He acknowledges my words but doesn’t respond. I don’t know if he’s managed to get any physical work done today, but if he has, I’m sure that took the remainder of whatever strength he had left. He needed that to make it through the night. The kapo though…if he finds Gavriel sitting rather than working, he wouldn’t make it until tonight.
“Everything is all set for tonight. We’re going to follow through with our plan at eight p.m. Ada told me she’s arranged for all prisoners to stay throughout the duration of the dinner party. They might assign you tasks, but just before eight, you’ll need to come back up here and change into these clothes then meet me at the bottom of the attic’s stairway. I’ll be waiting with Flora. Do you think you have the strength for this?”
“Yes, I will do my part. I won’t let you down, Hali.”
I stare into his tired eyes, still glimmering with a hint of hope.
“You couldn’t possibly let me down, no matter what you do or don’t do,” I tell him, placing a gentle kiss on his cheek. “I have to write a letter to the commandant then prepare the girls for an appearance tonight. Will you be all right for a bit longer?”
“A letter to the commandant? You say this as if you’re joining him for tea too. What do you mean?” Gavriel’s eyes speak of amusement, confusion, and concern, all at once.
“You can trust me,” I tell him, using the same words he offered me when I arrived.
“I do. With all my heart.”
Downstairs, the air is steeped with mouthwatering aromas spilling out of the kitchen, fatty juices from a roast, fresh bread, pastries, dressed up potatoes—it’s like a dream I won’t be taking part in. I’m sure Gavriel can smell it all up in the attic too, just more torture for the starving.
Chatter is bouncing between all the walls, between hired help, slave servants like me, and prisoner laborers like Gavriel. No one here is of the same labeled class, yet we all entered this world the same way. It will never make sense to me. The closer we get to the start of the dinner party, the more nervous I become.
“We need more linen tablecloths, Halina,” Ada shouts from the corridor between the kitchen and the servant door. I should have known she would find a way to assign me work rather than taking care of her children. I move into the hallway to make my way to the washroom where the laundered table linen is stacked and pass Benson on the way, holding a tray of cooking utensils, and Rueben carrying pillars of candles out into the back yard. I’ve only seen the two of them from a distance, never officially meeting them, but they appear to be in the same battered condition as Gavriel, maybe just not as bruised as he currently is.
Just as I turn the corner, I nearly collide with Heinrich. I didn’t know he was home, or when he got here. Only I’mstartled. He isn’t. Nothing fazes him. “Just the person I was looking for,” he says, his voice low, quiet amid the hustle and bustle around us. He lifts a brown envelope, the flap already open, and waves it in the air in front of my face.
“What can I do for you, Officer Schäfer,” I say, showing the man a form of respect he doesn’t deserve.
“If I had known the importance of the paperwork I was waiting on with regard to you, I might have asked the couriers to expedite the handling process.” My papers. My lungs stop moving. My chest threatens to cave in, and I can’t catch my breath. “This is quite an oversight, isn’t it?”
“I’m—I’m not sure what you mean,” I reply, sounding as if I already know what he’s talking about, which I believe I do.
He puckers the opening of the envelope and shuffles the papers around inside, looking into the dark hole before reaching in then slowly revealing my demise. An angry heat singes through every limb of my body as he unfolds the documents and holds them out in front of his face.
“Halina Wojic,” he reads. “Daughter of Nora Belle Wojic. No known father listed. Jewish by birth.”
Pain slices through my temples and the room begins to wobble as if I’m a spinning top, though I haven’t moved an eyelid. He must be able to hear how hard I’m breathing. He’s taking pleasure in this moment while I die inside. Heinrich folds the papers back up and slides them into his coat pocket like it’s nothing more than a paper napkin.
“Well, you’ve hidden yourself well. But I’m sure you know it’s only a matter of time before every one of you is found. That’s our job—and we do it well.” He steps in closer to me, uncomfortably close, his breath stale of nicotine and hard liquor. “You’ll do whatever Frau Schäfer has assigned to you for work tonight,” he utters under his breath. “We’ll handle this after dinner. This will be your final night in this house, as I’m sure you can guess.”
Words don’t come to me, not like they have when I’ve been wrongly brave too many times in the presence of this family. Has he already told Ada what he’s found out about me? Will she call off our agreement now knowing I’m even more inferior than she thought hours ago? Even if I told Heinrich all her secrets, he wouldn’t believe me now. Germans of the Reich think all Jews are liars. They’ve made that clear.
No. They hardly speak unless it’s for argument’s sake. He’ll tell her after he “handles me” as he said. But not if I get out of here first. I have to keep focused. Gavriel and I—we have a plan. It’s our only plan. Our only chance…
Heinrich walks off, out into the back yard where people are filing in from the side gate.
Flora releases a timely shriek, informing me she’s awoken from her nap. She slept longer than I expected, which gives me hope that she’ll be content as I showcase her, Isla and Marlene around the party as if they’re prize-winning ponies on display. Only so the high-ranking officers’ wives can comment on how precious they are.
I collect the children, double checking their appearance, and present them outside. Each of my strides, casual, calm, unafflicted—as if I don’t plan to escape this nightmare before the night’s over.
After we’ve made our full stride around each table, we end at the elite table in the center, the name cards carrying the commandant’s title, his wife, son, and daughter, along with a couple of foreign dignitaries. Another round of compliments are gifted to Isla and Marlene, both of whom respond with a curtsy. And Flora is content, pulling at my braid and ignoring the fuss around us somehow.
“All right, ladies, it’s time to go inside now,” I tell the girls. Isla and Marlene curtsy once more as smiles draw from cheekto cheek. I spot Celina and Rosalie waltzing around the children they care for, both with a side-eye on me.
The commandant and his family stand from their seats, smile at us and walk toward the crowd. I reach into my apron pocket and retrieve the letter I wrote earlier today and place it beneath his folded napkin. It’s hardly a full page of writing, but it should be enough to convey the message, marked as concern.
There’s only a very fine line between the enemy and their uniform, decorated with medals and rank insignia. The line is their integrity—frail and insecure. Abuses of power result in a violation of German civil code. Isla and Marlene’s schoolbooks cover these laws in incredible detail. They must be important.
A child born to a Jewish mother in Auschwitz who was stolen by a member of the SS for personal gain, thus compromising Aryan loyalty for the sole purpose of portraying a “good family.” Heinrich Schäfer not only physically abuses his wife but emotionally abuses his daughters and poisons the stolen infant by lacing her bottle with bourbon to keep her asleep all day. The commandant should know that the Reich is unknowingly supporting this behavior toward a woman and her children. Heinrich gives SS officers the poorest look while representing the most elite and superior race of thugs. In an honest world, no one would be surprised. But in this world, even where the death of innocent people is condoned, it isn’t considered acceptable to treat fellow Aryans this way.
I usher the children inside, knowing every second matters right now.
