I can wonder all I want, hope or not hope Ella is among them, but the intelligence I used to believe I had would tell me otherwise after what I watched her endure. Everything she did from the moment she stepped into my life was a risk to help me—always just to help me in whatever way she could. Her life’s purpose had to be something more than offering me longevity…but maybe that’s all she was ever destined to achieve. And now she’s gone…so will I be.
A gunshot echoes between the trees, and I spot a fallen body from the line of women. How many of them have been killed throughout this day-long march? Too many from the line of men have been left behind in the snow after giving up or falling.
What am I fighting for? I need to know.
Etan stumbles a step ahead of me, his boot catching on a patch of icy terrain. I catch him just before he loses his balance, shaking as I strain to hold him upright until he catches a solid footing. “Thank you,” he utters through a shaky breath.
The line slows as another incline becomes an obstacle, even for the guards who slip with each step. A German argument ensues from ahead at a gathering of tall pines where the ground is partially thawed beneath the long thick branches covered with a dusting of snow.
“Do you know what they’re saying?” Etan utters over his shoulder.
I listen for another moment. “They’re arguing over what direction to take.”
“No, please, no,” I hear from around the bend of trees. It’s one of us crying out, followed by a grunt and the thud of a rifle thrashing into something.
Etan glances back at me with terror flashing through his heavy eyes. We watch the guards as they shove others at the top of the hill with the butts of their rifles, forcing them to move faster. Is this it? The end?
Etan moves another few steps forward then stops as my toes reach his heels. “What is it?” I ask him.
I look around him and down, finding the edge of the cliff to our right crumbling into fragments and falling into silence as thedistance swallows any noise. There’s nowhere else to move with the tree trunks rooting from mounds of snow on our left. “Move along,” I hiss to the men in front of us. “The ground is giving out.”
Where the guards aren’t actively pushing us off the cliff, the cliff is taking us down itself. Instinct forces the man in front of Etan to turn toward us rather than do as I said. A louder crack rumbles beneath us and the man finally jolts forward into the line of others.
Etan takes a step forward, too, just as the weight of the world becomes too much for the one spot we’re standing on. His hand shoots out, grasping for a low hanging branch above us, but it’s too late. His face contorts with horror, his jaw drops as if he’s about to scream, but there’s no sound.
The ground beneath us growls as it crumbles into dust, and we’re pulled down the side of the cliff among jagged pieces of falling earth. Shrapnel of snow and rocks rain down around me as I fight against the force of gravity. Desperately, I reach for something to grab hold of, my fingers grasping at nothing but air. But there’s nothing—just the ice-cold air I’ve been a victim to since I arrived here.
The world blurs into streaks and sounds fade into a hollow silence. Images flash through my mind—my family and wonderful childhood full of warmth and love, the fruition of my dream to entertain a crowd with my voice, and Ella. Ella is where my life came together and when I was whole, complete—perhaps that’s why this is the end. She was what I was always looking for and I found her. She found me. And now if she’s gone, I will be gone, too.
The world tilts and spins, leaving me weightless. The blur of colors fade to black, the cold, pain, and torment of what has been devours me into a void.
FIFTY-ONE
ELLA
January 1945
The cold air bites through my skin, whittling my brittle bones. I’ve forgotten the sensation of warmth. Yet, somehow, I’m still alive. Then again,being alivemeansliving, and I’m not sure I can call thislife. For Luka, my spirit struggles on, but my body…it’s starting to fail me. I don’t know how long I can keep going for him.
The whipping I took as punishment, almost a year ago, for trying to keep Luka alive, nearly took my life. The deep slashes carved into my back and legs remained raw and open for weeks, the wounds weeping blood and pus through my uniform daily. I fought to keep them clean, but battling infection was nearly impossible. A fever plagued me with bouts of delirium as I trembled on the barrack floor, too weak to move. I should have died then. Perhaps, it would have been better if I had.
Instead, the SS reassigned me to brutal, physical labor. I hadn’t appreciated the shelter I had while working in the Kanada warehouses. That work had been its own kind of torment, but this…thiswill kill me.
Another change is upon us, and I’ve given up trying to predict what will come next. All I know is that for the past week, the gongs have fallen silent—no demands for roll call in the morning or at night.
The first day the gongs didn’t ring, the kapos stormed into the barrack, shouting as they forced us outside. We were separated into different groups, though I had no idea where anyone was being taken. Many of the other women I lived with were sent elsewhere, while I was pulled from a line and ordered back to my worksite—the ash pit outside Crematorium number five, where I’ve spent my days digging trenches to bury human ash.
“Dig!” the kapos keep shouting at us.
I don’t understand what they expect from any of us assigned to this job. The shovels aren’t making much of a dent in the frozen ash-ridden soil.
My wrists bend and strain against every attempt to break through however many layers of frozen earth they want us to get through. The scabbed cuts along my knuckles stretch, threatening to reopen. The open cuts along my fingers, between my thumb and forefinger begin to bleed again, as they do daily.
It’s no surprise Tatiana was sent to continue shoveling, too, after we were caught. Neither of us ever make much progress, but they don’t spare us either by death or another ruthless task. Burying ash is our only option even as we watch most of the other prisoners walk through the gates, holding what looks to be their belongings as they leave the premises. No one has ever been allowed outside, and yet, we are watching it happen before our very eyes. Are they going on to live? To have freedom?
If they’re being released, why aren’t we? Our punishment for switching roles the one time has been ongoing since March, trapping us in a barrack farthest away from where we work each day. Rather than imagine what I must look like to anyone else,I’ve watched the decline of Tatiana’s health, her body becoming a dying, frail tree within the icy grips of winter. One strong gust of wind will take her down.
She is me.
