Look what we had done, was all I could think.
I stood in the doorway, staring with disbelief, never seeing such a sight. The prisoners who were not unconscious were doubled in half, clenching their midsections, crying out for help. One woman had an arm reaching out to me. She believed I would offer my hand in return, and I called myself a monster when I didn't walk forward.
"Aidez-Moi4!" The woman cried out. "J'ai besoin d’aide5!" I was almost glad that I did not speak a word of French. It was easier not knowing what she was crying for considering I wouldn’t normally ever ignore a cry for help, but I wasn’t allowed to respond.
It took a moment before my eyes fell upon Amelia, her small body crumpled on the floor beside a puddle of vomit. Her sunken eyes met mine, and my heart shattered. Amelia was not reaching for me, but her eyes—they were crying for help. Her skin was ashen, not the complexion of an ordinary living being. I considered she might be moments from meeting her death, and I wanted to scream out loud for the madness to stop.How could I just stand there?
My feet moved faster than my mind was working. I was stepping into the confines of our prisoners' abode. The stench was becoming increasingly vile, and I feared becoming sick too, so I retrieved a handkerchief from my pocket and pinched it over the bridge of my nose.
1Listen
2Senior Squad Leader
3Rat poison
4Help me
5I need help
Chapter 13
1942
Terezín, Czechoslovakia
The sun hadn't risen, but there were slivers of gold illuminating the horizon, warning me that I didn't have much time. The Magdeburg Barracks, a close walk from the apartment, would hold the roster of job assignments. I needed to see Amelia's job placement. I was worried that she might have been on the transport list since the reasons for who got sent away were becoming blurrier by the day.
The yellow building sprawled out in front of a courtyard, the landscape was no longer flourishing, but instead, filled with dead grass. It wasn't uncommon for the soldiers to be walking in and out of this building since we utilized it for administrative tasks. A soldier greeted me at the front archway, his head tipped in my direction, followed by "Heil Hitler," and a solute. There were many sectioned areas of office space, but I was familiar with the layout. I was also familiar with where particular lists were devised. I would find this list on the third floor.
Some of the Jewish prisoners had been assigned roles in this building and would often be in control of the various lists. I believed this to be the case for the work order placements.
An older Jewish woman was working at one of the small tables. Her gaze was stuck on a stack of papers, and her fingers tapped wildly against the keys of a typewriter. When she noticed my presence, she stood at attention. "Guten morgen, Herr. What can I do for you?"
"You can take a seat," I told her. I wasn't like the others, getting a rush out of controlling these poor timid women.
The woman reclaimed her seat instantly, abiding by what she heard as a command. "May I see what you're working on, fräulein?"
The papers were scooped into her hands and offered to me without another thought. My rank, due to my length of service, was high enough to allow me a touch of freedom and to act as I wanted without being questioned. It was the only benefit of keeping my mouth shut long enough to earn my stripes. Most often, I chose to know as little as possible because the truth destroyed me most days.
The list was, in fact, a display of which prisoners were to be sent off to the death camps. Peering at the list offered me more insight; there were multiple death camps, rather than just one as I thought.
I had written Amelia's prisoner number on a napkin, and then studied it before entering the building.
24225.24225.
It was at least five long minutes before I spotted the numbers. Amelia was placed with a job to work manual labor on the administration grounds behind this very building. She would freeze to death in the cold winter months, as would the others stationed to work outside performing construction tasks.
Though guilt ate at me for switching Amelia's position for another prisoner's, I felt it was my obligation to keep her safe. We had connected, and the look in her eye, questing my reasons for locking her up, it settled deep inside my brain. I was sure Amelia was assigned a position to work with her hands due to her noticeable feisty behavior, but construction is not the job for her. Amelia will be placed in the medical unit, performing tasks to help the other nurses. I took the pen from the woman's desk and crossed out the jobs and wrote them in as I saw fit.
Forgive me, 342355.
"There was an error on the paperwork that needed to be corrected. Everything is fine now," I said to the woman, handing the stack of papers back.
"Very well, Herr. I will see to it that I type up your changes right away.”
"Danke1, Fräulein."
I tipped my head toward the woman and walked away, feeling a slight sense of relief. Amelia would not be placed on the transport list or in an unthinkable task. She might survive longer now.
