CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
FÖHRENWALD DP CAMP
AMERICAN ZONE
JULY 1946
In a scarred and field-battered U.S. Army jeep, Bernard, Daniel and Eli motored slowly through the streets of Föhrenwald at 4:00 a.m. A light rain fell and played a staccato rhythm on the jeep’s canvas top. The air was sweet and humid, rich with the scent of mountain pines. With the headlights off, Bernard drove carefully.
“What will you do if you see a basement light?” Eli asked.
Bernard held up a black walkie-talkie. “I’ll contact the camp police. We’ll arrest the butchers and bring them up before the Honor Court.”
“Even the rabbi?”
“Especially the rabbi.”
“And the meat?”
“We’ll put it in the commissary and distribute it fairly. If this is Zygmund Stern’s operation, it will be the third time we’ve caught him. Each time, he has vowed not to repeat his crimes, but he’s not trustworthy. If he is the offender, I intend to bring him up for expulsion.”
“I know Zygmund,” Eli said. “His son is on Izaak’s football team. He’s really not a bad fellow.”
“One does not cancel out the other,” Daniel said in his deep gravelly voice. “He runs a black-market butcher shop to line his pockets. He does not butcher meat for benefit of our camp. He does not give to those in need. I hear the meat will be sold first to camp residents who can afford his price, and the leftovers sold to Germans who live in Wolfratshausen. The rations we receive from UNRRA are small. There are many who would benefit from larger portions of fish or meat. Myself for one.”
After a few minutes, three figures came skulking around the side of a house and entered a warehouse building. “That’s it,” Bernard uttered, and radioed the police. “I wish we didn’t have to do this. If it was cigarettes or an occasional bottle of vodka, I wouldn’t give a damn. I’d look the other way. But hundreds of kilos of beef when people are hungry? That’s criminal. Blatant profiteering. War always brings out the profiteers.”
Eli heard shouting, the warehouse door opened and four men were led out by six camp policemen. “Rabbi Bernstein,” Bernard said, with a look of disgust. “I wonder what they paid him to certify the beef. Let’s go find out.”
Eli, Daniel and Bernard walked up to the group. Zygmund, a large, barrel-chested man in a stained white apron, scowled and bitterly said, “Why don’t you leave me alone? I am a butcher. I have a right to engage in my profession. What right do you have to stop me from cutting beef to feed my family?”
“I have the rights granted to me by our camp’s constitution, by the UNRRA and the U.S. Army,” Bernard said. “And who are we kidding? Are you going to feed your family two hundred kilos of beef, Zygmund? We have been through this with you on two other occasions. Now it ends. You and your associates will be brought before the Court of Honor. In your case, I will recommend expulsion. There will be no black-market meat at Camp Föhrenwald. Period.”
Then Bernard turned his attention to the rabbi, who hung his head. “And you, Rabbi Bernstein. I would have expected much better. You’re aiding a criminal.”
“The meat is being butchered for Jewish families. It should be certified kosher,” he said.
“And no doubt you donated your rabbinic services for the good of the camp?”
“I have nothing more to say.”
Zygmund spat on the road. “Bah! I’m cutting meat. Does that make me a criminal? Is eating meat a crime?” He looked around. “Then we are all criminals. What about the bastard who’s selling visas? That’s far more serious. Why don’t you arrest him?”
“I would in a split second. Can you identify him?”
Zygmund’s eyes opened wide, and he rubbed the gray stubble on his jowl. A wide smile showed a mouth full of broad teeth. He glanced at his captors. “Perhaps I can. Does the director now wish to strike a bargain with the butcher?”
Bernard narrowed his eyes. “Hmm. What does the butcher have to offer?”
“Information. Cooperation. An exercise of good citizenship for which the butcher expects reciprocation.”
“You are a scoundrel, Zygmund, not by any means a good citizen, but if you have useful information about the man who calls himself Max and you’re willing to cooperate, we can talk.”
Zygmund raised a pointed finger. “I have only met him once, but I can easily pick him out of a crowd. He came through the camp a couple of months ago, said his name was Max. He wanted twelve thousand Swiss francs or the equivalent in gold or jewelry for two visas, one for me and one for my wife. Six thousand per visa. Of course, I did not have the money, but I told him I could raise it. He patted me on the back and said that I would soon be on a ship to America. He said he would come back.”
“When?”
“He said soon.”
“Can you describe this Max?”
Zygmund puffed his ruddy cheeks and nodded. “Tall. Skinny. He had black hair, well combed. Pointy nose like a weasel. Dressed to the nines, fancy clothes.”
Eli’s muscles tightened and he swore under his breath. “That’s him,” he said to Bernard. “Maximilian Poleski. It’s a perfect description. I want to be there when he returns.”
“Let me off the butchering charge, Bernard,” Zygmund said, “and I’ll notify you as soon as he walks into camp.”
Eli glared at him. “How do we know you won’t take the visas and run?”
Zygmund scoffed. “And how would I pay him? Where would I get twelve thousand francs? Why do you think I was butchering meat? I was going to raise the money.”
Bernard nodded. “Okay, this is what we’re going to do. You’re going to contact Max and tell him you have the money and you want your visas. Tell him you want to meet him and exchange the money for the visas as soon as possible.”
Zygmund exhaled. “It’s not easy to contact him. He gave me a mailing address in Munich. I will send a letter. Now what about the beef I’m cutting? It’ll spoil.”
“You’re right. Finish butchering the meat and deliver it to the camp kitchen. No black market, no sales to any individual.”
“Bernard, please,” Zygmund said. “Have some compassion. We pooled our money and paid for that cow. Can’t we get reimbursed? It’s not fair.”
“You’re breaking my heart,” Bernard said. “The committee will thank you publicly for your generous contribution. Good night.”
The rain had stopped, and the skies had cleared. In an hour it would be dawn. Bernard and Eli walked back to the jeep.
“Do you really think all the meat will make it to the commissary?” Eli said.
Bernard smiled. “Not a chance. I suppose most of it will, but certainly not all. They’ll sell some outside the camp to recoup their losses, but I think we’ve succeeded in putting a halt to Zygmund’s black-market activities. So this is the same Maximilian that you knew from Lublin, is that right, Eli?”
Eli pursed his lips and gave a couple of quick nods. “I would never have believed it, but the description is accurate—skinny, pointy nose, black hair, fancy clothes. The fact that he could now be running loose in Europe is a testament to his resilience. He should be in the ground with a cross above his head or sitting on trial at Nuremberg.”