Last Words: A Diary of Survival

by Shari J. Ryan

Amelia

  May 1943 - Day 521

  I had been shaking since I woke up that morning. Unable to focus on my job, I was merely asking the first question on my list to each patient in line, all of whom were seemingly melting in April’s abnormal heat. The elderly were dropping to the ground quicker than normal, resulting in at least fifty bodies needing to be dragged away by their feet. There was no sympathy or sense of emotion when it came to the Nazis. The Jews were no more than rodents in their mind’s eye. Charlie was the exception, but he left me wondering if there were any other exceptions. It was hard to see who was truly hateful in their soul because those soldiers were forced to be the way they were. I believe there were just as many who did not want to be there as the ones who truly hated us.

  Nevertheless, I knew better than to test my luck with any one of them, which is why I had done nothing except the job I was assigned to do more than a year earlier. I will forever wonder why I was on the list for transition—why they would want to kill a healthy, hard worker. I guess my luck, if you would call it that, ran out.

  Lice were becoming a pandemic in the camp, and they had begun shaving every person from head to toe. I could only assume the little parasites hadn’t hit our barrack yet because as of that time, no one had come down with symptoms. Whenever possible, I kept my distance when a lice-infected person was near, knowing that the bugs could easily travel from one body to another, but I never had any real protection to wear. Typhus was also quickly spreading through the camp, causing more and more prisoners to perish while waiting for medical treatment, because there was no medical treatment available, or at least there wasn’t any available to us. It had become easier and easier to spot those who were infected—the little red bumps, the high fevers, vomiting, and some, literally dropping dead.

  The lines were on the shorter end that day, and I feared what Charlie had mentioned the night before. They must have been transporting large herds of Jews to the death camp.

  I promised myself I would not become scared of whatever the outcome would be that night, but I couldn’t help wondering what it would feel like to have a gun pointed at my head, or worse, have a rope tied around my neck as I hung from the post on the execution field. I had seen too many of us hanged, and I concluded that being shot would be a blessing in comparison. It took up to five minutes for some to die from strangulation, and I couldn’t imagine what those final moments would be like, what thoughts I would have while thrashing and kicking as my neck slowly and painfully broke. I had nightmares about it, and had woken up in a sweat, clutching my neck with fear of finding the rope.

  The thought of being gassed sounded easier than the other two options, and if I had to choose a way of death, I would go with fast and painless, but none of us had the privilege of choosing how we preferred to go. There were no rules. It was whatever the Nazis decided it would be.

  After the sun had completely set and I headed back to my barrack for distribution of the daily ration, I passed by Charlie, who was standing guard outside my block. He eyeballed me as I headed inside, but I didn’t make it too far before I was grabbed from behind and dragged away. The bullish way in which I had to be handled was never okay. It hurt me, not physically, but emotionally. Knowing others were being dealt with in the same fashion, but with hate and malice, scared and saddened me.

  There was a sense of urgency, and Charlie’s fist shook against the back of my shoulder as he continued to pull me along. I knew better than to ask questions, so I kept quiet until we reached a building I hadn’t been invited or dragged into before. I went where I was told unless Charlie brought me there.

  We took a set of stairs that led underground, and Charlie lit up the area with his dull flashlight as we came upon dozens of crated items. I couldn’t quite make out what was inside the crates, but as I moved in closer, I found they were filled and sorted into categories of various items such as glasses, hair, false teeth, gold teeth, jewelry, shoes, and clothes.

  “What is all of this?” I asked.

  “Not now,” Charlie responded with haste. He sounded angry, or maybe he was just nervous like I was. He was usually quite composed, but not that night.

  “No, I want to know what this is.” I knew what it was, but I needed to hear it out loud.

  “Belongings of the deceased,” he snapped through quick breaths.

  “Pardon me? They’re keeping them here and organizing them into crates?”

  “Yes, Amelia.” His answer had a finality to it, and I took the suggestive tone as a hint to stop asking questions. I had never been afraid to test my limits with Charlie before, but with both our lives at stake, it was different.

  “A potato sack?” I asked, watching as he took two and threw them over his shoulder.

  “Yes,” he said without offering any further indication of why they were needed. A year prior to that day, I would have been afraid. I may not have been able to ignore the feeling of distrust, but I had to believe Charlie knew what he was doing. “I need you to stay here while I find a way to get Lucie.”

  “How?” I asked him, but I should have truly stopped with the questions.

  “Amelia, please, trust me. I will be back within ten minutes.”

  I could no longer hide the fear on my face. How could I? I had little to no information on how it was going to work, and I assumed we would not be taking the route the other Jews had taken when trying to escape. It was clear that Charlie had other plans.

  “Okay,” I said in no more than a whisper.

  He walked toward me with his flashlight pointed at the walls in the back of the room, offering enough glow for us to see each other in the unlit, damp room that smelled of human remains—a scent I had sadly become accustomed to. However, the moisture added another degree of putrid odor that couldn’t be blocked out, even when only breathing through my mouth.

  “Hurry back, please,” I begged. I wasn’t scared of the dark like I once was, but I had an uneasy feeling down there.

  Charlie kissed me gently and briefly caressed my cheek before storming back up the stairs without the potato sacks, which he left in a small pile at the base of the steps.

  Ten minutes felt like an eternity in the enclosed obscurity while I imagined the souls that may have been floating above the surrounding crates. I figured they were likely furious and wanted their belongings back. Mama had always told me ghosts were just a figment of our imagination, and while I would agree with her for the sake of agreeing, I didn’t exactly take her stance. I believe in ghosts, and that belief helped me through my time there as I envisioned an angry and hostile army of Jewish spirits who had a vengeance for their murders.

  It also helped to think Mama and Papa were watching over me, keeping me alive by a miracle that could only be explained by the powers above. Those thoughts contradicted why I asked God for a reason as to why I was being punished so brutally. However, I still believed there was a purpose for everything, and if it was some horrible lesson I was supposed to learn in my life, I hoped I would at least come out on the other side with some wisdom on how to survive in a world filled with so much hate. I would look forward to sharing the information with my family who would be waiting for me at the gates of heaven.

  Mama may not have believed in ghosts, but she did tell me that no matter what happened in our world, if she left earth before Jakob or I did, she would be right there waiting for us in heaven. The faith I had that she was right made the thought of dying more acceptable. I wondered if she had a premonition about what happened to us all, and if that’s why she said what she did, but I may never know.

  The door above opened and closed, and I took steps backward until I hit a crate, wanting to hide in a corner in case it wasn’t Charlie, but as a flashlight’s glow made an appearance toward the ceiling, I quickly found Charlie’s concerned grimace below the light. He was holding Lucie snuggly in his arm, and I wondered how he could take her without question, but I knew those questions would not be answered until later—if there was a later.
/>   I took Lucie out of Charlie’s grip, and she clung to me as she did any time I snuck in to see her. Lucie was sick a lot over the last few months. The nurses mentioned it was because she had not been breastfed, but Mama said she was unable to do so with me, and I was just fine. I couldn’t understand how they could blame breast milk for illnesses when Lucie had been surrounded by bacteria and deadly germs from the day she was born. It’s a wonder she had been as healthy as she was.

  I also wondered why they chose to keep Lucie alive without Leah. Leah could have cared for her, rather than utilizing a German nurse’s time. It was hate. That’s the only reason to separate a newborn from her mother.

  “We’re going to be okay, Lucie,” I cooed while bouncing her around in my arms. She squeezed her hands around my neck and buried her face in my chest.

  “She’s scared,” I told Charlie.

  “As she should be,” he replied through a frustrated huff. “Amelia, we aren’t safe yet.”

  “I know we’re not safe, Charlie. I’m trying to be brave though, and you’re making it very difficult for me.” It was the first time I had been that angry with Charlie. I knew he was acting out of fear, but it was only making things harder. What if those had been our last moments together? We had to consider that possibility, but it didn’t seem as though Charlie was willing to, which made me believe we would be okay. It was all outlandish, but the only other option was death. Either way, I needed to try and survive.

  “Put Lucie into this bag,” Charlie said, handing me one of the sacks.

  “Inside?” I questioned.

  “Yes, put her inside.”

  “Will she be able to breathe in there?” I asked him, figuring he probably test it out.

  “I will make sure there is airflow,” he said with a furrow between his brows, making it known he had already considered the thought.

  I took the bag from Charlie’s hand and carefully slid Lucie inside. “It’s okay, baby girl, we’re going to go get some good food and find shelter where we can be together.”

  “Amelia,” Charlie snapped. “Please.”

  “Why are you being like this?” I asked him, feeling the animosity wrench through me.

  “I’m scared to death, Amelia. I have your life, and Lucie’s to care for right now, and I would never forgive myself if I were the cause of something happening to either of you. Do you understand?”

  “And what about yourself?” I argued in return.

  “I don’t care about myself, Amelia. I could be here or be gone, and it wouldn’t matter in a week.” Because I would be gone too. “But if something happens to you when I could have prevented it, I will have to live with that. I will have to live without you.”

  Without another word, I take the other sack from Charlie’s hand. “Am I going in here?”

  “Please,” he muttered.

  The bag had sharp, wispy threads that scratched my skin as I slipped it up around me and cowered into a ball. “If you swing Lucie a bit, she’ll likely fall asleep,” I told Charlie. I had spent hours watching the nurse care for her after Leah was killed. The only way to urge Lucie to sleep was by gently swinging her from side to side.

  “Okay,” Charlie replied.

  I was cloaked entirely by the bag and lifted off the ground, accompanied by the sound of a grunt. Granted, between Lucie and I, we probably weighed less than a hundred pounds, but carrying bodies was no easy feat for even a strong man with two arms, never mind a man with a missing arm. Personally, I had tried many times to assist in dragging bodies out of the medical line so others could pass by, but I never made it more than a couple of inches with them.

  The feeling of swinging in midair was unnatural and unsettling. It was hard to breathe and very hot and humid inside. The scent of old potatoes, along with the unsteady motion, did not agree with my stomach, but I tried my best to focus on something else, knowing I didn’t have the option of vomiting.

  The walk seemed to carry on for miles even though it was probably less than five minutes before the slightly muted sounds of Charlie’s voice filtered in through the bag. “Where are you going so late at night?” another voice asked.

  “I need to get a head start for my doctor’s appointment. It’s first thing in the morning,” Charlie said, his voice deepening to depict a more serious tone with the other soldier.

  “Oh, you’re the soldier who had his arm amputated,” the soldier said.

  “That’s correct.”

  “And, what’s in the bags?”

  Charlie did nothing to make friends there, and it seemed they felt the same about him until he arrived back as a war hero with a missing limb. I wasn’t sure what was so fascinating about losing an arm during the war, but they appeared enamored with his heroic ability to survive. It shouldn’t have surprised me. Casualties and murder was obviously intriguing to most of them.

  “I was asked to bring leftover clothing to the hospital for some of the recovering soldiers who have nothing to leave with.”

  “Ah, yes,” the other soldier said. “Did you take some shoes, as well?”

  “Of course.” Charlie’s voice was starting to sound garbled, and the bag was shaking haphazardly, making a show of his nerves that hopefully only Lucie and I noticed. My body was beginning to ache and tremble too, fearful of Lucie making a sound or crying, but by another instance of luck, I heard the metal gate open. It was truly the most beautiful sound I had ever heard. The squealing metal and whining of hinges tickled my ears the same way an orchestrated arrangement would.

  “We’ll see you back here tomorrow, soldier. Is there transportation arranged for you?”

  “Yes, it has all been arranged outside of the headquarters. Thank you, sir.” Sir. I assumed he must have been a higher-ranking soldier than Charlie. However, I felt it was odd to have a higher rank on guard at that time of night.

  Footsteps continued, and we all remained silent for quite a while. I was scared to say anything without being able to take in the surroundings, but I heard Charlie’s footsteps thump along stone, which told me we were on a road of some sort. I knew he would place us down the moment he could, but I wasn’t familiar with the outside area, and therefore, wasn’t sure where or how far away safety would be.

  I was finally rested down gently onto a hard surface, but I heard Charlie mumble, “Don't move.” I stayed as still as possible, hoping Lucie was doing the same.

  The sound of a car door opening made my pulse quicken. I wondered if we were getting inside of a car with a driver or if Charlie would be the one driving. I didn’t think it could be so easy. After all that time, we seamlessly walked through the secured gates toward our escape. There was only one problem I hadn't considered…if Charlie didn't return, it would only be a matter of time before they’d be after him.

  I was lifted back up and placed on top of a soft surface. I still didn’t move, but after the soft click of a door closing, followed by a second door opening and closing, my hope was becoming a reality. The engine roared to life, and we began to move. “Amelia,” Charlie called out eagerly, “you can pull the bag down.” Though I was still stricken with fear, I did as he said, finding myself in the backseat next to the other potato sack filled with Lucie. I helped her out of hers as well, finding she was asleep, as I had assumed.

  “Charlie, you did it!” I told him, quietly but excitedly, grabbing the back of his seat. “Whose car is this?”

  “It doesn't matter,” he said.

  “Where do we go now?” I asked while rocking Lucie within my arms.

  “We need to get out of this country, Amelia. We're not safe.”

  “For now, at this moment, we are,” I told him. I wrapped my arm around his neck from behind and kissed his cheek. He didn't respond; instead, he peered into the rearview mirror with an empty look taken up the vicinity of wide eyes.

  “Is something else wrong?” I asked.

  “I don’t know if anyone saw me steal this car,” he said.

  “How did you get it starte
d?” I knew we wouldn't have any mode of transportation, so I wasn't surprised by the situation, but by the looks of the dark interior finish and unfamiliar gadgets on the dashboard, the vehicle was incredibly lavish.

  “My father and I used to work on cars together. He was a mechanic at a gas station. I hot-wired it.” With a thickness in my throat, I swallowed hard as I concluded that we were not only escaping but committing other serious crimes as well. Not that we had much choice, but I was the girl who never missed a class in school, who always met my curfew five minutes early. Crime was never in my future, but there I was, committing several of them at once.

  Within minutes after we had taken off from wherever the car was parked, the sound of a handheld, crank-siren echoed in the distance. “Charlie, is that because of us?”

  “I don't know,” he said in a choked grunt.

  I held Lucie a little tighter as the eerie sound grew louder. “Pull down a side street,” I told him. It was hardly worth mentioning, as he had already pulled down several side streets, but talking when I was nervous made me feel as though I was helping. “What should we do?”

  “We're going to have to run,” he said.

  “Run to where?”

  “I don't know, Amelia.” Charlie was visibly upset, as was I. However, he was the one with the plan, and I was clueless as to how we would escape the trouble that may be coming closer to us.

  “When I tell you to get out, you need to run like mad. Do you understand?”

  “Of course,” I told him, knowing I was unable to run as fast as I used to. I was beyond the stage of malnutrition and had little muscle left in my body. My lungs constantly felt as though they would collapse after walking from one block to the other, never mind running an unknown distance to safety.

  It sounded as if the siren had died down for the moment, but if it was us they were looking for, I was sure they wouldn't give up their search too easily. “I need you to see if there’s a map under the seat,” Charlie said.

  I leaned down and reached under the seats, finding an attaché case. It was a bit of a struggle to pull out, but once freed, I was pleased to find there were no locks on the clasps. I pulled the case open and found a stack of papers and a folded map. “There is one,” I said. “A map.”