The Librarian of Auschwitz(5)
And then the commotion really begins as people start to stand up. It’s the moment of confusion Dita needs. As she relaxes her arms, the books inside her smock slip down to her lap. But then she grips them against her body again. With each second she holds on to them, her life is more at risk.
The SS order silence; no one is to move from their spot. Disorder irritates the Germans. When they first set in motion the Final Solution, the bloody executions gave rise to refusals among many of the SS officers. They found it difficult to deal with the mayhem of dead bodies mixed in with those who were still dying; with the arduous task of having to kill again, one by one, those who had already been shot; with the quagmire of blood as they stepped over the fallen bodies; with the hands of the dying coiling around their boots like creeping vines. But this has ceased to be a problem. In Auschwitz, there is no chaos. The killings are routine.
The people in front of Dita have stood up, and the guards can’t see her. She reaches under her smock and grabs hold of the geometry book. As she holds it, she feels the roughness of the pages. She runs a finger over the furrows of the bare spine.
And in that moment, she shuts her eyes and squeezes the books tightly. She acknowledges what she has known right from the start: She’s not going to abandon them. She is the librarian of Block 31. She asked Fredy Hirsch to trust her, almost demanded it. And he did. She won’t let him down.
Finally, Dita stands up carefully. She holds one arm across her chest, pressing the books to her body. A group of girls obscure her, but she is tall and her posture is suspicious.
Before beginning the inspection, the sergeant had given an order and two SS guards disappeared inside Hirsch’s cubicle, where the rest of the books are hidden. Though the hiding place is secure—the books fit in a dugout beneath a wooden floorboard so perfectly as to be undetectable—Dita knows that Hirsch is now in great danger. If they find the books, nothing can save him.
*
Mengele has moved away, but Hirsch continues to stand stock-still as the Germans root around his cubicle. Two SS guards wait outside, relaxed, their heads tilted back. Hirsch remains upright. The more they relax their posture, the more erect he’ll be. He’ll take any opportunity, no matter how small, to demonstrate the strength of the Jews. They are a stronger people, and that is why the Nazis fear them, why they must exterminate them. The Nazis are winning only because the Jews don’t have an army of their own, but Hirsch is convinced the Jews will never make this mistake again.
The two SS men come out of the cubicle; the Priest holds a few papers in his hand. It seems that this is the only suspicious thing they’ve found. Mengele gives the papers a cursory look and disdainfully hands them to the sergeant, almost allowing them to fall. They are the reports on the operation of Block 31 that Hirsch writes for the camp high command.
The Priest tucks his hands back into the worn sleeves of his greatcoat. He issues his orders in a low voice, and the guards spring into action. They advance toward the inmates, kicking aside any stools in their path. Fear erupts among the children and the newly arrived teachers, who give way to sobs and cries of anguish. The veterans are less concerned. Hirsch does not move. In a corner, Mengele stands removed, observing.
When the pack reaches the first bunch of prisoners, it slows, and the guards begin their search. They inspect the prisoners, frisking some, moving their own heads up and down in their search for who knows what. The prisoners pretend to look straight ahead, but they cast sidelong glances at the inmates next to them.
The guards order one of the female teachers to step out of the line. She’s a tall woman who teaches crafts. In her class, children create small miracles out of old string, wood splinters, broken spoons, and discarded cloth. She doesn’t understand what the soldiers are saying; they shout at her and shake her, before returning her to the group. There’s probably no reason for it. Shouting and shaking are also part of the routine.
The guards move on. Dita’s arm is getting tired, but she pulls the books into her chest even more tightly. They stop at the group beside hers, and the Priest lifts his chin, ordering a man out of the line.
It’s the first time Dita has paid any attention to Professor Morgenstern, an inoffensive-looking man who, based on the folds of skin under his chin, must once have been chubby. He has close-cropped white hair and wears a faded, patched jacket that is too big for him. A pair of round glasses sit in front of his myopic beaver-like eyes. Dita has difficulty hearing what the Priest is saying to him, but she sees Professor Morgenstern hold the spectacles out to him. The Priest takes them and examines them; inmates aren’t allowed to keep any personal effects, though glasses for a shortsighted person are no luxury. Even so, the Priest examines them carefully before holding them back out for the old man. When the teacher reaches for them, they fall, smashing against a stool before landing on the floor.
“Clumsy idiot!” the sergeant yells at him.
Professor Morgenstern calmly bends to pick up the broken glasses. He begins to straighten, but a pair of wrinkled origami birds fall from his pocket and he bends again to retrieve them. As he reaches down, his glasses fall to the ground again. The Priest observes this clumsiness with barely contained irritation. Angrily, he turns on his heel and continues the inspection. Mengele misses nothing as he watches from the front of the hut.
Dita senses the SS approach, though she does not look. They stop in front of her group, the Priest directly opposite Dita, not more than four or five paces away. She sees the girls trembling. The sweat on her shoulders is icy cold. There’s nothing she can do: Her height makes her stick out, and she’s the only one not standing to attention, clearly gripping something with one arm. The Priest’s eye is ruthless, inescapable. He’s one of those Nazis who, like Hitler, is intoxicated by hatred.