Vilmos climbed to our bunk, and I went to the back of the block to piss. On the way back to our bunk, I caught sight of Hendrik lying in his. He gave me a baleful look but said nothing. I didn’t say anything either.
As I lay squeezed in, Vilmos on my one side, a short Norwegian Jew who stank with sweat on the other, I thought about the incredible events of that day. And also about how I was no longer merely a number.
I was a detective once again.
15
In the morning, after a trip to the latrine and collecting our breakfast, Vilmos and I found a secluded spot, and I told him I would not be joining him in our regular kommando. "I’ve been assigned to Kanada .”
"Kanada? How did that come about?”
I told him about the Lageralteste and the mission he’d given me. "It’s the dead boy you saw, Vilmos. His name was Franz. He was from Holland. Fifteen years old."
Vilmos took a moment to absorb this. "All right. But why Kanada?”
"Before Franz became the Lageralteste's servant, he was stationed in Kanada. He worked there until three weeks ago. Perhaps I can find the reason for his murder there.”
"Even if you don’t, I’m glad you’ll be working there. It’s much better than digging trenches, that’s for sure."
I looked at him. If he harbored any envy toward me, he didn't show it. “Don’t be too happy on my account. The Lageralteste gave me until Saturday night to find this murderer. Which is less than three days from now. If I fail, he’ll kill me."
Vilmos took that in with a stricken expression. "That’s a very short time, isn't it?"
I shrugged, though my stomach felt heavy with dread. "Most murders get solved within a couple of days of being committed. Of course, that's in the ordinary world, with laws and police. Here...” I cast a look around at the multitude of prisoners, each hunched over their meager breakfast, all around us the stench of dead bodies burning. I did not complete the sentence. I had no idea how to conduct a murder investigation in this place.
But there was one person who might be able to help me.
I turned my eyes back on Vilmos and fixed him with my gaze. "Who were you meeting the night you found the body, Vilmos?”
"I told you, Adam. He had nothing to do with it. He’s not a murderer.”
"I believe you. But he might have seen something. Or someone. I need to talk to him. Who is he? Where can I find him?”
Vilmos bit his lower lip, and his eyes did a wild dance. He looked like a cornered animal. "I can't tell you. I’m sorry, but I just can’t. I don’t believe he saw anything. He would have told me.”
"So that’s where you went last night, when you told me you were going to the latrine? You went to meet this man?”
My tone had changed, and it took me a second to recognize into what. It was the tone I’d used to interrogate suspects or uncooperative witnesses when I’d been a policeman. A twinge of shame pricked at my heart for using it on Vilmos.
I took a breath and placed a hand on Vilmos’s shoulder. I brought my face a little closer to his, our eyes locking. In a soft voice, I said, "I know, Vilmos. You don’t need to hide things from me."
"Know what?”
"That you should have a pink triangle stitched to your uniform."
In Auschwitz, prisoners were classified and marked according to a number of categories. Criminal prisoners with an inverted green triangle; political prisoners with an inverted red one. Jehovah’s witnesses with an inverted purple triangle; gypsies with an inverted brown or black one, the latter also used to mark what the Nazis referred to as asocial prisoners. Jews were marked with two triangles, an inverted red one over a regular yellow one, the two triangles forming a Star of David. And homosexuals were marked with an inverted pink triangle.
Vilmos blanched. "How...” he began, but his voice faltered.
"I suspected it very shortly after we met,” I said, regretting using the word ’suspected’ the instant it left my lips. "And I don’t care one bit."
"You don’t?"
I shook my head emphatically. "Not one bit, Vilmos."
Vilmos searched my face, disbelief in his eyes. He had obviously spent a lifetime hiding this secret. He had clearly suffered negative consequences whenever it was revealed. And now he discovered that the man with whom he spent the majority of his time here in Auschwitz had known it all along and did not judge him for it. His lack of belief was understandable.
"Most cops do care,” Vilmos said, still scrutinizing my face.
"I did too, before I got here. Now I think I’d rather judge a man by who he is than by what he is. Do you understand?"
Vilmos nodded, his breath quickening with emotion. "You’re a good friend, Adam.”
"And you’re the best friend a man could have," I said. "The best one I've had in my life."
We looked at each other without speaking a word or moving a muscle. Yet a lot was said silently in that moment. Words that men don’t usually say to one another. Or maybe men like Vilmos do, but only to each other.
It didn’t last long. Time was a luxury we did not have. Vilmos broke the silence. “I need to talk to him first, before you do. I’ll do it tonight, after dinner. You can meet us where I found the dead boy. All right?”
I nodded. “Thank you, Vilmos.’’
"Thank you, Adam," he said. "For more than you can imagine."
Then he started coughing, his thin body quaking. His cough had worsened. It sounded as though he were tearing up on the inside. He spat a glob of phlegm onto the ground. I did not like its color one bit. I did not like Vilmos's color either. It was sickly, despite the tan.
"Are you going to be all right?” I said.
He wiped his mouth. "I’ll be fine, don’t you worry."
But I did worry. What I’d said was true: Vilmos was the best friend I’d ever had. The only friend I had in Auschwitz-Birkenau.
"Is there anything else you remember about the murder scene? Something other than what you’ve already told me?”
Vilmos looked away. "Not about the murder scene. But about the boy, yes."
"What about him?”
Vilmos’s eyes drifted back to mine. "He was beautiful. Even in death, with his eyes open and vacant. His face was delicate and smooth and... just beautiful. That's the only thing I remember that I did not tell you.”
I nodded, knowing full well why he’d kept it to himself until that moment.
We made our way to the Appellplatz, and there said goodbye for the day.
"I’ll try to get something for you from Kanada," I said before we parted. "Food, or something we can exchange for it.”
"Don’t be a fool, Adam. It’s your first day. Get the lay of the land first."
My Blockschreiber spotted me and indicated where I should stand. I joined the group of men who’d been assigned to Kanada. Some of them were as thin as the rest of us, but many were fuller. All of them looked dejected and tired. Some of the men nodded a greeting at me; others gave me suspicious looks. No one smiled. The Kapo shouted "Antreten/”, the command to form lines. “We've got a busy day today,” he bellowed almost cheerfully. "A train is coming. Maybe more than one.”
He spotted me and marched over. "You’re new, aren’t you?”
"Yes,” I said.
"Well, let me tell you something. I’ll tolerate no trouble from you, are we clear? You disobey one order, you cause any disruption, and you’ll be joining the rest of them in the gas chambers. You got that?"
"Yes.”
"Good." He pointed to the man standing to my right. "You. You’re responsible for this man. He makes any trouble, you’ll pay for it too. So you tell him what to do and what not to. And he’d better behave, or it’s your head.” With that he walked back to his position in front of our formation and shouted at us to maintain order.