“When your baby was delivered, tell us what happened next."
“They brought my baby son to me and I was allowed to keep him with me for a short while. I kept him with me for four—almost four weeks."
“And after your baby son was four weeks old, approximately, what happened?"
“They took him from me."
“For what purpose, do you know?"
“I don't know.” She blew her nose. “They said I was unfit.” She looked down for a beat, and the prosecutor thought she was going to lose it again, but she straightened and continued. “They said they'd discovered discrepancies in my medical history, and that I was no longer considered a fit mother for participation in the childbirth program."
“Isn't it true that you were forced to enroll in the program, that you'd had no choice in the first place?"
“Yes. They came to me and said it was required."
“Required by law?"
“Required by the SS."
“The SS needed women to be mothers?"
“Yes. They said they needed healthy German women with untainted bloodlines."
“Were you going under the name Anna Kaplan at that time?"
“No."
“What name were you using when you were recruited by the SS?"
“Anna Schumann."
“And you were using this name so that you could pose as an Aryan-born German?"
“Yes. They were rounding up Jews."
“Whose idea was it for you to use the identity of Anna Schumann?"
“It was my parents’ idea. They made me leave home and take the new identity."
“What happened to your parents?"
“The SS took them. After the war I found out they were taken to Treblinka. They both died in the camp."
“And so when the clinic said you were unfit and took your baby, did they elaborate about why you were no longer a fit mother?"
“No."
“Did they tell you they had found out you were Jewish?"
“No. They just said there were discrepancies in my records."
“Were you then released from the clinic?"
“No. They took me to this other house where they said I had to stay."
“And what happened to you while you were at this other house?"
“There was a doctor who had been at the clinic and he came to the house. I was forced to do things with him."
“He had sexual relations with you?"
“Yes."
“Do you know the name of this doctor?"
“Yes. Dr. Shtolz."
“Is this the individual whose photograph I now show you, which is prosecution exhibit 294-L? Let the record show this is a photograph of Emil Shtolz, taken in 1943, and documented by the Ludwigsburg Center for the Investigation of Nazi War Crimes. Is this the Dr. Shtolz you knew?"
“Yes."
“Dr. Emil Shtolz had a nickname while he was assistant director for the Clinic for the Fatherland. Do you know what the nickname was?"
“Butcher. The Boy Butcher."
“Do you know why he was called the Boy Butcher?"
“He cut people apart. He was a monster. Because he was very young they called him Boy Butcher."
“And you were forced to do things with this young doctor?"
“Yes."
“What were you forced to do?"
“To have sex."
“Normal sexual relations?"
“No."
“Please explain what you were forced to do."
“Depraved sex acts. Awful things."
“And isn't it true that you were told that if you did not perform these awful sex acts that Dr. Shtolz would hurt your baby?"
“Yes. He said he would kill my baby if I didn't do what he wanted."
“And you believed him?"
“Yes."
Anna Kaplan, witness number 113 for the State in the special investigation of Nazi war crimes before the War Crimes Tribunal of the State of Israel, felt as if she'd been questioned for a week, but she'd been giving testimony for less than an hour.
The prosecution was very experienced, and read exhaustion in her eyes, as well as melancholy, hatred, shame, and pain. He decided to spare her specific enumeration. “How long did Emil Shtolz continue to force you to perform these depraved sexual activities?"
“A few weeks. I...” She shook her head slowly, eyes downcast, as she reached back for the hideous memories,
“...have no way of knowing. A month, perhaps."
“And then what happened?"
“When he grew tired of me he took me back to the clinic. I begged him to show me my baby, to let me hold him before they killed me. I was bound and taken into the room where they performed the experiments and he showed me what had been my baby boy.” The woman started to break down again, her shoulders moving up and down as if she were having trouble breathing. She was able to stop herself somehow and managed to continue.
“He was in a case among some of the others. Some of the other babies. I wouldn't have recognized him but there was a tag on him. The babies had been operated on ... the skulls, you know—their little heads were open."
“Miss Kaplan, you were able to escape from this clinic. How did you manage it?"
“I cut my hand very badly. I tried to break the glass case with my hand and lost a lot of blood. There was a moment while they were sewing me up that nobody was watching and I jumped through the window on the second floor of the clinic. I ran...” She shrugged. “I was found by good people who helped me to hide."
“Are you absolutely certain the photograph you have identified for this tribunal is that of Dr. Emil Shtolz, whom you allege to be responsible for the atrocities you've just described?"
“Yes. That's him."
22
Bayou City
Perhaps a quarter of a century back in time, the woman called Alma—Anna Kaplan—had shut down. To lose a child in such an unspeakable manner, to endure inconceivable depravities, to survive the nightmare of evil that was the Holocaust, what were these experiences but stepping stones to a kind of quiet madness?
Her way of coping, of surviving, was to close her doors to the world, both literally and metaphorically. Part of her that shut down was the part that once felt love for children. It was a mild enough lunacy, given the circumstances of her youth. This woman, chronologically in her sixties, but mentally and emotionally ancient, lived a barren life long since reduced to the bare essentials of existence.
Once a week she would trudge the three and a half short blocks to Bob's Discount Store, a weekly stop in her agenda that included City Grocery, Bayou City Bank and Trust, and, occasionally, the post office.
At Bob's Discount, however, there was an added hazard: children. When they were out of school, or if she timed her visit wrong and arrived during the noon hour or in late afternoon, she was face to face with noisy children. Only Bob's low-priced merchandise, such as bargain-basement toilet paper, gave her the courage to brave the perils of the store each week.
There were no kids in the store when she entered, and that was a relief. She cringed at the abrasiveness of their loud, piercing voices, the blundering oafishness of their actions. They seemed to know she felt great distaste for them and it made them hate her, she suspected.
Summer vacation, teacher's meeting days, Thanksgiving, Christmas, and of course dreaded Halloween, as they called it here, these were the times she feared and loathed the most. Noisy, awful children would be running through the streets, and if you ventured out of doors they would come very close to you, threatening to touch you, sometimes shouting things. She favored inclement weather for the reason it kept most of them out of sight and out of mind, even if it pained her old and crippled bones.
Halloween, the night of October 31, was the most feared of her personal abominations. All Hallows’ Eve was a time of devil worship, when the cruel calendar would conspire to pull the children forth in unsupervised clots, the spirit of the darkness encouraging their more sadistic impulses.