Long Way Home(89)

“I understand. Joe puts up a tough front. I also know that helping his friend Jimmy has made him feel like he’s doing something useful. I think he might have learned a few things about himself, too, along the way. He’s starting to see that he isn’t alone, that other soldiers are also having a hard time. Maybe he’ll let you help him now, after hearing his buddies’ advice and traveling around a bit. At least, I hope so. Joe is a great guy and he deserves to be happy again. I want to help him and I wanted to talk to you since you know him better.”

“I would do anything for Joe. Did he say when he’s coming home?”

“No. But I just had a crazy idea that maybe—” The operator interrupted, asking for more money. I scrambled to deposit another handful of coins, then asked, “Are you still there, Barbara?”

“Yes, I’m here. You said you had a crazy idea?”

“Well, what if you took a Greyhound bus out here to be where Joe is? You could stay with me. Joe might get mad at us for meddling, but at least he would see how much you still love him.”

She was quiet for a moment. “Goodness. That is a crazy idea. But I love Joe so much—at least I loved the ‘old’ Joe, the man I knew before he went off to war.”

“He’s still a great guy—I can tell. It’s been really hard for him to talk about the war, but he’s determined to rescue Jimmy. And he rescued me, too, by helping me get a job that I love. That’s another reason why I want to help him.”

I heard the phone beep, warning me that I had one minute left before I would need to put in more money. “My time is almost up again—”

“Give me your address and phone number,” Barbara said quickly. “I’ll think about it and get back to you. You said your name is Peggy?”

“Yes, Peggy Serrano.” I gave her my information and the telephone number at the clinic moments before my time was up.

“Thank you so much for calling!” I heard Barbara say before we were cut off.

I walked back to the guesthouse, looking up at the millions of stars and thanking God that He loved me. And thanking God that my friend Joe had a woman who loved him.





22


Gisela





JULY 1945

Izaak had become one of my favorite patients. He was young, only sixteen years old. Too young to even shave or grow a beard. He had been near death when Jim found him in the “little camp” among the prisoners who had been forced to march to Buchenwald from Auschwitz. He was a Polish Jew, captured while fighting with the partisans. Izaak always had a smile for me, even when he was in pain. I helped him read through the lists of names every day, searching for his family and for fifteen-year-old Rivka, the rabbi’s daughter, whom he’d loved since he was a boy. But then Izaak’s condition worsened, complicated by an infection after losing his toes to frostbite. The doctors did everything they could, but they couldn’t save him. Jim and I were at his bedside when he died.

Many of our patients had died in spite of everything we did to save them, but this loss was too much for Jim. Everyone in the barracks could hear him weeping. It was as if Izaak’s death had unleashed the floodgates of his grief, and he wept for every person who had died in Buchenwald. I did my best to console Jim, but I was grieving for young Izaak, too. Later that afternoon, the major in charge of the camp sent for Jim.

“Come with me, Gisela,” Jim begged. “He’s probably having me transferred, and I need your help to convince him to let me stay.”

I looked at Jim’s gray face and red-rimmed eyes and said, “Maybe you should get away from this awful place for a while.”

He shook his head. “There’s still work to do here.”

I went with him.

The major was using the same office in the former barracks that the SS had used, and even though all the swastikas and other insignias had been removed, the place still made me uneasy. It reminded me of how powerless I and all the people I loved had been—and still were, for that matter. I was dependent on others for my food and shelter and even for restoring my health. Jim had talked Major Cleveland into allowing me to work here, as if he knew that the work would help restore my dignity. Now I pushed aside my queasiness to help Jim in return.

“I’m worried about you, Corporal Barnett,” Major Cleveland said.

“I’m sorry for breaking down, sir. It won’t happen again.”

The major banged his fist on his desk. “It should happen again, Corporal! Every one of us should be weeping rivers of tears over what went on in this camp! That said, I believe it’s time I transferred you back to your unit.”

“Please don’t do that, sir,” I said. “Every patient in the hospital heard the corporal weeping today. Do you have any idea how long it has been since a Jew heard someone weeping for him? We’ve been despised, spat upon, degraded in every way. Jim showed us that we’re still worthy of someone’s tears.”

The major leaned back in his chair and sighed. “Is that what you want, Corporal? Do you want to stay?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Very well. But you still need to take a break from this place.” He removed a pen from its marble holder and started writing on one of the papers in front of him. “I’m issuing you a seven-day leave and ordering you to take it.”