The kapo finds her target, hands the officer a memo, pivots, and heads back this way. She glares at me as if we know each other, but we don’t. The three or four times I’ve seen her, we’ve never made eye contact. Why now?
The kapo shifts her gaze almost immediately as she passes us. Still trying to decipher the reason for the cold stare, I notice a square folded note fall from her clenched fist. It wasn’t an accident. She would have retrieved it, but instead, continues toward the back exit.
I scan the surroundings ensuring no one is looking in this direction. I lunge for the note and curl it into my fist.
“What is that?” Peter, the violinist asks.
I shrug. “The kapo dropped it on her way out.”
“She’ll come after you once she realizes it’s gone. You should leave it on the floor.” Peter worries more than anyone I’ve met here. We all worry, but his personality matches the vibrato he plays so beautifully. He’s constantly unsteady and fearful of every breath he takes. It makes me wonder how he’s able to keep the bow moving so smoothly across his strings.
“I should look at it first,” I say.
“Are you out of your mind? It could be confidential,” Peter hisses, his eyes bulging from their sunken sockets.
Franc shakes his head and locks his stare on the notes in front of him.
I run my free hand down the side of my pants to dry the sweat and quickly unfold the note. My gaze settles on the top line, and I forget to breathe. I clutch my hand to my neck as I read:
15thof May 1943
Luka, is that you?
I’ve told myself it’s impossible, but I know it’s not. If I had a wish, it would be to find out that I only heard someone who sounds like you. Then I’d know you aren’t here in this horrible place, but hopefully somewhere safer.
I blink for a long a moment, trying to reconcile what month it is. A flash of a bulletin runs through mind, a warning I saw hanging on a post earlier. It’s the middle of June and just a week ago, I spotted Ella. She must have known I was here before we passed each other. How is that…
I hear you almost nightly, or whenever the weather will comply with carrying the sound of your voice.
If it’s you, I must know. I must know you’re all right.
I’m doing as well as I can manage, caught a lucky break with being assigned to clerical work.
I’ve seen what unlucky means, and I wouldn’t wish it upon anyone.
Luka, if you’re here, I need to find you—I will do anything, even if it’s the last thing I do.
I think about you day and night, feeling like a trapped mouse, searching for a way out of an enclosed maze of walls, knowing there is no way out—and I’ve yet to find a way to you.
I love you so much it hurts every single bone in my body as I pray to the heavens above to set us free from this torture and misery.
I still dream about a future with you, a house on a farm, stargazing to the sound of your beautiful songs. The image is so vivid in my mind when I fall asleep at night. If only it were possible to escape through our dreams, be together, and never return to this reality.
If it’s safe and you can hand a note back to the messenger who dropped this note for you, she will bring one back to me.
I’m sure you’re worn and living in a state of starvation, struggling to move each day, but your voice breathes life into me, something to hold on to.
Forever my love,
E
Hot tears burn the backs of my eyes and my chest quakes. The thoughts in my head are telling me to race out that back door and run, shouting her name until I have her attention. The room spins around me, the chandeliers rattling, crystals clashing.
“Ready?” Franc says, reaching for my arm that has fallen by my side. “On three.”
“No, I’m not?—”
“What do you mean? We must begin now. We’ll all be in trouble if we don’t.”
