ROSALIE
AUSCHWITZ I
Present Day: July 5, 1944
For the last three months, I’ve been cataloging documents for Officer Weyman in a brick building looming just before the barbed-wire fence line. The commandants refer to this building as Protected Custody. Protected. The only people needing protection are those on the other side of the fence.
I occupy a small desk facing a barred window that offers a glimpse of the grid of long, narrow brick barracks. Behind me, Weyman’s eccentric, oversized and polished desk gleams beneath an emerald-shaded lamp. Nazi emblems and vibrant propaganda posters neatly line the wall. It’s all about façades, but the air reeks of death and mold. And the constant chaos of typewriters clacking at different speeds from adjoining offices jolt panic through my veins all day.
The fingers on my left hand tap furiously against the desk while my other hand cramps each time I dip the tip of my pen into the inkpot. All I do is stare at the list—ever-changing, ever-growing. A ledger for every letter of the alphabet, each one tallying another stolen life. Neat, detailed records are imperativebecause…“We’re running out of time,” Weyman says. He says this daily.
Time. Time doesn’t run out.
I glance at my watch—Papa’s watch. He tried to control life with its steady tick, believing time could shield people from tragedy, keep days from facing the unexpected.
Weyman counts time in corpses, needing to hit a quota by nightfall.
I keep the thought to myself—I keep everything to myself. I’m a puppet to this monster, just to stay alive. And only for a thread of hope that Stefan is still alive.
I tap my pen against the desk, matching the speed of my racing pulse. How could Stefan still be alive after what I witnessed him go through three months ago? Maybe that’s why Weyman and the doctor have me sorting through prisoner death logs. To understand the consequence of what he calls, “preferential treatment.”
The list grows longer by the day, and messier. When I spot missing entries, I’m ordered to carry the log to the last assigned barrack, have them correct it, then bring it back so the record is up to date and complete.
“Another stack,” Weyman says, slapping the pile of pages onto my desk. He presses his hand to the stack then brushes his knuckles against mine. Not just a brief touch this time. His fingers curl over mine, trapping my hand beneath his. My pulse thrashes in my neck with terror as I peer out from the corner of my eye, petrified to look up at him. He leans down, close enough for his breath to stroke my cheek. “You’re quicker than usual today,” he says, his voice deep with a sense of enthrallment. “You like to leave a good impression, don’t you?”
Panic holds me in its grip as he lifts my hand, twists my wrist and traces the pad of his thumb across my pulse. “Afflicted or affected? Always a mystery to me.”
He drops my hand, but the imprint of his touch sears through my flesh. I yank my hand back—a quick reflex—too obvious. His eyes squint, as if my refusal is an act of defiance—but also a challenge he intends to win.
“Get on with it,” he says, tapping his index finger against the pile. “We’re still behind.”
Sweat prickles down my spine as I straighten my posture, forcing my fingers to grip the pen harder. I hold in a breath, refusing to give him more of what he wants—a window to my vulnerability and fear. I have to erase the moments he takes to claim me, wipe them from my face, and somehow from my memory, then keep moving.
I refocus my attention to the main ledger I combine logs into, each row a repetition of copying data into columns labeled:
Date of Death | Prisoner Number | Name | Date of birth | Notes (Category codes) | Current Location/Status
* 04.07.44 | 12X832 | Posner, Boris | 02.10.16 | J, Pol, Heart failure | Deceased
* 04.07.44 | 11X7321 | Potasz, Karl Israel | 11.12.22 | Pol, Pneumonia | Deceased
* 04.07.44 | A-2X3122 | Potasznik, Gabriela | 05.02.30 |J, Intestinal disease | Deceased
* 04.07.44 | 16X311 | Potocki, Emanuel | 10.09.10 | J, Typhus | Deceased
* 04.07.44 | 17X124 | Potok, Wilhelm Israel | 12.21.27 | R, Bronchitis | Deceased
* 04.07.44 | A-2X6620 | Prager, Borta Sara | 06.30.26 | Pol, Pneumonia | Deceased
* 04.07.44 | 16X936 | Preiss, Rudolf | 02.15.11 | J, Heart failure | Deceased
* 04.07.44 | 18X73 | Privler, Bernhard | 11.04.33 | Former test subject | Infirmary Bl. 19
The ink from my pen seeps from pausing too long. But I can’t take my eyes off the last entry…
This must be an error from whoever logged this information. No one has listed alivingprisoner with this category before.
Former test subject. Infirmary Bl. 19.
