Israel Book Shop presents Chapter 90 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.
Copyright © Israel Bookshop Publications.
A few lines written in blue ink on the foundation beam on the back wall of one of the huts:
May 26, 1945
We are a group of Jews who were brought here to establish a military and economic hideout for Wehrmacht soldiers, in the event that the Reich collapses. From here, Wehrmacht brigades will set out for guerilla battles against the Allies if they will capture Austria and the region. Those in charge of us are Major Ludwig Heidrich and Major Klaus Wangel, who were under the command of Lieutenant Samson Plavel. He was killed in battles outside, and now the two Majors are directly in charge of us. We are building huts to live in, and a factory for processing furs, managed by the brothers Max and Leo Sherer. They are also fixing and building the old wall and renovating the old manor house.
There is much work to be done, and it is hard, while the food is meager, but we are being treated fairly. But if we do not remain alive, if we do not survive the war—then please, take revenge for us!
Iszak Zuretzky, hiding in the small space on the sloping ground beneath the hut, ran his finger over the words. He didn’t have the patience to try reading them, and he sufficed with the beginning and the end of the inscription. Somewhere outside, he could still hear Bernard hollering as he slowly made his way behind the huts to find him, and Iszak feared that he was coming closer. “Please, take revenge for us,” he murmured, and clasped his arms around his head.
Was there a chance that Bernard would not find him? Not really. Bernard was in such a furious state that he was not even going to help his father. He just wanted to take revenge on whoever had tripped him—in other words, Iszak. Too bad Iszak didn’t have another long branch there to trip up that cursed Nazi again.
But at least he had held him back from killing Binyamin!
Happiness and warmth spread through Iszak’s heart. He had no idea where the apology note he had written was. It must have fallen somewhere on the path near where Bernard had tripped, but maybe Binyamin would still be able to run away, and he would find it.
And if he would do that, would he know that Iszak Zuretzky had been the one to save him?
From afar, he saw Bernard’s boots coming closer, with a limping gait. The Nazi was cursing all the Jews through the generations, at the top of his lungs, and bending down to check under each and every hut. As Iszak watched, Bernard also opened the back window of each house and peered inside.
He was almost upon Iszak, bending down to the ground to check if anyone was there. “You!” he howled as soon as he saw the youth, and he stuck his gun into the small, dark cavity.
But a second later, a dull noise was heard, and the gun fell from his hand.
“What was that?” Iszak asked quietly, not daring to move. “Now it wasn’t me!” He quickly buried his head in his arms again, his face to the ground, remaining motionless. Only after a few long moments did he raise his head, banging it into the floor of the hut above him. He gaped at a pale hand that was reaching toward him.
“Do you need help to get out? Are you hurt?” someone asked in German, but with a strange accent.
Iszak didn’t know what to answer. Instead, he groaned and crawled out, only to discover Bernard lying motionless just a few steps away. The pale hand belonged to an unfamiliar person who was holding a gun. “Where are the others?” the man asked him directly. “You are a Yid, yes?”
“I…” Iszak didn’t know what to answer. This man was a complete stranger, and it was very possible that he was dangerous. But he had just saved him! “I… Yes, I’m a Yid. Where the others are…?” He stood up and shook out his hands, walking a few feet off. “They…are working in the factory, and in other places. I think that…some of them went to try and save Binyamin from Hauptmann Josef.”
“Hauptmann Josef,” the man repeated. “And where is he now, do you think?”
“Why should I tell you? I don’t even know who you are.”
“Nice to meet you. My name is Boaz, and I’m from Israel.”
“From where?”
“From Eretz Yisrael.”
“Eretz Yisrael?! The Nazis didn’t kill you?”
“No, and we’ll talk about that later. Tell me, how many gentiles are here aside from this Josef whom you mentioned, and this neo-Nazi, who won’t hurt anyone anymore?” His eyes flitted in all the direction as he spoke.
“Um…” Iszak turned his eyes toward the manor house. He was still rather confused. “There is Hauptmann Katarina, Josef’s wife. But maybe she also left the house.”
“And she has a weapon?”
“I don’t know… Yes, I think she does. And I think that Gefreiter Helena and…um…Gefreiter Teresa also have guns.”
“And is that it?” The stranger’s face broke into an incredulous smile.
“There are also commanders from the Wehrmacht who sometimes come,” Iszak replied. “Maybe they will come today or tomorrow, because of the mess Binyamin made when he spoke on the two-way radio. But I don’t think they are here now.”
Boaz nodded. “Who is the most dangerous?”
“Bernard is the scariest—he’s the one you just shot. But maybe his father is the most dangerous; that’s Josef. He was just running toward the kennels, following Binyamin.” He pointed southward. “How did you get here?”
“I got here.” Boaz strode quickly in the direction that the youth had pointed him to. “And on the way, I heard this creature hollering, so I came to see who he was running after.”
***
“What…what did I do to him?” Binyamin’s hand was still trembling. The gun he was holding was hot, and it was emitting the acrid odor of gunpowder.
Mottel Kush herded away the children who had gathered there, and in an authoritative voice, instructed them to wait near the sheep pen until they would be called. Most of them—stunned and frightened—obeyed. Sol ran toward the Nazi worriedly. People scattered every which way, perhaps afraid they’d be accused and punished.
“It’s his shoulder,” David Elkovitz said as he looked at Josef Wangel leaning against one of the trees. The man’s eyes were smoldering with fury, as blood spurted from the top part of one sleeve. With the other hand, he pushed Sol Sherer away so roughly that Sol lost his balance and almost fell.
“Leave me alone, you swine!” he screamed. “Don’t touch me with your contaminated hands!”
There was a babble of voices, and the singing of those standing on the wall faded out for a few seconds. With joint efforts, they moved a long ladder to the inner side of the wall, setting its feet down in the cemetery. One of the men swung his legs over the wall and descended. He approached the group, and people stared at him as if he were a bearskin laid out to dry that had suddenly emitted a deafening roar.
“Teiyere brieder, don’t be afraid—we are also Yidden!” he said loudly, taking off his peaked cap. Two curled peyos fell down to frame his face. “Binyamin, finally, we get to meet! I’m Bentzy Hanter—I’m sure you figured that out by now. Who is the injured person there, the Nazi?”
“One of them,” Binyamin said quickly. “Bentzy, thank you so much for coming.” He turned around and looked at Wangel, who was leaning on the tree, white-faced. Sol stood a few steps away, speaking to him in a low tone, but Josef ignored him.
Josef glanced around and cried hoarsely, “You will yet pay!” Then he stumbled away, grasping his shoulder the entire time. Sol and two more men followed him, without glancing at the large group of people that remained behind.
“Don’t let him get away!” Binyamin shouted. “He will call Bernard and the women!”
“Bernard? He won’t be going anywhere anymore,” someone unfamiliar interjected, appearing on the path leading from the residential huts. He was also dressed in overalls, like Bentzy. Iszak Zuretsky ran behind him, looking more confused than he ever had.
“Boaz!” Bentzy Hanter cried, waving his hand. “Where is Shmulik?”
“Scanning the other side; he should be coming from there any minute,” Boaz said. He stopped in front of the man in the Wehrmacht uniform who was hobbling toward him.
“Good afternoon,” he said politely. “Can I help you?”
Josef raised his eyes to Boaz. “Who are you?”
“Me? I’m a Jew who came to see who needs help in this place.”
“A Jew?”
“A proud one.”
Josef spat. “Move out of my way,” he growled hoarsely. “I don’t want help from you.”
“I can administer first aid, sir, and every minute you are losing more and more blood.”
“I prefer to die! To die! To die!!!” The Nazi suddenly raised his voice in a shriek. “And no Jew should dare touch me! Not to do good or bad!”
People began to inch closer. Sol pleaded that Dr. Katzburg should be called, but Josef didn’t even look at him.
“Mrs. Einhorn!” Sol raised his voice. “Do you have bandages? Something to stop the bleeding? Bring something quickly, because we’re going to suffer badly if he is harmed!”
“He’s already been harmed,” someone said behind them.
Babbe Sarah Liba approached slowly, but the Nazi waved his hand wildly, and she stopped where she was. Boaz walked behind the Nazi, wondering what to do, as a whole group of Jews studied them. From the direction of the preschool, they could hear the children singing Birchas Hamazon in unison.
After taking a few more steps, Josef sat down on a rock at the side of the path. Sol bent toward him, and was met with a ringing slap on the face from the Nazi.
People were talking loudly, discussing what to do now. Two wanted to run and call Rabbi Schwartzbrod. Others hurried toward the wall to help the people behind it come down into the camp, as another stranger came from the direction of the residences. Pinchas, one of the older workers in the factory, was walking next to him.
“Shmulik, how is it going?” Bentzy asked.
“Great, baruch Hashem. Who else is left besides him?” The new person looked in Josef’s direction.
“Looks like three female Nazis, one older and two younger.”
“I found two of them,” Shmulik said. “It was easy. They are there.” He nodded with his head toward the huts.
“Katarina and Teresa,” Pinchas said, trembling a bit. “I was just leaving the bakery, and I saw them running here. They were talking about the preschool and how they could get inside, or something like that… But then,” he said breathlessly, “this man came from behind and called on them to drop their weapons. It was…very simple. They listened right away. And we locked them in the Kushes’ hut. The young couple.”
“It’s the only hut with locks on both windows—that’s why I chose it,” Shmulik explained to Bentzy. “All the other huts in the area have open windows.”
Binyamin spoke up. “There’s one more,” he said weakly. He felt his pulse thudding forcefully in his temples. Was it from shock? Excitement? Hunger? All of the above?
“It’s Helena,” Babbe said from behind him. “And she’s the biggest coward of them all. She’s probably hiding at the manor house in some locked room. It won’t be hard to get her to surrender.”
“And now we have another gun—I took it from the young Nazi,” Boaz announced. “Great! Okay, who is coming with us to find her?”
Zeide Nachum suddenly appeared. “We’d be so grateful if you could start at the manor house. Our daughter works in the kitchen there, with her children.” His voice shook a bit. “Please…if you could get her out of there as fast as possible… She’s had some very difficult days, and still, she reported to her job regularly so as not to get them any angrier…”
“Shmulik and Boaz, take a few of our people and go over there, okay?” an older man with a gray beard said as he joined the cluster. He held his hand out to Binyamin with a big smile. “I imagine you are Schvirtz,” he said.
“Yes. And you are the senior Mr. Hanter?”
“I am,” Bentzy’s father said warmly. He studied the people around him with a loving expression. “Shalom aleichem, Yiddishe brieder. I am Moshe Hanter, and we are all so happy to meet you. Baruch Hashem!”
The people came closer to him; the circle grew tighter. Handshakes were exchanged, and hesitant smiles began to break out on people’s faces.
Like the sun breaking over the horizon after a night as long as the galus.
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