As we continued walking, I took the opportunity to examine the expression of his profile, noting there was something different about him versus the others. His eyes appeared softer, more innocent, and he looked younger than the other Nazis, almost boyish in fact. I assumed he was around my age. “What is going to happen to us here?” I asked him, knowing the risk I was taking, onceagain.
He straightened his shoulders and inhaled sharply, making it clear I should have stopped talking after my last inquiry. “Why would you ask such a stupid question?” he responded, though his words sounded rehearsed andunnatural.
“Why are we here?” I asked again. Maybe I was feeding off of an assumed weakness he had, but curiosity had me acting fearless, aswell.
The man cleared his throat and gripped my arm a little firmer. “To offer you shelter, of course. Just as you weretold.”
“One of you killed my mother yesterday,” I snapped without thought. Jews were being executed daily for reasons that were unknown. They killed Mama for trying to protect us. They didn’t even know who she was other than that she was a Jew. How could I believe those Jew haters were doing something to helpus?
“I’m not one of them,” he said quietly. Then, a sudden jerk of his arm stopped me in my place as he pushed me into the wall. “We are all different, just like every one ofyou.”
“You're a Nazi, so you are no different from the rest of them,” I replied, speaking in a way I should never have been speaking to one of those soldiers. I could have been killed for saying what I said, but unfortunately, defiance grew from my anger—I had lost control of my emotions, and at that moment, I didn’t care what the consequenceswere.
“You don't know what you're talking about,” he said, sharply, through a tightenedjaw.
After staring me down like a park bully, he regained his tight grip around my arm and continued pulling me down the hall until we reached a door that he threwopen.
“This is where you will be staying,” he said, pushing meinside.
I was faced with a tiny foul-smelling room surrounded by nothing more than cement walls and columns of bunk beds with a walkway just wide enough for a body to squeeze through. Most of the “beds” had already been claimed by others, but there were a few empty spaces I could share withothers.
“This is where I'll be living?” Iasked.
“Yes,” heanswered.
The door slammed behind me, and I walked ahead slowly, scanning the people on the thin mattresses—all of them were women. Some appeared emaciated. Others looked worse; almostskeletal.
The floors were uneven and covered by dirt, there were insects everywhere, and the torn fabric on the mattresses were filthy withstains.
During each of the first few moments I spent in that horrible place, I gained more clarity. None of our people from Prague wanted to leave their homes, but we were given no other choice. I was sure we were becoming prisoners for crimes nevercommitted.
I chose a mattress closest to the ground and dropped into it, feeling the weight of my body collapse from under me after standing for so long. With only a moment’s rest, the sound of people moaning and the scent of ammonia trickled in, alerting my senses of the true reality. The peeling paint on the walls and the sealed, darkened windows made me homesick for my beautiful home. Instead, all I could feel in that dismal building was utter sadness and a feeling of hopelessness that was accompanied by the smell of death. In that room filled with strangers, I was allalone.
My mattress was full of sharp, defined coils pressing up against the thin layer of foam and cotton. I was sure it would be some time before I’d be able to will myself asleep with the amount of sheer discomfort Ifelt.
I prayed for sleep,though.
I was mourning Mama, but the pain was too much to bear alone, and I wanted to turn off my mind for awhile.
