The Holocauset Diaries: Book II
The Righteous and the JustBy Leo V. Kanawada, Jr.AuthorHouse
Copyright © 2010 Leo V. Kanawada, Jr.
All right reserved.ISBN: 978-1-4520-5719-4Chapter One
ALONG THE FRENCH-SWISS BORDER COMMANDANT WERNER HOLTZ'S QUARTERS
"Werner?" Racine pleaded. Softly at first. Compassionately even. "Werner? Please." She paused. "Easy."
Initially ecstatic over his ability to rouse her passion and to feel and watch her body contort and stretch and arch and sweat and squirm and react under him, he gently turned her. Their previous forays in the missionary position were more than adequate for him, but now he wanted something more. Something new. Something more erotic, more adventuresome, more physical. French bitches after all – his friends at the Officers' Club counseled – preferred it that way.
"Werner?" She panted. "Oh," she moaned. "Werner," she whispered as he gently turned and pulled her buttocks up against him. Breathing heavily now, he clutched her tightly, snugly, molding her, positioning her perfectly-rounded derriere into him.
"Werner, I don't know if –" she slowly, but affectionately blurted out again, stroking his cheek with her right hand while nibbling ever so gently around his ear. Trying to balance on all fours under his weight, she thought, was more than she bargained for and more than she wanted to endure for the cause.
"My leg, Werner. My stump. You're –" He seemed oblivious to her protestations. Softly humming, he continued in his trance, rotating and thrusting, and thrusting and groaning, and kissing and licking and biting her back, rubbing her thighs and massaging her breasts with every remaining ounce of strength he could muster.
For the past few months – ever since November of 1942 when the Wehrmacht descended into Vichy France and occupied her country from Paris to the Mediterranean – Racine Chameau slept with Commandant Werner Holtz. Actually, she only slept with him when she needed to cross the border into Switzerland. Or vice versa. From Annemasse on the French side to Geneva only fifteen kilometers to the north. To her, it was an affair of convenience, of necessity. For him, a welcome interlude at his border crossing complex, his new duty station so very, very far away from home and so distant from the enticing, but very, very verboten Geneva.
Racine Chameau was a courier, a courier in the French Resistance. However, to a courier in the resistance or in the Jewish underground, Geneva was far from verboten. In actual fact, Geneva was a godsend, a beacon, a magnet, a promised land, a pot at the end of a rainbow. A pot that contained the very treasure essential to the survival and rescue of her people and to Jews everywhere in Europe – cash from the Joint.
It was cash from Saly Mayer, the head of the American Jewish Joint Distribution Committee's office in Geneva, that was handed on to contacts like Marc Jarblum of the French Resistance in Geneva. He in turn passed it on to hundreds of couriers like Racine who – by hook or crook or by any means imaginable – surreptitiously crossed the Swiss border hundreds of times to distribute these Joint funds to hundreds of secret operatives and organizations in France. And like this crossing as well as every one of her other trips to and from Geneva, it was in the carefully, concealed compartment of Racine's wooden leg that that treasure was conveniently stashed. Hidden. Locked away. Thousands, hundreds of thousands, millions of Swiss francs from Marc Jarblum, bound in the "first leg" of its journey to either the prominent U.G.I.F., Union generale des Israelites de France, or its other nation-wide, clandestine organizations; The O.S.E., Oeuvre du Secours aux Enfants (Relief Organization for Children); The Federation des Societies Juives de France; or The E.I.F., Eclaireurs Israelites de France (the Scout Movement).
"Werner, darling. Please. Please wait."
Gasping for breath, "What, what is it, Ra?"
"My leg. My wooden leg. I'll never be able to enjoy this unless we unstrap it. Now. Please. First. And fast."
"Oh," he groaned.
Carefully unbuckling it, she slid the leg under the pillows, patting it, stroking it as if it were Werner in all his glory.
"There," she said, wiggling slowly back into position, much to Werner's delight. "Now, where were we?"
Chapter Two
ANNEMASSE, FRANCE By eight o'clock the following morning, Racine was exhausted, but happily on her way to Annemasse. It was just a short trip from the border to the hospital. When they arrived at the entrance, she thanked Werner's driver, who by now – he boasted – could drive the route blindfolded. She promised to see him soon.
"You name the time, I know the place." He waved, said good-bye, and drove away.
Thirty minutes later, Dr. Joseph Weill opened his office door and said, "Why, Racine, back so soon? Any problems?"
She flipped her hair back over her shoulder and responded rather nonchalantly, "A walk in the park."
She had no difficulty walking to the home of her boss, the flamboyant painter known only in Annemasse as Gabriel. She was his housekeeper, both here in Annemasse and in Geneva, where he had a larger home and studio. Hence, she was the perfect courier with the perfect excuse to cross the border. And, as she later discovered, only one of a number of couriers organized and led by Gabriel for the sole purpose of transferring funds – the treasure from Saly Mayer and the Joint in Geneva – to Dr. Weill and his clandestined operatives, and other Catholic and Jewish organizations and religious leaders, throughout Vichy France.
"Doctor Weill is a legend in his own time, Racine. For the past three years, he – along with a courageous, young woman, Andree Salomon, a former scout leader in the E.I.F. movement and presently a director of the O.S.E. – has been conducting secret child-rescue operations throughout our Vichy France sector, our old, so-called unoccupied sector now inundated by the barbaric, maniacal Nazi invader. But thankfully, as you know, it's a mutually agreed upon occupation, shared by our benevolent, supportive Italian brothers."
"Yes. Thank God for them, Gabriel."
He was much older than Racine, and she adored and admired him and cherished his friendship and his love. Being fatherless from birth, she doted on him as if he were the father whom she had never known.
"They have saved thousands of Jewish children, Ra." He continued to paint as he spoke in glowing terms about the exploits of Andree and of his friend, Dr. Weill. "They're scattered throughout France. The children arelivingwithCatholicfamilies,non-Jewishfamilies,inChristianhomes or hidden in attics, basements and wherever. Only some, mind you, have been evacuated from Marseilles to Spain. But many – probably more than a thousand – Doctor Weill secretly arranged to cross the border into Switzerland. Mon Dieu, even Laval wants him arrested. And the Gestapo, he has told me, visits his home in Strasbourg from time to time, hoping to find him. To catch him off guard."
She listened attentively.
"The money, the francs, you bring over, Ra, or the promissary notes by Mayer and the Joint to pay lenders after the war, they are like gold to the underground. With the other couriers in our group and the hundreds and thousands of couriers and resistance fighters in France, the funds are carried primarily to Lyon. To Brener. Maurice Brener. Whenever a Jewish resistance group needs money, Brener is contacted."
She hadn't moved a muscle. Nor had she taken her eyes off of his painting nor closed her ears to his words. She knew of the exploits and of the heroism of most of the others in their group. Like Monsieur Guy Hilaire, a constuction engineer, whose company built and maintained roads between Annemasse and Geneva, who had his workers transport enormous amounts of funds hidden securely in their steamroller that had to cross the border on a daily basis.
Or Father Guillaume with his decrepit, old car. It smoked and coughed, broke down constantly, was dismantled or repaired or was pushed as it crossed the border, but never once did the border guards ever locate the hidden compartment in the engine. She remembered that Dr. Weill had told her that "there was never a single franc missing from all the millions that he managed to sneak across." Not even when her friend, Anne-Marie Lambert – carrying thousands of francs and fearful that she was about to be discovered at the border – cleverly feigned a nervous breakdown and was brought by the Germans to the hospital and to Dr. Weill.
The same was true about her close friend, Jojo Dassas. After a rather dangerous crossing, Racine recalled, Jojo unashamedly unzipped and stepped out of her dress, giggling and laughing right in front of Gabriel. She said, "Guess what I've hidden in the bosom of my dress? You'll never guess. A million francs, a million francs. Jarblum gave them to me in Geneva to smuggle across."
She was so overjoyed and yet so exhausted. It didn't seem to matter to her that her trek through the snow-covered mountain passes caused her feet to become frostbit.
"Jefroykin, he is the real boss. The real head man. Dika Jefroykin. Head of operations for the Joint in France."
Racine heard him continue. Painting and talking, sharing his coffee and conversation. She loved every solitary moment she spent with him.
"When we in France fell in 1940, the Joint closed shop in Paris. Doctor Joseph Schwartz – talk about bosses, Ra. Talk about saviors or messiahs. Doctor Schwartz, the ultimate boss. 'Mr. Joint,' as Doctor Weill and the rest of the entire resistance calls him. He packed up and moved the JDC – the Joint – to Lisbon. It's from there that he and the Joint direct rescue and aid operations throughout Europe. It's from there, Ra, that he organizes evacuations from Nazi-dominated Europe, obtaining visas to countries in the Western Hemisphere, arranging for ships to North Africa and Palestine. It's from there that he collaborates with the Vatican and its vast underground network to transfer funds and produce false documents – marriage certificates, baptismal certificates, immigration visas, you name it. And, it's from there that he and the Joint transmit Jewish funds from America to all stations in the WEJ – as Doctor Weill and the Allies from Roosevelt to Jefroykin call it.
"Millions of American dollars are transmitted by Schwartz to Saly Mayer for all of occupied Europe. Hence, you see, on to us and to all of France, and millions to other key WEJ stations like Istanbul, the Vatican, London, or to our very own Jefroykin. Funds that are used for any and all purposes. From aiding to bribing, Ra. Through Jefroykin and Brener, all of the underground movements in France can rescue and hide the tens of thousands of Jews in France, the ten thousand or so children, and even support the armed Jewish underground. The Jewish army. Without this giant octopus from Schwartz to Jefroykin, all would be lost."
Her coffee was cold. She quickly brewed another pot and returned to hear more of this fascinating web that she was a part of. "Okay, tell me more."
"Well, last year when the Americans landed in North Africa and the Germans sent the Wehrmacht in here, Jefroykin – who had moved to Marseilles by then – now had to move his Joint shop underground. He presently operates between Nimes and Marseilles. And he, too – like Schwartz – assists octopus-like organizations throughout southern France."
Gabriel continued to elaborate on the infrastructure of the various networks operating in Vichy and how they thrived because of the Joint. The Nimes Committee, twenty-five organizations – Jewish and non-Jewish, Quaker and Catholic – providing relief and aid, risking death by sheltering, hiding, and transporting tens of thousands of adults and children, chaired by Donald Lowrie, the American director of the International YMCA in Geneva. The O.S.E., the children's relief organization financed by the Joint. The Catholic and Protestant clergy, like Cardinal Gerlier of Lyon; and his assistant, Abbe Glasberg – a converted Jew – who rescued thousands; Monsignor Remond, the bishop of Nice; Archbishop Saliege of Toulouse; and "the saint" – he called him – Father Marie Benoit.
Hunted by the Gestapo from Marseilles to Lyon to Nice, no one man did more to rescue and save tens of thousands of Jews. "This Capuchin monk prints false papers and documents, smuggles Jews by the thousands into Spain, collaborates, converses, and has the confidence of the pope and the Vatican and the Jewish underground in Rome and Italy, and now is in the forefront of a massive rescue operation, along with our famous lanceman, Angelo Donati, in Nice. They will need our funds and our prayers, Racine, so that bad will not go to worse."
Before the light faded and he could paint no longer, he had her read an article in a local pro-Vichy newspaper. "'Every Catholic family,' she began reading it aloud, 'is sheltering a Jew. French authorities supply them with false identity cards and passports. Priests assist them to cross into Switzerland. Jewish children are hidden in Catholic schools. Catholic officials give advance notice to Jews scheduled for deportation, so that they can escape.'"
"Racine, when Jefroykin and Brener need funds quickly for any cause or organization in France, the Joint provides them with a blank check. And it goes something like this, Doctor Weill has told me. They will approach wealthy Frenchmen and plead, 'We need a million, two million, et cetera. We're asking you to lend it to us. We'll keep records – secret records, secret books. After the war, the Joint will reimburse you.' And you know, they raise considerable amounts of money that way – so says Doctor Weill – and a considerable number of organizations, therefore, can continue to function.
"However, now, in the Italian sector, we have an enormous problem brewing. With tens of thousands of our people in the occupied zone – presumably, we pray, protected by the Italian military and governmental authorities against deportation by the Germans – additional thousands of Jews from the German sector want to make their way or have already escaped to the Italian zone. So now we need massive amounts of funds. Cash for their survival or possible future evacuation to Italy or North Africa. And Doctor Weill says that that means Geneva to the rescue. That means Jarblum and Saly Mayer."
"That means the Joint," added Racine.
"Correct, my dear." He paused. "But it also means your – "
"I know, I know. My leg. And probably a few steamrollers and a couple of filthy, pre-war, delapidated, clerical automobiles."
He smiled at her and added, "Preferably burning oil, back-firing, and blowing out thick clouds of black smoke."
Chapter Three
GENEVA, SWITZERLAND Marc Jarblum had heard the phone ring and ring and ring, but chose to ignore it. It was the view that captivated him and now, at least for the moment, he didn't want anything or anyone to spoil it.
He had never been happier. To him, Geneva in this splendid spring of 1943 had never been more beautiful. Snow remained above the treeline of the mountains in the south and glistened now on the ice fields atop Mt. Blanc in the late afternoon sunlight.
The grandiose lake, Lac Leman – Lake Geneva to the city residents – continued on its eternal mission to funnel the cool, crisp northerly winds from the Alps above Lausanne and beyond Montreux onto the city's crowded streets and market places. Here, familiar notes and sounds could be heard, created by those very same raucous breezes rushing between and betwixed the high-rise buildings and the luxurious apartments. These sounds were joyous music to his ears.
From his office window several stories above the treelined avenues and byways of Geneva, Jarblum focused his mind and shifted his gaze from the mountains and the lake in the east to the River Rhone below. And then on to his country, his homeland, to the south and west where, for him and his people, the music from their homes and their synagogues played no more.
"I am a lucky bastard," he mumbled.
And he was. Lucky to have escaped to Switzerland and to Geneva after many months of evading the French police and the SS.
"Marc?" A young lady, an office volunteer, hesitatingly tapped him several times on his shoulder. "Marc, it's Saly Mayer on the phone."
Excerpted from The Holocauset Diaries: Book IIby Leo V. Kanawada, Jr. Copyright © 2010 by Leo V. Kanawada, Jr.. Excerpted by permission of AuthorHouse. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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