my father took me because of some bizarre struggle between them. I don’t know any more than that. Mother—my adoptive mother—was not exactly forthcoming.
The tape whirred; neither woman spoke.
I … said Michal. How … How could I know?
Of course you couldn’t know. You just dropped me into this priest’s hands and sailed away.
More whirring; more silence.
Okay, said the patient to her mother with a breath, that’s over and done with. I didn’t come here to berate you.
Really, replied Michal flatly.
There was a pause before the patient replied: Really.
Then what did you come for?
Another pause ensued.
Just to know, the patient said. To know where I came from.
The tape rolled on for several seconds.
Oh, I am so … completely sorry, said Michal at last. I only wanted what was best for you, what I thought was best for you. But I can only tell you the story as I know it, as it happened to me, and as I understood it. That is what you wanted, yes?
Yes, said the patient. That’s what I wanted. That’s what I came for. So, she said after a pause. You just picked me up out of a crib and handed me to a priest you’d never met. And he simply walked out of the camp—no questions asked? When this baby just disappeared from the Kinderbaracke—this little baby only how many months old?
Five months.
When this infant—me—when I disappeared, what did you tell them?
I told them I had sent you on to Palestine with a Catholic group, and that I was joining you there.
And off you went.
Yes. I was a convert. To him, I was a Catholic. He helped me get an emigration visa. And I went.
So you traded me for a visa! Everyone else in Belsen is stuck there, but you make a deal with Mr. Priest: I give you this baby, now get me out of here. God! Everyone traded me for something!
Oh, no, no. You must not think like that. The way I saw it, you were off to a good life and I was going to hell, at least to a different hell, one not surrounded by barbed wire.
107.
The tape wound on, neither the patient nor Michal speaking. Five seconds, ten. Dr. Schussler had drawn a breath as if to initiate a discussion when the patient’s voice on the tape returned.
I may—may—understand why you gave me up when you did, she was saying to her mother. Why you surrendered me, is the proper term I think. But why didn’t you ever look for me? Why didn’t you ever contact me? Try to reunite with me. After all, you now have a good life in Israel.
You think so? replied Michal.
Well, it seems so, said the patient.
Seems. Seems! Michal exclaimed. We seem to be fine. What you see is a lovely, prosperous city, gleaming buildings, white-sand beaches, young people lounging in cafes. And do not forget the luxurious villas our politicians built for themselves. Seems. This is what you see when you look at us with your naïve eyes. You have a nice hotel?
What?
Your hotel. Which is it? Never mind. It is not the shabby little seafront place where just a few months ago Fatah murderers came ashore in a dinghy, took eight hostages, then killed them. Did you even read about this?
I … no. I don’t remember.
You don’t remember, don’t remember. Do you remember reading about the guerrillas who broke into a school and took hostage a hundred and twenty children. Children. This was a first for us. Did you read about it?
I … No.
I am sure you were never even aware of it. And how about … Never mind. The incidents are too many to tell you about. One thing: Do you at least remember reading about the Yom Kippur War?
Yes, replied the patient. Of course.
Ah, well, at last! Of course. Because we were surprised, nearly overrun. If not for a handful of berserker tank fighters in the Golan, who held off the entire Syrian army, there would be no Israel now. Do you know what it is to live with this? With the knowledge of such a fragile life, such a fragile existence as a country?
She paused.
It is good you do not even try to answer because you cannot. No person living in the United States can feel this. You do not live moment to moment thinking your country might disappear, your life will be over, everyone will be dead.
The bomb, said the patient. I grew up thinking any minute we’d all be