The Librarian of Auschwitz(68)
“Never!”
He smiles enigmatically and walks off with his athletic stride while Dita stands there quietly, not entirely sure what he meant by scoring a goal in the last second.
It’s a night of little sleep in the huts, with rumors whispered among the bunks, along with more and less absurd theories and prayers.
“What does it matter where they take us? We can’t go to a worse place,” some protest. It’s a comfort amid the distress.
The oversized woman who shares her bunk with Dita is part of the September transport, so she’ll be one of the transferees. She says little apart from the rude jokes she shares with her neighbors. She never says anything to Dita, good or bad. Dita says good night to her when she lies down next to her feet, as she always does. And as always, the woman doesn’t answer—not even the noise she usually mutters by way of reply. She pretends to be asleep, but her eyes are shut too tightly for that. Even the toughest of the tough can’t fall asleep during this long night that could be her last.
The day dawns cloudy and cold. The wind gusts bring snowflakes with them. Pretty much like any other day. There’s some confusion when it comes to lining up, since the usual order has changed: The September people are on one side, and the December ones on the other. The Kapos are fully employed in forming the groups, and the SS guards are more nervous than usual, too. They even let loose with an occasional blow from a rifle butt, a rare occurrence during morning roll calls. The atmosphere is tense, and faces are long. Roll call is exasperatingly slow as the Kapos’ assistants mark the lists. After so many hours standing on her feet, Dita has the feeling that she’s slowly sinking into the mud and that if the roll call takes much longer, she’ll end up being swallowed whole.
Finally, almost three hours after roll call began, the nearly four thousand people who make up the September group begin to move. For now, their destination is the quarantine camp next to the family camp, and they drag their weary feet in that direction. Rudi Rosenberg, the registrar, stands in the quarantine camp, his face serious as he watches all the activity attentively, as if, in the posture and the gesticulations of the guards, there might be some clue that will reveal the fate of these people, among whom is his Alice.
Dita and her mother stand watching in silence, along with all the others from their transport. They remain in their lines at the entrances to their huts while the guards lead the September veterans toward the exit of camp BIIb in an orderly manner. The procession is not at all festive, although some of the inmates smile, convinced there’s a better place waiting for them. Some heads turn for a last farewell. Hands wave in both groups—those who are staying and those who are going. Dita grabs her mother’s hand and squeezes it firmly. She doesn’t know if the sharp feeling in her stomach is due to the cold or fear for those who are leaving.
She sees mischievous Gabriel marching past, laughing loudly; he’s deliberately walking out of step to trip up a slender girl who’s walking behind him and cursing. An adult hand stretches out from even farther back and pulls Gabriel’s ear hard; Mrs. K?i?ková is so good at handing out punishment that she can do it without losing step. Acquaintances and teachers from Block 31 walk past Dita on their way to the quarantine camp along with many faces she’s never noticed before—most of them are gaunt and grave. Some of them greet the children from the December transport who are staying behind and who wave back to them tirelessly, entertained by an event which breaks up the monotonous camp routine.
Professor Morgenstern walks past in his patched jacket and broken glasses, dispensing his ridiculous little bows. When he reaches Dita, without stopping or breaking step so as not to annoy those behind him, he suddenly becomes serious and gives her a wink. Then he continues on his way and goes back to performing his bowing routine with that little crazy-old-man laugh of his. It was only a matter of seconds, but as she was looking at him, Dita saw the professor’s expression change, and his face was different as if, just for a moment, he’d raised his mask and allowed her to see his real self. It wasn’t the faraway look of a crazy old man, but the composed expression of a completely serene person. And then Dita is left in no doubt.
“Professor Morgenstern!”
She throws him a kiss and he turns to thank her with a clumsy bow that makes the children laugh. He bows to them, too. He’s an actor leaving the stage at the end of the show and bidding farewell to his audience.
She would have liked to give him a hug and to tell him that she knows now—in fact, she has always known—that he’s not mad. If they lock you up in a lunatic asylum, the worst thing that can happen to you is that you’re sane. His fake absentmindedness at just the right moment during the inspection of the Priest and Mengele saved her. He probably saved her life, hers and everyone else’s. She knows that now. It’s just as Fredy said: Not everything is as it seems to be. She would have liked to give the professor a big farewell kiss, but she won’t be able to. Morgenstern, still playing the fool, is moving off, swallowed up in the departing crowd.
“Good luck, Professor.”
A troop of women goes by. One of them—one of the few who isn’t wearing a scarf on her head, contravenes the strict orders and, stepping firmly out of line, walks toward her. At first Dita doesn’t recognize the woman, but it’s her oversized bunkmate. Her loose, tangled hair is covering up the scar that splits her face. She plants herself directly in front of Dita with her toadlike eyes, and they briefly look at each other face-to-face.