“I wanted to be a writer when I was a young boy. I loved to read, you know.”
“I love to read too. But my family was religious and I wasn’t allowed to read very much that wasn’t religious text,” she admitted.
“Then I met Gerda at a party. Gerda was very pretty, vivacious, and charming. She wanted to marry a wealthy man. What woman doesn’t. All of my friends wanted to date her. I have to admit, I was surprised when she accepted a dinner invitation from me. One thing led to another and I proposed. At the time, I was a struggling writer. Not earning much. So, my father, who never had much confidence in my writing, was planning to help me open a shop of some sort. We were discussing it, when I was commissioned to go to war. My father was not unhappy about my going off to fight. He thought it would be good for me. He said I was too soft, and war would make me grow up. Do you think I am too soft, Becky?”
She shook her head “No. I think you are a good person.”
“I tell you so many things about me. But you hardly ever tell me anything about you.”
“You know that I am prisoner, that I am Jew. What else do you want to know?”
“Did you have a boyfriend before the war? Where are you from?”
“I’m from Berlin. I was married. I don’t know what has happened to my husband or my family. I have a best friend; she was here in Auschwitz with me, but one day, when I returned to the barracks, she was gone. One of the other inmates said she was taken away in a truck. She is not Jewish. I am so worried about her.”
“You are married?” he asked. Rebecca noticed that he didn’t acknowledge anything she said about Gretchen.
“Yes, I am married.”
“Oh.” He seemed a little put off.
“My marriage is hard to explain. We were more like friends than husband and wife.” Rebecca didn’t know why she felt compelled to tell him that.
“Yes, but you were husband and wife.”
“Legally, yes. But he was in love with my friend. She is the one I told you about, who was taken away in a truck. Her name was Gretchen, and she was arrested for hiding us.”
“You must be very angry with her. You probably hate her for ruining your marriage.”
She smiled and shook her head. “Actually, she is my best friend. I never loved my husband in the way a wife loves her husband. As I said, he is my friend. I care deeply for him. But we had a very different kind of a marriage.”
“I can see that,” he said. “And you don’t know what’s happened to your friend?”
“All I know is that she was arrested with me. We were here together in the same block. Then one day, I returned from work and she was gone. The other women in my block said she was taken away. She could be dead for all I know. For a person in my position, it’s best not to think about loved ones or the way my life was before all of this began.”
“I’m sorry. Sometimes I find myself ashamed of my own people. I can’t understand how the Germans could be doing these terrible things. My own father? How can my own father, the man who took me fishing when I was a boy, how can a man who has compassion for his family, be involved in the murder of innocent people? If you want to know the truth, I hate all of it. I hate the war, I hate the Nazi Party. And I hate Adolf Hitler. His ruthless ambitions are the reason I lost my leg.”
“I’m sorry.” Rebecca glanced at him then quickly looked at the floor. She was afraid. Frightened that he’d said too much and perhaps he would realize that he’d committed treason. Then he might kill her to keep her silent. After all, she was the only person who had heard him say these things that proved he was disloyal to the Nazi Party.
“Becky”—he broke her out of her thoughts and brought her back to the present moment—“don't be afraid of me. I can see in your eyes that you’re afraid that I have told you too much. But please, don’t worry. You’re safe.”
She nodded.
“When I look at you, I can see that you don’t believe me. But you should. I would not hurt you. However, if it makes you feel any better, I know that if you told any of the guards what I said they would not believe you. And we both know that they would punish you. So I know my secret is safe with you.” He smiled, not a mean or vicious smile, but a very real and sincere smile. “Now, I want you to know that any secret you share with me is safe as well. And . . . I want you to trust me.”
She looked at the floor.
“Becky?” he asked. “Would you like me to try to find out what I can about your friend?”
“Would you really do that for me? This is not a trick, is it?” she asked, pleading, as tears formed in her eyes.
“It’s not a trick. And I’ll try to find out what I can about your friend. I can’t guarantee anything. But, yes, I would really do that for you. What is her name?”
“Gretchen, Gretchen Schmidt.”
CHAPTER 61
February, in the Woods
Eli made a poor thief. He felt guilty for stealing the pieces of fruit or vegetables that he was able to find during the night. He took only what he needed from the barns that left their doors open. And he reminded himself constantly that this was the only way he had of surviving. During the day, he stayed hidden and tried to keep moving because he was certain that if he stopped, he would freeze to death. The frigid weather left his fingers and toes numb. The little toes on both of his feet had already turned black and fallen off. His coat was hardly warm enough. When he felt the chill shoot through his chest, he thought of Gretchen, and a moment of warmth spread through him. He missed her, and he missed Rebecca too. They were his family in many ways. One afternoon when he couldn’t walk anymore he sat down and propped himself up against a tree. His feet ached with cold, and he feared to look at them in case more of his toes had fallen off.
I am probably going to die here, he thought. Hashem, are you with me? Answer me? I need to know that I will not die alone. But there was no answer, only the stillness of the forest. I have not served any purpose for being here on earth, and I feel that I have not only failed my father, but I have failed you too. I wanted to lead my people like my father. I wanted to do something for the Jews, to help them. Yet my entire life, I have done nothing. And even worse, I sometimes regret the only noble thing I have ever done, leaving the church to protect the priest and his congregation. It was the right thing to do, the noble thing for sure. But I had food and warmth when I was there. Look at me now: dying, starving, and freezing here in the middle of some dark woods. I don’t even know where I am, not even what country.
Eli put his head in his hands and wept. The tears froze as they hit his cheeks. I will lie down here and try to fall asleep. Perhaps I will dream of Gretchen and Rebecca, and the pain will finally cease forever.
But just as Eli lay his head down on the snow, he heard a sharp cry break through the silence.
“Help. Help me, please. Someone help me.” It was a young boy’s voice. He was speaking in Polish.
Eli jumped up and ran toward the voice, keeping himself hidden by the trees. The cry was followed by weeping. He followed the sound, until he saw a young boy of seven or eight, laying curled up in the snow with a pool of blood beside him. Without a thought for his own safety, Eli rushed to the boy’s side.
“What happened?” Eli asked in Polish. I must still be in Poland, he thought. How far have I walked?
“I’m hurt. I was going hunting and I slipped on the ice. I cut my arm on my knife.”
“Let me see,” Eli said.
The boy showed Eli a deep cut. Eli nodded his head. “Here, let me help you.” He took the knife that was laying on the snow-covered ground and reached under his coat to cut a piece of his shirt. He took the material and tied it around the boy’s arm. “You have to get home and get to a doctor. It looks deep,” Eli said. “Let me help you get up.”
Eli took the boy’s arm and put it around his shoulder, then he lifted the child until the boy was on his feet.
“Thank you,” the boy said.
“You’re most welcome. By
the way, what is the closest city to where we are?” Eli asked, not wanting the boy to know that he was shocked to be in Poland but wanting some idea of his location.
“Warsaw.” The boy was trembling with pain.
“Your arm hurts, I know.”
“Yes, very badly.”
“We have to get you home as soon as possible because you’re still bleeding. I’ll walk you to your gate just to make sure that you arrive safely. Show your parents what happened right away; they will help you.”
The boy nodded. Eli walked him to the gate of his farmhouse then he left.
That was the first person I have spoken to in weeks, Eli thought. Poor child. He should be all right though once he gets home.
Eli lay down. He was so tired, and once again he prepared to go to his eternal sleep. He lay his head on the snow and thanked Hashem for putting the boy in his path and thereby giving him the opportunity to perform one last Mitzva before he died.
Sleep came upon him easily. He felt his body shivering, but he didn’t feel the cold. It seemed almost as if he were outside of his body, watching himself. His head was no longer heavy, and he drifted off without pain, to dreams of Gretchen and Rebecca.
CHAPTER 62
Ravensbrück
The ride to Ravensbrück was frightening and terrible. It was the middle of winter, and the women in the back of the open-air truck huddled together, trying to keep warm. When Gretchen arrived at Ravensbrück, she was taken out of the crowd who were all lined up to be admitted, and she was sent to a private room, where she was greeted by Ilsa.
“Hello, Gretchen Schmidt,” Ilsa said. “I am Commandant Guhr, and it just happens to be your lucky day.”
Gretchen didn’t say a word. She knew better than to stare. She glanced at the pretty, young Nazi officer, with her curly, blonde hair and perfect uniform. She felt a wave of fear shoot through her as she tried to hide her disdain.
“Don’t you want to know why you are so lucky today?” Ilsa asked in a teasing tone.
Gretchen continued to look at the floor.
“You don’t answer? Either you’re a mute or you’re afraid of me.”
Gretchen didn’t say a word but she was trembling inside. At any moment, this woman might hit her with the whip she carried on her belt, or worse.
“Ahhh”—Ilsa threw her hands up—“I’m tired of toying with you. It’s a waste of my time. Come, follow me. We are going to see a friend of yours.”
Gretchen had no choice but to follow, and so she did.
Again, she was loaded into the back of a truck with an armed guard, while Ilsa sat in the cab with the driver. After a quick ten-minute drive, the truck stopped in front of a small, white house. The guard pushed Gretchen out of the back of the truck, and she fell, headfirst, into the snow. Ilsa came around and looked at her. “Get up. Let’s go,” she said impatiently. Then she waved the guard away. “Go sit in the cab of the truck. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
Ilsa knocked on the door.
A cold wind rushed and penetrated Gretchen’s thin, gray-striped uniform, chilling her bald head.
The door opened.
Gretchen almost fainted when she saw Hilde. Hilde’s face was as pale as the snow outside. “Gretchen,” was all she said.
“Well, it’s cold out here. Aren’t you going to invite me in?” Ilsa said.
“Yes, yes, of course,” Hilde said. “Please, come in.”
Ilsa pushed Gretchen forward. Then they were inside. Warmth filled Gretchen. The smell of something cooking made her mouth water. The sounds of a child at play made her want to cry with joy, with sadness, with memories.
“See, I told you I could do it. I said I would talk to some of my friends, and I’d find her and get her for you. Here she is.” Ilsa smiled, cocking her head as if to say, I have the power. Now you owe me. “She’ll be your housemaid and babysitter. And . . . since you have someone to watch the boy, you’ll have no excuse but to come back to work at Ravensbrück and to fulfill your promise to me.”
“I promised you I would return to work and I will. I am grateful to you, Ilsa,” Hilde said, but she hated Ilsa and wished she had the power to kill her and make it look like an accident. Again, she reminded herself that Ilsa had friends.
“Well, I want to see that gratitude, Hilde, not just hear about it. You know what we discussed.”
Hilde nodded. “I’ll be back at work starting next week. And I will do what I said I would do for you. Would that be all right?”
“Of course. I expect you on Monday morning.”
“Yes,” Hilde nodded.
After Ilsa left, Gretchen and Hilde stood looking at each other for a long time. Then Hilde said in a small voice, “Can you ever forgive me?”
Gretchen stared at Hilde. She was angry at her, yet she saw the regret in Hilde’s eyes. Hilde had caused so much trouble. And because of her, Rebecca was still in danger. She wanted to mention Rebecca. Perhaps that blonde guard might be able to help bring Rebecca here. But she knew that Hilde was terribly jealous of Rebecca, and she didn’t want to open that floodgate. Not just yet. Poor Hilde stood wringing her hands. Gretchen felt the anger begin to fade. She’d always pitied Hilde. And even with all that Hilde had done, she pitied her now. “Oh, Hilde,” Gretchen said.
Hilde came forward gingerly and hugged Gretchen. Just then a little boy with a head full of blond hair and a bright smile, came into the room. He pulled at the bottom of Hilde’s skirt.
“This is my son, Anatol.”
Gretchen knew not to question.
CHAPTER 63
Auschwitz
Jan continued to bring Rebecca extra food. While she ate, they talked. He told her about the poetry he had written and the books he loved.
“Would you like to know a secret?” Jan asked Rebecca one afternoon, while she was eating a sausage on a thick hunk of bread.
She looked up at him. “If you want to tell me, then yes.”
“I wrote a book. Not just a book of poetry. But a book. It’s not published, of course, or it wouldn’t be a secret.” He smiled.
She smiled back at him. “Can I ask what it’s about?”
“My life. Growing up with my powerful, often power-hungry father. And how my love for him turned to disillusionment.”
Rebecca didn’t respond. Sometimes she was still a little afraid of him even though he had never given her any reason to be.
“Would you like to read it?” he asked.
She nodded. “I would, but I can’t. I don’t have anyplace where I can read. When I am here, at your home, I have my work to do. And when I am back at my block, I must sleep. I would have no place where I can hide a manuscript.”
“Ahhh, that’s so true. I never thought about it,” he said. “I can imagine that life is very hard for you. I wish I had the power to make things better.”
“You already have. I can’t tell you how much the extra food helps.”
“I’ve made some small inquires about your friend, but I haven’t been able to find out much. I might be able to, if I dig deeper. But then someone might tell my father that I am asking about the whereabouts of a prisoner, especially a girl who came in with you; he could put two and two together and send you away from our house to another work detail. I don’t want to risk that. And the worst part of it is that if my father suspected we were friends, he might have you assigned to a more difficult job.”
She nodded. Rebecca didn’t care what happened to her if it meant she might be able to help Gretchen. But even though Jan was kind, she still dared not push him too hard. At least not yet.
“My parents are going on a holiday in a couple of weeks. They will be gone for five days. Would you like to have a bath during that time?”
“A bath?” Rebecca said. Her face turned red with modesty. “A bath?”
She longed for a bath. It would be wonderful to be clean again. But was this man expecting more from her in exchange for the luxury of a bath?
“You’re blushing.
” He smiled. “I don’t expect anything in return. I pride myself on being a gentleman. I am offering a bath, nothing more.”
“Yes, oh yes. I would love a bath,” she said.
“Very well, then, it’s settled. You shall have a bath in our tub when my parents leave.”
CHAPTER 64
Jan began opening up to Rebecca by reading his poems to her.
She never asked him any questions about why he’d written a specific piece. She just listened and nodded. As time passed, his episodes of sarcastic rants gave way to heartfelt pain. He finally admitted how hurt he’d been when his fiancée told him that she couldn’t marry a man with one leg even if he was a war hero. Jan told her how repulsed he was by his own body. He explained that the absence of his leg cost him in more ways than he’d ever admitted to anyone. It made him feel insecure and sometimes worthless. Occasionally, he told her a little about the war.
Then he asked about her life. She told him about Eli and Gretchen. And each day she found it easier to talk to him. He was a good listener. Not judgmental at all. Never once did he make any derogatory reference to the fact she was Jewish. Rebecca explained that she came from a religious family and her marriage to Eli had been an arranged marriage. She admitted to him that she had agreed to the marriage to please her parents. However, she told him, she’d known that Eli was not her bashert from the very first time they met.
“Your hair is growing back in. It’s very pretty,” he said one day, as he touched her head.
She shivered. No man other than Eli had ever touched her in such a tender way. She was suddenly ashamed of her head with the tiny sprouted curls. “I had long, blonde hair before my head was shaved.”
“It must have been terrible for you.”
Rebecca shrugged. “I had less of a shock than some of the other girls. You see, as a Hasidic Jewish woman, it was my mother’s responsibility to come and shave my head the day after my wedding. So I had seen myself bald before. And I guess it wasn’t as traumatic for me as it might have been if I had never seen it.”
The Darkest Canyon Page 21