“How’s the pain?” she asks, a flash of concern flickering through her eyes.
“What pain?”
Halina drops her head to the side. “Very funny.”
She lifts Flora to settle her on the bed before offering me her hand to help me up. I think she might have forgotten she wasn’t able to move me just a minute ago, but despite that, even if she can’t lift me, the effort means everything. I manage to get back on my feet and Hali touches her cool hands to my cheeks.
“I shouldn’t have Flora up here. You shouldn’t be in this room,” she says.
“I don’t want to be anywhere else,” I tell her.
She grabs my arms, clawing at them as if trying not to lose her grip, then rises onto her toes to kiss me once more—a kiss no longer than a blink, but a second worth remembering for eternity. Then she shoves me out the door.
Flora releases a shrill cry, loud enough to give away her presence up in the attic to anyone inside or outside the house. Halina scoops her up, snatches the pitcher of water, and thewax-paper-wrapper then hurries down the stairs. The timing couldn’t be worse. The sound of the front door swinging open coincides with her footsteps hitting the bottom landing, her arms filled with food and water remnants, and no explanation…
THIRTY
HALINA
Flora weighed heavily in my arms as I was storming down the hallway of the main floor toward the kitchen to return the pitcher of water, when the front door swung open. Instinct spun me around, leaving me face to face with the man I saw shouting at Adam outside earlier. The rules between these prisoners who are called kapos and the prisoners themselves are foggy. I’m not supposed to speak to the prisoners. I wonder what the rule will be when I become one of them.
Does he see the guilt on my face, the worry in my eyes, or the heaviness of my breath. Does it matter? He’s scrutinizing me with his dark stare in a way I don’t think he should. Perhaps like a bumble bee, if I stay very still and ignore his presence, he’ll continue along his way. If not, I suspect there will be questions.
My brain is in a fog until Flora’s burst of tears reignites. “Let’s go have that warm bath, sweet girl, shall we?”
“In a drinking water pitcher?” the kapo says. His words snake around my throat and squeeze.
“I can’t find a different one,” I utter, brushing past the man to return up to the bedroom floor.
“Is there a problem here?” Ada’s voice yanks me to a stop before climbing up another step.
“No, Frau Schäfer,” the kapo says, removing his striped cap and bowing to her.
I hurry up the stairway, telling myself it was only the kapo she was questioning.
“Halina, what are you doing with the pitcher of water?” Ada follows, again stopping me from making it up any further stairs.
“I was going to give Flora a bath.” With the wrong pitcher of water. The proper one is in the washroom upstairs, where it’s kept.
“I see,” she says with a sigh. “Except you are aware that is not the pitcher we use for bath water, yes?”
I wouldn’t know what pitcher of water is used for bath water because you haven’t given me any instructions aside from poisoning your daughter, the hours to wake up and go to sleep, and to act as though the Jewish people working in this house don’t exist. It’s becoming exceedingly difficult to keep my thoughts to myself.
“I didn’t know,” I say, simply, lying, acting as stupid as she sees me. I’m aware of the bath pitcher in the washroom.
“Yes. There is one beneath the sink pedestal in the upstairs washroom. What have you been using all this time?”
“This…” I say, peering back at the glass pitcher. “I didn’t know there were separate ones for various uses, but I understand now.” I tread back down the few steps and twist around the banister toward the kitchen to replace the water pitcher.
“Halina,” Ada says, stopping me once more. “Has there been any trouble while I’ve been gone? Anything I need to report to Officer Schäfer?” Ada’s voice continues to drone, but her words are blunt and accusatory as she shifts her focus back to the kapo.
“No, Frau Schäfer. Everything is in order here.” I’m surprised he didn’t make mention of Adam’s indiscretion in the backyard.
“Good,” she says.
I replace the pitcher on the counter and make a note to dispose of the wax paper in my apron pocket somewhere Ada won’t notice.
The kapo leaves through the servant door in the back, likely to go back to scrutinizing Adam, and Ada is shuffling through envelopes in front of the decorative wall table beneath the stairs.
