Page 64 of The Little Liar
For days, as he unloaded crates of cigarettes at work, Sebastian thought about this man. One night, after Fannie and Tia were asleep, he began to write a long letter detailing what he remembered about his time in Auschwitz: the tasks he had been given, the names of the officers who ran the crematorium and the gas chambers, the number of people he remembered certain SS guards killing, and the many atrocities committed by theSchutzhaftlagerführerUdo Graf. His list took up nine pages.
When he finished, he sent it off to the man in Vienna. He had only the man’s name and his organization, no street address or numbers, so he doubted it would ever find its way there.
But four months after posting that letter, Sebastian received one in return—from the Nazi Hunter himself. He thanked Sebastian for the information he’d shared and expressed admiration for its keen level of detail. He said if at some point Sebastian could travel to Vienna, he would like to meet him personally to verify the details, and take a formal statement of accusation. It might be helpful in pursuing the escaped criminals, particularly Udo Graf, whom, according to the information the agency had gathered, had fled a Polish hospital and disappeared.
Sebastian read that letter at least a dozen times. At first, he was furious, almost physically ill, realizing that Graf was still alive. But with each reading, Sebastian also felt a strength returning to him, like the warming of fingers that had gone numb with cold. He could do something now. He could take action. For so long, his time in the camps had been a rope that held him bound and tied. This man in Vienna was the knife to cut him free.
Sebastian did not tell Fannie of his correspondence.
He hid the letter from the Nazi Hunter. In this way, he deceived his wife. It is nothing new; the lies spouses tell one another are most often omissions. You skip this detail. You don’t share that fantasy. You leave out certain stories altogether.
You justify these acts by deeming me, the Truth, too agitating.Why stir things up? Why make waves?Sebastian, for example, had never mentioned to Fannie his previous marriage to the girl named Rivka. That poor child had died from typhus in Auschwitz, and Sebastian had barely spoken to her. In his mind, the entire relationship—the hurried wedding, the mumbled vows, his grandmother’s ring—was a mistake of someone else’s doing, and he didn’t want to be reminded of it. He also didn’t want to upset Fannie.
So he deceived her out of kindness, or at least that’s what he told himself. Fannie, in her own way, did the same thing. Knowing Sebastian’s envy of his brother, not once in their marriage had she mentioned that she had seen Nico again, on the banks of the Danube River, or that she believed he had saved her life.
***
When Sebastian finally showed his wife the letter, she was taken aback.
“Why would you contact that man?” she asked.
“What he’s doing is important.”
“So let him do it. We have a life here in Greece.”
“But you read what he said. My information can help.”
“Help what?”
“Help him find those bastards.”
“And do what?”
“Hang them. Hang them until they rot!”
Fannie turned away. “More killing,” she mumbled.
“It’s not killing. It’s justice. Justice for my parents, mygrandparents, my sisters. Justice for your father, Fannie! Don’t you want that?”
Fannie wiped away a tear. “Do I get him back?”
“What?”
“If you find these Nazis, do I get my father back?”
Sebastian scowled. “That’s not the point.”
“It is to me,” she whispered.
“I want to go to Vienna.”
Fannie blinked hard. “And leave Tia and me?”
“Of course not. I would never leave you.” He reached for her hand. “I want us all to go. We can move there. I can work for this man. I know it.”
Fannie shook her head, slowly at first, then faster, violently, as if seeing something terrible coming for her.
“Austria? No, Sebastian, no! I ran away from Austria once! No, please, no!”
