Maria Amara Sironi here present had letters fromVienna and later from the Łódź ghetto before Emanuele vanished. His last letters are in the form of a diary written in pencil in a black exercise book hidden in a hole and discovered after the war. A simple schoolbook with pages ruled in squares for doing sums, which some charitable person, perhaps even Emanuele Orenstein himself, posted to this lady at an address written inside it. We presume he was deported to a concentration camp. The nearest was Auschwitz, so he probably ended up there. But although Signora Sironi has been to the camp and examined the archives, she could not find his name.’
‘And how do you think I can help you after thirteen years?’
‘At Auschwitz they told her that some of the camp documents have been transferred to police archives here. We would like permission to study them.’
‘Water under the bridge, Signora Sironi. The dead are dead; let sleeping dogs lie – you know the proverb?’ translates Hans reluctantly.
‘Out of more than a million Jews deported to Auschwitz, six thousand survived to be liberated. Emanuele could have been among them.’
‘They disposed of the children immediately. Please remind your Italian friend of that. It is unlikely any child survived.’
‘But Emanuele was fifteen and seemed older than his years, and he was strong too, used to running and climbing trees. They may have kept him alive to work.’
‘All things are possible. But unlikely.’
‘Do you really have these documents? The lady is not only here to look for this boy. She also has to write articles for her newspaper. May we show you her press card?’
‘Don’t bother. I know nothing,’ answers the policeman in an undertone, immediately translated by Hans who in this instance shows himself an excellent interpreter. Amara feels the policeman is lying. Why would he not want her to poke her nose into the archives of the SS? Were there secrets the authorities preferred not to reveal to the inquisitive? Or was it that they couldn’t accept her as a journalist, only as a woman looking for a man, or rather a child, who vanished many years ago?
‘Don’t you think if he’s alive he would have got in touch with you?’ asks the policeman in broken German.
‘That’s what the man with the gazelles believes too,’ says Amara and hastily corrects herself, ‘that’s what Dr Hans Wilkowsky also believes. If he were alive, he would have got in touch. But I believe he could be alive, but may not have tried to get in touch with me. He was a proud boy. And then … he may have assumed I’m married, as in fact I was, and that I wouldn’t want to see him. He was discreet. But I really do think he could be alive and holding back and keeping silent.’
‘He says go back to Auschwitz and take a closer look,’ translates Hans quickly. ‘Sometimes they changed their names. Or, he says, you could go to Vienna. You could find their house. And who knows, there might even be some trace of him in the ghetto at Łódź. There’s nothing here to help you.’
The police officer is dismissing them. He pronounces the last words on his feet, leaning on his desk with both hands and smiling impatiently. All they can do is go.
‘We should never have come near the milicja !’ says Hans seriously, ‘now we’ll be followed.’
‘But if we’d been spies we’d hardly have gone to them, would we? Try to be logical.’
‘Logic has nothing to do with the way they do things.’
‘But are we being logical?’
‘We think we are. But we’re just taking action. And being stupid. You by insisting on hunting for someone who vanished in ’43. And I by encouraging you.’
‘I never asked you to.’
‘I know. But Amara, you don’t understand what the cold war is. Above all it is a climate of mutual suspicion. Logic is irrelevant. What do you want to do now?’
‘Let’s start by taking shelter. It’s begun raining again.’
The man with the gazelles and
‘And how do you think I can help you after thirteen years?’
‘At Auschwitz they told her that some of the camp documents have been transferred to police archives here. We would like permission to study them.’
‘Water under the bridge, Signora Sironi. The dead are dead; let sleeping dogs lie – you know the proverb?’ translates Hans reluctantly.
‘Out of more than a million Jews deported to Auschwitz, six thousand survived to be liberated. Emanuele could have been among them.’
‘They disposed of the children immediately. Please remind your Italian friend of that. It is unlikely any child survived.’
‘But Emanuele was fifteen and seemed older than his years, and he was strong too, used to running and climbing trees. They may have kept him alive to work.’
‘All things are possible. But unlikely.’
‘Do you really have these documents? The lady is not only here to look for this boy. She also has to write articles for her newspaper. May we show you her press card?’
‘Don’t bother. I know nothing,’ answers the policeman in an undertone, immediately translated by Hans who in this instance shows himself an excellent interpreter. Amara feels the policeman is lying. Why would he not want her to poke her nose into the archives of the SS? Were there secrets the authorities preferred not to reveal to the inquisitive? Or was it that they couldn’t accept her as a journalist, only as a woman looking for a man, or rather a child, who vanished many years ago?
‘Don’t you think if he’s alive he would have got in touch with you?’ asks the policeman in broken German.
‘That’s what the man with the gazelles believes too,’ says Amara and hastily corrects herself, ‘that’s what Dr Hans Wilkowsky also believes. If he were alive, he would have got in touch. But I believe he could be alive, but may not have tried to get in touch with me. He was a proud boy. And then … he may have assumed I’m married, as in fact I was, and that I wouldn’t want to see him. He was discreet. But I really do think he could be alive and holding back and keeping silent.’
‘He says go back to Auschwitz and take a closer look,’ translates Hans quickly. ‘Sometimes they changed their names. Or, he says, you could go to Vienna. You could find their house. And who knows, there might even be some trace of him in the ghetto at Łódź. There’s nothing here to help you.’
The police officer is dismissing them. He pronounces the last words on his feet, leaning on his desk with both hands and smiling impatiently. All they can do is go.
‘We should never have come near the milicja !’ says Hans seriously, ‘now we’ll be followed.’
‘But if we’d been spies we’d hardly have gone to them, would we? Try to be logical.’
‘Logic has nothing to do with the way they do things.’
‘But are we being logical?’
‘We think we are. But we’re just taking action. And being stupid. You by insisting on hunting for someone who vanished in ’43. And I by encouraging you.’
‘I never asked you to.’
‘I know. But Amara, you don’t understand what the cold war is. Above all it is a climate of mutual suspicion. Logic is irrelevant. What do you want to do now?’
‘Let’s start by taking shelter. It’s begun raining again.’
The man with the gazelles and
Similar Books
