“We already broke that rule,” the man says with a whisper of defiance, or perhaps, mischief. He arches his dark eyebrows, and the corners of his lips lift into a knowing smirk as he steps inside and gently nudges the door back into the frame without latching it shut.
“I’ve hardly been here an hour.”
“I’m sure that’s a new record,” he utters hoarsely, and I catch a hint of humor dancing within his eyes. “I apologize in advance for all the hammering. It will be frequent but not constant.”
I stepped into this house. He owes me no apology.
“I understand…” A short pause isn’t long enough before quietly spitting out my next question. “So, if you’re a prisoner…what did you do?” I stare directly into his soulful eyes, searching for an answer before he has a chance to respond.
His smile falters with something that looks like shame. His gaze follows. “I’m just a Jew,” he says, pointing to the Star-of-David embroidered on his arm band. He professes his religion as a crime.Not to me, but to the Reich.He turns his arm over, pulls up his sleeve, and reveals an inked number emblazoned along his flesh.
“Oh my—” I say through a shiver.
The sight steals the breath from my lungs, having never witnessed a person being stamped like livestock. My stomach clenches and my chest aches as a new form of horror reveals itself. “No criminal act is necessary to become a prisoner of Auschwitz. Though, they consider all Jews to be criminals, I suppose.”
“You were sent to live in the Auschwitz prison just because you’re Jewish?” I know that’s what he’s saying, but I can’t wrap my mind around the idea.
He presses his lips into a straight line and nods. “Yes, but I’m escorted out of there every morning to work here. Then I returneach night.” He speaks of his days as if they’re ordinary. As if he’s accepted this unfair punishment.
He studies me for a moment, noticing my dress, apron, and long bronze braids dangling over my shoulder. “What about you? Where have you come from?”
“I was a caregiver at an orphanage. One of the little girls tried to run away this morning and I caught her just beyond the ‘restricted zone.’ Bad timing to be spotted on the side of the road by an officer. I’m just thankful the little girl made it back safely.”
The man’s jaw tightens, stiffening the defined features of his face. “Officer Schäfer grabbed you?”
Should I have had more of an option? It doesn’t seem as though anyone has choices when it comes to the Reich. Especially the Jewish people. I shrug. “It was either this, or he threatened to arrest me for loitering. Begging on the street, he said.”
He shakes his shaved head, and rubs the back of his sunburned neck before letting out a disheartened breath. “Whatever you do, hold on to this role here in the house.” His gold-flecked eyes strain and his forehead creases with concern. “You don’t want to become a prisoner.”
My blood turns cold and chills shiver between my shoulders. “Of course,” I say, though his concern becomes my dread.
He takes a hesitant step closer toward me like he’s crossing a forbidden line. Though, the ceiling slope keeps him from moving in too far. He tilts his head, gauging the space.
Sun spills across his face, highlighting a cluster of freckles on his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. In another world, he might look sun-kissed from a day at the lake.
“It’s a good thing you’re petite,” he says pressing his hand to the ceiling above his head. The cuts along his knuckles, some fresh, others scabbed, capture my attention.Poor thing.
“Well, I suppose my shorter height will come in handy here.” I didn’t consider how much worse this room would be if I was a head taller. “Any other tips?”
“I’ve only been here a month-and-a-half, not long. But Marlene, the middle child, tells her mother everything. Be careful what you say.” His wide stare is filled with sincerity.
The thought of the children turning against me hadn’t crossed my mind yet, but I know better than to assume a child’s loyalty, especially given the family she’s being raised under.
“No child that age can be trusted with a secret,” I say, matching his whisper.
I learned that lesson at a young age before I understood what trust even meant. Secrets were like treasures, high in worth for selfish gain.
“And the baby—” he says, looking over his shoulder despite the door being nearly shut. The quiet lingers for several long seconds before he speaks again. “There’s something wrong. I don’t think they know, or maybe they do and don’t care. But the poor thing cries day and night unless?—”
“Unless what?”
He takes in a hesitant breath and holds it for a long second. “Sometimes…they put bourbon into her bottle. To quiet her.”
The breath escapes my lungs and I bring my hands up to my neck, choked. “That can’t be. Who could—” I don’t need an answer. I knowwhocould do something so awful. But would they? To their own blood? Perhaps it’s a rumor that’s spun out of context. How could he be so sure when he’s up here all day? Though that might explain the limpness and disconnected stare. How has no one protected this poor baby?
The rulebook rests heavier in my lap.
“They hide things well,” he says.
