dzenis smoothed my uniform and hair.

“The door opened and we stepped inside. The entrance hall was softly lit by lamps that seemed to flicker—like the Aladdin's cave of my imagination—and the moments after that were equally dreamlike. Out of nowhere a beautiful made-up face bent down to my level and smothered me in kisses. There was the scent of perfume; I can't describe it apart from saying that it was like I was falling down a deep well lined with cotton wool. In the next moment I was being hugged by another beautiful lady, who made cooing sounds and smiled at me with moistened eyes.

“Suddenly it was all too much for me. I squirmed free of her arms and stood to attention, saluting wildly at her. Mr. Dzenis gave me a stern look and warned me to behave with proper manners. When I had calmed down, he introduced me to the first lady who had kissed me so much. She was Emily, his wife. ‘Call me Auntie,' she said and then made way for the other woman who'd fussed over me already.

“She was tall and glamorous-looking, perhaps about eighteen years old. Her name was Zirdra and she was Mr. Dzenis's eldest daughter. She had a beautiful laugh that tinkled like water in a stream. I felt instantly that she had a gentle nature.

“Another girl hovered in the background. She must have been about five years older than me. Immediately I could tell that she was a completely different kettle of fish from Zirdra. She had no intention of welcoming me in any way and instead frowned down at me contemptuously. She turned out to be Ausma, Mr. Dzenis's youngest daughter.

“Auntie told me that Zirdra and Ausma were going to be my big sisters and that I had another sister, the middle one, called Mirdza, who was unwell and confined to her room for the evening. Later I learned that Mirdza had suffered from polio when she was younger and, though not disabled in any obvious way, her body was racked with inexplicable pains and aches. I also learned later that the three girls were all from Mr. Dzenis's first marriage, which had ended in divorce, and that he and Auntie had no children from their own marriage.

“That first night the Dzenises gave a lavish party in their apartment. I was the guest of honor. But it was not without drama beforehand. Zirdra had tried to give me a bath and, of course, I'd not forgotten Sergeant Kulis's warning. It was mayhem. Zirdra chased me around the room, wanting to undress me for the bath, and I was ducking behind chairs, under the table, wherever I could wriggle into. In the end she gave up, but only because the guests were due to arrive.

“The party was a great success for the Dzenis family. When I entered the room for the first time, yet again everybody stood and applauded me. I knew what was expected of me: I stood as erect as I could and proudly saluted in all directions. Everybody seemed very amused by this.

“Many of the guests were in uniform: there were Latvian and German officers with their wives. One of the German officers stepped forward and made a great show of giving me the Nazi salute. It was then that Mr. Dzenis whispered in my ear how much I should appreciate such an important soldier taking an interest in me. He told me to return the special salute, which I did. This caused another round of applause.