“He was conscripted,” Ruth explained. She stared at the floor, lost in the past. “He didn’t want to go. He was posted to guard duty somewhere. He never talked about what he saw, only that it broke something deep inside him. He knew he couldn’t stay.”
She told him how Heinrich had deserted his post. He used forged papers and influence to cross into Switzerland, eventually making his way to Lisbon. He had spent every cent he had to pay for that ticket to America. William watched her closely. “Guard duty?” he asked, his voice shaking. “Ruth, be honest. Was he involved? Did he help run those camps?” He needed to know if the blood of the innocent was on his father’s hands.
Ruth sighed, her eyes watery and tired. “He was a small cog in a machine he grew to loathe. He did not describe the specifics, William. He carried the shame of his presence there until his final breath. He felt he was guilty simply by having been part of that regime. He used a stranger’s charity to get on that boat,” she continued. “He left everything behind. His home, his name, his people. He chose to disappear because he couldn’t live with what he had been forced to be.”