“The Sergeant is one hell of an asshole,” yelled one of the boys, when the light had gone off.
“No, he isn’t,” objected Axel, he and Henning the only non-Berliners in this barrack.
“Just once in a while he remembers his first name is ‘Sergeant’ and he behaves like one.”
“My brother says the whole world has got it in for sergeants,” said Rainer.
“Let’s try and guess his rank,” said Eddie.
“My brother says we are a very prejudiced people on the whole. He says we make rash judgments, without thinking them through. We take on other people’s pronouncements, do shortcuts ‘cause it’s easier, like we look at a Star of David on a coat and say, ‘Oh Gad, there’s one of those pigs’. What he means is we should look at people individually, take a little more time to form our own judgment and that …”
“Now, that was a record sentence for Rudi,” came a voice from an upper bunk. “I must say I was glad when they didn’t have to wear those stars any more. Haven’t seen one in years now. Really sorry sight, such depressed people on the subway.”
“Yeah, and the workers from Russia don’t have to wear their ‘O’s any more either. They shouldn’t tag people like that. It’s disgusting.”
“I’ve never actually seen a Jew. What do they look like? I mean there are no people like those posters, are there?” said Henning.
“No, there aren’t,” said Motz. “You grew up on a farm, Henning, right? East Prussia, somewhere? They look like everybody else, and that’s the truth. My Mom once said ‘they’ — that’s us, the Nazis, put stars on Jews’ coats to make people hate them, but it was really stupid because it should have shown the rest of us how much they resemble us—just people.”
“Except, it didn’t,” said Axel. “People see only the star. Your brother is right, Rudi. We’ve become a lazy, fearful, yes fearful nation. Not like we used to be.”
“My dad — this story doesn’t leave this room or we could all be in trouble—” began Motz.
“Do I want to hear this?” said Gus.
“No, you don’t, so go take a leak now, or you will,” said Motz. But no one left the room.
“My Dad was on his way to the railway yards very early one morning,” Motz continued, “and he walked by this little park. So he looks over and sees this couple sitting on a bench, a man and a woman, in their fifties, well dressed. He went on at first and then he thought it was extremely strange they should be sitting on the bench at 4.30 in the morning. So he went back to see if they were okay.” Motz stopped, not sure how to word it. “Well, they were not okay. They were dead, stiff, in fact. They were wearing the Star of David and a white bib-like sign on their coats: WE ARE TAKING OUR LIVES IN PROTEST AGAINST PERSECUTION OF INNOCENTS. WE ARE JEWISH CITIZENS OF GERMANY.”
No one said anything for a moment. The boys looked numb. Then Axel asked, “Can you remember when this was?”
“Spring 1942, I know. When my Dad was standing there, a van full of MPs raced up, they jumped out and dragged the couple in the back of their car, and took my Dad’s I.D. down, every detail about our family, really rattled him. Never heard from them again, though.”
“I believe the story,” said Rainer. “They kicked these people in our building out of their apartment a while back, gave them one hour to get ready, but then they came back just half an hour later, with some very suspicious looking characters in leather coats. Fortunately, the neighbours had taken their leave already, just left with a couple of small suitcases. So the Gestapo arrested the cleaning lady.”
“That’s what it has come to,” said Axel. “If the protectors of justice, if the government itself, turns criminal, then what can you believe in? Whom can you turn to?”
“’If Hitler knew this, there would be hell to pay,’ one of our other neighbours says. DOESN’T he know? How is it possible to keep all that a secret from him, isn’t he in charge?” Rainer says.
“If they send any more philosophers out here, I think we should use them for target practise. Not you, Axel. We need a piano man.” The voice from the upper bunk again.
They eventually went to sleep, all except Ulli who, in barrack four, got up an hour later to walk the streets in search of his mailbox.
When Motz tells Anna about the discussion, a few days later, she looks at him in stunned silence, and turns pale.
“What is it?” says Motz. She looks over his shoulder to find the words.
“What’s on your mind?” Motz asks again.
“I — I can’t believe I had forgotten all about this. I can’t believe it. Something so important, I just forgot.”
“Forgot what? Tell me,” says Motz.
“About three years ago,” Anna begins, “I was on my way to line up at the store, at the other side of the auto route that leads to Oranienburg. I had a shopping bag and change purse and ration cards in my hands, and waited to cross the street, and this big open truck came racing along from the city, at really, really high speed, and when it approached our corner it slowed down a little, and I saw it was packed with people, just standing there jammed together in their winter coats. At the side facing me, there was this woman, she had long black hair and she was tearing at it with her arms raised, and wailing, just wailing in despair. I have never seen anything so heartbreaking, so —”
“Well, I bet she had an idea where they were going,” says Motz, looking grim. “You said they were going up along the 96 to Oranienburg?”
“Yes. What is it?”
“You can be sure they were headed for the concentration camp up there. They keep them in terrible conditions, starve them. Bad stories. What did you do?”
“I dropped the shopping bag and ran back home as fast as I could and asked my mother what this was all about. But she didn’t know. She just looked at me with such an expression of horror in her eyes—”
“Did you talk to anyone else about this?”
“No. I just couldn’t say the words any more, do you know what I mean? Well, then I remembered I’d dropped the shopping bag and everything at the corner and I ran back up there, but they were still there. Motz, I had forgotten the whole thing until you just—”
“Yeah. I know. My brother-in-law thinks we have to focus on winning the war and then clean up with an iron broom, get rid of the corruption, the criminals in high places. Fat chance.”