My post for guard duty was within viewing distance of where Amelia stood, which allowed me to watch her with a clipboard in hand most of the day. I shouldn't have been gazing so intently, but she intrigued me with her strength, courage, and determination. Amelia stood straight, her shoulders back and her nose to the sky. When beaten and weak people didn't typically have the motivation to remain upright, Amelia was anything but typical.
The air was arctic as we saw the middle days of February. The only benefit to the cold was the freeze of repulsive scents surrounding the camp. It hurt to inhale that type of cold.
The line in front of Amelia was made up of meek people wearing single layers of clothing. They huddled together for warmth, which wasn't ideal with diseases running rampant. Amelia kept a scarf over her mouth. It was a smart move to keep out the cold and to keep her safe from contracting an illness.
Patches of snow surrounded everyone's feet, and the brown dirt was frozen. The sky was white, and the clouds were low enough to feel the fog. Still, Amelia kept her line moving fluidly, knowing she could be scolded if the pace was not acceptable. Nevertheless, she offered attention to each person in line.
I also noticed she kept tissues in her coat pocket. They were hidden inconspicuously since the Jews were not entitled to such things as a tissue, but on more than one occasion, I watched Amelia lean down in front of a child and wipe their nose. She even offered a smile that I know she couldn't feel anywhere inside.
The people in line weren't there for a small colds or minor wounds—those issues were handled privately with whatever means the Jews could find. The medical line was strictly for those who may face death as a result of their illness. Every child in that line affected Amelia's expressions. It was as if she saw an x written on their foreheads.It was the truth.
Amelia was sweet to every person, often placing her hand on a cheek or a shoulder for comfort. Through her pain and misery, she was trying to be kind to others.
Maybe she was unaware of the life lessons she was teaching me each day, but I began to take more food, and I was dropping rations into pockets of prisoners walking by. I was worried about being caught, but I was more concerned about children starving, mothers who were desperately trying to keep their children alive, and the men who were worked to the bone. I knew in my heart, no one had a good chance of survival, but suffering every day was not something I could bear to watch.
It was almost sundown when I stepped away from my post and strode toward Amelia, which I had been doing more and more often at the same time each day. She saw me coming, and I could tell by the look on her face, she knew why I was approaching.
Amelia glanced around, nervous as always. "Fräulein, a word please." I used an authoritative tone while speaking to her in front of others. The worst thing I could do was make anyone aware of the help I had been offering Amelia, especially Sven, who was always on the lookout for suspicious behavior.
I took Amelia by the elbow and led her to an enclosed area in front of an unused block. "Charlie, we're going to be caught," she said.
"Take this," I told her. I had been taking bread as it was the easiest to pocket, but I was able to take a little more that day since no one was around during my late lunch. I reached into my pocket and retrieved a slice of sweet cake as well as a couple of bread rolls wrapped in papers. "Eat."
Amelia stared down at the bread. "Charlie," she sighed.
"Eat it, Amelia. You need sustenance."
"Why are you doing this for me?" she asked.
"Why have you been helping some of the women in your cell?" I didn't mean for my question to frighten her, but her face became pale. I had walked by one night, watching Amelia bandage a wound on the arm of a cellmate.
"I was wrong," Amelia said, swallowing hard. "Forgive me. It won't happen again."
I felt my head shaking from side to side. "Nein. Do not apologize." Amelia's eyes grew wide. She was terrified of me.
"It was a punishable act," she stated.
"I will not report you, Amelia. You are a good person."
Her eyes relaxed and narrowed. "And you?"
I felt my stomach churn as I continued to stare into her gaze. "I am a monster."
Amelia shook her head. "No, I see kindness in you."
"Nein," I argue. "I am one of them."
Amelia reached her hand up to my cheek as she had done to the ill people in line. "Charlie, I see something more in you." Her hand was soft, her touch was gentle, and the warmth—it was something I shouldn't have felt from a Jewish woman. It could have cost us both of our lives. "Thank you for the bread." Amelia took the paper-wrapped goods from my hand and smiled. It was the first time I had seen a genuine smile from her. Even in the grimmest of times, she was beautiful inside and out.
"I don't want to be here," I admitted.
"Neither do I," she replied. We both released a soft laugh. A laugh within a prison—it seemed impossible.
"Charlie?" Amelia's voice was soft like a passing breeze. "Whyareyou here?"
"I have been bred since I was a twelve-year-old boy, molded into one of the Führer's men. If I walk away or disobey, the punishment would affect more than just me—my family's well-being could be affected. I am stuck."
I wasn't sure if Amelia truly understood or believed my words to be the truth, but it was the only explanation I could offer.
