Chapter Thirteen
I ran. I ran as fast as I could.
I drove to Denmark, tried to catch a boat to Sweden. I was running for my life.
Genia, Danka, Poleck, Abram, and David had all escaped. All of my Jewish housekeeping staff, all of them, gone.
Meg. That goddamn bitch. She had helped them; she had knocked me out with a vase so I would not go after them. She and Basil and Dawson all escaped.
No one could find them. I was not allowed to have Jewish servants anymore. But the damage to my pride was worse than the loss of my prestige.
As the Allied troops neared Germany a few of my factories were destroyed from bombs. My losses were great.
And then the war ended. I fled, knowing that I would be killed.
I stole a car, hoping to hide in Sweden.
Then I was caught.
I was tried as a war profiteer and Nazi sympathizer, and sentenced to be executed by firing squad.
On the morning of my execution, the guards came to my cell and led me outside.
There was a vast crowd of people, faces I recognized. Some were of my henchmen. Bill yelled, "Why didn't you defend me Professor? A Communist has as much a right as anyone else to live."
I saw Majole. "My brother is dead because of you!" she screamed at me. "Just because you would not let them see that he was still a person like you and me!"
I saw some of the SS officers, who mocked me. "You need our help now," they said. "But you are not going to get it, because you would not help others."
I saw Genia, Danka, Abram, Poleck, and David. "I was never a bad master to any of you," I said. I turned to the rest of the Jews. "I didn't kill any of your mothers, fathers, sisters, or brothers. I do not deserve to die!"
"You did not speak out for us," they said solemnly. "So there is no one left to speak out for you, because they are all dead."
I saw Basil and Dawson. I saw Meg.
I saw the little Chinese boy that had been in the streets. "Why did you not protect me?" he cried. "Why?"
"Leave me alone!" I screamed. The guards pushed me roughly against a concrete wall. The firing squad faced me, their faces blank and expressionless. They raised their rifles.
Meg recited,
"'First the Nazis came...
First they came for the communists, and I did not speak out-
Because I was not a communist;
Then they came for the socialists, and I did not speak out-
Because I was not a socialist;
Then they came for the trade unionists, and I did not speak out-
Because I was not a trade unionist;
Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out-
Because I was not a Jew;
Then they came for me,
And there was no one left to speak out for me.'"
"No... I didn't do anything!" I cried.
"Exactly," everyone said scornfully. "You did nothing to prevent it."
"FIRE!"
The shots sounded like breaking glass. I screamed.
The poem that Meg recites was written by Rev. Martin Niemöller in 1945. He was put in a concentration camp from 1939 to 1945 for speaking out against the Nazi regime.
