“He’s a Nazi?”
“A collaborator. He grew up on the streets of Lublin. When the Nazis came to town, he worked for them, he was paid by them, he spied for them and he did their dirty work. So as far as I’m concerned, he’s as much a war criminal as the Nazis they are prosecuting. He preyed upon the Jews of Lublin, made a fortune scamming them and then betrayed them when it suited him. Sometimes he was the difference between life or death.”
“He had that kind of influence?”
“He had connections, and he dangled those connections in the face of those who were desperate. He took their money or whatever they could give him, and he sold them hope. He delivered on those promises when it was convenient for him, and he apologized with a shrug when it was not. He would betray without hesitation to remain in good standing with the Nazis. I was certain he didn’t survive the war, that he played fast and loose once too often. The last time I saw him, he was being led away.”
“Where was this?”
“Lodz, Poland. If it is him, and if he comes around Föhrenwald, do not try to stop me, Bernard. I have unfinished business with him. He’s mine before anyone else gets to him.”
“I understand and I won’t stand in your way, but I would ask that you be mindful of the value of interrogating Max, or Maximilian, or whatever his name is. We need to put a stop to black-market visas. Someone in the U.S., most likely a government official, is his source. We need to expose the American supplier, or he will only find another Max.”
* * *
Back at the house, as was his habit, Eli walked into the bedroom where Izaak was fast asleep. He bent to give him a kiss on the forehead. Izaak opened his eyes.
“Oh, I’m sorry I woke you,” Eli said, taking a seat on the edge of his bed.
“I’m not sleeping so good tonight,” Izaak said, and propped himself up on an elbow. “Tomorrow is Mama’s birthday, and I just keep thinking about her.” Tears filled his eyes.
Eli wrapped him up tight, holding him close to his chest and rubbing his hair. “I miss her too, Izzie.”
“Do you suppose that she’s all right? Somewhere? That maybe someday she’ll find us here in Föhrenwald?”
Eli’s lips quivered. “Sure. I mean, you and I survived, didn’t we? There were thousands and thousands of German detention camps, and they were all liberated within the past year. Mama could be anywhere in Europe. We have to keep our hopes up.”
“How would she know we’re here in Föhrenwald?”
“The U.S. maintains lists of people in the American DP camps.”
“Did you look at the lists? Is Mama on the list?”
“Izzie, I have asked. I am told she’s not on the lists, but our names are.”
“So then if she checks the lists, she’ll know where we are?”
“Exactly.”
“Where did the Germans take her?”
When Izaak steered the conversation in this direction, as he so often did, Eli was beset with a painful dilemma: how to juggle hope with reality. “With the other mothers, sweetheart. She went with the other mothers. I don’t know exactly where they took them.”
“Sometimes I think I hear her. Sometimes when the wind blows, I can hear her voice calling me.”
Eli’s throat tightened, and he strained to get the words out. “I can, too, Izzie. Almost every day. And when we hear her voice, we know she’s near.” He kissed him on the top of his head. “It’s time to get back to sleep. There’s a football game this afternoon.”
“I know, and we don’t have our best goalkeeper.”
“Heschel? Is he hurt?”
“No, he moved. His family went to America.”
Eli looked surprised. “They’ve only been here a couple of months, isn’t that right?”
Izaak nodded. “They got lucky. They got visas to go to America.”
Eli stood. “Pretty lucky—that’s for sure. Now let’s get some sleep.”
“When will we get our visas, Papa?”
“Someday soon, I hope. We’ve made application and our names are on the list.”
“Shouldn’t we wait for Mama? If we went to America without her, how would she ever find us?”
Eli stood, blinked a few tears and kissed his son again. “So many questions, my boy. We will pray, we will keep our hopes high and we will trust that we’ll all be together again.” He started to walk when Izaak grabbed his arm. “Papa, explain something to me.”
“What is it, Izzie?”
“America’s a big country, right?”
“Oh, yes.”
“Bigger than Poland?”
“Much bigger.”
“And I’ve seen the movies, Papa. They have mountains and deserts and large open spaces where cowboys ride their horses.”
Eli chuckled. “Oh, that’s true. Where is this going?”
“I would think that America has plenty of room for people like us that want to move there.”
“Well, you make a good point, my son, but it’s not about the room.”
“Then what is it? Why can’t we move there? Why do we have to stay in a camp? Why won’t they give everyone in Camp Föhrenwald a visa? I know America likes us, because we’re living in an American camp. They made it for us. They bring in food and clothes. They’re taking care of us. So why make it so hard to move to America, where we could take care of ourselves?”
Eli looked at his son. The decade’s great enigma, so formidable yet so simple that a child’s logic cuts right through it. What can I say to him? How can I explain immigration quotas to my twelve-year-old boy? How do I even broach the subjects of nationalism, distrust and prejudice? He patted him on the head. “I wish I had the answer, Izaak, but it’s late. Good night.”
Eli sat with a cup of tea and stared out the window. The soft orange glow of dawn was rising over the Bavarian hills. “What am I supposed to say to him, Esther? He has questions that I’m not able to answer. I know you would tell me that we must move on with our lives. You were always that direct, always that practical. But Izaak and I are treading water here at Föhrenwald. How do we move on? He’s a terrific kid who deserves more, and I’m not sure I can deliver.
“He asks about you, Esther, and I let him believe. I want to believe as well, but all this time and we haven’t heard a word. People say that the toughest postwar dilemma is reuniting families. We are a broken people, and the pieces are scattered all over Europe. I don’t want to lose hope, but I have to be realistic. Every day that passes brings more doubt. After what Izzie’s been through these past four years, and as far as he’s come, the progress he’s made, how do I dare introduce a doubt and shatter his hope? He laughs, he plays with the other children, he believes in the future. And in Izaak’s future, we are all reunited. What would it do to his psyche if he lost hope? Sooner or later, everyone has to face the truth. More people died than we can count.
“Talk to me, Esther. Am I a good father or am I a failure? I always looked to you. You were the wise one, the complete parent. I would stand to the side and watch you so effortlessly and lovingly guide our son in the right direction. How would you answer Izzie? I’m lost without you, sweetheart. Tell me.”