“You two are something else,” Eli says, groaning as he turns to face us. “It isn’t often you find a friend in the depths of hell, and it speaks well of you to know there are still good men left in this world. Depend on each other until you can’t. Life can disappear in a second. Go ahead and ask him, Hans. Don’t wait any longer.”
“Ask me what?” I ask, looking back and forth between Abe and Hans.
Hans drops his gaze to his lap and sighs. “Could I ask a favor in case something is to happen to me?”
“Of course, but don’t tell me you’re giving up now…” I say, scolding him as many of us often do to each other.
“No, I’m not giving up, but if I lose that choice, would you try to find Matilda Ellman? According to a letter I received from her, she’s somewhere in this town. She said she would be waiting for me. My worst fear is to leave her waiting…if I’m gone.” Hansreaches beneath his blanket and pulls out a thin tube of papers. “Also, do you think you could give her something I need her to have?”
“Of course, but there’s no saying one of us will outlive the other. I don’t want to lose anything precious if it’s me who goes first.”
“I have more notes. I’m a writer. It’s all I can do when I’m not asleep or working. Please, if it isn’t too much to ask…”
“Of course. I promise I’ll do that for you if given the chance to walk out of here,” I say, tucking the rolled-up papers beneath my blanket.
“What about you? Is there something you want to make sure Emilie knows?” he offers. “I’m familiar with a guard who takes and delivers mail on occasion. I can see if he’ll send something for you too.”
I didn’t know anyone received mail from outside of these gates.
“As much as I would like to take you up on the offer, I’m afraid that won’t be necessary as I don’t have an address for her.” As for the rest of his question…the answer isn’t difficult, and though something I’ve refused to tell Emilie many times for selfless reasons, she should know the truth. “But if I don’t make it, and you find the time to seek her out, I would like her—Emilie Marx is her full name—to know that I spent my life falling in love with her, being in love without her, then dying in love with my memories of her.”
Hans repeats my words under his breath as if he needs to hear them once more to remember them. “If I make it out of here without you, I’ll make sure she knows. I promise, and a promise between brothers is something to rely on.”
“You boys need to hold on to your loves if given the chance. What keeps you alive in here will be something you can neverlive without if you make it back out there,” Abe says. “Trust me, as an old man…I know a thing or two.”
I’ve suffered the pain of distance, living a world apart, knowing my love for Emilie was something we could never share—something I’ll always live without despite my survival here. To think I once mourned over her loss while merely moving a country away from her, makes me realize there’s no hope of surviving anything worse.
THIRTY-FIVE
DANNER
TWO YEARS AGO, DECEMBER 1941
Munich, Germany
I’ve spent many days on trains in my lifetime, but none have felt quite like the ones I’ve been on since yesterday when I left Poland. This final train to Munich is no different to the others. There are more members of the SS and Gestapo police than there are civilian passengers, making my appearance, blonde hair, and all, stand out among the crowd. Great-Uncle Igor made it clear I had to avoid showing any signs of stress or nervousness because the Nazis pinpoint those particular people and run them through the question mill. If I can avoid the questions, I’ll have my best chance of making it off this train into the city, which won’t be much better.
My hands are raw from gripping this bulky crate of mead. Every seat on the train is taken so I must keep everything with me, on my lap. All the while, I continue to repeat the story I should use if questioned by authorities.
I’m a cook for an SS-Obergruppenfuhrer, sent to Poland to collect bottled Dwójniak mead for an elite dinner party.
I’ve done what I can to remain awake, but particularly during the daytime hours as the sun casts a spotlight over everyone seated on the left side of the train.
This next stop is Oberschleißheim. Oberschleißheim will be our last stop before arriving at the final destination, Munich.
The shrill screech of metal grinding against metal sends a phantom pain down my spine. I’ve become tired of hearing the sound so often over the last day. The doors open, only a few step off, and twice as many board, all of which are in uniform. I’ve never considered what it takes to appear unfazed and calm, but avoiding eye contact seems like the worst way to behave. I force myself to peer at each man passing by, giving each a quick nod of respect while praying the heat burning through my limbs isn’t apparent in my face.
My pulse slows as the train doors shut and the brakes are emphatically released. I rest my head back in the seat, trying to breathe through my tidal wave of panic.Unclench your fists, I tell myself.Drop your shoulders. One breath every five seconds is a sign of a contentment, as Emilie used to tell me. Anything more would be a sign of stress. I’m not sure I had ever wondered how many breaths I take in a minute’s time, but it’s been a helpful practical fact to hold on to over the years.
I count my breaths like seconds ticking on a clock, giving me something to focus on while we travel the last kilometers to the train station in Munich.
The screaming halt from the brakes doesn’t bother me this time. The awful sound is more like music to my ears now. I stand from my seat, my satchel secured across my torso, and the crate locked within my grips.
“Papers!” I hear just before stepping onto the platform. It’s not that I didn’t know I would have to present my fake identification again, I was just putting the thought off until now.
I hoist the crate over my left leg and pull my papers out of my coat pocket.
I’m Albert Amsler. People call me Al for short, I remind myself.
