Until yesterday, kapos came twice a day. They’d look us over and tag our prisoner number in the block log.
G for Gesund—still fit for labor or…
KB for Krankenbeau—infirmary bound. No longer fit for labor.
No one wants to be marked as KB, despite the idea of resting in bed all day. It means we’re useless, and it’s only a matter of time before we become dust.
Despite the KB next to my name, I’ve been begging the kapos for work assignments every day to no avail. I know it’s my only chance to survive, especially since they stopped sending prisoners to the gas chambers two months ago.
No one knows why the Nazis put a stop to their genocidal production.
I force myself onto my side to get a grip on the side of the bunk, bracing myself from swaying too much as I descend the two tiers. Bursts of color flicker within my eyes and I blink for a long second to tame my ragged breath as I prepare for the pain in my ribs. If anyone sees me clutch my side or appear unbalanced, unwell in any form, I’ll be marked useless again.
Once I’ve eased myself down to the raw gritty floor, feeling the immediate burn of blisters along my feet from wearing wooden clogs that are too small for me every day. I don’t know when I lost my boots. I woke up one day in the previous ward I was in, and my feet were bare. The day they decided to move me here, a kapo threw a pair of clogs at me and told me to walk. The unforgiving shoes hurt then and hurt now.
“You know you’re still clutching your side like you’re about to shatter. Watch yourself,” Piotr says, his head dipping over the edge of his bunk.
“It hurts less if I press on the pain. And the headaches will pass if I keep moving. I must try?—”
The walk between the rows of beds grows narrower by the day, especially with heads, hands, and feet hanging over ledges. Then there’s the stairwell, with boards that creak louder with every step, moaning as if they might just give in. I hope no one sees me walking like I’ve drunk too much wine. My balance won’t cooperate though, and that sight alone will indicate I’m no longer “fit” for work.
Past the offices and labs on the first floor, I make it to the front door of the barrack when a hand falls heavily on my shoulder. “Where are you heading?”
His voice has become a familiar crutch, one I will never fully trust, but one I have no choice but to believe. The kapo assigned to the recovery unit of this ward, Michal. He isn’t as staunch as most other kapos, but he’s a kapo, nonetheless.
“Roll call,” I tell him, straightening my shoulders to align my posture.
“No roll call today,” Michal says, his words clipped.
“There was no roll call yesterday,” I follow.
“It doesn’t matter,” Michal says. “Go back to bed while you can.”
“No, no. I want to work. I need something to do. Give me a task.”
Michal glances around the corridor as if there’s a response written on a wall. “You’re marked KB,” Michal says. “That means you’re infirmary only. No labor detail. No marching orders. You stay in bed.”
“Then change it,” I mutter through gritted teeth. “Mark me G and I’ll be marked ‘fit’ for work once again. I live.” Kapos haveadvantages none of the rest of us do. Surely, he can make a small change to the log he holds in his possession.
Michal shakes his head. “You collapse one more time and they’ll send you to the execution wall, not to work. Stop asking.”
“I can. I will. I’ll bite through my tongue before I let anyone see my body give out again,” I tell him, a twitch in my left temple arguing with each word. I grit my teeth as if I truly can fight off a tremor.
Michal runs his hand down the back of his head as if he’s struggling to respond to me. “Look, whatever is going on—whatever the officers and guards keep from us—it’s more important than what’s happening in this building.”
“If it doesn’t matter…then let me work.”
Michal reaches into his pocket and pulls out a rag. “Clean the latrines.” He presses the rag into my hand and stares me straight in the eyes. “Don’t make a sound. Don’t draw attention. They can come in for an inspection to update the list at any given moment.”
The word list sends an aching chill down my spine. A list holds more weight than a bullet flying toward my head. Michal leaves, walking out the main door into the fog and snow. A frigid draft sneaks in through the door and claws at my skin like the sharp edges of those dangling icicles. I hurry down the corridor toward the latrines.
A mistake. I move too quickly, and the lights shift around me again—black dots, color splotches, and the ceiling bending toward me. Pain tears through my side, forcing me to stumble, fall against the grimy wall as a gasp pulls short. No air. My legs give out for a brief second and I pray no one has been watching. I won’t fall again. I can’t.
I’m not “fit.”My thoughts battle—a fight I can’t win. I can’t even walk down the corridor.
All this time, I’ve kept my mind on Rosalie. Finding a way to get back to her. God willing. And now I’m more useless than I ever was before. I’ve never needed someone so much in my life. I need her. I’m the one who needs to be saved and protected, and I gave my word to her father I would do that for her. I lied to a dying man. I don’t deserve the opportunity to even clean this rancid latrine.
I spent my life being taken care of in ways I never realized. I took wealth and class for granted. I never knew true sickness because I had care. I had a loving family. And Rosalie was just the cherry on top. Now it’s all gone.
