She stared at his photograph. It was very unnerving; Mengele had Louis's haughty stare. But Mengele was a monster with no morals, no feelings; he sent babies to their death as easily as he sent men, women, even pregnant women. No one escaped him, except... twins, identical twins.
Helen looked at her watch again, she could not stop reading. Mengele had one passion, the author wrote, an experiment that he pursued in the privacy of his deathly hospital. Telepathy. He wanted to discover the powers of human telepathy, and he focused his experimentation on identical twins. Twins of both genders were taken from their families and placed in a camp hut. They were well fed and, according to the author, treated kindly.
Many desperate mothers pretended their children were twins, in a desperate attempt to "save" them, unaware of the sickening experiments that were awaiting those selected. Mengele personally inspected these children, and rewarded those guards who had "salvaged" twins from the gas chamber. Soon, guards would scream out at the tragic new arrivals, demanding whether there were any twins among them.
Mengele became frantic if a twin died during his experiments; he would send the other to the gas chamber, but only after he had dissected and matched the internal organs of the dead with the living twin. He operated on these children, sometimes without anesthetic; he switched their organs. When both were still alive he would starve one and overfeed the other to watch their reactions. Eight thousand identical twins passed through the camps. Only seven hundred children survived.
Helen walked to the clinic, needing to breathe fresh air. But when she sat down with Franks in his office, she was close to tears.
"I'm sorry, perhaps everything I have told you, you know already. It's just — to see it written down in black and white, to read it, to know it happened, to read him described as 'kindly'... it is beyond my conception of a human being... I'm sorry."
Franks gave Helen a steady stare, and in a soft quiet voice said: "People in the camps lived one day at a time. To live through each day... one needed such courage, such toughness, and perhaps most of all, luck. Anyone who collapsed physically would die fast, or was finished off by the Kapos, block seniors, and the SS men — all experts in brutality. The ones who remained alive were, as a rule, young. Some of the older men who survived became used to camp conditions, got by as best they could. It was always worst for the new arrivals, since they had no idea what a concentration camp meant. The key was to discover the art of staying alive, and it was an art, Helen, unless you were exceptionally lucky. The survivors were mostly men with no scruples, those men were able to advance rapidly inside the camp. The most important thing was to ensure your survivaclass="underline" You filled your stomach with stolen rations, you became cruel and ruthless; if not, the hopelessness of your position gave you only one alternative, to run at the electrified barbed wire fences.
"Helen, I was one of those whom fate spared. But it was many, many years before I could come to terms with what I had been forced to become, simply to survive, many years before I was able to hold my head up high..."
His eyes met Helen's before he looked away, clasping the carved wooden arms on the old desk chair. "I think the worst thing is that we forget — Germany, every German, should carry the cross of what was done. But memories fade, scars heal; and today's adolescents were not even born when this took place. This city, this country, is a monument to a savagery that still makes one weep with shame. But — life goes on..." He hesitated a moment, as if about to continue, then decided against it. He motioned to the newspapers on his desk.
Franks told Helen the baron had brought them, they had spent time with Vebekka, and now he was gone for a bite to eat. He gave a half smile and a shrug of his solid shoulders. "He is very confused, guilty, I think, and perhaps frightened. Perhaps you would like to see her before we start, it'll give me a few moments to get something to eat. Are you hungry?"
She shook her head, picked up her purse. "I'll see her, I'd like to." She then reached over and touched his hand. Franks smiled.
"We all have our secrets, Helen, but thankfully for me, they are no longer a nightmare, but a reality. Whatever is in Vebekka's past must also become her reality."
It was a few moments after Helen had left the room before Dr. Franks looked to the old framed photograph on his desk of his parents and grandparents, his brothers and sisters. He was fourteen years old, it was his parents' wedding anniversary. There he was, leaning against his mother's chair, smiling to the camera and wearing plus fours, a hand-knitted sweater, and hand-knitted socks. He could remember their color, a mixture of brown and green wool. His shoes were dark, highly polished brown laceups. It was the only photograph that remained, just as he was the only member of the entire family who had survived.
Vebekka was dressed, sitting on the edge of her bed staring out of the window. She didn't turn when Helen entered, but seemed to know it was her. "I'm glad you came, come and sit beside me."
She seemed very calm, very rational. "I asked Louis that if things don't go well for me, I asked if he'd make sure I had some sleeping pills. Of course he won't, he may think about it, but in the end he won't be able to help me, so, I'm asking you."
"Please don't ask me, I could not do that."
"I couldn't bear to be locked up in a little room like this for the rest of my life... and I know that is a possibility. I know, Helen."
She got up from the bed and walked around the small white-walled room. "You know what is so awful? I never know when it will take me over... and now, I can't stand it any longer, to see the fear in that sweet-faced Hilda, the same fear in my children's eyes, I can't tell you what that does to me, to know I've hurt them, but not to know what I have done."
Helen twirled her ring around her finger. "Do you remember what you did last night?"
Vebekka giggled. "Yes, I got very drunk, and I think I got screwed in a toilet, but that often happens to sane people, they get drunk and screw, don't they?"
Helen laughed softly. "Yes, I suppose so."
Vebekka was working her way gradually toward the door, and was directly behind Helen. Helen suddenly felt wary; and spun around. Vebekka was leaning against the wall, her eyes to the ceiling.
"I met this big fat woman, and she kept on calling me by somebody else's name. It was strange, frightening, because I knew I didn't know her, and yet I was sure I had been there before. Do you ever feel that way?"
"You mean déjà vu?"
"Yes, yes, that you are in a place that you have been to before."
Helen nodded, said she did sometimes, and Vebekka flopped onto the bed delightedly. "I feel it all the time!"
She rolled onto her back, her arms spread out wide. "You know Louis loves me, he told me so, he's like a child, like a schoolboy. I think he's... he's afraid, Helen."
She sat up and wrapped Helen in her arms. "Take care of him, please, and Sasha, look after my baby for me."
Helen hugged her tightly. "Now, don't! You talk as if you were going away, but you're not."
Vebekka rested her head on Helen's shoulder. "I feel as if I am, Helen, I am so frightened, please don't let him open the trunk, please tell him not to do that."