Maneuvering the boy to where he stood directly in front of him, Seidel spoke. “Hans, this is Professor Cohen. He is the man I told you about who has taught and worked with… with special children like you.”
A gentle prodding brought the boy closer to Cohen, who extended his tiny hand. “Hello,” came a small voice.
Cohen offered his hand but continued to hold it, assessing Hans through years of habit. Keeping his eyes on the boy, Cohen asked, “Seidel, I ask you again. Why are you here?”
Seidel peered down at his watch cap, wringing it tightly with both hands. “I’ve… I’ve come to ask for your help. I know of your reputation of working with… with children like Hans. When you were sent to Dachau, I was given access to your file. Professor and lecturer at Heidelberg University, specializing in children with mental disorders.”
Cohen released the boy’s hand and returned to the couch, suddenly drained by the events of the last few minutes. “Yes,” Cohen sighed, “That’s true. However, that was nearly ten years ago, before I was dismissed from my tenure for being a Jew. I’m sure that was in my file, as well.”
Acknowledgment settled on Seidel’s face in a momentary form of silence. However, intent on finishing his remarks, Seidel continued. “The thing is, Professor, I love my son very much, and I would do anything for him… anything. My wife has recently died, so he is all I have left.”
With a solitary step, Seidel stood by his son, then knelt down to one knee and braced an arm around Hans’ waist. “No one I’ve talked to feels he’s capable of doing much of anything. No one. And I know it’s not true… it can’t be true.”
It was becoming all too clear why Seidel was here, though he’d not yet come directly to the point. Since seeing the boy, the emotion of enmity had given way to ambivalence. Cohen felt as if he were viewing an abstract painting, staring at a figure that combined the harsh lines of man’s evil intent with the muted colors of repentance. And the longer the old man continued to stare at this “painting,” the more he began to understand and become more curious about it.
“How did you end up here in Uruguay?”
“I, along with most S.S. officers in the camp, received orders three days before the allies overran the camp. Arrangements were made for us to be sent to various locations in South America. It was our reward for serving the Fatherland so efficiently,” he huffed, shaking his head. “In my case, I was smuggled onto a Spanish freighter bound for Montevideo. Here, I received fake papers and a work permit.” Seidel nodded towards the window. “I work the docks from time to time.”
“And your wife and child?” Cohen continued.
“They joined me here after the war. But six months later, Marta took sick. Now it’s just my son and me.”
So, now you know the meaning of loss, Lieutenant Seidel. But is it enough? Am I not entitled to my pound of flesh? Cohen leaned forward, his hands resting on his thighs. “For your loss I am sorry, but tell me, what would prevent me from going to the authorities and reporting you?”
Seidel produced a half-hearted bellow. “Please do, Professor. I’ve been looking over my shoulder as a wanted man for far too long, living like…” His eyes scanned the room.
“Like this,” Cohen answered.
“I’m sorry, Professor. I didn’t mean…”
Cohen dismissed him with a wave of his hand.
“Anyway, I’m… I’m here to make you a deal. And, please hear me out, as it’s something I’ve been thinking about since I first spotted you walking along the waterfront several weeks ago. Yes, I recognized you immediately and followed you back to your building.” Seidel drew a deep breath, exhaling slowly. “I would like you to work with my son.”
The old man stared hard at Seidel, initially unsure of what he had just heard. “You want me to WHAT?”
“Work with him for the next six months. See for yourself what abilities he possesses. I understand perfectly well Hans must be able to function in this world as I… I won’t always be there for him. And that is why I have this proposal for you.” Seidel stood up and directed the boy to a nearby chair.
“If you do this for me, at the end of six month’s time, I will go to the authorities myself and turn myself in for extradition back to Germany. My wife’s sister has said that she’ll take Hans and raise him.” Seidel’s brow furrowed, picturing Hans spending his days, huddled in a cold upstairs attic, his sister-in-law isolating him from the citizenry of the tiny Bavarian hamlet. A product of her generation: cold, pragmatic, and sensitive to her surroundings. Not likely to continue with Han’s schooling unless she sees for herself whether he’s capable of fitting in.
Cohen’s eyes darted first to the boy and then back to Seidel, confusion playing havoc with his thoughts. The last two years had brought him unfathomable loneliness; devoid of family and position. Yet, now under such extraordinary circumstances, he had the power to resurrect a portion of his life.
“How can I trust you?” he heard himself say. “What guarantees do I have? Besides, I no longer teach. My techniques are considered antiquated.”
“Professor, you are my only hope.” Seidel spread out his arms, his palms facing upward. “Hans is capable of doing many things. I know he is. I don’t expect him to rise to any position of greatness but only to function to the point of taking care of himself.”
Cohen sat silently, his hands running over his face. Then, summing up the last of his reserves, he spoke. “I can’t promise you anything.”
His eyes widening in excitement, Seidel beamed. “Professor, I understand. All I’m requesting is that you provide him with opportunities to learn. Those who saw him in the past would not even grant him that.”
“And you will accept my findings?”
“Yes.”
Cohen rose from the couch and moved towards the window, his hands clasped behind his back. The late afternoon sun poured into the room, bathing him in a comforting warmth, and easing his decision. Slowly, methodically, the professor ambled into the kitchen, opening a drawer. He pulled out a faded, weather-beaten calendar, flipping the pages. There, on the last page, he circled the date December 10, then held it in plain view of Seidel.
“All right, Seidel. I will do what I can… with conditions. Operating on the fact that you intend to keep your promise, this is what I propose. Have the child brought to me Monday through Thursday at 8 a.m. sharp. He will remain with me until 1, at which time you may come and retrieve him. You may not stay to observe. You may not linger once you drop him off. Is that understood?”
“Yes, of course,” he replied, trying to stem an overriding feeling of elation.
“And I would suggest you pack him a sandwich and piece of fruit. Also, please, no sweets.”
Again, Seidel assented, attentively awaiting Cohen’s further conditions.
“Good,” announced the professor. “Then, I suggest we begin tomorrow morning.”
About J.D. Chaney
