“I’m almost certain,” she says, focusing her eyes out the window.
“What do you mean byalmost?”
“I couldn’t make a formal showing of handing him the note. I did what I had to do to put it within his reach. I’m sure he received it.”
“Have you seen him again since?”
She continues staring outside, her jaw grinding back and forth. “I’m not sure. The nights blur together here. It’s possible. The delivery of messages between high-end officers is incredibly nerve-wracking.”
“Was there someone singing when you delivered a message last?” I want to shake this girl by the shoulders. My question isn’t difficult.
“I can’t remember if it was before or after I delivered the note to him. I’m sorry. There are some high-level officials cominginto town next week and I’m quite sure I’ll be relaying messages between buildings then.”
I can’t be at the mercy of this woman’s tired mind. “I will give you a week’s worth of rations if you agree to help me once more.”
“You plan to starve yourself for one more favor?” she asks.
“I would give up everything…”
“What is this favor?” she asks, her tone uneasy.
Blood pumps viciously through my veins after Elsie agreed to my barter, but as I return to my desk, listening to the shouting and disorder continue outside, I notice Tatiana hasn’t come back.
“Do you think she left the building?” one of the other women asks.
I shrug. I don’t think Tatiana would go as far as leaving the building to find out what was happening outside. Would she?
I bounce my knee for hours, staring back and forth between the door, clock, and the log I’m writing in, wondering why Tatiana still hasn’t returned.
The guards came back hours ago, but haven’t said a word about her vacant desk.
By six o’clock, the reality sinks in… Tatiana must have gotten caught somewhere she shouldn’t have been. My heart cracks. She can’t just not come back. I don’t know if I can do this without her.
THIRTY-FIVE
LUKA
August 1943
The Commandant has been hosting dignitaries throughout the last week, and rather than host formal banquets at the headquarters, he’s shifted to the more intimate setting of the gardens outside his personal villa next door to the headquarters. For me, only the scenery has changed. The fumes from the crematoriums still fill the air the same as they do inside the prison camp.
Outside amid the Commandant entertaining his guests, I observe them, wondering why they don’t react to the putrid stench. If you were to take a photograph of just this square of grass and botanicals, no one would know about the thousands dying less than fifty steps away. Except, these people know, and it seemingly has no effect on them. I want to shout out to all of them that my mother is somewhere within those gates, possibly dying, and they’re here reveling in laughter. Then I’d tell them they also stole the woman I love, and they’re torturing her, too. They should know they took away my father and grandfather and were the reason my grandmother died earlierthan she should have. Not only that, but they’ve stolen most of my voice. There’s hardly anything left of it now. They have taken everything away from me and yet, here I am, offering them entertainment while they continue to torture helpless victims just footsteps away.
I wanted to be a musician, entertain people, do the same thing night after night, and that wish came true in the most horrifying way possible. What’s worse is that every time darkness folds over me during a song, I pray Ella will be standing before me when my eyes reopen. My mind knows better, but my heart is in denial.
Ella wouldn’t be here in the Commandant’s villa though, nor the Commandant’s Headquarters. I don’t know where she is and despite searching through every line of people who pass me, I haven’t seen her. If I didn’t receive a letter from her after, I might still be questioning whether I’d imagined seeing her in the first place. But I know she’s here and I don’t know if she’s safe or well, and that thought keeps me up at night, my stomach aching, and my chest throbbing. Those pains are often worse than the relentless burn clawing at my throat and chest.
It’s harder to know she’s here than thinking she gave up on me back in Warsaw. I would rather live through that heartache over and over again in exchange for knowing she’s being put through the same brutality as me. I’m trying to live. I’m trying to stay on my feet and upright. For her and for Mother, if she’s still alive, somehow. But I’m not sure how long I’ll last. My body is failing me. I have fevers come and go, and a cough that won’t relent. I’ve choked up blood and I don’t know if it’s from an illness, or injury. Regardless, I know a body can only handle so much before it succumbs to the inevitable.
Franc and I are the only two here from our usual quartet tonight. I don’t know why, and I likely won’t find out the reason.We act as though nothing is different and no one is missing, and I follow Franc’s lead with the music he’s been given.
While tuning out the grotesque patriotic German folk song, I observe the different servers and functionaries reporting from the prison like us, most of whom I’ve never seen, including a kapo with a stack of papers in her hands. She’s shorter than the usual kapo who delivers messages.
I keep my focus on the kapo handing one of the Commandant’s men the stack of papers. She stumbles, almost nervously while taking a few steps back, giving the men their privacy and space. This new woman could be connected to the other kapo who typically delivers messages, or she may know nothing of her. I may never find out if Ella ever received my letter.
It’s just a letter.
I need to see her—hold her in my arms.
