The Librarian of Auschwitz(70)
For the time this dream lasts, as he hugs Alice’s body, Rudi believes that his happiness is so complete nothing can destroy it. He falls asleep thinking that when he wakes up, all evil will have been erased and that life will flow again as it did before the war—roosters will crow at dawn, and there’ll be a smell of freshly baked bread and the sound of the milkman’s cheerful bicycle bell. But the next day dawns, and nothing has been erased; Birkenau’s menacing landscape remains intact. He’s still too young to know that happiness cannot conquer anything—it’s too fragile.
Rudi is woken abruptly by an agitated voice, and it feels as if a window inside his head has exploded into a million pieces. It’s Helena, and she’s extremely worried. She tells him Schmulewski is looking for him urgently; the whole camp is overrun with SS soldiers, and something really serious is about to happen. Rudi tries to put on his boots as Helena, almost hysterical, tugs at his arm and practically drags him from his bed, while Alice dozes on between the sheets, desperately clinging a little longer to her dreams.
“For God’s sake, Rudi, hurry up! There’s no time, there’s no time!”
As soon as Rudi steps outside, he too senses that something’s not right. There are lots of SS guards—he’s never seen so many before—which suggests they’ve asked for special reinforcements from other detachments. It doesn’t look like the routine procedure for escorting a contingent of prisoners to a train for a regular transfer. He’s got to see Schmulewski right away. There’s no question that he’d prefer not to see him, not to listen to what he has to say, but he must go and meet him in camp BIId. Given his rank, he has no difficulty in exiting the quarantine camp on the pretext that he has to pick up some bread rations that are missing.
The Resistance leader’s face isn’t a face anymore—it’s a confusion of wrinkles and bags under his eyes. He doesn’t beat around the bush anymore. His words aren’t discreet or cautious anymore: They’re razor-sharp.
“The people transferred from the family camp die today,” he says with no hesitation.
“You mean there’ll be a selection? You mean they want to get rid of the old people, the sick, and the children?”
“No, Rudi. Everybody! The young Jewish male prisoners forced to help with the disposal of gas chamber victims have received orders to prepare the ovens tonight for four thousand people.”
And almost without pausing, he adds, “There’s no time for regret, Rudi. It’s time to rebel.”
Schmulewski is under a great deal of strain, but his words are absolutely precise, perhaps because he’s rehearsed and repeated them dozens of times throughout his long night of insomnia.
“If the Czechs organize an uprising, if they force a confrontation and fight, they won’t be on their own. Hundreds, or maybe thousands of us will be beside them and, with a bit of luck, this could work out well. Go and talk to them. Tell them they have nothing to lose: They fight or they die—there’s no other option. But they haven’t got a chance in hell without someone to lead them.”
And in response to Rudi’s look of incomprehension, Schmulewski points out that there are at least half a dozen distinct political organizations in the camp: Communists, Socialists, Zionists, anti-Zionists, social democrats, Czech nationalists.… “If one of these groups takes the initiative, it’s likely to create discussions, differences of opinion, and confrontations with the others, which would make it impossible to achieve a united uprising. That’s why we need someone whom the majority respects. Someone with a great deal of courage, who won’t hesitate, who’ll speak out, and whom the rest of them are prepared to follow.”
“But who could that be?” Rudi asks incredulously.
“Hirsch.”
The registrar slowly nods in agreement, conscious that events have assumed an enormous significance.
“You have to speak to him, inform him of the situation and convince him to lead the uprising. Time is running out, Rudi. There’s a lot at stake. Hirsch has to rebel and take everyone with him.”
Uprising … an exciting, magnificent word, worthy of history books. A word that nevertheless falters when Rudi raises his eyes and looks around: men, women, and children dressed in rags, unarmed and starving, confronting machine guns mounted in towers, trained dogs, armored vehicles. Schmulewski knows that. He knows that many, if not all of them, will die … but a breach might be opened and a few of them—dozens, maybe, or hundreds—might escape into the forest and get away.
Maybe the rebellion will take off, and they’ll blow up vital camp installations. In that way, they might be able to disable the machine of death, even if only momentarily, and save many lives. Or it might achieve nothing more than people being mowed down by rounds of machine-gun fire. There are many unknowns lined up against the certainty of the overwhelming power of the SS, but Schmulewski keeps repeating the same thing again and again:
“Tell him, Rudi. Tell him he’s got nothing to lose.”
Rudi Rosenberg entertains no doubts as he returns to the quarantine camp—their death sentence is sealed, but they can fight for their destiny. Fredy Hirsch holds the key around his neck, that silver whistle. One blast to announce the unanimous, violent uprising of almost four thousand souls.
As he’s walking, he thinks of Alice. So far, he’s acted as if Alice weren’t part of the September contingent condemned to death, as if none of this had anything to do with her. She is one of the condemned, but Rudi keeps telling himself that she isn’t, that it’s not possible that Alice’s youth and beauty, her body full of delights, and her doelike eyes could turn into inert flesh in a few hours’ time. It isn’t possible, he tells himself. It’s against all the laws of nature. How could someone want to see a young woman like Alice die? Rudi quickens his pace and clenches his fists, overcome by a rage that is turning his despondency into fury.