It staggers me that they decide to persist, to last, in this way. And they do so decide: some (albeit not many), categorically refuse, despite the obvious consequence — for they too, now, have become Geheimnistrager, bearers of secrets. Not that any of them can hope to prolong their cowardly existence for more than 2 or 3 months. On this point we are quite clear and forthright: the Sonders’ initiatory task, after all, is the cremation of their predecessors; and so it will go on. Szmul has the dubious distinction of being the longest-serving undertaker in the KL — indeed, in the whole concentrationary system, I shouldn’t wonder. He is virtually a Prominent (even the guards accord him a modicum of respect). Szmul continues. But he knows very well what happens to them — what happens to bearers of secrets.
For myself, honour is not a matter of life or death: it’s far more important than that. The Sonders, very obviously, hold otherwise. Honour gone; the animal or even mineral desire to persist. Being is a habit, a habit they can’t break. Ach, if they were real men — in their place I’d… But wait. You never are in anybody’s place. And it’s true what they say, here in the KL: No one knows themselves. Who are you? You don’t know. Then you come to the Zone of Interest, and it tells you who you are.
I waited till the girls were tucked up and then strode out into the garden. Hannah in a white shawl stood with her arms folded by the picnic table. She was drinking a glass of red wine — and smoking a Davidoff. Beyond her, a salmony sunset and a tumbling rack of clouds. I said matter-of-factly,
‘Hannah, I think the 3 of you should go to your mother’s for a week or 2.’
‘Where’s Bohdan?’
‘Good God. For the 10th time, they transferred him.’ And it was nothing to do with me, though I wasn’t displeased to see the back of him. ‘Packed him off to Stutthof. Him and about 200 others.’
‘Where’s Torquil?’
‘For the 10th time, Torquil’s dead. Bohdan did it. With his shovel, Hannah, remember?’
‘Bohdan killed Torquil. You say.’
‘Yes! Out of spite, I suppose. And funk. At the other camp he’ll have to start again. It could be hard for him.’
‘Hard in what way?’
‘Well he won’t be a gardener in Stutthof. It’s a different kind of regime.’ I decided not to tell Hannah that at Stutthof you got 25 lashes the minute you arrived. ‘It was me who had to clear it all up. Torquil. Not a pretty sight, I can tell you.’
‘Why should we go to my mother’s?’
I hummed and hawed for a bit, claiming it was a good idea anyway. Hannah said,
‘Come on, what’s the real reason?’
‘Oh all right. Berlin has mandated an emergency Projekt. Things’ll be unpleasant here for a while. Just for a couple of weeks.’
Hannah said sarcastically, ‘Unpleasant? Oh really? That’ll make a change. Unpleasant in what way?’
‘I’m not at liberty to disclose. War work. It may have a deleterious effect on the air quality. Here, let me top that up for you.’
A minute later I returned, with Hannah’s wine and a huge glass of gin.
‘Have a ponder about it. I’m sure you’ll see it’s for the best. Mm, nice sky. It’s getting colder. Which’ll help.’
‘Help how?’
I coughed and said, ‘Now you know we’ve got the Playhouse tomorrow night.’
Her flicked cigarette end looked like a firefly in the dusk — an upward swoop.
‘Yes,’ I said, ‘gala performance of And the Woods Sing For Ever.’ I smiled. ‘You frown, my pet. Come on, we must keep up appearances! Dear oh dear. Who’s a sulky girl then? I’d invoke the name of Dieter Kruger. But you’ve shown, haven’t you, that you’re no longer much bothered about his fate.’
‘Oh, I’m bothered. Didn’t you tell me that Dieter passed through Stutthof? You told me they give you 25 lashes on arrival.’
‘Did I? Well only with very suspicious prisoners. They won’t do that to Bohdan… And the Woods Sing For Ever’s a tale of rural life, Hannah.’ I took a big gulp of the stringent liquor and thoroughly rinsed my mouth with it. ‘About the longing for the redemptive community. The organic community, Hannah. It’ll make you pine for Abbey Timbers.’
It was a joint anniversary, commemorating i) our decisive electoral breakthrough on September 14, 1930, and ii) the historic passage of the Nuremberg Race Laws on September 15, 1935. So: a double cause for celebration!
After a few cocktails in the Crush Bar, Hannah and myself (the cynosure of all eyes) made our way to our seats in the front row. The house lights dimmed, and the curtain creaked ceilingward — to reveal a thickset milkmaid sorrowing over a bare pantry.
And the Woods Sing For Ever was about a family in a farmstead during the harsh winter that followed the Diktat of Versailles. The frost’s destroyed the tubers, Otto was 1 of its lines, and Get your toffee nose out of that book, can’t you? was another. Otherwise, And the Woods Sing For Ever completely passed me by. Not that my mind went blank — on the contrary. It was most peculiar. I spent the whole 2½ hours intently estimating how long it would take (given the high ceiling as against the humid conditions) to gas the audience, and wondering which of their clothes would be salvageable, and calculating how much their hair and gold fillings might fetch…
Afterwards, at the party proper, a couple of Phanodorm washed down with a few cognacs soon restored my equilibrium. I left Hannah with Norberte Uhl, Angelus Thomsen, and Olbricht and Suzi Erkel whilst I had some words with Alisz Seisser. The poor little thing is off to Hamburg at the end of the week. Alisz’s first item of business: see about her pension. For some reason she was white with dread.
‘We’ll go from west to east. There’ll be 800 of you.’
Szmul shrugged, and produced, if you can believe, a handful of black olives from his trouser pocket.
‘Maybe 900. Tell me, Sonderkommandofuhrer. Are you a married man?’
He said with his head down, ‘Yes, sir.’
‘What’s her name?’
‘Shulamith, sir.’
‘And where is this “Shulamith”, Sonderkommandofuhrer?’
It’s not quite true to say that the crows of the charnel house are impervious to all human emotion. Fairly frequently, in the course of their work, they encounter someone they know. The Sonder sees these neighbours, friends, relatives, as they come in, or as they go out, or both. Szmul’s 2nd-in-command once found himself in the shower room calming the fears of his identical twin. Not long ago there was a certain Tadeusz, another good worker, who looked to the end of his belt in the Leichenkeller (they use their belts, do you see, to haul the Stucke), and there was his wife; he fainted; but they gave him some schnapps and a length of salami, and 10 minutes later he was back on the job, snipping merrily away.
‘Come on, where is she?’
‘I don’t know, sir.’
‘Still in Litzmannstadt?’
‘I don’t know, sir. Pardon, sir, but did they see about the excavator?’
‘Forget about the excavator. It’s a wreck.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘And they’re to be carefully counted. Understand? Count the skulls.’
‘Skulls are no good, sir.’ He leaned sideways and expelled the last olive stone. ‘There’s a more reliable method, sir.’
‘Oh really? Here, how long’ll all this take?’
‘Depends on the rainfall, sir. I’m guessing, but I’d say 2 or 3 months.’