“Thanks,” I offer.
“Hans, you never know. Maybe Matilda does receive the letters,” I argue.
“It’s getting harder by the day to hold on to hope, brother,” he says, lowering down to his forearms to continue writing on a scrap of paper.
I pull my knees into my chest and stare across the barrack. The lights are off but there’s an orange glow from the exterior field lights, allowing me to see the surrounding bunks. Then every thirty seconds, the rotating strobe light from the closest watchtower flashes the barrack with a blink of light that blinds anyone who’s still awake, leaving flashing spots floating in its trail.
“I saw her today, here,” I say quietly.
“I have visions like that, too. My late wife, Belle. I see her all the time,” Eli says. “Those are nice moments.”
“They are, I’m sure,” I reply, knowing we’re talking about two different visions. Still, I don’t want to disregard that he sees his wife in his dreams. We all need something to keep us going.
Hans pops his head up again. “You saw her—your Emilie? She’s here?” The whites of his eyes glow in the faint light coming through the windows.
“I did. I’m not sure why she was here,” I lie, knowing she was helping the doctors of evil. I’ll keep that part to myself for now. I’m still trying to convince myself I truly saw and spoke to her.
“You mean, you saw her here as a prisoner?” Hans continues.
There aren’t many female prisoners here as it is so I’m not sure if it’s more likely to see her as one of those or someone escorting the master race of followers.
“She isn’t a prisoner. She was in the sick bay, dressed as if we weren’t in a prison, and there’s no war.” And she was with Otto.
“I thought she was anti?—”
“She wouldn’t ever choose to support war efforts. Emilie would never follow the regime’s beliefs, but that doesn’t explain why she’s here.”
“Did you talk to her?”
“For a moment but the words didn’t matter. Nothing truly matters now.”
“Danner, tell me…did you ever tell her you loved her?” he asks. I’m sure he’s confused about why I would care so deeply for someone and not fight to keep them. I ask myself the same question too, but I remind myself it was because I loved her that I let her go. So she could be safe and not subjected to a life with a Jew.I didn’t know she would later be subjected to the influence of a Nazi sympathizer. I must believe Otto is to blame for them being here in their capacity.
“No, I didn’t. It was easier for me to believe that love is something two people silently share, and though it’s oftenexpressed out loud, I never questioned if she loved me the way I love her. I knew she did, and it was enough for me, I guess.”
“Do you think if you had, it would have changed anything?” Hans asks. I can tell he isn’t pressing me for answers for my sake, but his own processing of thoughts.
“No, I don’t. I think it would have made life harder for her.”
“My Matilda was relentless. I tried to tell her I would end up getting her into trouble, but she wouldn’t give up and I couldn’t stay away. I tell myself I’ll find her someday. That’s the thought that gets me through each night. I might be lying to myself, but hope is all we’re allowed to have here and though it might be a reverie, it gives me strength to keep going.”
“That’s fair,” I tell him.
Hans clears his throat and readjusts his back against the beam he’s leaning against, arching with a squint in his eye. I imagine it won’t be long before I’m feeling the effects of sleeping on solid wood while taking part in forced labor.
“Will you be going back to the sick bay tomorrow?”
“I believe so.” I wasn’t told otherwise.“I was told this would be my fate after arriving here.” I swallow air into my hollow stomach, wishing the hunger pangs would become less noticeable. “My options were execution or volunteering for an experimental medical trial.” I’m not sure I feel better confessing this difference between the two of us, but he might as well know why I don’t return at some point, assuming that to be the plan.
The outer corners of Hans’s eyes sink with sorry, pity, or maybe both. “And you don’t know what the trial is for?” he asks, his voice hoarse.
“I’m not sure. Perhaps I’ll find out tomorrow. I’m to return to the sick bay each day until I’m needed—if I’m needed, and I’m not sure what that might mean either.”
He’s looking at me as if someone should already be digging a hole to bury my body. “None of us know what the next day will bring. All we can do is pray to make it through another, right?”
“Yes, I’ll agree with that,” I say.
Hans pulls something out of his pocket and unclasps his hand. “I saved some from this morning. Want half?” It’s a sliver of bread. Though I would offer a limb to taste anything now, I won’t take this man’s food from him. I wasn’t allowed to eat today in case I was needed for testing at the sick bay. He doesn’t know that but we each have our own hurdles to jump over at the moment.
