The Librarian of Auschwitz(56)
He could have pulled back, but he didn’t. The SS paid well, and people patted him on the back. His family was proud of him for the first time ever, and when he came home on leave, they even took him to have his photograph taken in his uniform so they could put it on top of the sideboard in the dining room.
And then one day, he was posted to Auschwitz.
Now he’s not sure his family would feel so proud if they knew that his work consists of forcing people to work until breaking point, taking children to the gas chambers, and beating their mothers if they resist. It all seems like madness to him, and he worries that this reaction is starting to be noticed. On a couple of occasions, an officer has told him he needs to be tougher with the prisoners.
He hasn’t been assigned guard duty, and command headquarters don’t allow the SS to roam around the family camp, but the sergeant at the control booth is a friend of his, so he gets through without any difficulty. The guards stand to attention as he goes by. He likes that.
They’re just finishing the afternoon roll call. He knows the group to which the Czech girl is assigned, and so, when they are dismissed, he spots her among the flood of women. He walks toward her, but the girl sees him coming and walks more quickly. He quickens his stride, but the only way he can stop her is to grab hold of her wrist. Her bones are thin, and her skin is rough, but he’s filled with unusual joy at being so close to her. Finally, she lifts her head and looks at him for the first time: She has brilliant blue eyes and looks terrified. He notices that other inmates have stopped a few paces away. The SS officer turns menacingly, and the group of spectators immediately dissolves. It feels good to inspire fear in others, and it’s easy to get used to doing it.
“My name is Viktor.”
She remains silent, and he quickly lets go of her wrist.
“Forgive me, I didn’t mean to frighten you. I just … wanted to know your name.”
The girl is trembling, and she almost can’t get the words out of her mouth.
“My name is Renée Neumann, sir,” she replies. “Have I done something wrong? Are you going to punish me?”
“No, no! Nothing like that! It’s just that I saw you.…” The SS officer hesitates; he can’t find the words. “I just wanted to be your friend.”
Renée looks at him in amazement. Friend? You can obey an SS officer; you can flatter him or become his informer in order to gain some perks, even become his lover. But can you be the friend of someone in the SS? Can you be the friend of your own executioner?
Since she’s still looking at him perplexed and not saying a word, Pestek lowers his head and quietly says to her, “I know what you’re thinking. You think I’m another one of those crazy SS people. Well, I am, but I’m not so crazy. I don’t like what’s happening to you. It makes me sick.”
Renée keeps her mouth shut. She has no idea what all this is about, and she’s confused. She’s heard all too often about guards who pretend to hate the Reich so that they’ll gain the trust of the inmates, pretending to be their friends and then pumping them for information about the Resistance. She’s frightened.
The officer takes something small out of his pocket and holds it out to her. It’s a square box made of lacquered wood. He tries to place it on the palm of her hand, but she steps back.
“It’s for you. It’s a present.”
She looks at the yellow box with suspicion. He lifts the small lid, and a sweet, metallic tune starts to play.
“It’s a music box,” he tells her with a smile of satisfaction.
Renée studies the object he’s holding out to her for a few moments but gives no sign of taking it. He nods his head and grins, waiting for her enthusiastic response.
Renée shows no enthusiasm. Her mouth is a straight line, and her eyes are blank.
“What’s the matter? Don’t you like it?” he asks, upset.
“You can’t eat it,” she replies. Her voice is abrasive, even more so than the cold February breeze, which strips everything bare.
Pestek feels ashamed when he realizes his own stupidity. He has spent the past week looking for a music box. He went back and forth; he negotiated with his fellow SS guards and with all sorts of Jewish dealers until he found one. He bribed, begged, and threatened; he searched high and low until he finally got it. And it’s only now that he understands it’s a useless gift. In a place where the inmates are cold and hungry, the one thing that occurs to him as a present for the girl is a stupid music box.
You can’t eat it.…
He squeezes his hand shut so tightly you can hear the crunch of the little music box, which he’s crushed as if it were a sparrow.
“Forgive me,” he says sorrowfully. “I’m a complete idiot. I don’t understand anything.”
It seems to Renée that the SS officer is genuinely crestfallen, as if his discomfort were not a pretense and what she thought of him really mattered.
“What would you like me to bring you?”
She doesn’t answer. She knows there are girls who sell their bodies for a ration of bread. The expression on her face is one of such indignation that Pestek realizes he’s made another mistake.
“Don’t get me wrong. I don’t want anything in return. I just want to do something good in the midst of all the awful things we do here every day.”