I must have made it through five hundred prisoners that day, all with similar symptoms. Most appeared to have the flu or pneumonia, while others were dealing with wounds that had become infected. Showering once a week was not enough to keep us from the dangerous bacteria in the environment we were trying to survive in, but I considered that to be their plan for us. They wouldn’t have to kill us if we all just diedoff.
At six that evening, the doors to the sick bay closed. A nurse locked up, quarantining those who required overnight medical attention versus those who were well enough to be sent back to their block, or the dozens who weren’t evaluated during the available hours. It was time for me to type up my papers from the day and leave them for Glauken to review at herconvenience.
The moment I finished my work, I took a small stack of blank paper, along with a needle and vial of antibiotics. Thankfully, I had gotten quick at locating supplies. I then snuck through the adjoining doors between the sick bay and the administration building while creating the appearance of delivering notes, which allowed me to make it past the guards in the hallways near where I told Papa to hide. The area was clear when I made it to the empty storage room, and I opened the door, quietly closing it behindme.
I was afraid to turn on a light, as it would shine under the doorway, so I took caution while entering the room. When searching for a utility closet a few weeks earlier, I had mistakenly discovered that empty room and knew there was a window covered by boxes in the back. Before I called out for Papa, I wanted to be sure he was in there, so I felt my way around the small room until I reached the far wall. I pushed the boxes aside so the moonlight could brighten the room enough for me tosee.
A body was crumpled on the ground, up against the side wall. He was in the fetal position with his arms around his knees and his head tucked into his chest. I recognized his belt. It was Papa. The belt was the only part of him that looked familiar. Papa had always been on the heavier side, and the doctors often told him he was slightly above average on the scale and needed to maintain a healthy diet despite his physical labor. Mama would cook for us each night, always dressing up the food in unique ways so Papa wouldn't feel as if he was missing out on his favorite foods. However, when Jews were no longer allowed to shop at the local markets, we could only purchase food in the subsidized Jewish market, and our options were limited. We made do with what we had, and though it wasn’t the way Papa had wanted to lose weight, he certainly would have surpassed his doctor'sexpectations.
“Papa, I’m here,” I softly called out to him. I pulled my dress above my knees then kneeled beside his body and placed my hand gingerly on his back. “Papa, it’s Amelia. I brought you some food.” He didn't move at the sound of my voice, so I reached for his forehead to check for a fever. His head was no longer hot, but rather cool, instead. “Papa, I think your fever broke,” I said, trying to force an uplifting sound in myvoice.
I pulled his arms loose from his knees, gently rolling him onto his back. “Papa, wake up!” I cried through awhisper.
As the space beside him was exposed from where his face was, I noticed a wet spot on the cement. The site concerned me, so I placed my hand on the side of his face, finding a matching dampness beside his eye. Was he crying before he fell asleep on the floor? “It’s okay, Papa, I’m herenow.”
I didn’t ask myself why he wasn’t responding because in my heart, I already knew. It took me several minutes before I gained the courage to place my hand over his heart, seeking a beat that I knew I wouldn’t find. It took me another few minutes after that to check the artery on his neck for a pulse that wouldn’t be there, and one more minute to check his wrist. All three spots were silent and still. Papa died while waiting for me in a small closet. I told him not to seek medical attention because I could help him. Instead, he died waiting for me. Papa died because of me. As I heaved in pain and grief, I tore another piece of my dress, feeling an ache rob another part of my soul as I cried silent tears that would not stop. Papa was gone, Mama was gone, and Jakob was gone for all I knew. For the first time in my life, I was all alone. Papa would always be the one to start the prayer over our deceased relatives, but there was no one here to speak the Mourners Kaddish butme.
Yitgadal v’yitkadash sh’mei raba. B’alma di v’rachirutei…
I recited the Hebrew words, trying to remain strong, but my voice broke. The silence took over, and I listened for Papa’s voice out of memory, as well as the words I had heard too many timesbefore.
That day was the day I went from being a good person to one who was partially responsible for her papa’sdeath.
I sat beside Papa’s lifeless body, talking to him about what I had experienced over the last two months, telling him how scared I was of dying. I told him I was trying to be brave, but the horrors I saw each day while awake were sometimes becoming worse than my nightmares. Part of me felt a little envious of Papa, just as I felt when Mama passed away. He was no longer in pain, no longer suffering, and he was with Mama.Maybe I shouldn’t have been trying so hard to stay alive, was all I could think at thattime.
I sat in that dark room for a long while. I contemplated staying there until I died, but then I realized that would mean Papa had died in vain. I couldn’t do that to him. I had to honor his memory by doing my best to make it through that nightmare. I had to find every scrap of food I could get my hands on, and eat it. I promised myself that if Charlie had food for me, I would take it because Papa would want me to doso.
I pulled out the chicken and sweet bread roll that Charlie brought me and I scraped the bone clean. Even though my stomach felt sick, I knew I couldn’t let it go to waste. “Food is a gift from God that should never be wasted,” Papa would always say, followed by, “It's why I will always be a happy, fat man.” At that moment, though, Papa was all skin and bones—limp and lifeless. His frail body was lying in front of me, but his soul, the part of him that made him the man that he was, had left me there alone. I took his hand and kissed it one last time. “Oh Papa, I love you now and forever. Rest inpeace.”
