“I can’t take that from you. It’s yours, but thank you,” I say.
Hans gives a dismissive shake of his head and tears the slice in half. “No, take it. I insist.”
He holds out his trembling hand, waiting for me to take the bite. My stomach gnarls at the thought of saying no once more so I take the bread. “I owe you,” I tell him.
“No, you don’t,” Hans says, holding up his piece.
I hold mine the same. “Cheers to brotherhood and finding a friend in hell.”
“Cheers to that,” I reply, taking the stale texture into my mouth. If I tell myself it’s toast, I’ll believe it’s toast.
Hans pulls his ratty wool blanket covered in threads of hay over his body. “Dream about something far away from here,” Hans whispers.
There’s no right side, but I’ll do as he says to avoid one less stench. “Thank you for the tip.”
The moment I lie down and pull my thin blanket up, thoughts of earlier rush through my mind, of staring at every person surrounding me in the sick bay. Some of them were truly sick, not there like I was, waiting to find out what I’m needed for. Many were coughing for hours; expelling fluids withoutanything to clean up with. A few fell asleep on the ground and couldn’t be woken.
My throat burns at the thought of how quickly illnesses must spread here, making me wonder how critical the medical trial must be if they didn’t keep someone like me separate from the ill. I’m no scientist or medical professional, but it seems counterintuitive to whatever they are trying to accomplish.
I imagine I’ll have vials of blood sucked out of my body, leaving me even weaker than I already am after going all day without food, except the scrap of bread Hans was kind enough to share.
Then there’s Emilie and her innocent promises from grade school. She constantly tried to give me hope even when there was no hint of any. Her promises used to give me a unique perspective—ones I could believe in more than my own. However, there came a time when even the most optimistic person couldn’t rely on another person’s promise. Her words became words I wanted to hear—words she felt better to speak, but we both knew we had no control over what was inevitably becoming a future we both feared.
I want to believe she has no control over her being here, but that’s a harder truth to accept.
TWENTY
EMILIE
FOUR YEARS AGO, OCTOBER 1938
Munich, Germany
I’ve been studying for an exam on the nervous system for the past four hours, and my eyes are beginning to cross while rereading the pages of my textbook again and again. Seeing as the nervous system is the most complex system within our bodies, I would think this subject would come a bit later in the year, but we’re moving along at a fast pace in the classes I’m in. I can only imagine what Otto must be learning in the doctor’s program.
“Emilie,” Mama calls for me, shouting louder than the static riddled radio.
“Yes?” I reply, matching her volume.
“You have company. Danner is here.”
His name is enough of a reason to slap my book shut and take a much-needed break. He hasn’t come to visit in a while. We typically just see each other outside when either of us are coming or going from somewhere. Ever since his surprise birthday party, he’s been spending more time locked up in his house. Iassume it has something to do with the fact that his father hasn’t been released yet. I know they’re all worried sick about him.
“It’s so lovely to see you. You look well. How are things at home?” Mama is plying Danner with questions, which is the last thing he needs. If he’s found enough reasons to stop visiting, Mama’s curiosity isn’t going to entice him to visit more.
I find Danner at the front door, his dark hair swept to the side, sunlight highlighting his hazel eyes, and a hint of a smile I haven’t seen in a long time. He’s dressed in long dark slacks and a gray-blue button-down shirt. He looks different somehow, but I’m not sure what it is about him that’s changed. It’s only been a few days since we’ve crossed paths outside, but we didn’t have the time to talk for long.
“You’re looking quite handsome,” I tell him.
“Emi,” he says with a chuckle. “I’m sure your mother has told you to allow a gentleman to compliment you before you start throwing flattery out to him, hasn’t she?”
“She doesn’t listen to a word I say, Danner. You know that…” Mama says, flicking my braid to the side.
I grab Danner by the shoulders and push him back out the door while glaring at my mother over my shoulder. “We’ll be back. We’re taking a walk,” I say, closing the door.
I look him up and down, still trying to figure out what’s different. “You know, you haven’t stopped by in so long, I was beginning to think we weren’t neighbors anymore,” I say with a sigh.
He doesn’t respond right away, but we silently agree to take a familiar shortcut between the houses that leads to a grove of trees that encircle half of our street. It’s as far from the city as we can be while still living in the city. It’s always an enjoyable escape.
