Bipolar WINTER. Samuel David Steiner
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The book’s paper cover was wrinkled and dog-eared with stark white letters on the front that read I was Doctor Mengele's Assistant. The word Mengele's was written in a dark blood red, and a chill ran up Aldo’s spine. The author was Miklos Nyiszli, a Jewish doctor who somehow survived the horrors of Auschwitz. Nyiszli warned that his purpose in writing was simply to share the facts, as terrifying as they were.
Aldo put the book on the small table beside the chair and continued to look through the shelves. Finding more books with no markings on the spine, he flipped through them, stacking the relevant ones on the table. One was a diary written by another concentration camp survivor who also recorded his experiences with Mengele. Like Nyiszli, he had been selected to aid the madman. Instead of the scribbled handwriting of Nyiszli’s book, this one had been typed and bore no title on the cover. The author’s name was missing as well.
Turning the book around in his hand, Aldo realized it must be one of a kind. How on Earth did that old man come by such rare books?
Aldo sat down to read through the stack of books, starting with the one in his hand. In it, the anonymous author detailed the various experiments Mengele performed on the Auschwitz prisoners. Referring to Mengele as the Angel of Death, a nickname Aldo had seen pop up often in his online research, the author made clear that the Nazi doctor was obsessed with twins. Any time the author found a set of twins among the incoming prisoners, he was given extra food. Just scraps, but it ensured survival for at least a few more days. The author’s regret at betraying his own people rang clear through his words as he recounted the stories of all the twins he found for the young SS officer over the nineteen months he served as his assistant.
Mengele would often kill the children, dissecting their small bodies and comparing each to their twin as though searching for something. The author never stated Mengele’s goal, but he seemed certain the doctor had a purpose for the experiments.
Some of the children were allowed to live for a time, even given sweets in an effort to endear them to Mengele. Chocolate was a strong lure for the starving kids, and some easily fell for the charismatic madman’s ploys. The author supposed that being separated from their parents, the children may have clung to the hope that Mengele somehow cared for them. Certainly, they were singled out and treated differently, but isolated from the rest of the prisoners, the children didn’t know how differently.
Despite his kind facade, Mengele had no problem cutting open subjects in operations, often without anesthesia. Organs were removed, the children ultimately maimed or killed during the procedures. The author’s remorse for the young victims was evident in his repeated claim that Mengele’s obsession with twins must have had a purpose, as though carefully cutting apart their bodies and looking for pieces to some twisted puzzle gave meaning to their deaths.
Nyiszli's diary paralleled the first book, giving Aldo more insight into the nightmares the prisoners endured. Aldo was so absorbed in Nyiszli’s account, he nearly jumped out of his skin when the door creaked open.
“Closing time,” the owner said, peering around the shelf.
Aldo placed a hand to his chest to still his racing heart. “Already?”
The old man barked a laugh and pointed at Aldo’s wristwatch.
Aldo glanced at it, shocked to see it was just after six o’clock. He picked up the two books and handed them to the old man. “I’ll take these.”
“You’ll not be taking anything,” he said gruffly.
“But this is a bookstore, isn’t it?”
“Yes. Out there, it’s a bookstore. In here, it’s a collection. My collection,” the owner said.
Aldo sighed and nodded. “I see. Can I come back tomorrow?”
“Depends,” the owner said then smiled. “I accept donations.”
Aldo chuckled as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a green 500-peso bill, handing it to him. The man was a bit rough around the edges, but Aldo was quickly becoming fond of him.
The old man’s eyes sparkled. “You may. Come before I open.”
“I’ll be here,” Aldo said eagerly. “Thank you.”
On the way back to the hotel, Aldo picked up some sandwiches de miga at a deli. The crustless, double-layered sandwiches were something he’d heard about from a visiting priest at the university and had wanted to try one ever since. He ordered four, knowing he’d be up for a while and would need something to tide him over.
When he got back to his room, he propped the pillows against the headboard and switched on his laptop. Reviewing the notes he’d taken at the bookshop, he filled in a few holes from memory and underlined key points. Then he searched the internet for any more information on Josef Mengele.
All over the web, he found information to support the stories he’d just read. The online versions were more vague as though they had been censored, but they still helped confirm the accounts mentioned in the journals. He also discovered testimonies that Mengele had escaped Germany after the war through ratlines established by ODESSA and eventually found his way to Buenos Aires.
Aldo sat up as a terrifying thought occurred to him. Could members of the Seventh-day Adventist Church have been involved with ODESSA? It seemed impossible that the Seventh would have aided in the escape of such a notorious murderer, but that was what he needed to find out.
Aldo kept reading until his eyes started to drift shut. Unable to keep them open any longer, he brushed his teeth and turned off the lamp beside his bed.
He woke a few hours later soaked in sweat, his heart racing with images from his nightmare still fresh in his mind. An operating room, his body strapped to a cold metal table, his abdomen sliced open and organs removed one by one as he watched, unable to do anything except plead for death.
Aldo dropped his head back against the headboard and took a deep breath. Those poor children. To have gone through something like that… Such horrors seemed like fiction to him, but for those children, it had been a terrifying reality. In moments like this, the thought of having children of his own scared him. What if his son or daughter were taken away from him? What if he weren’t strong enough to keep them safe from a monster like Mengele?
He shook off the what-ifs and grabbed a bottle of water from the mini bar. After taking a few big gulps, his heart finally slowed and he settled back under the covers, praying he’d sleep peacefully.
The next morning, Aldo dressed quickly and hurried back to the bookshop. While he had found plenty of information about Mengele’s life before and during the war, Aldo had not seen much about his days in Argentina, and what he did uncover was just speculation. There had to be something to connect Mengele with the Seventh, something outside their involvement with Nazi pursuits in Germany.Even if the Seventh had been part of ODESSA, their activities were concentrated in Europe. Aldo hoped the old man’s collection would provide more clues.
Arriving at the darkened bookstore, Aldo looked at his watch, realizing he was an hour early. With a sigh, he walked back down the street to a café he had passed. The brightly lit shop was filled with the rich smells of espresso and freshly baked pastries. Since heavy foods like eggs and meat weren’t typical breakfast fare in Argentina, he ordered an espresso and four medialunas. The waiter brought out the croissant-style pastries with a small dish of creamy brown spread he called dulce de leche. It reminded Aldo of caramel sauce and was a bit too sweet so early in the morning, so he ate the pastries plain.
When Aldo returned to the bookshop, he saw the owner leaning against the side of the building, waiting for him. After entering, the old man immediately locked the door behind them, and then led the way to the back corner. Stopping before the shelves of romance novels, he tipped his head, indicating that Aldo could do the honors. “I’ll get you in four hours for lunch,” he said before closing Aldo inside the room.
After a moment of deep breathing to calm his claustrophobia, Aldo dropped into the corduroy chair and picked up where he’d left off. He