The Rabbit Girls

by Anna Ellory

  ‘This is . . .’ Miriam stands to place the letter back down on the table, having no words to convey her feelings at the letter she has just read.

  ‘It says somewhere in there the truth is ugly?’ Eva asks.

  ‘But this? The children?’ Miriam asks. ‘My father couldn’t have known about these letters. He wouldn’t still be thinking of someone who could even consider condemning such vulnerable women, mutilated, bed-bound women. No. And children?’ Miriam shakes her head. ‘This cannot be the person my dad is talking about, he cannot love . . . this.’ She emphasises her point by shaking the letter.

  ‘You are probably right,’ Eva says. ‘But, as you well know, love is sometimes not what we once expected it to be.’

  20

  MIRIAM

  ‘These letters are so important, but,’ Miriam says, ‘they are so hard to read and I had no idea. Did this actually happen? People treated each other this way?’

  ‘That’s why so many of the stories are lost. People who experienced it cannot find the words, and those around them do not want to hear. Words hold a lot more power than we realise,’ Eva says. Then, speaking more to herself, she continues, ‘Even the darkest words will find the light.’

  Miriam picks up the next letter. ‘I suppose what is lost can always be found.’

  Henryk,

  After the Kommandant, Stella launched herself into me and held my hand.

  ‘Hello, pretty lady, you take me home now?’ She swung her arm in mine.

  The little Dutch children found me by Block 20. The older one spat on the ground.

  ‘You lied,’ he said.

  ‘I am sorry – have you tried looking for her in the revier?’ I shrank at the thought of the camp hospital: revier, a place of agony and death, not always from illness.

  ‘Yes, but she is not sick. You told us you find her, you told us you help. You lie.’ He spat again. ‘Everyone is always lying.’

  Stella watched the children, her hand safely tucked in mine. I wanted them to go away. I feared how much Stella understood of this interaction.

  ‘Maybe we can look for her together. I will help you.’

  ‘No. We not need your help. You are one of them.’ The younger child pointed to the guard. ‘You are one of them!’ She said it louder and I wanted to make her shut up. The insult vibrated in my chest.

  The children held hands and turned from me.

  Stella looked up, seeking an explanation, which I did not give.

  I called out to their receding backs.

  ‘Tell me your grandmother’s name, I will help you if I can.’

  The boy called back, ‘Grandmamma.’

  Miriam takes a long shaky breath, before composing herself enough to pick up the next letter.

  Henryk,

  I returned to the block where Bunny was quietly sewing and Stella jumped up on the bed next to her, playing happily with a new doll made from a dirty cotton rag tied in little knots to make a head, hands and feet.

  I sat in Eugenia’s bunk and told her I had a job.

  Eugenia sat straighter and gave me her full attention as I explained.

  Henryk, I am worried, this place . . . it would be better than shifting sand, but it feels like a change and I am worried what they will ask me to do. But as Eugenia said, it’s not like I was given a choice.

  At roll call Hani joined me under a clear sky at the Appellplatz, where we stood for hours before soup. The guards counting us, recounting us, making us stand. If anyone fell they would start again.

  ‘It always takes longer in winter,’ Eugenia whispered in my ear.

  ‘Longer than this?’ I asked, and she nodded.

  I was about to relay this to Hani, but she had a deep frown on her face and avoided my eye.

  I held her hand, but she pulled away.

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘You lie,’ she whispered. Then, ‘You lie,’ shouted loud enough for the guards to look at us. Eugenia told us both to be quiet and the silence returned.

  Hani shifted from foot to foot, her hands clenched then unclenched as she crossed and uncrossed them. Whatever the matter with Hani was, it would boil over, and soon, I thought.

  Finally, the roll call over, we walked back into the block. ‘What is the matter?’ I said.

  ‘You. You are the matter,’ she said, and grabbed my arm. ‘You NAZI!’

  ‘Hani, shut up. What are you talking about?’ I whispered as I collected soup from the vat into my bowl and pulled out the spoon attached to my dress.

  ‘Paulo and Brigitte, you know them?’ she asked, still loud, collecting a ladle of soup, but pulling away too fast so that it spilled down the side.

  ‘No.’

  ‘The children, little baby children, you chose Paulo to be attacked.’

  I tried to explain to her. To tell her that I hadn’t made the decision. That I had been asked, but the guard had chosen to attack Paulo. Hani was upset.

  ‘He has marks over his back. You say you help them find their grandmother. They go for help and they find you. You tell Kommandant you help her. You choose Paulo to take your punishment. You SALUTE!’

  ‘Hani. Shut. Up.’ I said. Her voice carried and it felt like everyone was watching us.

  ‘You liar, you lie to me, again.’

  ‘No, I didn’t mean to. Please keep your voice down and I will explain.’

  ‘Give you time to lie again?’ she replied. ‘Who are you? You look like a picture postcard. You could be Nazi.’

  I touched the top of her arm. ‘Please, listen.’

  ‘Don’t touch me.’

  ‘Fine, but listen and I’ll explain.’

  She quietened, but I didn’t know what to say. We were surrounded by people, although talking in Dutch, still you never knew who was listening.

  ‘The children,’ I said. ‘How do you know they are telling the truth?’

  She slapped me clean across the face. It didn’t hurt my skin, it was a slap to the stomach, ice cold, followed by a stare. It’s the worst attack I’ve ever experienced. It stung my heart more than my face.

  ‘I love you, I trust you,’ she sobbed. ‘You leaving, is that it? Leaving me here?’

  ‘No, but I did try to leave,’ I said. I was trying to eat soup. An hour before I’d felt famished, but now I could not stomach even a spoonful. I slid it over to Stella, who took it happily.

  ‘Can I share with Bunny?’ she asked, and she took the bowl away back to the bunk. After we both watched her leave, in hushed whispers I told Hani everything.

  She was silent.

  ‘Please talk to me,’ I begged.

  Hani finished her soup and walked away without a word.

  She hasn’t said another word to me. I have been frozen out. She is asleep with her head where our feet normally go. I have lost something I didn’t know I had, nor earned. I don’t think I’ve ever felt this alone. I don’t know if she’ll forgive me or if I deserve it. I suppose tomorrow will tell.

  ‘The letters.’ Miriam takes a deep breath. ‘It’s just so incredibly sad.’

  Eva walks to the table, placing the folded dress on it.

  Miriam smooths her fingers across the coarse fabric. ‘It’s awful to imagine such conditions,’ she says. ‘And the letters keep reminding me of things.’

  Miriam tries to find some words to describe what she means. Eva waits.

  ‘Like the standing in Appellplatz,’ Miriam begins. ‘My husband used to set a timer, you know, like a cooking timer, he’d read about it somewhere, to help us work out some issues we were having. He’d have his say then I could have mine, I think that was how it was supposed to work.’

  ‘He timed you?’

  ‘Yes. I cannot remember what issues they were now. But I had to stand, while we talked, so that I could give him my full attention. If I teetered or swayed he’d reset the timer.’ She can hear the mechanical crunch as the egg timer, in the shape of a chicken, was wound back up to thirty – always thirty – minutes.

>   Eva’s face changes and she sits opposite Miriam, folding her hands on to her lap.

  ‘It got worse and worse,’ Miriam says. ‘There was no way I could do it. It sounded so simple. Just stand and we can talk. He did it, stood and talked to me. But I had to look up at him and well, I just kept coming over all wobbly.’ Miriam glances at Eva. ‘It’s not anything like this,’ Miriam says, lifting the letter in her hand. ‘I’m . . .’ She runs her fingers along the stripes of the dress.

  ‘Miriam,’ Eva says.

  She doesn’t look up. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t mean even for a second to compare this to . . . what the rabbit girls went through, or the letters, my father even. It just reminds me of things, that’s all.’

  ‘It sounds like you have had a terrible time,’ Eva says, leaning forward.

  ‘He wouldn’t let me sleep until I had achieved it. Thirty minutes,’ Miriam says, her voice trembles. ‘That was all. But he wouldn’t let me sleep. I was begging him, just to allow me some rest and I could do it,’ she whispers. ‘I was sure I could do it.’

  Miriam felt the ache in her neck from looking up at Axel, she felt the skip in her heart as the black spots came over her vision, she screamed at herself, just a few more minutes.

  The egg timer was down to five, she could see it.

  Five more minutes and it would be over. It ticked, like a clock, but faster, like the heart of the chicken.

  Tic-tick-tic-tick-tic.

  Five more minutes and she could rest, she could sleep.

  ‘So, what do you think?’ Axel asked.

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I think yes.’ She had no idea what she was agreeing to, the complexities of his argument were beyond her scope. There was no room for anything else. Just stay upright. Just keep standing.

  ‘Woah,’ Axel said, holding her by the shoulders as she fell into him, eyes closed, trying to come back. The black circles surrounded her.

  He sat her gently on the sofa, their sofa. Their new-beginning sofa. And brought her a cup of water from the kitchen.

  ‘How are you feeling?’ Concern etched into his face.

  ‘I’m very tired, Axel, can we do this some other time?’

  ‘Do what?’ he asked.

  ‘The discussion. I agree to what you said, but can we resume it, if you have anything further to ask me, perhaps tomorrow?’

  ‘What discussion, my love?’ He looked so confused she placed a hand on his cheek.

  ‘The – the egg timer, the focus on . . . I am just really tired,’ she said.

  ‘Miriam, where have you been?’ His voice was quiet.

  ‘Right here,’ she stuttered. ‘I felt a bit faint talking to you.’

  ‘We talked and I went to bed hours ago. You said you were coming up, but I came back to find you here, talking to yourself, mumbling about something you had lost. Have you lost something?’

  Miriam shook her head until the black spots came back into her vision. ‘No. We were talking, you made me stand . . .’

  ‘I made you stand?’

  She nodded.

  ‘My dear, why would I do that?’

  She had no answer. But she could feel his words worm their way into her and muddle what she thought she knew.

  ‘With the timer, I felt faint.’

  ‘I was asleep, you woke me, again, with your muttering. I think,’ he continued, ‘this might be another of those moments we were talking about at the doctor’s the other day.’ He stood up and walked away.

  ‘No,’ she cried and stumbled after him, falling to the floor. ‘No, Axel, please.’

  The mechanical whirr and then the click of the camera propelled her into the foetal position. ‘No,’ she cried.

  The camera wheezed out a picture and Axel flapped it in the air. ‘As the doctors say, we need to collect evidence if we can have a hope to help you.’

  Miriam didn’t move. The carpet spun around her. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I’m so sorry, Axel.’

  ‘It’s all right, my love. In sickness and in health. It’s bedtime, my wife,’ he said in a lullaby voice. ‘Shall I carry you up?’

  When she said nothing, he walked out of the room. She heard his footsteps pound on the staircase.

  ‘Don’t be long,’ he called.

  She opened her eyes and looked up to the mantel. The camera was there and next to it, right beside it.

  The timer.

  ‘And?’ Eva prompts after she falls silent.

  ‘I was medicated,’ she says. ‘No one believed me. I didn’t believe myself. I am sorry, it has nothing to do with the letters, the camps. I am being ridiculous.’

  Eva opens her mouth to say something but Miriam interjects.

  ‘I need to check on my father,’ she says, shrugging away the heaviness in her neck and shoulders. ‘I’ve been sitting too long,’ she says to herself.

  ‘Are you all right, Miriam?’

  ‘I am tired, so tired.’

  ‘Would you like me to go?’

  ‘If you would like to,’ she says, and supports herself on the wall feeling light-headed. ‘I need to check on Dad.’

  ‘You’ve had a very long day,’ Eva says, following Miriam into the hall.

  She walks towards her father’s room and Eva moves towards the door.

  ‘Thank you for making it better,’ Miriam mumbles and watches Eva’s shadow retreat into the hall.

  Later, Miriam washes the dishes, her hands performing a mundane task as her mind wanders, skips and jumps to the details in the letters.

  She picks up a bottle of red wine, thinks again and replaces it, instead opting for the open packet of codeine. She imagines swallowing the bitter-tasting pills.

  Lingering at the window she looks down at the street, a shadow crosses the path. Axel. Closing the curtains so that the rings clatter on the pole, she checks the door is locked. Checks her feather is there. Miriam lifts one of the chairs from the living room, it is heavy and she waddles it so that it rests behind the door. ‘He’s back,’ she says, turning the lock, again.

  Miriam spends the night in the chair by her father, the decisions made earlier in the day circling her. She can hear a tic-tic-tick in the hum of the air mattress that she hadn’t heard before. Tomorrow.

  She holds her father’s hand and leans back into the chair. Her eyes close and she longs for the blanket of sleep to envelop her.

  ‘The ceremony,’ he whispers, and her eyes open to his voice. ‘The ceremony of innocence is drowned,’ he says.

  ‘Yes, Dad. Yes, it is.’

  ‘Miriam. Miriam. You. Are . . .’

  ‘I’m here. I love you, Dad,’ she says and waits, watching his every movement, but he snores and rests, and soon enough she does too.

  21

  HENRYK

  In my first clear memory after Auschwitz, the sunlight reflected on the grass hurt my eyes. It was green. So green that it shone like gold. So sharp my eyes wept. I was bringing a damp handkerchief to my cheeks and praying that someone would move me indoors.

  Then a pink hand touched my knee, a tiny, but heavy, little pink hand. It was followed by another and then a little pink person appeared, a face at knee height. Her dark hair and dark eyes set within a moon face gave her a doll-like appearance. She smiled at me, a toothless grin. My face cracked and something came back.

  I smiled.

  I realised I was sitting in a chair on the grass, gravel surrounding it. The sun was not hot, but a comfortable warmth that reached the bones without stinging the skin. It must have been late autumn. There were voices around me but they were like the birds chirping: slightly irritating, easily ignored.

  I leant forward and looked past my knees and down. My shoes were on the wrong feet. I wasn’t wearing socks. Sitting on the grass, one leg underneath her and two hands at my shoelaces, fingers absorbed in the knot, was a little girl.

  My little girl.

  This was Miriam.

  MIRIAM

  She watches the flame burn ever closer to her fingers, the
bright flame kisses her raw skin. She waits. They would be here any second. The heat licks at her fingers, intoxicating on her open skin, her fingers shake as she strikes another match, then they calm, become steady.

  The smell is delicious.

  Fire and its ever-powerful ability to destroy and blacken everything. Turn everything to dust. It would be a beautiful way to go. Watching the apartment go up in flames, caressing the old chair, journeying up the walls. Sucking the oxygen from the room. Once ignited, fire will steal everything in its path. She considers how it would be to fall into unconsciousness while watching the work of the flames as they dance in her parents’ home.

  The strike of a match stops the tremors of her hands. A task that prevents her from harming herself.

  She watches the flame eat through the stick, moving closer and closer to her fingers. A knock makes her jump, she drops the match to the floor and instinctively stomps it out.

  They are here.

  For him.

  They arrive with a stretcher. It’s a reversal of how he came home from the hospital, a fortnight previously when she had agreed to bring him home. The hospital was no place for him. People should be able to die in their beds, surrounded by their things. The medical professionals had said. And now they are taking him away.

  Instead of relief when the paramedics leave she feels only loss.

  They take him away, safely pack him into the ambulance. She kisses his clammy head, holds his hand desperately, not wanting to let him go.

  Miriam fully checks the apartment. It is empty, the kind of empty that fills your ears like water.

  Submersion empty.

  The white walls, the large furniture, the space. With nothing to do. Alone and pointless. She waits, for what she is unsure, she looks out into the never-changing sea of wet and dark.

  By late afternoon, having heard nothing about her father’s transfer, Miriam continues reading the letters, translated large and bold by Eva. There is nothing else for her to do. She picks up the next one. And as she unfolds it, she knows that nothing will end well.

  My first day in the new job, translating letters in ‘Canada’, a large storage unit with all prisoner belongings. Some belongings stay, others go back to those ‘in need’ but most are labelled and put away. My job is to read letters in other languages and translate in a few lines the information I can.