T4
Ann Clare LeZotte
* * *
Houghton Mifflin Company
Boston 2008
* * *
Ann Clare LeZotte lives in
Gainesville, Florida, with her younger
sister and their three dogs and one cat.
A graduate of Sarah Lawrence College,
she has had her poems published in the
American Poetry Review, the New Republic,
and the Threepenny Review. She received
fellowships from Hedgebrook, the
MacDowell Colony, VCCA, and Yaddo,
as well as a Rona Jaffe Foundation
Writers' Award. Ann is completely deaf.
This is her first novel.
* * *
This book is dedicated to the loving
memory
of my parents,
Bess George LeZotte
and
Edward Harrison LeZotte
Copyright © 2008 by Ann Clare LeZotte
All rights reserved. For information about permission to
reproduce selections from this book, write to Permissions,
Houghton Mifflin Company, 215 Park Avenue South,
New York, New York 10003.
www.houghtonmifflinbooks.com
The text of this book is set in Calisto MT.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
LeZotte, Ann Clare.
T4 : a novel in verse / written by Ann Clare LeZotte.
p. cm.
Summary: When the Nazi party takes control of Germany,
thirteen-year-old Paula, who is deaf, finds her world-as-she-
knows-it turned upside down, as she is taken into hiding to
protect her from the new law nicknamed T4.
ISBN-13: 978-0-547-04684-6
[1. Novels in verse. 2. Deaf—Fiction. 3. People with
disabilities—Fiction. 4. Aktion T4 (Germany)—Fiction.
5. Germany—History—1933-1945—Fiction.] I. Title.
II. Title: Tee four.
PZ7.5.L49Taal 2008
[Fic]—dc22
2007047737
Printed in the United States of America
TK 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
* * *
The best and most beautiful things in the
world cannot be seen or even touched—
they must be felt with the heart.
—Helen Keller
Hear the Voice of the Poet
Hear the voice of the poet!
I see the past, future, and present.
I am Deaf, but I have heard
The beauty of song
And I wish to share it with
Young readers.
A poem can be simple,
About a cat or a red
Wheelbarrow.
Or it can illuminate the lives
Of people who lived, loved,
And died. You can make
People think or feel
For other people, if you
Write poetry. In T4, the facts
About history are true, and
My characters tell the story.
I was born
In a little house
On a street
With tall poplar trees.
I could see
Bluish hills
In the distance.
That was my home.
But my country,
Germany,
Was not my home.
Our leader,
Adolf Hitler,
And the Nazi Party
Hated
People like me.
When my mother was pregnant
With me, she was exposed
To rubella, or German measles,
A common cause of hearing loss
In infancy. I wasn't completely deaf
Until I had a high fever at sixteen
Months old. I don't remember what
I heard before then. My mother said
I clapped my hands when she spoke.
I loved bird song and our cuckoo clock.
In the beginning
My small dog, Schatze, barked at my back.
Later she learned to tap me on the leg
When she wanted to be petted. She danced
On her back legs so I would give her a bone.
My parents and grandparents and my sister,
Clara, loved me even though I was Disabled.
Father painted roses on the wooden bed
I shared with Clara. Mother baked fresh bread
And let me have a piece while it was still warm.
Grandfather played the fiddle. I held on to the
Instrument so I could feel the fast folk music.
Grandmother pointed at the night sky. I saw
Bright Casseopeia, Orion, and a shooting star.
Fair and dark
I was fair like Father;
Clara was dark like Mother.
Father and I
Loved being in the sun;
Mother and Clara
Sat in front of the hearth's fire.
We were robust like horses.
They were elegant and slinky like cats.
We enjoyed eating big meals.
They took small bites of a single radish.
We snored like buzz saws
Or a hornets' nest.
Their dreams were silent
And beautiful like flowers.
I didn't learn to speak
The way most children do.
I put my fingers on the vocal cords
Of my family.
I wanted to feel
What talking sounded like.
I tried to open my mouth
And make sounds,
But nobody understood me.
They said I should keep quiet.
I watched the lips
Of my relatives
When they told stories.
I could see words
Being formed on their mouths.
It's called lip-reading.
I saw books and letters.
I knew people were expressing
Ideas with language.
But when I was very young,
I couldn't communicate.
I was trapped in my silence,
As if under a veil.
This made me feel upset
And angry sometimes.
I put my face in my pillow
And sobbed and sighed.
What I Saw
My visual
Sense
Was so
Strong.
If
A breeze
Shook
The leaves
On
A tree
I
Would
Shriek
With
Delight.
If
People
Ran fast
Past me
It looked
Like
A tidal
Wave.
Even
The motion
Of
A hand
Waving
Goodbye
Startled
Me.
Father Josef
The Catholic priest in my town
Decided to teach me my name.
He drew the letters
P-A-U-L-A B-E-C-K-E-R
On a sheet of paper.
He pointed to the words
And then to me.
I tried to trace the letters
With a piece of charcoal.
He held my hand
In the correct position.
I stared at my name,
Paula Becker,
Until I memorized it.
I made hand signs
For the objects I saw around me.
I put my fingertips against my lips
When I was hungry.
I rubbed my eyes
To show
I was tired.
I shook my head
And snorted
In imitation
Of a horse.
I bared my teeth and crept
Across the floor like a wolf.
A rock was made with my fist.
I waved my arms to say "the wind."
I put the palm of my hand
On top of my heart
And then pointed at my mother
And father and sister
And grandparents.
That meant I loved them.
I counted on my fingers,
And when the number
Was more than ten
I made markings on a stick.
Old Marthe
Lived on a farm
Some people said
She was a witch.
She always wore
A long brown coat
And galoshes,
Even when she slept.
She gave
Remedies
To the sick
And Disabled.
She made them from
Items she gathered
In the woods: flowers,
Bark, weeds, nuts.
She trapped small
Animals for food
And wore their bones
Around her neck or
Boiled them for soup.
In my sixth year
My mother took me
To her place.
I was scared
But fascinated
By her
Ramshackle house.
Marthe melted a candle
In a pot
And poured hot wax
Into my ears.
It hurt a lot.
She made me sit
On a stool
As it cooled.
Then she took
A paring knife
And carefully
Removed the hard wax.
Marthe cupped her palms
Over my ears,
Said a prayer, and quickly
Removed her hands.
She was yelling
And stomping her feet
Like she was dancing.
Her black cat,
Mittennacht,
Ran out the door.
Mother and I were
Hoping she could
Make me hear,
But she couldn't.
On the way home
My mother cried.
And I still wanted
To be a regular girl
Rather than a dumb animal.
In 1939
I was thirteen years old.
My family and our neighbors
Had learned to accept me.
I was the deaf girl with pigtails
In a red and yellow calico dress.
Father Josef taught me
To write the whole alphabet.
I could read a couple of books.
I carried a pad and pencil
To write down answers
To questions I was asked
Or to ask for a pound of
Sugar or butter at the store.
Many people in town had
Learned my word signs.
It was still difficult
For me to speak.
I moved my lips
When I prayed in church.
I could feel the organ
Playing through the floor.
It shook
My whole body and soul.
At home I helped
My mother cook, clean,
And look after
Clara and Schatze.
It would seem
That my life was good.
But something terrible
Was about to happen.
Action T4
Was the Nazi program that
Almost cost me my life.
It was named after
The address of its
Headquarters in Berlin,
Tiergartenstrasse 4.
T4 was run by doctors
Not soldiers
Or the Gestapo,
The secret police.
The directors were
Dr. Philip Bouhler
And Karl Brandt,
Hitler's private physician.
They were not good doctors
Who wanted to help people.
They were under direct orders
To kill the mentally ill
And people with disabilities.
It made no difference to them
If we were children or adults.
It was just a job to them.
Eugenics
The Nazis believed that certain people
They wanted the human race
To become an "Aryan" race.
They wanted to get rid of people
Who they thought
Polluted the gene pool.
This is called eugenics,
Or "racial hygiene."
They wanted perfect people
To give birth to more perfect people.
They imagined Germany as a master race
Who would rule the world.
They attacked Jews, people of color,
Homosexuals, and Gypsies, among others.
And they decided
Disabled people
Were "useless eaters"
Who were "unfit to live."
Patients in institutions
Were the first to die.
The Nazis knew that many Germans
Would be opposed to Action T4
If they knew the whole truth.
So they had to hide the facts.
They said "specialist children's wards,"
But they meant children-killing centers.
They said "final medical assistance,"
But they meant murder.
Euthanasia
Is the act or practice
Of killing or permitting the death of hopelessly sick
Or injured people or animals with as little pain as
Possible for mercy reasons.
It is a controversial procedure and sad
For everyone. A decision is usually made
By a patient or her loved ones.
The Nazis claimed the Disabled
Were so miserable in their lives
That they didn't care if they lived or died.
They pretended they were helping us.
But I wanted
My life.
I liked being a part
Of the larger
Everything.
My parents were aware
These things
Were happening
In our country.
But they didn't tell me.
I used to play
Outside all day.
I'd jump rope, climb
Trees, and pick the tart
Little apples to eat.
I'd lie on the grass
And study my picture
Bible or the newspaper.
But now they wanted me
To stay in the house.
The seasons were changing.
Our roof sprang a leak
And the rain fell
Into buckets and the bathtub.
Schatze and I were bored.
But the adults were
Always
Looking out the window
And waiting for a knock
On the door.
A Knock on the Door
One night
In March 1940,
Father Josef
Came to our house.
It was snowing and raining,
Making the roads icy.
Mother sat him by
the fire
And gave him a glass of hot cider.
He smoked a long pipe.
After he warmed up
His thin face was still pale
And his hands were shaking.
He told my parents
To put me back in bed with Clara
Before he spoke with them.
I went to my room as I was told.
But many years later
My mother told me what he said.
That was the night
Terror came into our home.
Although I was so young,
I knew that moment
Was a dividing line
Between my childhood
And whatever came next.
The Story of Anny Wodl
Father Josef had visited Austria.
He met a woman named Anny Wodl.
She told him this story.
"I bore a Disabled child in 1934.
He had trouble walking and talking.
The doctors could not tell me the cause
Of his disability.
I didn't know if he was suffering.
I put him in an institution
When he was four years old.
I became aware of the policies against
Disabled people.
I was afraid for my son's life.
The Austrian authorities
Would not help me,
So I appealed to Berlin.