Touch

Do we always really tell what we know?

"Hello, um, I'm Donald Bennett and, uh, I called about the available room." 

Her silhouetted head looked at me between the gap with the slightly opened door, then she opened the door wider.

"Ah, yes, Mr. Bennett," she said as I stepped into the entryway. "Do come in out of the rain." 

"Thank you," I said. I was going to ask that she call me Donald, but then decided that might be taken the wrong way. She summoned me toward the nearby stairs. 

"This way." 

"I'm so glad you still had a room," I said, making small talk. We cleared a few more steps before she spoke once more. 

"Did you say on the phone you were a student?" 

"Yes, m'am. I'm enrolled at the university," sounding casual about it. 

"Ah, she said, then mumbled under her breath, "prestige." 

She stopped in front of a door and pushed it open, cutting on the lights to illuminate the modestly furnished dwelling. Slowly I entered and set my suitcases down. 

"Perfect," I declared then looked back at her. She smiled. 

"We've had students before, but now I think it is mostly the elderly," she said, then paused, and continued, "from the old country." 

"Yes, I gathered that. You have an accent." 

"Hungarian," she stated. 

"Oh, like Zsa Zsa Gabor on that show, Green Acres," I replied, sounding assuring. 

"Yes," she stated very slyly, then much the same way she said prestige earlier, came "Green Acres."

I walked a bit into the room, looking about. I turned to still see her standing at the open door. 

"Well," she said, "I'll leave you now. Complimentary breakfast for your first morning will be at eight. Let us know beforehand if you prefer breakfast in your room on future dates. If you need anything, I'm in the first room on the first floor." 

I suddenly realized I hadn't gotten her name. 

"Mrs. Vardos," she said, still smiling and slowly made her way out the door, closing it behind her. 

I stared forward out the window, then raced around to turn off the lights and made my way back into the room, looking outside at the city landscape. It seemed to glow, but with a touch of sorrow, and I wanted to experience it all. I made my way to the couch and sat, still looking into the dark night sky, the sounds of automobile horns almost echoing from below, filling the air. 

Then I heard a knock at the door. I sat up to now see a commanding bright blue sky where previously had been the engulfing dark. I rubbed my eyes at the second knock and leapt up to see who it was. I opened the door to see a young woman holding a tray of very delicious smelling food.

"Good morning," she said, "compliments of the house."

I thanked her and attempted to take the tray. 

"That's okay," she said, walking in and placing the contents on the small dining table for me. 

"Sit. Eat," she said. I did as instructed. 

"Can I ask your name?" 

"Maria. Vardos," she answered. "You met my mother last night." 

I nodded with understanding as I continued to eat. I guess I was a bit hungry. 

"I told her I'd bring you your breakfast, so I can see what she has let move in here now." 

It sounded like an insult that wasn't an insult.

"My name is Donald." 

"Yea, she told me," Maria said as she walked to the couch to sit. "Another student."

"Are you a student too?"

"No," she answered, "I mean student as in another student in this building. We've had students before. One or two of them weren't worth the trouble, but I guess they turned out allright." 

"Well, I won't be any trouble," I predicted. 

"So what are you studying?" 

"My major is world history. I figure New York should be as good a place as any to start exploring the progress of humanity." 

"Such as what, exactly?" 

"Well, I have a few ideas, like the immigrants who have come here from other countries in the past twenty years after the war and settled." 

"Yea?" 

I nodded. 

"I figure this will be better than where I'm originally from, for something like that." 

"Where are you from?" she inquired, "originally." 

"Kansas." 

"Oh." 

"Even what little I spoke to your mother last night, she said she's from Hungary." 

"Yea, she told me you said she sounded like the lady on Green Acres." 

"I hope she wasn't embarrassed by my comparison." 

"It wasn't that," Maria said, standing up, "you identified the wrong lady on the show." 

I gave with a startled expression. I knew I said the right woman. 

"That's Eva on the show. Zsa Zsa is her sister. 

I was a bit bewildered. 

"But they are exactly the same."

"Most Hungarians tend to be," Maria said with her mother's smile. She walked to the door. I watched her as she moved. 

"Are you Hungarian, too?" I asked. 

"I was born here, after Ma came over and met my father. He's Hungarian, too, but he was over here before the war. Well, see ya around." 

She closed the door behind her and I sat still for a moment. These Gabor women look exactly alike. I returned to finishing my breakfast. 

The days progressed as did the time. I greeted some residents on the steps out front and passed one or two in the hallway. They were all middle-aged to elderly. We partook of idle chatter. I did the same with information. Now I sat in the laundry room while a grey-haired fellow was at a table across from me. I had already seen the tattoo. 

"Wanting to study world history, huh?" he asked in a rather hoarse voice with the same broken accent they all seemed to have. I nodded with a smile. 

"Nelly said that was what you were studying," he continued, taking a sip from his cup. 

"Nelly?" I inquired. 

"Mrs. Vardos," he clarified. I understood. 

"I'll tell you about the old country," he began, "stuff you'll never hear about in Kansas." 

Word does travel among these people, I thought to myself, but that was exactly what I was hoping. I just had to be nonchalant about it all. 

"As difficult as things are now, with Viet Nam and those assassinations of those two guys, it's hard to look at the past and try to have fond memories," his voice trailed off and he stared down at his coffee.

We sat silently, then I was about to ask when he came to America and a woman walked in with a basket of clothes. 

"Hey, Rosie," the man said, revealing his missing teeth in the front. 

"Hello, Jonas," she said in an almost helium voice, then looked at me. "Hello, you." 

"This is Benny, Rosie." 

"Donald," I said, trying to correct him. 

Rosie gave with another charming smile that would no doubt turn men's heads in her youth, but now I just took as being friendly and nothing more. 

"Nelly told me," she responded. As she hauled the laundry into the basket and raised her arm, there was the unmistakable tattoo. I got the impression she saw me notice it and didn't want me to. 

"He wants to know about the old country," Jonas stated rather abruptly, and with that, Rosie gave with an "oh" and seemed to intently focus on putting her laundry in the machine, swapping out an earlier load and departing with a dried bundle, giving a rather curt "good night" as she left. 

Jonas leaned back and looked at me. 

"She doesn't like to speak about the old days," Jonas said quietly, closing one eye. "I knew she'd leave like that. You saw her tattoo," he stated more than asked. With that he stretched his bare arm across the table showing his own. I thought I was being subtle, but it seemed I wasn't. 

"What other world history is there to talk about from the past twenty-five years than the war?" Jonas said, standing up. I watched him stare at the soapy water splash at the glass in the machine. Then he looked at me. 

"Not a lot to be said," he stated, then turned back to the washer. "I'm going to my room now, so Rosie can finish her laundry in peace. She won't come back in here after I said that to her, about the old country." 

Jonas walked to the door then stopped and looked at me again. "You should best leave, too. She won't want to speak to you now, either. You can get your laundry tomorrow, too. Just let Rosie have it tonight. There will be other times for what needs to be said."  

And he turned and left. 

I sat in the room for a moment, then not entirely sure why, I did as instructed. All I had drying was a load of towels. I could get them the next day. I made my way up the quiet building and was almost at my door when I heard a voice in another language coming from a nearby room. I slowed my gait, but didn't dare stop. 

It was a woman's voice, but it didn't sound like Rosie. Must be someone else. I'd wait til later to find out, if I did at all. 

I entered the apartment and left the lights off once more to gaze out into the night sky that abandoned me when I first arrived. I gradually walked to the window, still the drone of automobiles filled the air along with the faint light from windows and streetlights to the stars above. I looked down into the dark empty street and how the illumination of brilliance sparkled across the wet road. This was what I wanted, I thought to myself. I looked back into the dark room and turned once more to the view outside, but now I saw a lone figure, slowly walking up the sidewalk, directly below me. He didn't glance up, just continued on. I watched him go, and then he turned and entered my building. I faintly heard the door close. I listened to silence a bit, then heard slow footsteps venturing down the hallway, right outside my room. He was just passing my door when I heard a second door open and a voice spoke. 

"Herr Meyer." 

Words in another language were exchanged, talking over each other, one then shushing the other. Natural instinct would be to see what the commotion was. It would look even more peculiar if I didn't look out, so I followed suit, crossed the dark room and slowly opened the door. 

The man from outside stood directly in front of my door. As he heard the door open, he turned to look at me, giving me a horrified expression. Further down the hall, I could see a door on the other side slowly closing. I was certain it was the same door where I heard the foreign woman's voice. 

"Is everything okay?" I asked the man. He was absolutely mortified, looking at me with massive blue eyes. He turned back to where the door had been opened, then back to me. I repeated, "everything okay?" 

He looked at me again, all but trembling in the faded burgundy coat that was soaking wet, then slowly moved away, heading down the hall, away from the door that closed. I watched him, but it did no good as he turned around the corner. I listened to hear when his door might open and close, but detected nothing. It was as if he just vanished. 

I looked at the door that had been opened but closed when I appeared, and I began doing the same and slowly ppushing my door to, but I too waited and peaked out the slender gap, to see if anyone appeared across the hallway, but no one did. A figure did show up and casually walked down the hall from the other direction. I recognized the dress pattern. It was Rosie with her basket. When she vacated my hallway, I closed my door. The next morning, I got my towels. 

Once more, I progressed in classes and lectures, as well as did a bit of the usual sight-seeing, trying not to look too much like a new arrival. I bought a lunch of a sandwich, chips and a drink, sat in the cool sunshine to eat it before my next class, just gaze around at the the buildings and people, then looked once more to the bright blue sky above, this sky I had stared at since I arrived here. I brought my gaze down to look across the road and see the unmistakable rumpled burgundy overcoat from a couple of nights before. Now I could see it was a pale shade of purple in the daylight, but surely it wasn't the same fellow who stood outside my door. I watched him intently, then when he suddenly looked at me across the street, I turned away, but a sideways glance revealed he still watched, then eventually continued on his own way. 

When he had sufficiently passed me, I turned to watch him continue on, slowly ambling along. Then just before he was to turn the corner and would be out of my vision, he stopped and stood there. I watched him as slowly he turned and looked back at me, but this time, I didn't turn away. We weren't fooling each other. He stood perfectly still, as tho he and I were the only two people in the whole city. 

I took a bite of my sandwich, never looking away from him. What did that voice call him that night, in the hall? Mr. Meyer. Had that been a man's voice or a woman's voice. I wasn't sure, but I guess I was going to find out. Maybe I could ask Jonas. He should know. 

The two men carried Jonas out on the stretcher to load him into the ambulance. Mrs. Vardos and Maria stood among other tenants and looked on fearfully. Rosie was there as well. Her eyes filled with tears. I came closer to start to inquire what had happened, just asking any of them who knew I lived there as well. 

"What happened?" 

Rosie saw me as the ambulance doors were closed. 

"You can't just show up and ask questions," she said to me. "We're not your lab experiments." 

She all but seemed to gasp at those words; comparing me asking about their wartime experiences to the camp atrocities. 

Rosie turned away from me and raced into the building. Mrs. Vardos looked at me and said not a word, then walked up the steps as well. Finally only Maria remained, and I looked at her. 

"Yea," she said, "we've had students here before," then she as well entered the building. 

I stood for a moment, then deciding I had done so long enough, I too walked into the building. I spoke to no one. Hardly anyone was about. What had happened to Jonas? I guess no one would tell me. No one would tell me anything anymore. 

It was odd to look at these people as subjects worthy of documentation for a research paper, but now to feel they were so much more, only to be regarded as a troublemaker in their midst. 

I entered the apartment and closed the door. I turned on no lights. I didn't move from in front of the door. Maybe I should leave if I am going to be so ostracized. I'll just make do with what I have for my paper and move on. Might find one or two people elsewhere. I'll sleep on it tonight, then decide what I want to do tomorrow. 

There was a knock on the door behind me. I was still standing at the door, so I turned and opened it. 

It was Mr. Meyer. I looked at him, surprised. 

"They want you to leave," he said quietly. I gripped the doorknob still in my hand. 

"You must stay," he spoke. 

I looked at with confusion. 

"You must not go." 

With that, he turned and walked down the hallway. This time, slowly and with uncertainty, I followed him. He  made his way around the corner, and still I walked, virtually with the same gait he made. I stood at the corner as he stopped in front of a door, unlocked it, then entered. 

Well, I thought. I guess I know where his apartment is now. I headed back to my own apartment, entered and closed the door. Again, I moved no further, thinking what this must mean. That was when I heard a nearby door open in the hallway. There was a device being used to make its way down the hall. I suspected a walking cane. I listened for the sound to pass my door, then slowly opened it. 

There stood the figure, using a walker to venture down the hall. She reached the corner and sure enough, turned left, in the direction of Meyer's apartment. 

The woman I heard that night I found Meyer outside my apartment? I didn't know. 

Once again, I followed. 

I reached the corner, slowly looked around and saw her at Meyer's door. She knocked. A voice called from within. I'd take it he told her to enter. She did so, yelling, "Herr Meyer! Herr Meyer!" 

I didn't hear the door close, so quietly I made my way down to the apartment and peered in. She stood with her back to me, whoever she was and I saw no Meyer. He seemed to be in a back room. I made my way in and silently ducked behind a coat-rack right behind the door. The familiar faded purple jacket was enough to conceal me if I remained still, which I intended to do. 

Meyer entered the living room and stood before the woman, but now he wore a uniform. An old uniform with medals and epaulets and buttons. I looked at him. 

"Fraulein," he said to the woman. 

"You talked to the American?" she asked. 

"I did not," he replied. 

"I saw you! You were at his door." 

"You must stop watching outside your door, Elsie. It will do you a mischief." 

"You hurt Jonas!" 

"I did nothing to Herr Kaufman," Meyer said as he sat down. He motioned for her to do the same. She remained standing. 

"You still want to kill us," she said, moving toward him. 

"Fraulein, please." 

"You are an evil man! Swine!" 

"Fraulein, be seated." 

She stood before him for just a moment, then moved over to the couch. I began to think it odd neither of them noticed the open door if this is what the conversation involved. 

"You want to kill us," she said to him when she sat. 

"Nein" he answered. "I want to forget the war, Elsie. I want to forget the camps." 

"Nein!" she answered. "You will not forget! Ever!" 

Meyer seemed to nod in agreement and looked down. 

"Tell me about them." 

"Fraulein, I . . . " 

"tell me about them!" she ordered. 

Herr Meyer stood and walked across the room as he turned to speak, he now glanced me standing there. He made no hint of my presence to her. 

"They were beautiful," he began, walking closer to Elsie. 

"Ja," she replied, "momma and poppa." 

"And Hugo," Meyer said. 

"Ja," Elsie said, swaying as she brought her hands to her face, "mien Hugo."

"Herr Hugo was brave," Meyer said, returning to his seat. 

"Hugo was always brave," she responded, sniffing. "He was never afraid." 

For ten more minutes, this conversation continued. I listened, trying to sort out what I was hearing. Standing behind the open door, I could see down the hallway and absolutely froze when I spied the person coming toward me. 

It was Rosey. I remained absolutely still. She entered the apartment. The three of them greeted one another as Frauleins and Herr. 

"I will go now," Elsie said, making her way to the door and coming right at me. I froze, as I had been all evening. She opened the door and walked out. 

"You talk to the American no more," Elsie screamed from the hallway. I watched her standing there between the gap. She reached in and pulled the door close. 

"Nein, Elsie," Meyer said, "I'll talk to the American youth no more," but she was already gone. 

"Herr Meyer." 

"Fraulein?"

Rosey then let fly a long string of foreign names I could only deduce were not friendly. With her back to me, she seemed to be on the very of tears. Then she returned to English. 

"You killed Jonas, you butcher!" 

My heart sank. Jonas had passed and I still didn't know why. 

"Nein, fraulein," Meyer began. "Jonas was upset by the accusations the rest of you made that he was jeopardizing the agreement." 

"He was telling the American," Rosey sobbed. 

"Nein, fraulein. Jonas told the Americaner nothing. He told the Americaner nothing." 

Rosey sat on the couch and wept, her face buried in her hands. She finally calmed down a bit and looked up. 

"I died there,": she said calmly. 

"Nein." 

"Rosey Zellman died in the gas chamber." 

She stood up. 

"I'm really Olga Schwartz." 

Meyer looked at her. 

"I took Rosey's name, to hide," she stated. I just looked on with bewilderment. 

"Fraulein Olga," Meyer began. 

"Nein," she said as she walked toward the door. I stopped breathing. 

"You must still address me as Rosey," she said. "No one must know Olga is alive." 

"Jawhol," Meyer said softly. 

She stood a moment, this woman who entered as Rosey and departed as Olga, then left, pulling the door to behind her. Meyer and I stood still and said nothing. I wanted to make sure the woman had walked away, back to her apartment. Finally, I stepped out from behind the coat-rack and looked at him. 

"Mr Meyer?" I spoke silently. He sat down. 

"This woman," I began. "Rosie." 

He didn't look at me. 

"She is not well," he responded. "None of them are," his voice trailed off. 

I walked toward him. 

"Mr. Meyer," I began, then said, "Herr Meyer?"

He didn't look at me and said nothing. 

Finally, I spoke, barely making a sound.

"You were at the camps." 

"Camps?" he said, now seeing me with a smile. "You think I traveled around?" 

"One camp?" 

"One camp, two camps. What did it matter?" 

I now stood before him, unmoving.

"But you were a guard." 

He looked to me again. 

"Ja," he answered, "I was a guard at Dachau, then Birkenau, then moved closer to Berlin." He rubbed his fingers across his forehead. He was all but frowning now. "So many people." 

I stared at him, unbelieving what I was hearing. Nothing within me thought of my schoolwork. I just stared at the man. 

"Where did you get the uniform?" was all I could manage. 

He gave me a cold look. 

"Can you believe?" he asked. "It's actually mine." He brushed at the garment a bit. 

There was a pause. 

"How did you get away?" I finally managed. "Out of Germany?" 

"Climb every mountain?" he said with a chuckle. I could only stare back at him. "When you want to escape, you will find a way." 

I let my thoughts wander a bit, trying to sort out everything I had heard since I had been here, since I first saw him. 

"Mr. Jonas?" 

"They upset him. He had a heart attack. He's not dead. Rosey told some of the others he had talked to you and they ordered him not to." 

I made my way to the couch and now it was my turn to sit. 

"They ordered him not to speak to me." 

He nodded. 

"Something, isn't it? Now they must give the orders." 

"How many people here now about you?" 

He shrugged and leaned back in the chair. 

"A dozen? Fifteen? I lose count." 

The questions seemed to come easier. 

"How long has this been going on?" 

Again, he looked at me and smiled. 

"A dozen or fifteen years? Who knows?" 

"And they keep you here?" 

"They will not let me leave. I came here under the pretense of just being from Germany, but they figured it out. I should have known they would. What was I thinking? I guess a part of me still believed the Jew could be fooled." 

I glanced around, looking for another question. 

"Why do they keep you here?" 

He brought his hands together at his mouth, then spoke. 

"I am their source," he said. "I am their memories. To fill in the blanks. For when they might forget. You saw these two women. They will not live much longer. They just want to continue standing up to the S.S., no, to the guards at the camp." 

"So they won't let you go," I said quietly. "Either you stay here or they will turn you in." 

"One of the other students who was here," he started, "learned about me. He turned me in, but they hid me. They said the student was confused. They didn't know what he was talking about." 

Let everything sink in. That was all I could do. I never felt so irrelevant in my life. These Holocaust survivors were holding the German soldier in their midst, never allowing him to leave. He was their prisoner. 

He didn't even know their families. He just told them what they wanted to hear, just as I wanted to be told what I wanted to hear when I arrived. 

I didn't ask anyone else about the old country or the war. Jonas returned and I let him be. He passed away eight months later. Ironically, Meyer didn't live much longer afterward, but on the rarest of occasions, I managed to talk to him. The good grade on that research paper never felt so meaningless to me in my life. 

There was a knock on the door. I opened the door. It was Maria Vardos. I guess I hadn't spoken to her since that first breakfast. If we did talk after that, I couldn't remember what was said. She handed me a box. 

"Herr Meyer left this to you. I guess you and he talked about what you needed to know." 

I took the box from her and looked at her. I saw no trace of whether she knew his true identity or not. I closed the door and opened the box. 

Within I found an assortment of letters, written in German, which I could not read. A frilly pink ribbon was loosely tied around the letters. I examined the first letter and noticed an aroma was present, like the faint smell of perfume. I stared at the writing, all in German. 

This man who brought so much hate unto the world guarded his love and seemed to have told no one else about it, in all these years, to these people. What would they think of him then, had they but known?