The Librarian of Auschwitz(117)

After the jubilation of victory and the celebrations marking the end of the war, after the dances organized by the Allied forces and the pompous speeches, postwar reality shows itself for what it is: mute, harsh, and without fanfare. The bands have gone, the parades are over, and the grand speeches have been reduced to silence. The reality behind peace is that in front of her is a country in ruins. She has no parents or siblings, no home, no studies, no belongings apart from the clothes they gave her in the Civilian Assistance Society, and no way to survive beyond the little ration card she was able to get after a great deal of cumbersome paperwork. On this, her first night in Prague, she’ll sleep in a hostel set up for the repatriated.

The only thing she has is a scrap of paper with an address scribbled on it. She’s has looked at it so many times she knows it by heart. War changes everything. So does peace. What will be left of the sisterly relationship she shared with Margit in the concentration camps now that the war is over? Margit and her father thought Dita and her mother would take a transport train a couple of days after them, but her mother’s illness delayed her return by several weeks. During that time, Margit could have made new friends. She might want to forget everything that happened in the past, like Renée, who greeted her from afar without stopping.

The address jotted down by Margit’s father belongs to some non-Jewish friends with whom he’d been out of touch for years. In fact, when they left Bergen-Belsen, Margit and her father didn’t know where they’d go to live or what they would do with their new lives. They didn’t even know if those friends of theirs would still be at that address after all those years of war, or if they’d want to have anything to do with them. The piece of paper is getting wrinkled in the palm of her hand, and the writing is becoming illegible.

She wanders through the northern part of the city, looking for the address, asking people and trying to follow their instructions along streets she’s never been in. She no longer knows her way around Prague. The city seems enormous and like a labyrinth. The world appears colossal when you feel small.

Finally, she reaches the square with the three broken benches they told her to look for; number 16 of the street on the piece of paper is close by. She goes inside the main entrance and rings the bell of apartment 1B. A somewhat overweight blond woman opens the door. She’s not Jewish; fat Jews are an extinct species.

“Excuse me, but do Mr. Barnai and his daughter Margit live here?”

“No, they don’t live here. They’ve gone to live some distance from Prague.”

Dita nods her head. She doesn’t reproach them. Maybe they waited, but it’s taken her so long to return to Prague that it’s too late. After everything that’s happened, it’s not enough just to turn to a new page. You have to close that book and open another.

“Don’t stand on the doorstep,” the woman says to her. “Come in and have a piece of freshly made cake.”

“No, thank you, please don’t bother. Someone’s waiting for me, in fact. A family commitment, you know. I’m off. Some other time…”

Dita turns around to leave as quickly as she can and makes to walk away. But the woman calls out to her.

“You’re Edita, Edita Adler.”

And Dita stops. She already has one foot on the stairs.

“You know my name?”

The woman nods.

“I was expecting you. I have something for you.”

The woman introduces Dita to her husband, a man with white hair and blue eyes who is still handsome at his advanced age. The woman brings her an enormous piece of hazelnut cake and an envelope with her name on it.

They are such kind people that Dita doesn’t hesitate to open the envelope in front of them. Inside are two train tickets and a note from Margit written in her schoolgirl hand:

Dear Ditiňka, we’re waiting for you in Teplice. Come right away. A huge kiss from your sister, Margit.

A person waiting for you somewhere is like a match you strike at night in the countryside. It may not be able to light up everything, but it does show you the way back home.

While they are all eating, the couple explains to Dita that Mr. Barnai found work in Teplice, and he’s living there with Margit. They tell her that Margit spent entire afternoons talking about her.

Before she leaves for Teplice, Dita has to fix up her papers, just as they told her in the Jewish Council office. So, first thing the next morning, she stands in the very long line of the office that issues identity papers.

Hours of waiting in line, again. But it’s not like the lines in Auschwitz, because here people are making plans as they wait. There are also angry people, even more irate than those who waited in half a meter of snow for a watery bowl of soup or a piece of bread. Now those who wait are irritated by the delay or because they’ve been misinformed or because of the number of papers they need. Dita smiles to herself. Life is back to normal when it’s small things that annoy people.

Someone joins the line right behind her. When she sneaks a look, she realizes it’s a familiar face—one of the young teachers from the family camp. He also seems surprised to meet her here.

“The librarian with the skinny legs!” he exclaims.

It’s Ota Keller, the young man who people said was a Communist, and who used to make up stories about Galilee for his pupils. Dita immediately recognizes that ironic look of intelligence that used to intimidate her a little.