The Survivor by Josef Lewkowicz

Author:Josef Lewkowicz
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins Canada
Published: 2023-02-21T00:00:00+00:00

11

Betrayal

Lolo quickly returned to his trade, as a professional thief. Freed from the jeopardy of the job, which had condemned him to the camps as a common criminal, he simply went into local houses and took whatever he fancied. He was on a mission and thought nothing of threatening people with the gun he had picked up on the roadside.

I was uneasy, trapped between morality and necessity. I knew what we were doing was wrong, in normal circumstances, but the situation was completely abnormal. We were coming to terms with a world that had been tipped on its axis and were prepared to use force to get what we wanted. Peace brought anarchy, confusion – and opportunity.

The way householders looked at us, with a mixture of fear, guilt and contempt, reflected extraordinary times. Most, worried about retribution for their earlier indifference to our plight, were submissive. Anyone who resisted was slapped or punched. I didn’t get involved in direct violence, but I went along with the intimidation.

Lolo announced the best way to get to Vienna was by boat, so naturally he stole one that had been moored on Lake Traun, by cutting through the padlocks. We ‘borrowed’ fuel and loaded on as much food as we could carry. Round cheeses and hunks of smoked meats, found drying in attics, were taken, along with the remnants of the winter stores. We reckoned if supplies ran low, we could fish for pike or tench.

The Danube flows through ten countries from the Black Forest in Germany to the Black Sea: Vienna is one of the biggest cities on its route. Our plan was to go down the River Traun, which flows into the Danube near Linz. It was a good plan, on paper, but quickly fell apart because of lawlessness and post-war politics, which divided up Europe into bite-sized chunks.

Trouble loomed when we sailed, unwittingly, out of the American zone. The weather had been good, pleasantly warm and still, but the sense of calm was shattered by sudden shouts in Russian. We had been spotted from the shore by troops who were convinced we were Nazis, fleeing the scene of their crimes.

We tried to ignore their screams for us to stop, and moved downstream as fast as we could, but when we came under gunfire there was no alternative but to do as they demanded. Though no one was hurt, the boat was holed, so we were forced to make landfall. As the Russians ran menacingly towards us, I quickly called out ‘I am a Jew’ in Yiddish, to see if it would curry favour for us.

It worked, to an extent. A Russian officer replied, in terribly accented Yiddish, ‘Yich a Yid.’ That at least gave me a point of contact to work with. I explained our story, again in Yiddish. I described the horrors of the camps, and the desolation that had forced us to look for our families. I told them of the compassion and concern of the US soldiers who liberated us, and of our respect for the role of the Red Army in our rescue.

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