The Heart Of A Gypsy, Page 2

  “Good Afternoon, Herr Stearn. I hope that you have found your accommodations satisfactory. We like to make sure that our guests are comfortable,” the Nazi said as his face broke into a half smile. “You know, Herr Stearn, that it grieves me greatly that you are here at all. You should not be in prison. You should be out working for the cause.” With a quick flick of his wrist, the Reichsmarshall slammed his walking stick against the back of Christian’s chair, causing him to jump and breaking his façade of apparent calm. “After all, you are not a Jew. Why do you choose to champion a cause that is not your own? It is hard for me to believe that you did not realize the danger. I understand that it is a cruel process that we must employ, but remember, it is for the good of Germany and the world that we must rid the world of these sub-humans. Now you, Herr Stearn, are such a lovely specimen of Aryan male, with your blond hair and blue eyes. Why would you not want to see the world a better place for your children and your children’s children?” The SS officer paced behind Christian, mocking him, “Do you realize that the Third Reich will last for at least a thousand years, and we the Aryan people will be the rulers of the entire world? All others will bow down to us. That is as it should be. And of all of the other races, the Jews are the worst, the most dangerous. Do you think we want to do what we do? We do what we must. If the Jews are allowed to live, then there will be trouble…always. The world must be rid of them…and we are the ones who have been chosen to carry out this highly unsavory chore. But sadly, it must be done.” The Reichsmarshall paused to allow his words to resonate to full effect. Then he walked to the front of the room and eased himself up until he was seated upon the top of the desk, where his boots were just a few feet away from Christian’s face. “ Perhaps you’ve been tricked by these unscrupulous Jews? After all they are very sneaky and clever, you know. I am sure that they conned you in some way.” The SS officer ran his hand over his chin in contemplation, then he continued, “However, you are young and strong, and if you will cooperate with us, we may just decide to give you a second chance. Tell us who their leaders are and where we can find them, and we may just have a place for you in the party.” He winked at Christian. “So, what do you think? Are you not better off with your own people?” For a few moments the Nazi stared at him, not speaking. The silence was unnerving to Christian. Next, the officer got up and walked behind his desk. He pulled the chair out and sat down. Then picking up a pencil, he softly tapped it on his desk as he waited for Christian’s reply.

  After several moments had passed, and the Reichsmarshal realized the Christian was not going to answer, he spoke again, more harshly now, “I suggest you take my offer… The consequences of refusal would be dire.”

  Christian cleared his throat. “I don’t know what you are talking about. I don’t know of any leaders or of any movement that would have any leaders. I am just a man, and it’s true that I have shown some support of the Jewish cause, but that’s all. There is no one else involved, only me. If you must punish someone, then punish me.” Watching the SS officer, he felt as if the man’s tongue might dart out at any moment, like that of a serpent.

  “Liar. You are a member of the Resistance, the underground. Do you think that we don’t know? Do you doubt the strength of the Nazi Party? We have spies everywhere. Do you not realize how powerful we are? We will control the world; make no mistake on this, Herr Stearn.” The Reichsmarshall stood up and slammed his stick upon the top of the desk. Christian jumped involuntarily. “Don’t make this worse for yourself. We will get our information, you can be sure of that. Now, tell me and let me help you, or don’t and suffer the consequences. And make no mistake, Herr Stearn, there will be consequences.”

  A burst of heat boiled up through Christian’s blood. His body was hot with anger and fear, but his hands and feet were cold, and almost rigid. A bead of sweat trickled down the back of his neck. Knowing what was coming, and anticipating the agony, he swallowed hard, feeling his Adam’s apple rise and fall as he tried to remain calm. His mouth was dry, and his throat was aching and scratchy. Christian knew he faced certain death.

  “I said I don’t know what you are talking about,” Christian said, surprised at his own strength. Perhaps it was divine guidance that gave him the power to fight, even now. Perhaps God walked beside him in this dark valley of death.

  “Very well, Herr Stearn, you have made a choice. You have decided to make this difficult on yourself. So…we will see how long it will take for you to talk,” the Kommandant said. “Guards, come now and take this man, who refuses to help…and see to it that he regrets his lack of love for our Fuerher and our cause. Show him how we treat traitors to the Fatherland.”

  As the SS guards came into the room, Christian felt as if he might urinate on himself. “What a coward I am,” he thought. “I must remain strong. I will die either way; it is better to die with dignity.” Shaking as they grabbed his arms, he closed his eyes and said a silent prayer, asking for the courage to endure the coming ordeal without divulging any information. Christian saw himself, caught, like a wolf with his foot in a trap, and unable to escape, waiting helplessly for the hunter to come and end his life. As the guards pushed him through the shiny silver door of the torture chamber, he prayed that death would be swift and that he would have the strength to bear the pain.

  Surrounded by four shiny steel walls, with a long, gleaming steel table bearing black leather restraining straps in the center of the room, Christian’s eyes fixed upon a thick trickle of blood that ran from the metal slab, drying into a dark crimson puddle on the floor. He swallowed hard, knowing that soon his own blood would run from his body and mingle with that which lay pooling beside the table. As his stomach lurched, he fought against the desire to be sick. Observing the table more closely, he realized that there were two sets of straps to bind him: one for his feet, the other for his hands. Three muscle-bound, heavyset guards surrounded him. They made it clear that they were planning to restrain him. And although he was a strong man, and he fought, kicking and punching with all the physical fortitude that remained in his body. They were healthy and strong, and the sheer power of their numbers subdued him. He was finally tied to the table. Struggling even now within the restraints, he wondered why he even bothered. It was strange, he thought, how the will to live takes over, and even against all odds the body will continue to fight. He longed for the mercy of oblivion, and wished they would hit him in the head and bless him with unconsciousness.

  Before the persecutors could begin their work in earnest, there was a knock at the door. A stern and powerful voice told them to wait before they began working over the prisoner, “Let him be for now. New orders have been issued. We must take him to the Reichsmarshall. Open the door! Mach schnell! We will take the prisoner from here. Apparently there is some question as to his identity.”

  Hearing this, Christian was shocked. What did they know? What had they discovered? This was even worse than any horror they had planned for him.

  The henchmen were used to following orders that could change at any moment, so without question they opened the door. Five men in SS uniforms covered with bars that indicated that they were of higher ranks than the thugs whose only purpose was to torture a victim into speaking entered the room. Their heels clicked loudly on the floor as they approached, their heads held high. Christian felt relieved that at least for the moment he would not have to endure the pain. But he knew that this could turn ugly if they discovered his secret, a secret he kept hidden from everyone. He might be in a far worse predicament than the one he was presently in. Christian marveled at the human condition. How strange it is that if one can escape terrible discomfort even for just a few moments it is, in some small inexplicable way, a relief, even if it is only brief.

  “Release him and turn him over to us, now!” the SS officer demanded.

  Doing as they were instructed, the three ruffians asked if they were to wait there. The Kommandant, who was the obvious leader because he was decorated with the highest number of m
edals, spoke, “Yes. We will bring him back in a little while for you to continue your efforts. Remain here until further notice.”

  Two of the men grabbed Christian’s arms and led him out of the chamber. Then, closing the door, the leader removed a key from his breast pocket and locked the persecutors inside. Still holding tight to Christian’s arm, they led him away.

  “Come with us. Hurry. We’re the Sinti gypsies; we’re part of the Resistance and we’ve come to break you out,” one of the men said.

  Christian glanced at the men. They had done an excellent job of disguising themselves as Nazis. So, it was not a dream. The girl who had come to his cell the previous night was real. She’d told him that he would be rescued, and here was his band of saviors. His heart beat with joy as he walked quickly in step with them.

  After surveying the area to be sure they were not being watched, they moved with lightning speed. All six men began running from the building, out a back door, where they found six healthy horses saddled and waiting.

  “Can you ride?” the largest man turned to Christian.

  “Yes,” Christian answered.

  “Good. Then prepare to ride as you have never ridden before. We must escape before they realize what we have done.”

  Just then, a flock of large white birds filled the sky, their wings flapping wildly as they flew off toward the west, breaking the silence of the day with their squawking. The leader of the group raised his right hand to the sky and yelled, “’Tis a good omen and an auspicious day!” Then he turned to Christian and smiled.

  “Ready yourselves, my friends… Ride with God at your side, and good road to all of you,” the leader yelled as he hollered a loud “Yohaa!” and kicked his horse into a gallop.

  Chapter 2

  The horses galloped, falling into formation behind the leader, and off they headed into the forest. A fog of dust filled the atmosphere as it flew about from beneath the animals’ hoofs. Once the group reached the thick of the woods, they ducked beneath a canopy of branches to find a small carved-out path. Here they must travel single file. Unless one knew of the small trail, it was so well hidden that it could never be detected. Tree branches brushed against their bodies, scratching their arms, but they did not slow down as they made their way through the brush to their secret hiding place.

  Taking a roundabout route to be sure they had not been followed, the group finally arrived at the gypsy camp close to dusk. Several men met them at the clearing and took the horses, who were bathed in sweat. They would tend to the animals, allowing those who had just returned to rest from their mission. The gypsies understood horses. They were Lowari, horse traders; they knew how to care for the animals. First the men gave them water; then they walked the hard-ridden beasts for an hour to cool them down.

  Filthy from the jail cell, compounded with the blood of the beating and the dirt from ride of the day, Christian looked unrecognizable to himself when he saw his reflection in a pot of cooking water that stood beside the beginnings of a fire. As he stood gaping at the reflection of the disheveled man he’d become, two of the resistance fighters came over to him. One put his arm about Christian’s shoulder as the two lead him towards the tent of their leader, the Shera Rom. Before they entered the tent, one of the men offered Christian a drink of strong cherry liquor.

  “Here… It is a drink of our people. After what you’ve been through, something tells me you could use it.”

  Smiling at him, Christian took the bottle and drank. The liquor, sweet and strong, burned as it rushed down his parched throat, but it also brought a numbing comfort.

  The tent was not really a tent at all; it was merely an overhead enclosure, open on all four sides. When he entered, Christian was greeted by a group of young men with dark eyes and hair; most wore thick mustaches.

  “Welcome, bar; that means brother in Romany. Romany is the language of our people. We have heard of your work,” the young man who had led the group of rescuers said. His face was free of hair, and his features were strong, even and attractive. “This is the Shera Rom; he is our leader,” he smiled, indicating an older, swarthy man to Christian.

  “Welcome, to our humble camp,” the Shera Rom said as he got up to pat Christian’s shoulder. “We have been hearing much about you for some time now, and we know of your work. Word gets around.” All of the men in the group nodded in agreement. Then the Shera Rom continued, “Among our people you are known as the man with the face of a German but the heart of a gyspy! And as I am looking at you here and now, I see that it is true! Sit, please; we are happy to have you with us.” Lighting his pipe, he indicated a rock near a glowing fire just on the outskirts of the overhead canopy.

  “I knew there was a band of gypsies in the forest who were involved in the Resistance. I have been hearing about you for quite a while. How did you find me?” Christian asked.

  “We had been keeping a watch on you for a while. When you got into trouble on the street yesterday, we knew that from the location where they arrested you chances were good that you would be taken to the Gesia Street prison and…so…we were right. It was Ion’s sister, Nadya, who saw you being arrested. She came to us and told us what happened. None of the men saw it or they would have stepped in to help. Nadya was alone, and even though she had never seen you before, when she described you, we knew who it was they had in custody, because your looks are so distinctive; you look like the perfect German,” the Shera Rom said.

  “So I have been told, but I am not German. I’m from Norway,” Christian answered, but his mind was on the girl. Now he knew her name. Nadya…. Nadya… He silently repeated the lovely name.

  “Yes, we know that also. What we don’t know or understand is why you joined the Resistance. We cannot figure out why you put yourself in such a dangerous predicament.”

  “It’s rather hard to explain, but I’ll try. I was in Berlin visiting a good friend, a Jewish bookstore owner,” Christian said as he looked into the eyes of the older man, who studied him intently. “He used to live in Norway, and we grew up together. Now, of course, everyone was aware of the growing anti-Semitism, but I happened to be staying with him on the night of Kristalnacht. Things didn’t really get out of control until then. You have heard about this?”

  “Vaguely, yes. I am sorry to admit it, but until our own people were dragged into this Nazi horror, we gypsies did not pay much attention to what was happening to the Jews. I see now that it was wrong not to make ourselves aware of the plight of those who suffered. But, you see, it was not our way. The Rom, the Roma, or the Romany - however you would like to refer to our people…some even call us gypsies…are loners. We had been living our lives as we always had: traveling, and enjoying the earth and its wonderful bounty all summer. Then, in winter, we would set up camp and wait until the weather broke, when we could go forth and begin our journey anew. One evening, a group of men from the SS came to us and told us that we were to spend the winter in the ghetto. We didn’t know what a ghetto was, but he explained that it is a small area of buildings. Apparently, it had been evacuated by the Jews. At that time we had no idea where the Jews had gone or what had happened to them. The SS tried to tell us that this was a favor that they were doing for us, letting us stay in this ghetto. Instead of being outside in our wagons, or vurduns, as we call them, they said we would have running water and all of the comforts that could be provided. It would be so much more pleasant than enduring the cold without any heat. The Nazis came to our camps, smiling and ensuring us that they meant us no harm. They said that we are Aryans like them, and not Jews. Gypsies don’t care for having titles. The word Aryan means nothing to us. We are Rom, it is as simple as that. And we never had any war with the Jews. But until the Nazis came into power, we always kept to ourselves. It is part of our culture to not trust the gage. By gage, we mean anyone who is not of the Roma. So, anyway, these Nazi officers who came to our camps set about enticing us with the promise of warm rooms for the winter. Some groups of the Romany decided to put faith in
the Germans and follow their plan. Others of us did not trust the gage, especially the Nazis. We Rom pride ourselves on being good judges of human nature. We observed them as they came to visit our kumpanias; a kumpania means a group who travel together. I saw these Nazis as their eyes grew wide while they watched our women dance. They smiled as they listened to our music, but the smiles were only on their lips they never reached as high as their eyes. And I knew…even then, I knew. They only pretended to be our friends. And so, one night when the Nazis were nowhere in sight, I took my kumpania and we moved out to where we would never be found. We hid deep in the forest and waited for to see what was going to be the outcome of all of this. Before we left, I tried to convince other kumpanias to join us…not to follow the SS…not to believe them. But some would not listen. There were those of my own people who were enticed by the idea of a warm place to spend the cold months, but I tried to remind them that we had been making our winter camp for hundreds of years the same way; why chose to change now? I felt it unwise to follow the Germans and believe their promises. Even with the cold, our children never became sick as we waited for the return of the summer each year,” the Shera Rom said.

  Christian watched as the eyes of the Shera Rom welled up with tears. Before he could go on, the Shera Rom took a deep swig of the cherry liquor. Then he gazed off into the distance and continued his story, “The Rom who took the offer from the Germans were caged in the ghetto like animals. They were surrounded by guards with guns and barbed wire, and not permitted to leave. Watching in horror from our hideouts, we witnessed our people being transported out of the ghetto by train. Being the travelers that we are, and accustomed to persecution, we remained hidden, while secretly following the trains. What we found horrified us. Thousands of our people were being taken to concentration camps where they were either worked to death or starved. It was then that our resistance group began to form in a more structured manner. We have since been joined by partisans and Jews, and together we have a common goal, to rid the world of the Third Reich,” the Shera Rom said as he lit his pipe and blew out a hefty puff of charcoal smoke. Then he turned back to look at Christian.