Israel Book Shop presents Chapter 8 of a new online serial novel, Nine A.M., by Esther Rapaport. Check back for a new chapter every week. Click here for previous chapters.
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Approval to be outside
Date: May 5, 1993, issued at 8:00 p.m.
In order to complete his work hours, Binyamin Schvirtz hereby has permission to be outside his place of residence beyond the regular hours, for the next two days. This permit is valid only for the factory area, the residential area, and the route between them.
Signed,
Leo Sherer, Foreman
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“Don’t waste electricity,” Leo said, his eyes piercing into the youth as he signed his loopy signature at the bottom of the page. “There’s no need to activate the entire generator just for you, especially as nothing is allowed to be seen from the outside. How much light do you need?”
“My small lamp will be enough for me,” Binyamin said.
“And you should know that this was criminal negligence; I have no other definition for it. You weren’t able to do the finishing because the furs were thicker than usual! It sounds like an excuse, and excuses at your age are a form of contempt.”
“Oh, no, I tried very hard to do everything correctly,” Binyamin replied quietly. “But…it just happened, I don’t know how. Apparently, failure is something human.”
“A seventeen-year-old boy talking like a two-year-old!” Leo raised his eyes. “Don’t you know that this kind of talk is for books? It doesn’t relate to our lives! So leave your talk about humanity outside the factory!”
“We have to be humane,” Binyamin corrected him.
“You know what I meant,” Leo snapped. “Regarding the forbidden failures, not about the way we treat each other. And as a young religious person who should have a very dominant conscience, I certainly expect you to think about mutual accountability.” He looked at his desk for a long moment, and then added, “And I don’t like arrogant youths.”
“I apologize if I sounded a bit arrogant, sir. I…didn’t mean to.” Binyamin took the paper and stuck it in his pocket. “And thanks.”
The foreman’s eyes followed him as he walked out of the office and turned to the exit. “One minute, Binyamin!” Leo called suddenly. The youth retraced his steps. “You know that I don’t usually issue such permits. Respect me, please, and do only what you are supposed to do during this time, yes? You don’t intend to take advantage of this permit that I gave you to do anything foolish, do you?”
“I have no such intentions,” Binyamin assured him. He wanted to work quietly and efficiently until he finished the first fur, and then maybe, he’d have time to visit the shul. But it was in the area of his residence; he was allowed to be there according to the permit. What kind of nonsense did Leo think he was planning? Everything was deserted, empty and boring here at night.
But late that night, in the empty factory, as he sat hunched over by the light of the powerful lamp on his worktable, aiming the needle as precisely as he could to the corner of the double x that he was supposed to start sewing, he suddenly heard noises. They were coming closer, from the direction of the narrow windows. Empty? Boring?Right now those adjectives couldn’t have been more inaccurate.
Heart pounding, Binyamin quickly switched off his lamp, and the work area was plunged into darkness.
This was the first time that he was in the factory at 1:15 in the morning, so he had no idea what usually happened here during these hours. Maybe there were ghosts that visited regularly, wrapping themselves in unfinished furs and holding wild parties. Maybe it was Wangel or someone connected to him, coming to make an inspection specifically when the Jewish workers were not there.
Neither of those options sounded reasonable to Binyamin. Ghosts? The unpalatable idea did not make sense to him. Ghosts don’t come to places where there are people, even if this particular building was almost empty right now. And if there was anyone who liked to throw late-night parties, it was the Germans. But their manor house was far more suited to partying than the dank factory.
A surprise inspection? But why now? Even if they suspected that valuable materials were being pilfered, or something like that, they had no reason to come like thieves in the night.
Unless… Binyamin sat up straighter, the needle between his fingers. Unless they had come to check on him. To make sure he was doing what he was supposed to be doing.
He wondered if he should switch on the lamp again, to prove that he was working assiduously, but then decided to leave it off, just to be safe.
The noise was coming from outside the factory. The sound of footsteps on the dry ground came through from the window above Binyamin’s head.
“Amazing views, Wangel,” a strange voice said. “It’s been years since I visited. But money or not, how much longer are you going to be able to drag this story on?”
“You’ll continue helping us from the outside, and everything will be fine. My father started this, and I’m not going to stop it.” A slight, triumphant smile could be heard in Wangel’s words. Binyamin would have recognized the voice of Hauptmann Josef Wangel, commander of the camp, even in a dream.
But this was no dream. Binyamin held his breath and slipped under the table. If someone from outside would peek in through the window, he wouldn’t be able to see him from this angle.
“I don’t want to think what will happen to you, Josef, if what you have been doing all these years here will be discovered.”
“Just like we managed to hide them for fifty years, we can continue to hide them for another fifty years. Why do you think not?” Wangel said, sounding as conceited as always.
“You know, the world is advancing as the years pass, and everything becomes more complicated. There are satellites, people can travel easily to other places, and in general, your competitive fur brand has become very recognizable.”
“Not too much, not too much,” the Hauptmann objected. “That’s exactly why we are keeping it small, in the family, and exclusive.”
“And you charge huge sums of money.”
“Why not?” Wangel was smiling again. “And the illegal furs are exported abroad, so our profit is excellent. So as long as you get your share, then let’s both enjoy the party!”
“And your Bernhard certainly seems to be enjoying, doesn’t he? More than all the others.”
“Absolutely,” a third, husky voice said. Binyamin’s forehead wrinkled. Had the thirty-year-old Lieutenant come to visit the work camp and his father again? Of all the people in the Wehrmacht who were in charge of overseeing this place, something about Bernhard Wangel’s behavior was very concerning. He patrolled around the Jewish workers too much, taking photos at every opportunity, scribbling notes in his spiral notebook… Could it be that he was reporting to someone from the outside world that there were Jews who had survived in this place?
“What are you working on now, Bernhard?”
The hoarse voice gave a chuckle. “On a new article about the results of the J1000 gene trials.”
Trials? J sounded related to Jews. What was this gene? Something tickled at Binyamin’s brain, but it was too weak to trigger his memory. He remembered once reading something on the subject. Maybe it was an article, perhaps in one of the newspapers that the Nazis threw them once every few months?
Binyamin’s gaze narrowed. Who are you, Bernhard? A soldier, scientist, journalist? Why do you come to Samson Lager? For what purpose?
“You’re something else, you really are!” The strange voice laughed. “It was one of your most brilliant ideas. Right, Josef?”
“Certainly, certainly,” the proud father said. “My Bernhard is very talented. And the grades he gets, thanks to our wonderful workers, are vaunting him to the top tiers of the University of Vienna. And his sociology professor said that you could see by the materials he was submitting that he would turn out to be an acclaimed writer… Ha, they think it’s all just a rich imagination!”
Binyamin could hardly breathe. What imagination? Which professor and what materials? What did Wangel mean, “thanks to our wonderful workers”? Were he and his fellow Jews part of a trial of some type without being aware of it? His eyes flitted in every direction, but in the dark, he couldn’t see anything. And even if he could have seen something, the factory would not have suddenly appeared different.
The guest laughed again. “What will he do when he gets his degree, to their credit?”
“He’ll come and distribute chocolate to everyone,” Wangel scoffed. “My Bernhard has a long list of plans, Hans. He’s not the type to suffice with just a little bit. And I—” He suddenly fell silent.
“What’s wrong, Father?” Bernhard asked.
“I just remembered something,” Hauptman Wangel said slowly. “One of our best workers received a permit to be out at night for work purposes. I have no idea when he planned to use the permit, and I hope he hasn’t been inside all this time, hearing everything…”
“It’s so dark, I don’t think there is anyone there.” Hans could be heard very close by as he bent over to the window. His face concealed the faint light of the moon. “Hello, anyone in there?”
“Even if he’s there, he wouldn’t answer you!” Wangel sounded fretful.
“And if he’s there?” Hans said. “What exactly did we talk about? That for the past fifty years, you’ve been concealing this illegal place from the eyes of the world? That’s what—”
“Enough of that, Hans,” Wangel sounded irritated, but his voice was growing fainter, indicating that they had moved away from the window and were walking toward the path. Binyamin quickly took off his shoes, stood up from his crouched position under the worktable, and without making a sound, emerged from his corner, shoes in hand. He ran to the other side of the hall, where the pools were. He climbed onto a chair near the window there, and tried to listen. If the people were walking down the path, they would soon pass by this wall.
“And when we talked about Bernhard’s work with the J1000 gene,” Hans said, his voice sounding closer again, “which is going to become very famous. So what if the Jew heard that?”
“The problem is that I don’t remember exactly which words we used,” Wangel said tiredly, sounding like a teacher who had despaired of explaining the material to a dumb student. “And whether we exposed something too significant. I need to know what our status is right now.” He fell silent for a moment. “Bernhard, we’ll wait for you here. Do a walkthrough and see if he’s inside.”
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