Mine.
The apartment was not mine, which was apparent by the warm decor of the unit's interior, the scent of fresh tea wafting from the tea kettle on the stove's burner, and a tobacco filled pipe still smoking from an ashtray across the room. I also noticed a ball of cream-colored yarn and a pair of knitting needles that must have fallen to the wooden floor in front of a blue suede sofa.
I took a seat, finding comfort in the worn upholstery until I noticed that the seat was warm. The couple from the hallway—this was their home, and now I was to live there.
More guilt.
The loose ball of yarn fell apart in my hand as I retrieved it from the floor, trying to carefully place the mass on top of the iron and oak coffee table. The yarn reminded me of the days Mama would sit in her armchair, facing the small wood-stove while knitting sweaters, scarves, and hats in preparation for the upcoming frigid days.
How did I get here?I wish Mama had taught me how to knit.
The apartment may have been warm with finishings, but I was cold with dread. I stood from the sofa and circled the two areas from within the unit. The living area attached to the kitchen, where a teapot was still burning on the stove. I lifted the pot and poured the water down the drain. Two China plates were resting in the sink's basin, so I took the rag from the countertop and cleaned each plate and then placed them where I found the other matching plates. I moved onto the burning pipe as it also needed to be cleaned. It didn't take long before all of the household items were in their correct spots. Maybe if the couple returned someday, they would be happy to find out that someone tended to their belongings. It was the least I could do.
I brought my belongings into the bedroom, finding cream-colored linens draped over the bed. A hand-carved walnut frame encased the mattress. Picture frames rested upon the matching nightstands—most portraits were of the couple looking elated in their marital bliss, while others were pictures of the pair at a younger age. They must have been together awhile.
I couldn't bear the thought of sleeping in their bed; it wastheirbed, not mine. I planned to sleep on the floor.
The camps were overfilling with prisoners, and I was given someone's home.
There wasn't much time to unpack my bags, nor did I want to begin. I carefully placed my two trunks down on the bedroom floor, promising to tend to them when I return from duty.
The walk to the ghetto camp was short, the air reeked of sewage and felt thick beneath the low-bearing clouds. Beyond the gated arch, the lines still spilled around the buildings. Intake of the Jews from the last import appeared never-ending, and nightfall was arriving. Watching the same expressions day after day—the fear, turmoil, hunger, and pain, were causing me phantom sensations. There were days I was hoping to fall ill, and even worse, fall so ill I might end up bedridden in a hospital where I wouldn't have to follow the repetitive death-marching orders.
With a heavy breath, I glanced at my watch, finding myself a few minutes early for a meeting I was to attend.
I recall thinking:the day could not get worse.
I later promised to never entertain that thought again in my lifetime.
There was a vacant block within the Small Fortress of Theresienstadt where we were told to assemble that night. Typically, we would meet in the administration building, but this meeting appeared more exclusive to the guards working in my section.
The dirt ground within the walls served as a cushion to my tired feet. I had been on guard duty since the sun rose and only given a two-hour break to move my belongings from the hotel I had been staying in with four others to the seized apartment. They needed space at the hotels to pack in more prisoners beyond the capacity that the camps could hold.
"Hör zu1!" The Oberscharführer2called out as he stepped into the block where the few of us guards were congregated and awaiting orders. He was our senior squad leader, and we took most of our orders from him. "As you know, we have been transporting many of the incoming prisoners," he said, folding his hands behind his back. "However, the space is thinning out faster than we can transport. With this problem escalating, we have decided to take additional measures to manage the issue. With that said, we have added a trace of rattengift3to the food." He paused the informative speech, allowing his words to sink into our heads.Rat poison.They were about to feed the Jews rat poison. "As you may assume, this process will help us eliminate some bodies. Therefore, it is imperative that all prisoners ingest their food tonight." The Oberscharführercleared his throat, and I wondered if the sound was a tick from nerves, or for emphasis on what he was saying. "The strongest will merely fall ill, but the effects will be temporary. Tomorrow, we will begin recruiting the newest Jews for labor work. Those who are well enough will receive assignments."
He left out the fact that the weak bodies would likely perish. If not, they would be on the transport list.
It wasn’t that I didn’t see what we had been doing to the prisoners, it was that I was beginning to take a closer look. I was becoming familiar with faces, I was seeing the life within eyes, and I was notating the consequences of our actions.
I stood quietly in the back of the dirt-ridden area, taking in the scent of sweat among the heavy air. The Oberscharführer stared above our heads as if he was lost in thought. I stared back, wondering what thoughts were going through his head, but his eyes reminded me of two pieces of coal, his skin was pale, and the sheen on his forehead made him appear ill. Maybe he was feeling nothing inside.Was I the only one feeling the detriments of murder?
"Rest assured, men, your supper is rattengift free," the Oberscharführer said with laughter, an evil sound that overfilled the space around us.
Mama taught me that those who caused pain would at some point be reunited with a mirrored revenge. Her lecture was intended to teach me how to walk away from conflict. Everything Mama had taught me was beginning to feel irrelevant now. Had Mama known what she and Papa were signing me up for with Hitler’s youth program, she might have eaten her words.
At some point within the last few minutes, Oberscharführer must have dismissed us, but I was lost in thought because the others were dispersing through the chestnut wooden door. I placed my hand around the edge of the wood while passing through, my fingers tracing along the dents and divots. I had my orders to carry out, which felt more of punishment than a task, but my footsteps felt heavy as I left my weighted tracks in the dirt and rubble.
When I stepped outside into the setting sun, I noticed a paint splash of pinks and blues. The beautiful colors were being swallowed by the darkness, much like the prisoners. The foreshadowing of the evening was overwhelming.
Before I reported to my assigned block, I stopped at the administration building for my nightly supper. I had been rationing myself to cabbage soup and bread after paying close attention to how little we were feeding the prisoners. Why should I feast on meats and rare cheeses when the Jews were starving? I realized my thoughts were of my own and not common among the other soldiers, but to me, it felt like a parent devouring a roast while watching their children starve. The Jews were helpless like children, waiting at the mercy of our giving hands. It was too painful to take much more than what they had.
By the time I reached my assigned hallway of barrack units, sounds were echoing between the narrow hallway. The retching throats, gasping breaths, and bodies expelling poison was all I could hear.
I placed my hand against the stucco finish on the wall, steadying my dizzying thoughts. The first cell to check on contained Amelia, a lone Jew I felt responsible for after watching her mother meet her fate within this war.
The door gave way with a tug, and the foul odors spilled out of the confines. Vomit, excrement, urine, and body sweat were a combination of aromas that could make a healthy man fall sick.
At least half of the women in the cell were unconscious, some laying in the secretions of their waste, other's flopped over their wooden bunks like rag dolls.
