“Uh—I don’t think that would be a good idea right now. He’s busy with work and needs to tend to something here,” I whisper.
A hint of desperation glistens across Halina’s eyes, as if wondering what my words truly mean, why nothing makes sense right now.
“You mongrel! Disgusting Jew. Scum feeding off rats in my own house!” The vulgar shouts continue booming through the vents.
“Who is Papa shouting at?” Marlene asks quietly.
My core tightens as a body thrashes against what must be a wall. A weak feminine moan follows.
“Take this prisoner out of the house,” Schäfer must be commanding the other officer.
“I—I’m not sure. Why don’t we why find something to read,” Halina suggests to Marlene.
“Don’t let them near the window,” I whisper to Halina. “And you, I don’t want you to look outside either. Can you do that for me?”
“Why—” The look in her eyes, the pain, the understanding, the realization of what happens every second of the day inside of Auschwitz, is harder to see in someone else than to feel for myself.
“Please, spare them, and yourself.”
She nods, unsure and grabs my wrist. “You should go back upstairs. I don’t want you to be caught here,” Halina says.
“You’re right. Don’t forget…” I point at the window then leave the room, wishing I could protect them from listening to the sounds of what I know will happen outside in a matter of seconds.
I head back up to the attic, returning to the constructed framed walls, I peer out between the rafters, spotting Bea, the prisoner who was brought here to keep the house clean, just before Halina started. She wasn’t here long before there was a miscount at an evening line-up. Sylvia claimed Bea died, and her body had been removed. Since none of us saw her body, I considered that she may have tried to escape. I told myself she made it, somehow. It was a slice of hope for the rest of us, I guess.
I didn’t notice any sounds, or know she was hiding in the cellar this whole time. Likely starving and slowly dying. I feel sick.
The sound of a pistol clicking into place strikes a nerve before the shot even comes. I swallow hard and clench my eyes shut as a strangled whine weaves between the rafters. I press my fist to my mouth as the crack of the gunshot shatters between the enclave of trees.
I release my held breath and open my eyes. I can’t let myself feel it…I hardly knew her. I just know she was one of us. And now she’s gone.
“Call for a truck,” Schäfer shouts to the other officer.
Desperation is the ability to feed off rats or rubbish if she managed to escape to the cans at night. She would have been better off fleeing in the middle of the night, but she could hardly keep herself upright on her knees to clean the floors here. She knew her days were coming to an end. Her skeletal body lies in the grass, her bones like thin branches. Another one of us, dead.
“No, no, don’t go over there!” Halina’s muffled words shout with panic.
A screeching squeal pierces through floors. “There’s a dead Jew on the grass!” Marlene screams.
“Papa killed her,” Isla follows, her words unnaturally calm. “She’s a Jew. She was just a bad mushroom, Marlene. A bad one. Remember? Papa is protecting us. He’s always going to protect us from the bad Jewish mushrooms.”
SEVENTEEN
HALINA
An hour ago, I would have had trouble defining the meaning of fear, especially since I’m certain my worst fear would have always been to grow up without parents or a family. I’ve had nightmares and woken up drenched in sweat, jumped at eerie sounds in a dark room, and even screamed so loud that all the birds flew out of a tree at once, all because a squirrel ran across my feet while I was walking through the woods alone.
Now—after witnessing the death of a woman…
I don’t want to ever see someone die again.
That’s true fear. And I didn’t protect the children. I wrestled with Marlene and Isla, trying to stop them, but it all happened so quickly and with Flora in my arms, I lost the fight. Officer Schäfer must have heard his daughter’s scream, but he didn’t come upstairs to check on them. He might not have even known we were upstairs at all.
Julia never would have let me see something like that. She would have just known to keep me away from the window. Somehow. She would still keep me away from the window, even now. I didn’t realize how much she must have been protecting me from.
How could I not tell her that I loved her when I left? I barely embraced her. She must think I’m ungrateful, but it’s not true. Not at all. I’d do anything to tell her what she truly meant—what she means to me.
I hope I get another chance.
