The Librarian of Auschwitz(93)
They climb a tree and try to make themselves comfortable among the branches, but it’s hard to find a stable position. They take a piece of bread as hard as a log out of their bag and drain the last few drops of water from their small flask. They wait expectantly for the sun to appear, and then Fred knows their position: He points toward a low line of hills.
“We’re well on track for the Slovakian border, Rudi.”
Come what may, no one will take this moment of freedom away from them, as they each chew their bread free of armed Nazis, sirens, and orders. It’s not easy to keep their balance without falling or to avoid sharp branches poking into their bodies, but they’re so tired they manage to reach a state of drowsiness that allows them to rest a little.
Sometime later, they hear voices and the sound of hurried footsteps over the dead foliage. Alarmed, they open their eyes and see a horde of children rushing past a short distance from their tree. They have armbands with swastikas and they’re singing German songs. The fugitives exchange a look of alarm: It’s a Hitler Youth group on an outing. Bad luck would have it that the young leader in charge of the twenty or so children decides to stop for lunch in the clearing a few meters from their tree. The two men freeze and don’t move a muscle. The children laugh, shout, run, fight, sing.… From their perch, the fugitives can make out their khaki uniforms and short pants. The rowdiness and energy of the children, and their occasional appearances dangerously close to the base of the tree searching for berries to throw at their companions are unsettling. Snack time ends, and the instructor orders the children to set off again. The noisy troop moves away, and there are sighs of relief from the top of the tree, as hands open and close in an attempt to get the circulation going again after being rigid for so long.
They’re both anxiously counting the hours till nightfall. They take advantage of the last rays of the sun to get close to the road again and use the sunset to accurately locate the west.
Their second night is much more grueling than the first. They have to stop frequently to rest; they’re worn out. The adrenaline rush brought on by their escape, which gave them strength the previous day, has tailed off. But even so, they continue on their way until the sky begins to lighten and they can’t go any farther. Their road has offered them many crossings and junctions, and they’ve made their choices intuitively, but they really don’t know where they are.
They’ve left the dense forest behind and reached a much less overgrown area, with scatterings of trees, cultivated fields, and scrubland. They know it’s a populated area, but they’re too tired to fuss. It’s still very dark, but on one side of the road, they make out a clearing surrounded by shrubs. They head toward it, feel around for some leafy branches to pick up, and build an improvised shelter so they can sleep for a few hours. If the shelter is inconspicuous, they might even be able to spend the whole day in it. They climb into their hideout and close off the entrance with a couple of bushy branches. Daybreaks in Poland are very cold, so they huddle together to keep warm, and finally manage to fall into a sleep of sorts.
They sleep so deeply that when the sound of voices wakes them up, the sun is high in the sky, and they feel a stab of panic in their stomachs. Their refuge is nowhere near as dense as they had thought; the branches they used to close off the entrance leave obvious gaps, and they’re astonished at what they see through these holes. They haven’t stopped to rest in the clearing of a wood, as they believed. In the dark of night, without realizing it, they had reached the edge of a town, and what they had actually done was go to sleep in a public park. What they see, a few meters from what they thought was an unobtrusive clearing, are benches and swings.
The two exchange a petrified look, not daring to move a muscle, because they can hear footsteps approaching. When they were preparing their escape, they devised ways to avoid SS patrols, checkpoints, and dogs, but it is children who have become their worst nightmare.
Before fear has had time to overcome them, two children, a boy and a girl with blond hair and blue eyes, have already planted themselves in front of the entrance to their shelter and are staring at them with Aryan curiosity. They see a pair of black boots approaching a few steps behind the children, who turn around and run off, shouting in German,
“Papa, Papa, come! There are some strange men!”
The cap of an SS sergeant appears, and the Nazi stands there looking at them. Rudi and Fred are paralyzed, huddled together, completely vulnerable. The Oberscharführer’s head looks disproportionally large as it leans in among the branches, like the head of an ogre. The skull on the cap’s peak looks at them as if it recognizes them. In that moment, the two fugitives see their entire lives flash before their eyes. They want to say something, but fear has taken away their voices and frozen any movement. The Nazi sergeant studies them, and a malicious smile appears on his face. They see his wife’s high heels approaching and don’t quite catch what her husband whispers to her.
All they hear is the scandalized German woman’s loud reply:
“You can’t bring children to a public park anymore without finding two men embracing each other among the plants! It’s a disgrace!”
The woman storms off indignantly, and the sergeant, the little smile still on his face, collects his children and walks off after her.
Rudi and Fred look at each other lying on the weeds. They hadn’t noticed that they were still hugging each other, as they were when they fell asleep. And so now they hug each other even more firmly and are eternally grateful that fear left them speechless. Anything they might have said, even a single word, would have betrayed them as foreigners. Silence is usually golden.