Papa lifted his heavy arm again, reaching toward me as if he were going to tuck my hair behind my ear like he always had when trying to calm me, but his gaze scanned the surrounding area, and he lowered his hand. “Amelia,” heexhaled.
“Why, Papa?” If I had the ability to cry, tears would have been present, but I had worked hard to shut that form of emotion off. I didn’t want to cry. It would have been like admitting defeat to the Nazis andHitler.
“He wanted to find you,” Papauttered.
I cupped my hand over my mouth as if to stop any sounds coming from me. “Do you think he’sokay?”
Papa looked away from me and then down at the dirt. “I don’t know, Amelia. I’ve tried to stay as positive as I can but it’s impossible not to think the worst—these men have no regard for life. The truth is, I fear that they murdered your brother the same way they did yourmother.”
I tried to refocus on my papers, but I was suddenly unable to write Papa’s name in a straight line. “What are you sick with?” I asked him, sounding as despondent as Ifelt.
“I don’t know,” he said. “I've been coughing and vomiting for three days, my head hurts, and I believe I have a fever.” I placed the back of my hand on his forehead, feeling the heat radiate from his skin to mine. He certainly had a fever, and I could hear a wheezing noise coming from his lungs when heinhaled.
“Papa, they’re transporting all of the sick,” I tell him,softly.
“I’m aware of that, but I don't know what else to do,Amelia.”
I leaned in close, making sure no one else could hear me. “There is a storage closet in the administration building. It's around the back. You need to sneak in during a shift change, probably in two hours or so. Once you’re inside, take a left, and it’s the second door on the right. It’s not being used right now, and you’ll be safe there until I can get to you. I’ll bring antibioticstonight.”
“Amelia, no, that could get you killed,” he argued in the same quiet, but firm voice I was speakingin.
“Youcould die,” I remindedhim.
“I can’t let you do that,” he argued. “I already had to watch your Mama die. There is no way I can let you dothis.”
“Papa, don't leave me. Please, you’re all I have right now, and I will do whatever I can to keep you safe, just as you have done for me my entire life. Please, Papa.” If the pleading look in my eyes didn’t speak loudly enough, I knew that the pain we shared was enough to make him accept myoffer.
“There is no safety,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m shoving bodies into crematoriums all day, one after the next. We’re all dying here. They’re starving us and making it so we are susceptible todiseases.”
Hearing the truth was different from witnessing it. Papa’s words were just illuminating what I already knew but was too afraid to admit to myself. “I know, but I need to keep you with me as long as I can—I will do whatever it takes, Papa. It’s the least I can do as yourdaughter.”
“Excuse me,” a woman shouted from a few people behind Papa. “The rest of us have been waiting here for so long. When will it be our turn? My daughter has a fever, and we need help.” I looked past Papa, spotting the mother and child. The little girl’s eyes were half closed and swollen. Her hair was braided tightly behind her head, revealing prominent veins protruding up the sides of her face. The child leaned all her weight against her mother’s legs, embracing her with a tight hold. It hurt me to the depths of my soul to know what the future would likely hold for both that mother and her sweet child. After all this time, I still don’t understand why so many innocent lives were put through thathorror?
Papa swallowed hard, pulling my attention back to him as he mouthed something silently to himself…a prayer, I believe. “So, you think it’s just a cold?” Papa asked outloud.
“I do,” Ireplied.
“Thank you,” he said while stepping out ofline.
It was hard to think of much else throughout the rest of the day. Papa was more than a little sick, and I was scared that it may have been too late for antibiotics to do anything, but I had to save him—I just hadto.
The line continued to grow throughout the day, and it seemed endless as usual. Whatever was wrong with Papa was running rampant through the men’s barracks. So many of them looked just like him. At the time, I wasn't aware that there were hundreds of men living in a small, tight confinement without beds. They were forced to use one another’s backs and shoulders as a form of comfort to sleep. The comprehension of how much worse it could have been, has always beenunfathomable.
As I rounded the part of the line behind the nearby barrack, a hand grabbed my wrist and pulled me off to the side. It wasn't the first time I had been pulled away from the line in that spot. It was happening almost daily. I didn't fight it, though maybe I shouldhave.
Charlie would sometimes pull me down to a small, rock-covered tunnel that seemed to be abandoned since I don’t believe it was connected to the parts of the camp the Jews were restricted to. There was also a large indentation hidden in the shadows of the inner wall where a person could hide in the daytime and not beseen.
My legs and feet were aching by the time we arrived at the tunnel, but I knew what awaited me, so Icomplied.
“Talk to me today,” he said in the privacy of the tunnel. “Please.”
As I did each day, I only stared at his pleading face that was highlighted by the dim light behindhim.
His hand rested on my cheek, and I immediately wrapped my hand around his wrist to pull it away. As I did that, I felt bones in his arm, noticing they felt different than the previous time I had moved his hand away from me. Curiously, I placed my hand under his chin and then on the side of his face. I felt a hollowness that appeared to be forming beneath his cheekbones. “Why have you lost weight?” I finally spoke to him. Since the first day of my job at the sick bay, Charlie had been pulling me from the line to offer me extra food—food Jews were not supposed to begiven.
“It doesn't matter,” he said under his breath. “Here.” He handed me a soft, fresh-smelling sweet roll and a chicken leg. As ravenous as I was, I didn't offer my gratitude before taking a large bite of the meat. A moan murmured from my throat, but I quickly remembered the emaciated look of Papa’s body, and couldn't find it in me to take another bite of food. I needed to give it to him, but he would wonder why I had such lavish food when the rest of the prisoners had only been fed one stale, hard, bread roll and a small bowl of cabbage soup once a day since wearrived.
“Why are you not eating?” Charlieasked.
