“It was,” he replied. “There were thousands of Jews there, from many different countries. But mostly it was for political prisoners, which included people like me. At one time there were nearly as many clergy in Dachau as there are DPs in this place—Catholics, Protestants, Greek Orthodox—but . . .”
Kitty heard the chair creak as he shifted his weight.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I have to stand for a moment. My leg . . .”
She turned around. Pain was etched on his face. “Did that happen in Dachau?” She hadn’t intended to ask. But there—it was out.
He nodded. “They used us for experiments. For some reason they chose the Polish priests, not those from their own country. What they did to me wasn’t as bad as what they did to others.”
“What did they do?”
“Injections of bacteria.” He bent to rub his leg, then sat down heavily. “Dr. Jankaukas says the bone is affected. But it won’t get any worse, so I count myself lucky.”
Lucky? He’d given her a glimpse of hell. How could she have gone blundering in, thinking it would be all right to probe into the nightmare world he’d inhabited?
The kettle began to whistle, startling Kitty out of her state of shock. With a trembling hand she took it off the stove and poured water into the mugs. When she added the milk, it slopped over the sides. She wiped up the mess, then set the coffee down on the table. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I shouldn’t have brought it up—it must be terrible for you, remembering.”
“It is painful,” he replied. “More painful than the leg, actually. But sometimes, you need to feel pain. It reminds you that you are alive.” He lifted the mug, a curl of steam misting his chin. “As a priest, I shouldn’t say it, but with survival comes guilt. Sometimes I can’t bear waking up, seeing a new day, knowing that so many people have died.”
Kitty felt as though he’d shone a flashlight through her eyes and looked inside her head. He had described it exactly—the darkness that so often enveloped her when she emerged from sleep. The guilt had begun that first winter in England, when she had tried and failed to get the work visas that would have allowed her parents to get out of Austria. The sense of powerlessness—that no one would listen to a child—had overwhelmed her. And then, eighteen months on, when the letters from home had stopped coming . . .
“I light a candle in the chapel each morning,” he went on. “I look into the flame and I see them; they talk to me.” He took a sip of coffee. “That makes me sound a little crazy. But it helps.”
“It doesn’t sound crazy to me,” Kitty murmured. She was gazing at the liquid in her mug, willing the faces of her parents to appear.
Tell him. It was her mother’s voice. Go on. He’s a priest. He won’t mind.
“I’m looking for my family. They’re Jewish—from Vienna. I went to England. It’s nearly seven years since I’ve seen them.” It all came out in a rush.
He was silent. Had she really let it out? Or just imagined it? Then he said: “Tell me about them.”
“My mother’s name is Elsa. She was born in Poland. My father is Hermann. He’s Austrian. They had a business—a shop in the city—importing silk and making clothes.”
He nodded. “They sent you on the Kindertransport?”
“Yes. I thought they’d be coming after me. But I . . .” Suddenly there were tears running down her face, dripping into her coffee. “I . . . I’m sorry.” She dragged the back of her hand across her face.
“Here, have this.” He offered her a square of pale blue cotton, frayed at the edges. “It’s clean,” he added.
She took it, mumbling her thanks.
“Do the others know?” he asked when she’d blown her nose. “Are they helping you?”
She shook her head. “Please don’t say anything. If they knew, they might send me back.”
“I’m sure they wouldn’t. You’re far too useful,” he replied. “But I understand. I won’t breathe a word if you don’t want me to.” He took a mouthful of coffee. “There are Austrians in this camp, but none of them are Jews. The Jewish survivors of Dachau were sent to a different place—Feldafing—south of here.”
“Oh?” The idea of DPs being segregated hadn’t occurred to her. “Why?”
“It’s what they wanted—to form their own community, to support one another.”