As if the questions I’ve been asked again and again throughout this registration process, or so they call it, haven’t been enough, there’s another SS guard standing in front of me with a clipboard in hand now. With an eagle eye, he stares at the number inked across my uniform and shakes his head.
“You have committed crimes,” he says, clucking his tongue. “Hiding in an innocent family’s house, endangering their well-being for the sake of your own. What a coward.” His words seethe out between gritted teeth, but I can’t react. It won’t help. “We have a proposition for you. We don’t have space for people like you, so you will be executed.”
My bladder becomes heavy and urine spills down my leg. My head is hollow, empty, nothing but air inside as I try to keep myself upright.
“Such a coward,” he says again, staring down at the damp stream, lining the leg of my uniform.
The moment reminds me of when I was a kid and Gerty read my fortune, telling me I would pee my pants at school. It wasmeant as a joke and never happened. Maybe she did know…just not when it would happen. If this tyrant is going to kill me, I wish he would just do to me what was done to the other man who tried to find his son. He was shot. It was quick.
“If you would rather avoid execution, there’s a different opportunity you can take. A nice healthy man like you, despite being Jewish, can be of significant use to us—to our country, even.”
“I do-don’t understand,” I say with a stutter.
“We need lab rats for medical data. If you agree to be a lab rat, we will spare you execution.”
I want to ask him what happens after they use me…whatever that means, but I would receive an answer I don’t want to hear.
“Okay, I’ll do it,” I agree without giving it much thought.
“You’ll do what? You must say what you will be doing so I understand properly.”
He’s just a devil in a uniform.
“I’ll be a lab rat to help my country.” A cool breeze blows between my limbs, reminding me of the wet pants I’ll have to sit in until they dry.
“Very good. Follow me.”
After walking past several blocks, the guard opens the door to one on the right and shoves the heel of his boot into my lower back, catapulting me into a barrack with what appears to be over a hundred other men. I take in the surroundings, focusing on the two rows of three-tiered wooden bunks. Perspiration, sewage, and bile as pungent as skunked onions and eggs is all I can smell upon entering the musty dank space. The air doesn’t move, only I do. I’m just another body to take up room, garnering me expressions that I try not to take personally.
I walk down the row, skin-covered bones dangling from every which way as I seek a small spot to claim for however long I’ll be in this location.
“There’s a spot over here,” someone says. A man around my age holds his hand out so I can see where the voice is coming from. I imagine I must look eerily similar to the way he does with my shaved head, dirt-covered face, and this dingy uniform, left with nothing but eyes, nose, and a mouth to suit as my only form of identity.
“Thank you. I appreciate your kindness.”
“You don’t want to sleep on the floor if you can avoid it. The mice are relentless here,” the man says.
“I can imagine.” I toss my small pile of belongings up onto the third tier of the bunks and use the rickety ladder to climb up to the top. The available space is just large enough for my narrow body to lie flat, but it’s all I need.
“They took a bunch of men out of here this morning, so an open spot is a sign of luck I suppose,” the man says as I sit back against one of the wooden beams framing the row of bunks. “Hans Bauer.” He holds his hand out.
“Danner Alesky,” I reply, taking his hand.
“It’s nice to see someone around the same age here. I’m not sure why they tossed us into the elderly men’s barracks.”
“I take offense to that,” the man in the next bunk over says, swatting his hand at us. His voice wavers and crackles as if he hasn’t spoken in a while, except he surprises me with a bout of laughter to follow. “I’m just messing with you. I’m Eli.” He reaches his hand out to shake mine and I return the kind gesture.
“See?” Hans says, gesturing his hand out to the man before they both share a quick chuckle. “He thinks shaking hands is necessary here.”
“I’m Fred,” the man right below me shouts up through the fine crack between the platforms. “I’m not as old as Eli, but your new young friend thinks I am. Us old men know a thing or two. You’ll find us useful. You’ll see,” he says with a snicker.
“Nice to meet you,” I reply, wishing I could wave or shake his hand, but I’d have to hang over the edge of the bunk to do that.
Once the three of them stop laughing at their old-jokes, Hans continues with his question, seemingly intrigued to know everything about me as quickly as possible. “So, where are you from?” he asks. “You must be about twenty-one or something, right?”
“I’m from Munich, and you’re close. I’m twenty-two.”Not old enough to be considering this place to be where my body is found someday.“How about you?”
Hans doesn’t answer right away. He seems lost in thought, as if the question requires him to jog through his memory. He must have arrived here a long time ago. “Salzburg. I’m nineteen.”
