Mila 18 - Leon Uris [152]
Susan’s face was distraught. Ervin felt a catch in his heart. Susan had always seemed resilient to tragedy, plodding on, doing her job regardless. He had never seen her like this. He wiped his glasses nervously, trying to adjust his vision to the change of light from the cellar.
“Tell me,” he said at last.
“Dr. Glazer,” she groaned.
In a way, Ervin was relieved. They had been expecting Glazer to go. Another death, another, another. Key people dying in droves. Glazer had been like a father to Susan from the day she graduated from the university. Little Bernard Glazer who had brought so many children into life had watched them die, helpless to save them. Glazer was better off, Ervin thought. But God, he’d be missed. He was the best man in his field.
Ervin flopped his hands. “Too bad,” was all he could say.
Susan slung a sheaf of papers on the table. “A farewell present to you, Ervin. A minute-by-minute account of his death.”
What a legacy! Ervin stared at the yellowish papers but did not touch them.
“Take it, Ervin!” Her voice rose sharply. “It’s Dr. Glazer’s gift to you!”
“Susan ... Susan ... please.”
“Damn you!” she shrieked. “People die and you write in your lousy journal! God damn you, Ervin!”
Momma Rosenblum stirred. “Kinder, Kinder,” she said weakly, “don’t shriek at each other.”
Susan sat beside the old woman and felt her forehead automatically. “I’m sorry, Momma. I didn’t mean it Ervin.”
“It’s all right Susan, I understand.”
“God, I don’t know what to do with Dr. Glazer gone.
God ... Ten children died today ... God ...” Her breath darted out in streams of frosty air.
Journal Entry
As the population is decimated the Germans close off the little ghetto in the south. As soon as a bit of room becomes available in the big ghetto, houses are closed off in the south. Crossing the bridge over the “Polish corridor” are the fancy Jews from Germany, the Jewish Civil Authority people, and the Militia and wealthier smugglers and members of the Big Seven. Only one major factory complex is left in the small ghetto, and that is the woodwork shops. As the small ghetto is abandoned it has become a no man’s land where Wild Ones without Kennkarten hide so they will not have to submit to slave labor. The abandoned ghetto has become a rendezvous for smugglers and to carry on prostitution for those still decent enough in appearance to sell their bodies. Raiding parties cross into the little ghetto at night and rip up wooden floors, doors, rails, and anything else that can be used for firewood and cart it off. In the big ghetto the crowding is worse than before. People sleep in hallways, cellars, in outside courtyards.
We continue to attempt to get dollars from British parachute drops, but it is hit-and-miss. With our dollar supply shrinking, the zloty has inflated again. David Zemba has made a simple plan. Through our people in London we have gotten American Aid to deposit several hundred thousands of dollars in Swiss accounts. Many of the smugglers have enormous collections of zlotys virtually unspendable and useless to them. We buy the zlotys by transferring Swiss dollars into their personal accounts in Geneva. We are able to get a good rate and with enough of these zlotys can buy essentials. We try not to deal with the Big Seven, but it is certain that Max Kleperman has his people in on this. Also, we can make direct barter with our Swiss money for houses, rooms, gold, food, and medicine with those smugglers who have caches. This latter is preferable to the zloty exchange. David Zemba is in conferences, trading for our Swiss dollars all day, every day. He has saved hundreds of lives.
Three major slave-labor factory complexes remain in the ghetto, all belonging to Franz Koenig. In the small ghetto there is a woodwork plant. In the north, the Brushmaker’s district. This latter supplies a major part of the brushes for the German army. Most of the people, in their desperation to live,