CHAPTER NINE
Amelia
Day 6 - January 1942
After almost a fullweek since I arrived at my assigned “shelter,” there was still no sign of a future for us. The Nazis had also done their best to strip us of any trace of our past, so all we had left was the present. Our austere barracks were crowded with dirt-ridden bodies surrounded by feces, urine, and other bodily fluids, and the foul stench of death and decay became part of my dismalreality.
Sleep was a rare treat due to pain and fear, but I managed to find a couple hours of peace that night before the door was thrashed open and several Nazis stormed into our already confined space, shouting orders. They told us to get up and stand in front of our bunks. It took everything inside of me to find the strength to hold myself up that day, but the memory of Charlie’s warning was the motivation I needed tomove.
The clothes I wore were soiled and damp from night sweats, and they smelled as bad as the floors and mattresses. When I had gotten dressed at home the week before, I had no way of knowing it would be the one ensemble of clothing I would have on for the indefinite future. I certainly would have chosen something more comfortable than a form-fitting day dress made ofwool.
“Today, you will begin work. If you are capable, you will be assigned a job. If you cannot handle the work, you will be managed accordingly.” I waited patiently for my number to be called, barely able to keep my head up as I watched one after another of the able-bodied occupants of my barracks be summoned and marched out to an unknown work assignment. It must have been at least an hour before I heard it—the number that had become my label, in place of my name. I walked over to the Nazi holding the clipboard and waited for the assignment. “Medica.”
“Where—”
“Keine!” he yelled. German was another language I wasn't well versed in, though I was thankful to be familiar with at least the basics. The Nazi pointed to the door, and I made my way through the hall and outside, unsure where the medical office waslocated.
I walked as quickly as I could, fearful of being spoken to by anyone. It was frigid outside, but the sun was bright, whiting out the signs that would point me in the right direction, and it took my eyes a while to adjust to the sunlight after being in the dim barracks for days. I didn’t have to go far before I saw an adjacent block labeled as the sick bay. There was a line of other Jews out the door, mostly mothers with theirchildren.
Worried about being too close to those who were sick, I covered my mouth and nose with my sleeve as I snuck inside, to the right of the line. I received looks from many people, most likely wondering if I was skipping ahead of them, but their questions were answered when a Nazi grabbed me by the arm and nearly pulled me off my feet. “What are you doing?” heasked.
“I’m reporting to work here,” I told him, trying to speak affirmatively, rather than sounding weak and afraid like I wasfeeling.
He pulled at the collar of my dress, peeling it away from my skin to reveal my number. Mama had written it there in ink last year when we were all assigned numbers, as well as Jude stars to wear on our sleeves. “Anzahl 24225,” he shouted to a female Nazi, whom I believed to be a nurse, according to heruniform.
“Ja,” she replied, waving me over. I placed my covered hand back over my face as I approached the woman who was sitting behind a wooden desk with a stack of papers in front of her. Her eyes were dark and menacing as she visually inspected every part of my body. She then stood up from her chair and walked around to meet me, pulling me to the corner of the room. Her fingers tugged through my hair, yanking strands apart in what I assumed to be a search for lice. “Your hair is to be up and tightly secured,” she snapped in her thick accent. She then clapped her hands against my cheeks before angling my head in various directions. “Strip.”
I swallowed hard as I peered over at the dozens of people staring at me from just a few feet away. The hesitation must have been longer than I thought because the woman's hands furiously began tearing my clothing away. I was left bare and cold, on display for everyone around me. Having been raised to act modest about my body, I felt violated and embarrassed. I tried to cover my private areas as well as I could, but she was quick to force my hands up in the air so she could inspect every inch of my body. I closed my eyes, avoiding the looks and the mortification the others may have been feeling for me. I knew they probably did the same thing to everyone there, but that didn’t make it anyeasier.
With my eyes closed, hiding from the happenings around me, I was startled by a poke through the flesh on the inside of my arm. The sharp pain forced me to open my eyes, and to my disbelief, I saw a hypodermic needle, a tube, and a bag. Without my permission, they were stealing my blood. At that moment, I realized I had lost my rights…all of them. It was as if my body didn’t belong to me anymore. They weren’t just treating like an animal, it was as if I were of lesser quality than livestock on a farm. It was very hard not to ask questions, but I was starting to see that the less I knew, the better off Iwas.
Several minutes passed as the woman jotted down notes, then stored my blood away in a blue metal cabinet. “Go shower,” shedemanded.
“Shower?” I questioned. Considering my filthy conditions, I wasn't aware there were showersanywhere.
“Out back and through ‘Block A,’” shesaid.
I picked up my clothing from the floor and held it in front of me as I scurried out of the building and around the side to Block A, where I found a room with cement walls and rusty shower heads protruding from the ceiling every few feet. The room was filled with other people—more people than there were showers, none of whom seemed to care that they were bare in front of eachother.
I had always been a very private person, and I hadn't been naked in front of anyone since I was a small child. I didn't like the feeling of being looked at, but after being covered in urine, vomit, feces, and whatever diseases accompany those conditions, the shower wasappealing.
I stood under the water, feeling it wash away what was left of my dignity. The water was cold, as I expected it to be, and there was no soap, but I scrubbed with my fingernails, scratching at the dirt and grime that had built up, wishing it would offer a small sense ofrefreshment.
“Be careful,” the woman beside me said. “If you scratch too hard, you'll have open wounds. That's how people die aroundhere.”
My jaw fell open, not that I shouldn't have thought of it on my own, but I hadn't considered that fact. “Oh,” I responded simply, digesting thetruth.
“I'm sorry to scare you,” the womancontinued.
I rubbed the water away from my eyes and to look at the woman, recognizing her. “Leah?” I questioned. She was the woman standing behind me in line when Mama was shot. I may not have remembered most faces after those first few days of oblivion, but a pregnant belly stood out, especially a nakedone.
“Amelia, right?” she returned, smiling abit.
“Yes. How are you? Your baby?” Iwhisper.
“Hungry,” she says, cradling her arms below herstomach.
I could only gaze at her with sympathy, knowing how hungry I had been—remembering that I was given extra food last night when she needed it more. “Yourhusband—”
