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Wakolda (The German Doctor) begins with a brief scene so shocking that there is a palpable sense of relief when it becomes clear that it isn’t happening.

And then you remember that actually, it did.

Lucía Puenzo is an Argentinian author, screenwriter and film director. From her profile page at Wikipedia, I learned about the genesis of this novella, which was made into a film.

In an interview with Elle magazine, Puenzo discusses her interest in Nazism. A common theme in her work, is the fascination with modulating the human body, much like how Hitler attempted to modulate a whole race. In the work that she creates, writes and directs, such as XXY and The German Doctor, she focuses on the question of medically modified bodies. She shows the ethical dilemma with modern medicine and the creation of what a “perfect body” should conform to. With her work, Puenzo addresses the fact that society keeps on pushing towards standardization. She finds there is a delicate line between the good of medicine and what is unnecessary. By addressing different stories that sway back and forth across the line, she explores the limits of medicine. (Wikipedia, lighted edited to remove unnecessary links, viewed 3/8/21)

In an interview at Forward, Puenzo explains the origins of the unusual title of her novella, which has meanings not indicated by its replacement English title.

Wakolda comes from the Mapuche, Indians from Patagonia. In the film the girl has a little doll named Wakolda, her alter ego, an imperfect doll. In the novel, there is a strong subplot of purity and mixed races. We are all people of mixed blood on our continent, but many thought this title was hermetic.

In the same interview she explained that her interest lay in the issue of complicity.  As a teenager, she knew that Nazis had been welcomed by governments throughout South America and she was curious about the consequences of their presence in her society.  Her book, and the subsequent film, explore the impact on one family.

So, you were not developing this material from a Jewish perspective.

Not so much. The Jewish community in Buenos Aires embraced this story. It was a huge success everywhere in schools and universities. They were the first to say, this is not just a Jewish story, but one that every community should be concerned about. Complicity. The whole society kept silent.

I had known that numerous Nazis fled to South American countries, but I had thought that they did so under the radar.  Lucía Puenzo’s story shows that they did so with impunity.

The novel deals with different kinds of complicity.  José, the character who represents Mengele, is aware that Mossad is after him, but it makes little difference to his plans.

He was not going to find any other country that would welcome a man like him with more open arms. Within two years he had found employment with a pharmaceutical company, bought a two-storey house in Vicente López, married his brother’s widow, thus duplicating with this union a million-dollar inheritance. He even went so far as to list himself in the telephone book under his real name.  He had no need to go under a surgeon’s knife or change his name as so many others had.  (p13)

A medical facility nearby the guest house into which he has wangled his way, is in a remote location, but the surgeons and nurses staffing it, are complicit in performing plastic surgery on Nazis who want to conceal their identity.

The child Lilith, who has been charmed by José’s attention to her, has a different kind of complicity.  She is fascinated by José and his mysterious doings, and she breaks into his room.  But innocent of understanding the significance of what she finds there, she keeps quiet about it because she knows she will get into serious trouble for these escapades.  Her mother Eva is suspicious of José’s interest in her children and her unborn twins.  Lilith covertly follows José out of simple curiosity, and willingly gets into a car with him and submits to his treatments.  She is not innocent, but she is innocent of his evil.

Enzo, Lilith’s father, is complicit too.  He has ambitions for the dolls that he makes as a hobby, and acquiesces when José wants to get involved.  For José, the perfection of the dolls is a symbol of the perfection he wants for human bodies, and he wants to mass produce them. Enzo accepts the secrecy that goes with José’s investment in upscaling production — because of the financial advantage.

There is even an owner of a resort who recognises José and plans to place a plaque outside his room, commemorating his stay.

Two strands raise the narrative tension in this novella.  There is the risk to Lilith, which is not merely from José’s growth hormone experiments on her but also because of her budding sexuality.  And then there are media reports about Mossad, closing in.  There is some foreshadowing which shows how these elements are resolved, but it’s very well done because José is always one step ahead, and his characterisation is so creepy.  (Even if you didn’t know who he was in real life.)

I chose this book to fill a gap in my WIT reading from the Americas, thanks to an intriguing review from Stu at Winston’s Dad.

Image credit: DVD cover of The German Doctor: https://www.fishpond.com.au/Movies/German-Doctor-Wakolda-DVD-Natalia-Oreiro/5060265150914

Author: Lucía Puenzo
Title: Wakolda (The German Doctor)
Translated from the Spanish by David Willian Foster
Publisher: Hesperus Nova, 2014
ASN: B00JTJETLO
Source: Personal library, purchased for the Kindle, $7.00

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