FICTION Sworn Statements: The Guillotine Marcie Herr/7mm ou?d think we?ve been told everything about those twelve years, but that isn?t so. History, like any lover, is selective in the facts it reveals about its beloved. And so, though the French Revolution?s guillotine is always noted, the Third Reich?s is not. The Third Reich, of course, had Other points of discussion, but, as I say, it also had guillotines. Eleven of them. Hardworking, swift, sharp, silent. The blades sliced through the necks?not of innocent Jews or Gypsies or civilian homosexuals?but of those who were then called Aryans. Germans. Only Germans. In eleven different locations around the country, often in the basement of a district police Station, men and women were put to death, one by one by one. Probably the guillotine brought no more solitary a death than did any other method; still it was horrible and even without a whisper campaign, lots of people knew that lives were being cut off in those basements, in that way. \Yfe didn?t need to talk about it; We only needed to know it. The authorities, such as they were, understood that. little knowledge,? Commander Terskan used to say, ?is just enough.? He was a swarthy, two-chinoed but not unattractive man. He?d sit at the main desk and bring the blades of his scissors together. The sound of those blue-tinged shears crossing each other raised the small hairs at the back of my neck, as it did when I sat at the barber?s. Rolf Terskan understood that. It was his little joke in those ?rst months when he knew that someone was scheduled, below. ?Torgood, you need a trim. Even Grubet?s night clerk doesn?t look this lax. How did your wife let you out of the house like this? Doesn?t she inspect you?? stand a good head taller than she does, Com. Terskan. She can?t get the necessary perspeCtive." ?Yes, well, I?m the only inspector who matters anyway," he?d say as if I'd actually replied to his admouishment with anything approaching the truth. After all, Gerda did not see me only when we were standing. ?Come here, day clerk Stella. Bend down." Gently, his splay~?ngered right hand would push my Marcie Hersbman teaches writing at Tufts University and has recently completed a novel, The Salt Marsh. "Sworn Slat-wants.- The Guillotine? is [be lead rrory from bar novella-progress. 90 TIKKUN VOL. 4, No. 3 head forward. Then the shears? cool metal would seem to exhale?again that shiver down in my collar?and the brown hairs would fall like insects in a pile of itchy lines on the floor. Invariably, from below, one minute later or five, by which time I was already sweeping up, there would be a thump. Sometimes, preceding it, there would also be a shout. But the cry was always quickly cut off. I hated to be on my knees when anything happened below. I could always feel it right through my bones. To take in some poor soul?s death through your kneecaps makes you want to beg for mercy yourself, because you know when you stand, it?s in you. A small tremor you can?t shake. Only once did he nick me and draw blood. Was it a slip of the wrist or not? It was at a time when the town paper was filled with the usual uproars, but the columns seemed more densely packed. Even the letters looked and slanted, pressed into formation. You think because we lived in the middle of those twelve years that we didn't see hate anymorepretended, with that little whisper of knowledge? the same rasp that told us about the guillotine at work under the police station floor?that such slight awareness was good. The hairsbreadth was what kept us safe. No more and no less. Any more awareness and we might be compelled into taking a dangerous stance; any less and we?d be screaming ourselves the very phrase that black- ened the pages of what was simply a town newspaper. Com. Terskan would brush the stray hairs off my shoulders. ?Raise your head," he?d say. ?Let me see my work.? Then after a slight pause would come: ?Yes, you?re as good as new. When you go home tonight, see if your wife isn?t thankful that I kept my hand steady.? i ?k But my face, those evenings, was no welcomed sight. And biting her lip, Gerda would turn away? to a table or stove or vase, seeking some task in which to bury her gaze. I?d enter the door left open behind her. Because i still wanted the embrace we usually shared, I?d follow her back into the house. ?It happened again, Gerda.? I?d speak quickly. ?Two of them. A man and a woman.? She paused at the hall table. Her hand went for wuhw the geraniums in the clay planter. ?Com. Terskan told you that?" ?He didn?t. But it was quiet and I heard." ?So you didn?t see them.? She examined the underside of the leaves for mites. ?Of course nor. They were downstairs. I told you, that?s where it happens." ?And you have no part in any of it?? I came and stood next to her. ?Gerda, I?m the clerk. Surely you realize what little that means." She plucked a dead bloom off a geranium plant. She looked like she was going to cry. ?RolfTerskan kept me busy upstairs. You can see that well enough! Here?s the proof.? Ileaned in toward her. saw. You have one of those haircuts. It?s a terrible job, too short at your cars.? ?But it proves I was upstairs the entire time. That nothing else happened to me. If you think of it that way, it's not terrible, is it? I?m sure that?s why he does it." her voice wavered. ?Your ears, they're, oh, I don?t know. It hurts to see you like this.? he looked up. Her face was so sweet, a nineteen? year-old?s that so earnestly wanted to believe in our innocence, in what was so obviously the case, and yet?yet she was not the nineteen she could have been. But 1 wasn?t the twenty-six I could have been either. ?Better to see me like this than not at all.? I moved to put my arms around her. Go wash," she said, her voice harsh. ?Wash up. The cuttings are still on you. They get in our bed, too. I hate it, how they can be that tiny and still jab and prick ?No one likes it,? I replied. ?And I was going to clean up; you don?t need to prod me." In our bedroom, I stripped to the waist, undershirt off, too. The whiteness of the porcelain washhowl seemed a relief. \When the water was dripping off my nose and chin, I opened my eyes: her face was in front of me, caught in the Small shaving mirror tacked to the wall. "Gerda?" A little water trickled into my mouth. ?I?m sorry,? she said from behind me. ?I?m glad for how well you look.? I didn?t move, just stayed bent over like that. She stepped closer. Her lips brushed my bare shoulder as if it were a relic. ?Sometimes talking is a mistake. You musm?t take my words to heart, especially since I said everything wrong. It really is a good job." She put her fingers through my hair and shook out the clear drops. ?Com. Terskan is such a complex man. I don?t know what to make of him." She rubbed the bar of soap, working the lather into my scalp. ?1 used an extra ration coupon for our meal, so there?s some pork in the stew. If I poor some of it into the blue pot will you take it to him t0morrow? Thank him for me?? Her ?ngers in my hair were loving, entangled. She had delicate hands, ?ne bones, as if she were a watch- maker's daughter, or a musician?s. But her father had worked in an iron foundry. In 1934, when she was ?fteen, a finished rod slid off a cart and hit him square in the chest. Gerda was the second of six children. She and Christoph, the eldest boy, were taken from school. Christoph went into the foundry and Gerda to a clothing factory. Her hands were used to guide. fabrics under the needles of the huge, electric-driven machines. \Vhen we were courting, she?d tell me how it was to work there. Sometimes, she'd say, lights would break out. ln the monotony and din, a girl would seize another girl?s hand and try to push it under the chugging needles as if it were a piece of clorh. The ?ght rarely took long and it never ended in blood. In fact, the girls were usually giddy with relief as they returned to their stations. The work that only moments before had provoked them, became simple and clear, even, it could he said, joyful. The brown Nazi cloth flew beneath the workers? fingers. I didn?t like thinking of Gerda in there. Much better to see her, at seventeen, bending over the flats of hubby orange hegonias and tangy spices in the plant nursery. She got that iob just a week after we married. Neither of us could believe our luck, how saying ?Yes? aloud changed our lives. Everything was new and moist. livery- thing smelled sweet, with a kind of deep thickness, like the soil in those square nursery flats, which never dries out and looks as dark and luscious as a seven-layer cake. ?Torgood, always," she?d whisper in my ear those first nights. ?Oh, beloved.? Enfolding her, my whole body would sting with the pleasure. So many nights are part of the ?rst, it seems impossible to pry them apart, each from each. Of course, history can do that. History can separate the ?rst from the second night, the ?rst from the second fact. Memory, softhearted and perhaps not as shrewd as its more public relative, just wants to hold things intact. With a shiver, I reached up from the washbowl and touched Gerda?s wrist, damp from the drops of soapy water. Her skin slid across my fingers. ?The towels," she said. don't want you to get chilled." She wrapped the short one, turbanvlike, about my head. The second, bulkier, went over my shoulders. ?Stand up and you?re done." I turned around, damp-eyed, blinking. ?All right?? She gave the makeshift headdress an affectionate pat. ?Much better. Very good.? ?Maybe I?ll keep wearing them. I can see you like me wrapped up this way.? Smiling, she tucked the second towel up under my chin. That would he very silly." Yet 1 did stay cosseted. While our kitchen stove sent FICTION 9t out waves of heat, a sultan waved his right arm, and his wife, laughing, obeyed every whim. ow very kind," said Com. when he saw the pot on his desk the next morning. Using thumb and fore?nger, he plucked a pink-flocked bone halfway out. hope you have enough for yourselves or I couldn't accept such a gift.? ?We're ?ne, Corn. Terskan. There?s only the two of us. Gerda very much wants you to have this.? He smiled and let the bone sink back under the curls of carrots and cabbage. ?Her handiwork in response to my own? Please give her my warm regards. I wasn?t expecting anything in return.? will.? He rubbed the dot of yellowish gravy between his thumb and forefinger as if it were a lotion, and shifted in the chair to take a handkerchief from his back pocket. is she, by the way? \Well?? ?Why, yes. Why?? ?When she was here last Friday, she looked a little pale around the edges. As if she expected someone to leap out and grab her. She actually trembled.? Marveling, Com. Terskan shook out the handkerchief. made her sit down in my chair and we talked. You were out, taking some letters to post. Obviously, she didn?t mention it to you.? ?She might have,? I said, a little surprised. ?Well, I?m glad she forgot about it. Some people seem to ?nd it hard, being in the Station; I understand that. Unfortunately, the police can?t protect everyone.? He sat back in his chair with a thin smile. ?Gerda?s very sweet, but delicate. Does she know what goes on under- neath here?? ?Most people seem to have their suspicions, Com. Terskan.? ?They do," he said, ?don?t they? Which is why I wouldn't allow the outside world into the house. Work should be work, nor part of the home; that?s my under- Standing of it. When I take a wife, which I will, I?ll make sure the two stay separate. She won?t see anything that might shake her con?dence, her sense of security.? paused. ?Do you tell her anything?? I felt my heart against my ribs. would never breach any security matters," I said. ?But some days, because of how I look when I come home, the haircuts, I suppose, I have to say at least something. She can see the change, you know.? ?You tell her." He shook his large head. thought so. You shouldn?t, Torgood. It?s weak." ?It?s hard to keep things from your wife.? ?Is it?? he mused. ?Besides,? I said, ?she wants to know." 92 TIKKUN VOL. 4, No. 3 didn?t find that to be the case. When she was here, two prisoners were being brought to the basement. I heard the bulkhead door creaking. Gerda had just started to liSten?you know how that is, don?t you?so I took charge and distracred her. We talked about the most inconsequential things. Of course, when she left, it was with a much lighter heart than when she?d entered. It made me feel very good about myself, to relieve her of unnecessary concerns.? l-Ie eyed me. My scalp prickled as if the shears had come too close. Thank you, Corn. Terskan." He paused and ?icked his pencil at the cast-iron lid of the pot. He set up a kind of then said, ?There?s some nasty business in front of you now. A change in orders. It came early this morning with the new prisoner.? He withdrew an envelope from his middle drawer. ?Read it at your desk.? I took one look at the top sheet and thrust my chair back. ?Com. Terskan!" I leaned, palms down, on the blotter. wish I could countermand them. But at this level, I can?t.? ?But, this.? I jabbed at the paper. ?Who would give this to me? I take down people?s words.? Corn. Terskan blew the air out of his lips, keeping a little back, so that even as he exhaled, his cheeks puffed out, saving some air, as a squirrel saves seeds, for a time when the supply might be scarce. ?And from now on, you?ll take down bodily details, too. Your duties have expanded from the mere taking of statements. YOu'll record head measurements, weights, partial and other? wise. You?ll see, it?s all written there.? Actually, I never even took direct statements. How could I, when I never saw the prisoners? Prudmann, the night clerk, probably never saw them either. Simply, the job involved stamping the papers forwarded to us: Received on weekend-such a date, at armband-ruck an boar; Krez'swald Police; Krez?swald Germany. The state- ments, such as they were, had been given ?rst to the police at the arresting station, and again perhaps to a clerk at the trial. By the time the prisoners arrived here, there was no more to say. All of us understood it: not only had their history preceded them, it had already absorbed them. Com. Terskan walked over to the ?le cabinet against the back wall. ?Come here, I'll show you something? that is, if Gruber?s clerk hasn?t mislaid it. Sharing infor- mation usually leads to some kind of mistake.? From the top drawer, he pulled out the first report. He showed his palm. ?And this is just one case." Flipping open the cardboard folder, he rifled among the sheets until he found what he wanted. ?Wendist, Herman, he read in neutral tone. ?Twenty- six. Aryan. Catholic. Social Democrat. Educated at Hamburg University in biology. Do you know why he was beheaded? It was in january." don?t remember the statement.? ?He was a traitor. He was overheard urging his fellow Workers in a munitions factory to engage in sabotage. He said he could Show them how to assemble weapons so they would mis?re. You don't know the half of it, what that means. Mrs. Muller's boy, 01' maybe it?s your cousin, he takes aim with that gun, in Czechoslovakia, or in France, and what happens? You with your medical discharge.? My mouth was dry. have a bad lung.? know.? He put the ?le back and closed the drawer. ?But should we keep a traitor housed and fed at the expense of helping our good people?? He gave me a measured look. know how generous Gerda was, to ?ll up that por for me. She gave, from her own shelves, a real gift. I won?t squander it." He put his hand on my shoulder. ?Lisren to me. What happens to most people is their own doing. People commit unspeakable acts and someone, who they don?t even know is watching, sees them doing it and saves them from doing it again by punishing them for it. The punishments vary according to the crime, but it all works out in the end.? He gave me a gentle squeeze. ?You?ll see I?m right. It won?t be as dif?cult to bear as you think.? ?When?? I asked. ?Soon. Tomorrow, eight in the morning. Do you want to read his Com. Terskan went over to his desk and picked up the stew pot; the folder lay beneath it. ?There?s only a confession in it. You'll add the other details." He hesitated a moment before drOpping it into my hands. I brought it to my desk. The pot had pressed its shape into_the greyish cover and I couldn?t bring myself to turn past it, as if by my tilting that set circle, cabbage and watery meat would actually spill out over the edge. My ?ngers slick, my pants and shoes spatterecl. So I didn?t Open it. he morning went on. The station ?lled and emptied with people and their complaints. A vagrant was brought in and held for questioning since he could be an escaped Jew. A grocer named a neighborhood boy for stealing an apple. Two ?st?ghts \vere reported. A dead mare was lying off Grubenplatz, and borh its owner and identifying livery were gone. Citizens wanted the beast carted from their street as soon as possible. It was noon when I looked up from the typewriter to see Gerda enter. She was wearing her good thick wool sweater and brown skirt and her shoulders were held at an angle that meant she was unsure but didn?t want to appear to be. In her left hand were gloves and shopping bag. She came halfway in, then stopped. pleasure,? said Com. Terskan, scraping his chair back. He walked around to the front of his desk and greeted her with a short how. ?Now I can thank you in person.? She flushed and gave him a hesitant smile. ?You're welcome, Com. Terskan. I hope you?ll enjoy it, though it's little enough.? never expected it," he said. ?So to me it is generous indeed. It looks delicious.? She colored even more. plan to have it for my dinner tonight.? ?No, don?t rush. Please keep the pot until you?re done.? ?I?ll do no such thing.? He reprimanded her have too many pots at my house, more than one person can use. There?s no need for you to go without. Tomorrow you shall have it back, personally washed." ?But I can?t imagine you washing a pot!? ?Can?t you?? He tilted his head. ?Well, now you will have to, won?t you?? And he held up his palms. She glanced at them, laughing in a kind of pained delight. ?Gerda, what is it?? I called from my desk. ?Come here.? She faltered. ?Com. Terskan?? "Go, of course.? He waved her on. ?What do you want?" I kept my voice low. She drew a roll and lunch meat from the bag. ?You took the gift but forgot your own meal.? She laid the sandwich directly on top of the folder I?d been trying to avoid. I shook my head and moved the sandwich to the right. She placed a wedge of Gouda on the folder. ?I?m glad I came by. I didn't want you to go hungry.? ?Stop putting things there,? I said sharply. ?That?s not your tableclorh. You can see it?s of?cial business.? She looked at me, wounded. Whatever con?dence she might have felt dissolved. ?I?m sorry.? I picked up the ?le, wiped it off. ?You?d better leave, Gerda.? She bent to kiss my forehead. Then she lifted her head, just the slightest, and looked toward the front desk, as if to see if she was being observed. I pulled away. ?I?ll be at home at the usual time.? And ?ipping open the folder, I pretended to read. ?Com. Terskan,? I heard her say on the way out. ?By tomorrow, remember.? Rolf Terskan?s voice came as a low rumble just before the door shut. The letters, N, were stamped in red at the top of the page. That?s all I saw. The confession was typed below, a block upon which, in three days, believing in his own sentence or not, a man would lay his head. I looked over at Terskan. He was turned from me, FICTION 93 facing the window that fronted onto the street. The brown cloth of his shirt barely moved as he breathed, as if it ?oated just above his skin without ever needing to touch it. He must have sensed my eyes on him, because he swiveled around. I shoved the prisoner's file away. ?At leasr the death is quick, isn?t it?" ?You believe that, too?? said Terskan, understanding immediately. ?That?s only the lie." He sat back in his chair. ?There is a process, like anything. First, there?s waiting to be caught?whether you want to be or not? then being arrested; then there?s the imprisonment before the trial; the trial?you sit and listen to the sentence. Then there?s another prison, usually in a different place. After that, you go to the room beneath this floor. No, it?s rare, Torgood, if any death in life is ever quick.? He turned back to the front window. He leaned closer in to the pane, watching. After a moment, he went outside and a few minutes later came back with something pressed in his hand. ?Gerda's glove,? he said, shutting the door. ?You?ll want to take it back.? ach time I touched the cool empty leather neatly folded in my pocket, I felt soothed. It was the only safe comfort I had in the station. But when I arrived home and saw how Gerda looked at me, her mouth set in a straight line, Still angry about how I?d treated her earlier, I didn?t admit to having the glove. did that, I?d be talking, and I didn?t know what else I might start to say. That I was going to be a witness to too much? That I hoped sheher mind so she could touch me each day when I came home? I told her the edge of the truth, that I was tired. And I had no stomach for dinner. And I was going to bed. Later, when she came in, I appeared to be asleep, but all night long I lay listening to how she breathed. Before the sun hit the crossbars of the window, I slipped from the warm sheets into my clothes. Not long after, I was down in the Station?s basement. There, I measured a man?s head with a beige cotton tape, recorded the dimensions, and asked him to please step on the scale. He did as I asked, but spoke not one word to me. Then I watched him walk from the room. Fewer than five minutes later, the guards brought back a body and placed it on the scale and I weighed that. The head was weighed separately. I also recorded where. on the length of the neck, the blade did its work. At the end of the day, I took home our blue pot. Rolf Terskan, good to his promise, had washed and shined it. In it, too, he?d placed a small geranium with vibrant pink blooms. Its petals were perfect, like a baby's ?ngernails. Gerda was thrilled when she saw it. How thoughtful he is. Be sure 94 TIKKUN VOL. 4, No. 3 to thank him for me, she urged. I said I would, but as for now, I had nothing I wanted to say. I was much too tired. The next morning, when Terskan informed me that two more beheadings were scheduled for Monday, he patted my back very gently; it was the same way Gerda?s hands had patted the new cutting into its dark circle of soil, with just enough pressure for the shallow roots to grab hold. Before and after each ?body recording," as we referred to it, Terskan would walk over to my desk. Where once he?d trim my hair, now he smoothed the brown shirt over my shoulders. he'd say. Or: ?You?ll need another one soon, won?t you?? Then, he?d pause and ask in a somber way: ?Ready?? Knowing the question was coming, knowing it signaled that I?d go below while he?d stay at his desk, above, I came to dread the solicitude. I-Iis rituals only extended the tension. They became part of the elaborate maneuverings in which, in the bright basement, I played a part. ?Done?? I?d hear as I climbed back up the stairs. ?There?s a glass of W21th on your desk. Take your time. Last week, I think it was, you spilled it and only made more work for yourself. Or did you leave the retyping for Prudmann, to give him something for his stretch of clerking?? On the day I took the body measurements of Ruth Kauss, I couldn?t bring myself to go home. In the month I?d been at the task, she was the ?rst female I?d had to hold a tape to. I felt unmanned, emotional, a dressmaker going about on trembling knees, wanting to clothe not strip her body. The perversion of this, of the thinness of her frame and the violation it was soon to undergo, unnerved me all the more. When the con- demned were men, I could at least try to erase myself; but here, where the difference between the two of us was all the more marked because of our sex, where it was clear I was to live and she, already weak, was to be made even worse off, I could hardly bear my own shame. I finished the job; then I went outside behind the station, sat with my back to the wall that harbored the heat stove and, though it was now cold November, slept. Terskan must have seen me; certainly someone took that blanket from one of the cells and doubled it over me. I had dreams only of the backs of people, dreams of coats flapping and blowing away in a gust. Or maybe they weren?t phantasms at all and what I absorbed was true: vagrants, their chins tucked well into their collars, cursing at me as they passed as quickly as possible through this, the police?s well~swept alley. When i got home, the lights were out. I pushed open the hall door and, through the dimness, saw the bed. Gerda had the sheets up to her chin, the linens ghostly against the thin curves of her cheekbones and ?ngers. ?Torgood?? I'Ier whisPer was a mix of fear and certainty. ?Yes.? I unbuttoned my shirt and threw it on the chair, then I kicked off my shoes. ?It?s so late, later than last night. Did you eat? I left some soup out.? Half-clothed, I sank onto the covers. She propped up on one elbow. Her teeth were barcd; she was smiling. ?And everything is still all right?? I shut my eyes. ?Fine. Don?t worry." ?Aren?t you going to wash up and come to bed?? am in bed.? ?You?re like this again. I can?t stand it.? I didn?t answer. The mattress shifted a bit, then Gerda slid her half of the covers over me and began to tuck the blanket around my shoulders. I pushed her away. ?Stop it. You need all this swacl- dling, I don?t. Leave me alone.? She was silent. She got out of bed. ?I?ll get you your dinner. At leasr I?m used to doing that by now.? She threw a sweater on over her nightgown. small table lamp on, and had draped a blue cloth over that. The shadows were neither long nor short, but in the particular way they have at night, they were simply there, darker than anything else. In the center of the table, with its three heads of blooms nearly purple, was the pink geranium. I pulled out my chair and sat down. Gerda took the lid off the soup pot and dipped in the ladle. There was something in that sound, in the slight suck as the metal broke the liquid surface and the broth was pulled in, that made me want to draw her to me and cry. That small sob called up all I had locked inside me. But she was so far away. ?Gerda,? I cleared my throat. have a surprise for you.? ?Do you?? Her voice actually lifted. ?What?? I pulled her glove out of my back pocket and held it up, upside down. Her eyes widened. ?You have it? It?s been so long. Where did you ?nd it?? didn?t find it.? Then I heard: don't know who did. But it was brought to the Station, and here it is.? ?That poor person was likely deciding whether to hold onto it forever. Well, now I don?t have to get through the winter in your old gloves.? She turned back to the counter. won?t lose it again.? Reluctantly, I let it go. ?Maybe everything does return to us,? said Gerda, placing a bowl of potato soup before me. ho knows?? I looked up and she smiled tentatively, touching her ?ngers to the nape of my neck. ?Your hair is long. I?m so glad he hasn't had to trim I followed her into the kitchen. She?d put only the Empowering the Vision: Tiltkun 01am and Spirituality The 3rd P'nal Or Kallah July 3-9, 1989 Mawr College Mawr. Classes Workshops Performances Issues Projects Prayer Join us for a week of study. play. and work as we wrestle with the state of the world and our combined spiritual-political responses to it. A children's gathering. the 4th of July. special events. a new Siddur more reasons to come than we can ?t in this space. Plan now on Spending the week of July 3rd through 9th with us at Mawr College. If you're interested in Jewish Renewal. you can't afford to miss this wonderful and adventurous week! For more information contact: P'nai Or Religious Fellowship Attn: Greg Burton. Kallah Coordinator 6723 Emlen Street. Box Philadelphia. PA 191 19 (215] 849-5385 it again." She paused. want you to take Com. Terskan a little gift. I didn't tell you, but I made him something. It?s not much, but since he?s not expecting it, well, you know how he is. He thinks he knows everything about everything. That?s why these little surprises mean so much to him.? I turned around in my chair. She stood at the side- board, holding a folded white dish towel. ?What? That?" know it might look silly," she said, embarrassed. ?But I kept thinking about what he told me, about cleaning up after himself. I know he'll like using this. I embroidered the edges in two colors. And it?s clean.? ?Terskan doesn?t want your dish rowel.? worked on it,? she said, her chin jutting out. ?He will." I stiffened. ?Well, I?m not giving it to him. You think that these little things, the soup. and this bit. of cloth, mean anything anywhere? You have no idea. You really don?t. Do you want to hear what I do now? \Whyl hate coming home? Why Terskan doesn?t bother anymore to cut my hair? A dish towel. You want to give him a prettied little rag. Unbelievable." ?How do you know what he wants?" She snapped the cloth at my head. ?Be quiet!? In the dim light, the swathe of air spread like the palm of her hand, like the glove I?d harbored against all reason, and even when it FICTION 95 hit, stroking the same skin a moment after, it didn?t scatter, it only moved past. I turned around. As I did, I heard her footsteps going to the back of the house. She could have come near, touched me, whiSpeted: Tell me, tell me, tell me. I can't let us go on this way. [know what it is, oh, I have from the ?rst, but you must tell me, too. You must ter?l me, too. That was the other side of it~?iust as she had to ask. But as the bedroom door clicked shut and I sat methodically spooning that gutless white soup up to my lips, I knew that neither one of us would turn now. Neither wanted to bear hearing the Other speak. For once we began it, we wouldn?t be who we wanted to believe that we were. \Ve'd be these two, instead. This man whose ?ngers held the tapes. this woman whose fingers still opened to his in the dark. These two people with eyes borh staring and shut. And knowing it, that this was who we were, that we were no longer who we had been, those who were innocent, who were sweetened by what they held onto, at that moment I ached for the blades falling slice. I wanted it to end the life between us, to cut the tissue of Our marriage so cleanly that our bodies would fall away, separate, and flood out into a single pool into which no one would dare dip a toe, much less dive, even one more time. But Terskan was right about that: the blade, primed, doesn?t fall fast. That's only the lie. Insread, I understood, there would be only this tiny, day-by-tlay gnawing, with a burrowing animal?s small, though sharp enough, teeth. Turning and turning it over in little dirty paws. Holding on to it as it got smaller and smaller and smaller. he next morning, Gerda was tight-lipped and angry. She would n't speak to me. Secretly, Iwas glad; now she carried the blame for the silence between us. I drank some ersatz coffee, took the sack with my lunch, and though it was much too early, left. The wind had a chill to it. I tried walking around the streets, but I only got anxious. So I headed for the station. As soon as I walked through the heavy door, all the tension flooded out of my body. I felt loose-limbed, clearheaded, as if I'd downed a shot of vodka. Everything around me was so clean and predictable, I felt like whistling. Com. Gruber. Terskan?s nighttime replacement. stood over the sink, splashing water onto his face. He gave me a sidelong glance, his eyes a blOtchy red. ?It's always too cold. I never take the time to heat it." ?You?d have to go downstairs to the stove Tor that." ?No need. Rather take it like a man. More bracing." I sat back in my chair, looking around as if i?d never been here before. ?Peaceful. Maybe I should clerk at night." 96 TIKKUN VOL?It won?t get you off the day shift." He reached for a limp towel. have our orders. That?s true for everyone." ?Is it?? I mused, almost familiarly. don?t think i?t?udmann has reported the last few nights.? He srraightened up. ?Yes, well,? he said. ?That's a sad state of affairs. His wife is in the hospital. He?s afraid she's slipping away and, from what I hear, he?s probably right." He paused. ?He wanted to stay with her. I told him he could." ?Yes,? I said. thought you must have told him that." Gruber rubbed his chin with his sleeve. ?I?ll check about the shift," he said. ?Good.? I put my head down on my arms and a while later I heard RolfTerskan come in; his boots were loud against the floorboards. ired? I thought you slept enough yesterday.? I raised my head and sat up. He was shrugging off his winter overcoat. ?Perhaps you should be at home.? ?I?m fine, Com. Terskan." ?You don't look ?ne. To be blunt, you haven?t for sorne time.? He took a dark chocolate dobos torte out of a cardboard box and placed it on my desk. ?What?s that?" gift. Take it home with you." Gruber came over. He wants to clerk at night for me.? ?Absolutely not,? Said Terskan. ?Call in one Of the regular patrolmen if you need companionship." didn?t say I needed companionship," Gruber pro- tested. said Stella asked to clerk for me at night.? oversee his work, Walter. His job has already ex- panded in its duties." "I?ve heard that," Grubet said slowly. His forehead creased. "Maybe he should go home at night, you?re right." ?Com. Terskan, I asked to come in." I began to get up. His hand dropped onto my shoulder. ?You?re shit-king your duty. A wife needs her husband. As for this beauriful layer cake, I won it in a bet with the head chef at Kaski?s. Take it, with my compliments. I?m sure Gerda will be pleased. People need luxury when things are hard." I stiffened. ?Thank you, you?ve already done enough for us." ?Don't be silly. It?s a gift, Torgood." ?You know I can't reciprocate, Com. Terskan. I?ll always be in your debt.? ?Nor in the least! And don't worry about me, I know how to bet. I'll have another sweet in no time.? ?Will you be quiet,? I growled. just said I won?t take your stinking gifts.? Now, just a moment, now,? sputtered Gruber. "Walter." Terskan tightened his grip on my shoulder. "Carefully researched and clearly written, Segal?s book offers a safe and honorable way out from the labyrinth of the Arab- Israeli wars." ?Milt0n Viorst CREATING . PALESTINIAN I STATE ERQM M. SEG AI. "This is a wonderful contribution to a humane and just peace in the Middle East." Stone 192 pp. $18.95 hardcover $9.95 paperback Add $2.00 shipping/handling Available at bookstores or from Independent Publishers Group 814 N. Franklin St. Chicago, IL 60610 (312) 337-0747 (VISAMasterCard) Tl ?I?m in charge. Leave.? I struggled to rise under his hand. "I?m sorry, Com. Terskan." He gazed down at me with steady eyes. ?It?s not just a bad lung that makes you like this, is it? If you won?t go home as I suggest, go to a back cell and lie down. No, go downstairs. Go to the cell in the basement. Put yourself out of my way.? I sank back into the chair. ?Com. Terskan?? gave you an order, clerk Stella. Are you dis- obeying?? I stood shakily, pushed the chair away. ?You don't have to.? Gently, he pushed me down again. You told me what I wanted to know. The trial?s over.? ?I?m sorry, Com. Terskan. Believe me.? He turned his back- have some business to clean up, but when I come back, I expect you to be following routine. Don?t make me put you down among the traitors.? I-le seized his coat and, shoving his arms through the sleeves as he walked, left without another word. The door shut. I couldn?t seem to move. Except for the prostitute in a back cell, there was no one else in the Station. There was no one downstairs either?no one I knew about?living out the day next to the guillotine. It was morning, still early. I could hearTerskan whistling. I could tell just how far along the road he was. I crossed over to the main desk, the one he and Gruber shared. I took the key from beneath the ashtray and unlocked the middle drawer, from which he had taken that envelope with my change of orders. Two pencils went rolling to the back. Empty. The two side drawers, then. The ?rst opened without the key. On top, folded in thirds to cover from one edge to the other, was a copy of the town paper. I glanced at it. Worthless. Under it was a sheaf of letters. Com. Terslean, This is to con?rm . . . the top one said. I picked up the pile. The next: C0272. Tet-shall, We notify you that. . .. No, norhing. Com. Terskazz, Be advised as ofyoztr receipt of this letter . .. Com. Gruhei: . .. What was that doing here? I licked my thumb, ?ipped letter over letter. Com. liarskan. . .. Com. Terskan. . .. It took no more than a minute, perhaps less. . .. We have approved your suggestion that such measurements might? prove useful. As you point out, even the slightest fact can have impact when applied 2'22 the con-er! scz'emz?c We will advise the approprzai?e personnel when our forms are complete. Certainly, we value your ongoing contrz'hatz'oizs. . . . My hands began to shake. I skimmed the document again. But it showed the same facts, the ones I hadn?t stamped as Received, but which were, in truth, there in my hands, awful, impossible. olf Terskan had brought all this upon me. For what? For his good standing in the eyes of some distant judges? A secure place for himself, could that be true? The bulkhead creaked at the back of the building. I heard footsteps going into the basement. I slid the letter back into the pile and hurriedly shut the drawer, relocked the middle one. By mistake, I almost pocketed the key, but it too went back where it belonged. From below came a man?s clear voice; no, he was refusing to do something. Then I heard the cell door slam and a surge of rising laughter. I went back to my desk. Terskan didn?t return. Instead, he sent word he?d be at home the rest of the day, and into the night, too. I kept working in a kind of agitated haze, and when it was not quite dinnertime, Gruber appeared, shaking the wind from his muf?er. He turned around, his face blistered by the cold. ?Awful. Winter.? He sat down gracelessly at the main desk and pulled out one of the side drawers. I watched him reach in. ?You can leave,? he said, and took out a pencil. ?Corn. Gruber?? I stopped, not knowing what next to say. ?Prudmann will be in tonight,? he said sharply. ?No need for you to stay, even if you wanted to. Go home.? ?\What?? The good news shook me, as much as if it were my own. ?His wife is better? She?s recovered?? ?Probably not, but he?s coming in. Too many people seemed to know that he wasn t. He looked at me. FICTION 97 ?I'll be glad for the company, even if he has a rough time of it." My face flushed and I looked away. ?Give him this, would you?? I shoved the layer cake across the deskt0p. Gruber?s eyes glistened and he grinned at me. ?That's very kind. I certainly won't tell anyone else about it. We can be sure that Prudmann, at least, will appreciate your generosity.? I felt sick to my stomach. ?Maybe I?ll get a slice, too," he continued, gazing over at it. ?Iced. And with all those layers. He?s a real master. No one can get these things anymore. There?s jusr not enough, is there? Not enough of anything sweet to go around.? ir As soon as I turned the corner from the station, I broke into a run. I cut through Grubenplarz, and the empty market. Gerda had the lamp on in the front room, though the other windows were dark. I fumbled with the lock at the door. Surely she heard how much trouble I was having opening it. I put the key in again, pushed harder. I was standing in the hall. ?Gerda, where are you?? ?Here,? her voice ?oated happily toward me from the kitchen. My heart leapt. I could hear the forgiveness and love in her voice. We would talk. I should have insisted last night, and before that. No matter. I would explain what I?d seen and she would ask me, please, once more, to clarify: How did he think he could get away with all this? What are we going to do, now that we know? And now what? Tell me. Ask me. Hurrying down the hallway, I shed my guilt over the past months as easily as I shed my coat. ?Gerda!? But the kitchen was empty. From the twin pots 0n the stove rose columns of steam, but there was no smell of food in the air. I walked over to the burners. There was only water in the pots, bubbling away. She came in from the bedroom, carrying a large, unwieldy box wrapped in the kind of fancy paper that used to be available before the war. She put it down on the table; it covered a good half of it. ?This just came. You?ve made me so happy. I was waiting to unwrap it until you came back. Now I don?t have to bear the waiting any longer." ?\What is it?" Her eyes went cold. ?It?s not frOm you?? Mutely, I shook my head. ?Well, then," she said. She turned a little away from me, blocking my view, and ripped the paper along the seam. she exhaled, the word mingled in her breath. ?Oh, I never could have imagined.? ?\What?" 98 TIKKUN VOL. 4, No. 3 ?The beauty of fur.? Her back straightened and she didn?t turn around. She put the round hat on her head, over her ears, and the stole about her shoulders. The wrap was so thick, her narrow shoulders seemed twice their breadth as they joined up with the plush of the hat. She whirled arOund. The tips of the brown furs glistened and her eyes, too, looked exceptionally bright. Her cheeks looked ruddy. It was as if Gerda weren?t standing opposite me in our kitchen, but were suddenly outside, poised at the edge of something vast, facing a brisk wind. She saw what it was that was coming toward her. Her mouth dropped partway open, then she laughed. can?t wait to show him.? She left the kitchen door ajar. To preserve the heat of what little coal burned in the grate, I closed it, not long after. I went to bed, and awoke, alone. The next day, RolfTerskan didn?t come into the station. I received my transfer to Passau, the last town near the eastern border, on Wednesday. It was just as well. It turned out they had no guillotine in Passau, though the laws were still the laws and traitors were still subject to the full extent of them. Nablus Schizophrenia Sblomz' Ha!er Am I the same man loving you in bed as the soldier in the photo ?ailing baton and rage at faceless crowds is it me in your arms nervously shy a?er trashing a house under moon?s baleful glare Who am I To cry from loving or are my eyes wet from tear gas and rage?