I jump backward to distance myself from him. The man is seething, his eyes blaring at me as if he’s a tortured animal.
But I can’t give up. There must be a way I can find him.
I’ve already been away from the administration building too long, but I continue around the row of barracks, weaving between them, the latrines and workshops while scanning every face I pass. My efforts are useless, in vain and dangerous, and I’m forced to return to my desk. I’m not sure if anyone noticed I wasn’t there today, but if it was noticed, I’ll find out, I’m sure.
I retreat to my barrack for the night, tears threatening to spill out of my dry eyes. Despite living with three times the number of women who should fit within this space, I’ve never endured more alone than I do now. I’ve risked everything to find him, and even though I managed to that once in the Commandant’s villa, the only thing I gained from that was the memory of watching him be beaten by an officer. And now I don’t know what’s happened to him…
I lie awake long after I should have fallen asleep, waiting for a hint of Luka’s voice, but it never comes. Not tonight. Not after the last broken word.Where are you, Luka?
While straightening the blanket out over my slim section of space along the bunk to roll onto my side, a hand brushesagainst my arm. It isn’t uncommon, given the little space we have in which to move, but this passing touch consists of a sharp scratch against my skin. I untangle myself to reach for whatever it is that’s scratched me. With little light available, I brush my fingertips across its edges, determining it’s a folded piece of thick notepaper.
I whip my head to the other side in search of whoever just left it here and recognize the back of Magda as she walks toward her bunk. She’s a short, stocky woman. Her body shape is different from those of us completely wasting away. She’s lucky.
My heart races as I fidget with the note, trying to unfold it and straighten it out, twisting myself in every direction to steal a stream of light from the spotlight shining into the window down the row. When I manage to catch a hint of light, my eyes settle on the handwritten note, heart pounding faster.
17thof July 1943
My Dearest Ella,
My chest tightens, stealing my breath as hope ignites… Then, I notice the letter was written two months ago. This letter doesn’t mean he’s safe—not after what I heard last night. But it’s something…
It is me. It’s Luka, and yes, I’m here in Auschwitz, too.
My heart aches, knowing you, of all people, not Jewish, a person fighting against the Germans, ended up here in this hell. I imagine you were caught trying to help me and that’s something I’ve been trying to process without success. I’m ashamed of myself, Ella. I shouldn’t have let you continue to visit me in a place where neither of us should have been. I could have stopped everything that has happened before it was too late. To you, that is. I take full responsibility for yourimprisonment here. It’s not something I will ever forgive myself for.
Like you, I’m sure, I’m given little opportunity to do much else besides revisit old memories, rethink past decisions, and try desperately to find a meaning in all this.
When I saw you that one day in passing between the barracks I questioned if I had imagined you. Then I received your note. It’s given me a ledge to hold on to here. I read it every chance I have.
I spend my days, as mentioned, watching so-called criminals, who I believe to be innocent, murdered with one bullet at the execution wall. Then, I spend my nights entertaining comrades of the Commandant, singing until my throat tightens and sound no longer forms. I see people enjoying themselves, dressed in formal attire, drinking champagne, laughing, and smiling. Then I return to my barrack, finding grown men crying in soiled clothes, sitting in their own sickness, barely breathing, and I ask myself why? Did we do something so wrong to deserve this torture? Are the Germans so right to deserve this victory?
Ella, my heart is torn into shreds. I don’t know how to find you, but I have tried. Every step out of line is considered a crime. But I love you and will love you until I become the man with my nose pressed against the execution wall. I know my words are morbid and you would tell me to stop thinking the way I am, and you would remind me of the words I used to say—if I’m breathing and there is a sun in the sky, I’m still alive. But, Ella, I’m not sure I even know who I am at this point. I’m not sure if I have a family. I’m not sure if I trust the woman I handed this note to to deliver it to you. Worst of all, I’m not sure I’ll wake up tomorrow.
I’m so sorry I’ve let you down. I’m weak and falling to pieces. I’m not sure we can save each other. Or even ourselves. I know this isn’t the response you were hoping for, and if I could see you—touch you—maybe…
I don’t know what I’m saying. That’s my truth.
I’m dying. Every bone in my body says so.
Remember, what happens here doesn’t define us.
I’m sorry for us. I’m sorry for what could have been and will likely…never…be.
With love,
Luka
Next to his name is a stained streak of darkened paper. A remnant of a tear. Now, my own tears flood down my cheeks, one falling to splash on his note before I shove it beneath my blanket. I convulse with silent sobs, wondering what the SS have done to him. This note was from two months ago and Luka’s words were already hollow and hopeless then. What’s happened to him now…?
THIRTY-EIGHT
ELLA
October 1943
It’s been weeks since I’ve heard Luka’s voice, and I refuse to believe I never will again. The hole in my heart grows wider every day and the silence is unbearable, but I can’t let it break me. I must believe he’s still here somewhere, fighting for his survival. I’m not foolish enough to ignore that the SS use people until they become useless, then kill them. But Luka isn’t useless, and neither am I.
Each night I’m forced to fall asleep in the oppressive silence, I remind myself why I can’t give in. I’ve made a promise to myself that I will see this through and continue holding on to whatever sliver of hope I can grab onto. If I stop fighting, stop searching, the SS will win.
