by Kate Hewitt
“It’s just that you’re so weak,” Lotte explained gently as she bathed her forehead and fed her soup at night. “Your body can’t fight any longer.”
“But I have to fight.” The despair she’d felt for so long was replaced by a burning desire not to succumb. Not now, when victory was—maybe—so close, if she could just let herself believe in it.
And so she continued—getting up, stumbling outside, going to work. At the factory she fumbled with the electrical components, her fingers feeling thick, her mind so fuzzy she could barely concentrate, her pace far slower than it had ever been before. Frieda quietly made up the difference, saying nothing. Birgit could barely mumble her thanks.
“You won’t last unless you get some treatment,” Frieda told her under her breath as they filed out one evening, and Birgit stumbled. She would have fallen if Frieda hadn’t grabbed her elbow.
“Treatment?” Birgit rasped, trying to laugh. Everything ached. Her head throbbed, her vision blurred, and her chest was on fire. Death almost—almost—seemed preferable. “Shall I go ask them for medicine, then? A warm compress? A—”
“Even a day’s rest in the infirmary would do you a world of good,” Frieda replied, a hint of worry in her dark eyes. She was a Pole and a Jew, Birgit knew, and it was amazing she was still alive, still here. Most Jews had been already marked for transport or sent to the gas chamber.
“You’re a good worker,” Frieda continued, “and they’re desperate now more than ever to complete these damnable rockets. They won’t want to lose you.”
Yet it seemed they did, or at least they didn’t mind, for when Birgit took herself to the infirmary that evening, on Lotte’s urging, she was sent away without so much as a word, after having waited in the yawning anteroom with several dozen other women who, despite their hacking coughs and flushed faces, received the same indifference.
“Please,” Birgit told a nurse before she shut the door. “I’m sure I have a fever—”
“The beds are full,” the nurse told her firmly, but not without a flicker of sympathy. Her eyes were troubled, and dazedly Birgit wondered how much it cost her to nurse these poor, pathetic women, beset by illness, starvation and worse, knowing most of them would die or be killed outright.
“Please…” Birgit whispered again, clinging to the doorframe to keep herself upright. She suddenly couldn’t bear the thought of going back to the barracks—to the hard wooden plank she had to call a bed, the ragged blankets that offered the barest modicum of warmth. The roll call, sometimes as early as four o’clock in the morning, the eleven hours of work… she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t. “I don’t need a bed. Even a chair would do…” The infirmary was warm, at least, and the prospect of sitting in a chair and being able to sleep, to feel warm, seemed right then like the greatest treasure to Birgit.
“Please,” she said for a third time, and foolishly she reached a claw-like hand out to the nurse, who backed away. Her kindness extended only so far.
“I’m sorry,” she said again, firmly this time, and then closed the door in Birgit’s face.
Birgit stood there for a moment, swaying, her legs watery. The other women had already gone; she was alone, with no one to help her. The ten-minute walk back to her barracks might as well have been ten kilometers. She didn’t think she could do it. She was sure she couldn’t.
Lotte had wanted to come with her, but Birgit had refused, not wanting to get her in trouble for being out at night without permission; even when the Aufseherin agreed to let someone out, another guard happening by might decide otherwise. Now she wished her sister was here, because if she collapsed on the way back, there would be no one to help her. If a guard found her, it would be worse for her still.
Slowly Birgit turned around and faced the rest of the camp. The barracks were cloaked in darkness, their humped uniformity reminding her suddenly of loaves of bread in a baker’s window. Bread… warm, white bread, steaming from the oven, with the golden crust her mother made so beautifully, butter melting into the delicious softness… When had she last eaten something like that?
With painstaking slowness Birgit put one foot in front of the other; it took the utmost focus to manage each step. She had only gone a dozen before she faltered and nearly fell. Somehow she kept herself upright, thinking of her mother’s bread.
And then she thought of her father’s kindly smile… the case of soft, supple leather she’d had for her tools, her initials engraved on the top… Franz playing the piano while they all sang in harmony… Memories tumbled through her mind, a kaleidoscope of color and warmth and love. The first time Werner had kissed her, when she’d been so surprised, and he’d smiled at her as if he really, truly liked her. The sun rising over the Salzkammergut, the pealing of bells in the morning, her mother’s Prügeltorte, puffed golden and filled with cream… the elevator at the Elektrischer Aufzug, sending them soaring upwards as they’d giggled and grinned… they’d been so young, then! So young and innocent, fresh-faced girls who had looked at the world with delight. Everything had been before them… everything…
Another step, but her legs were wobbling, her knees weak. Her vision blurred and then blackened. I can’t die now, she thought, with a sudden, dazed franticness. Lotte’s right. It could be over so soon—months, maybe, or even weeks. I could see my family again… Werner… I can’t die now. I won’t…
The words blazed through her mind even as her body rebelled. She took another step and stumbled, and then, as weakness flooded through her, she fell to her knees.
I can’t, I can’t…
Her hands hit the ground hard as her head swam. Somewhere in the distance she heard a dog bark, one of the terrible, growling Alsatians that loved to rip prisoners to bloody shreds.
I must get up, Birgit thought. I must. Before the dog finds me…
But her body would not obey, no matter how urgent her commands to her recalcitrant limbs. Her arms trembled and she managed to heave herself up once, only to fall back down again, her cheek hitting the hard-packed dirt. Her head spun and then stilled.
The dog barked again as her body relaxed into the ground, the fight finally leaving her. It was so peaceful, really, the sky so lovely and dark, the air turning sharp with cold…It would be October soon, if she could just turn her head, she would be able to see the stars…
As her eyes fluttered closed, the dog barked once more.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Lotte
September 1944
It took Lotte an hour before she decided to go after her sister. She’d wanted to accompany her to the infirmary at the start, had in fact insisted, but Birgit’s will had been stronger.
“I won’t have you getting into trouble,” she’d said between coughs that wracked her whole frame as she’d doubled over, wheezing. “They’ll just send me away again, in any case. You know how it is.”
“They can’t,” Lotte had exclaimed. She didn’t think her sister realized how ill she truly was—she was pale except for her cheeks which possessed a hectic flush, and when Lotte had put her hand on her forehead, she’d had to draw it away quickly, it had been that hot.
“They can and they will,” Birgit had replied grimly, and with a surly nod from the Aufserherin who had granted her permission to go, she’d headed out into the night.
Lotte had gathered with the others to pray, but for once the words of compline seemed to slide over her, meaningless. “O God, come to our aid. O Lord, make haste to help us…”
She’d never meant the words more, and yet they seemed to bounce off her brain. What if they turned Birgit away? Magda, a Ukrainian Catholic whose entire village had been ruthlessly murdered while she’d been saved for her nursing skills, put her hand on her arm.
“It will be all right,” she said in her broken German. “She will get help.” Lotte nodded and tried to smile.
But as the minutes passed, and the words of the prayers slipped from her lips, her worry grew. How could she have let Birgit go alone? She w
as ill, so ill. Rising from where she’d been kneeling at the back of the barracks, Lotte slipped past the Aufseherin and headed outside.
It was never a good idea for a prisoner to be seen wandering around the camp alone, not without a very good reason. The guards were restless and grew more so every day. They were looking for a reason to make an example of someone, or perhaps just have some sport. Anything to alleviate their boredom—and their fear.
Lotte hurried toward the infirmary, keeping to the shadows. Even though it was only late September, the night air held a chill, and it made her worry for Birgit all the more. Then, as she came within sight of the infirmary, she saw a sprawled body on the ground just a few feet in front of it. Birgit.
She ran towards her sister, dropping onto her knees as she cradled Birgit’s inert form. “Birgit… Birgit…” Her sister’s face was burning, but her body was cold, her limbs seeming boneless, flimsy. Her eyes fluttered open and then rolled back. Lotte bit her lip to keep from crying out.
“I’ll get you help,” she promised. She looked up, but no one was in sight. And who would help, even if they came? Then, in the distance, one of the SS guards, looking menacing in his great coat, leading an Alsatian held by a length of chain, emerged from the shadows like a monster from her nightmares. Even so, Lotte rose from where she’d been kneeling, flinging one hand out in desperate supplication.
“Please, please, can you help? My sister is ill. She works in the Siemens factory… she is a good worker, she was once a clockmaker.”
She fell silent as the guard came forward, the dog straining at its chain, as his dark eyes swept over her. Beneath his peaked cap his hair was as dark as his eyes, his cheeks ruddy, his gaze shrewd and assessing. Lotte met the man’s gaze, even though it cost her. She had no idea what he might do—take out his pistol, set the dog on her sister, or, please God, agree to help. O Lord, make haste to help us…
To her shock, the guard tied the dog up and then knelt down, scooping Birgit up in his arms. She must have weighed no more than a handful of twigs, the way he carried her so easily—but to where? Lotte made a sound, whether it was a protest or a plea, she didn’t know, and he glanced up at her, his dark eyes intent on hers.
“I’ll take her to the infirmary.”
“Thank you,” Lotte whispered, only to have the man continue to stare at her with an unsettling intensity.
“She’ll have a bed, medicine, time to rest.”
“Thank you, thank you…” Lotte could hardly believe what she was hearing. Thank you, God…
“But I expect something in return.”
The finality in his tone reverberated through Lotte as her gaze remained locked on his. She knew, of course, what he meant. There were other prisoners who had made such arrangements; they were looked down on by their fellow inmates, scorned, and sometimes even beaten for what was seen as their collaboration. She swallowed, nodded.
“Yes. All right.”
The man smiled, and with a jolt Lotte realized she remembered him. He was the man who had told her she was pretty, two endless years ago. He had slapped her bottom as she’d raced toward the shower.
Wordlessly she stepped back as he took Birgit to the infirmary. A chill breeze blew and she wrapped her arms around herself as she waited for the guard, wondering what to do, how it worked. Would he want her to come with him right now? She couldn’t let herself think about what would actually happen.
He emerged from the infirmary only a few minutes later. “It’s all settled.”
“Thank you,” Lotte said yet again. She wondered if she should even trust him. It would be just the kind of sheer cruelty the guards delighted in, to promise to help, only to have tossed Birgit into a cart and have her trundled off to the crematorium. Lotte pushed the thought out of her mind. She had to believe.
The guard jerked his head towards the part of the camp where prisoners never went—the SS guards’ barracks, a separate enclave. “Come.”
Silently she followed him, everything in her feeling surreal and numb; it was the same feeling she’d had when she’d walked from Nonnberg to Getreidegasse, an otherworldly sensation, as if she watching herself, wondering, with a distant, mild curiosity, what would happen next.
The guards’ quarters, she saw, were even more comfortable and homely than she might have expected. Besides their sleeping quarters, there was a little shop, a meeting hall, even a cinema. It was almost like a pleasant little town, in the midst of such devastation and evil, a haven for their persecutors. A few guards were milling about, both men and women, but no one bothered to look at her. Lotte supposed they were used to it; guards took prisoners for themselves often enough, and she’d heard rumors of affairs between the male and female guards themselves. Here in this enclave, life possessed a certain kind of normalcy she’d forgotten existed.
The guard ushered her into his barracks and then a single room; Lotte saw a bed, a chair, a washstand, a few hooks for clothes. He closed the door behind her, his coat brushing her arm.
“Wash first,” he told her, with a slight curl to his lip. Lotte realized she must reek. The bed creaked as he sat down on it and she understood that he was going to watch her.
Cautiously she went to the washstand. There was a pitcher of water on it, a bar of soap, a rough cloth.
“Should I—” she began, because for a prisoner to use the same water and soap as a guard was the sort of thing that could surely be punishable by death.
“Yes.” He sounded impatient as he nodded towards the soap.
Lotte hesitated for a fraction of a second; she thought of resisting, for the sake of her own honor and pride, and realized the pointlessness of it. If she resisted, she might anger him, and that could hurt Birgit. Besides, she had agreed; this was a bargain struck, a deal made, and she would honor it. She would not fight; she would be obedient even in this.
A sudden memory pierced her like a shaft of light. The Mother Abbess’s kindly face as she’d spoken to her, “The religious life is one of painful sacrifice, costly obedience, deliberate humiliation.”
Lotte had thought she’d understood what she’d meant years ago, when she’d said her penances and cut her hair and donned the habit. Now, however, the words hit her afresh. Here was her obedience, her sacrifice, her humiliation, and all for the good of another. The life of another. How was it that she could feel more like a nun when she was acting like a whore? Yet she knew it was true.
Quickly she poured some water on the soap and began to scrub her face and arms.
“The dress,” the guard commanded, and this time she didn’t hesitate. She shrugged the filthy garment off and washed her whole body, running the cloth under her arms and across her belly, between her legs.
“Your hair,” he told her, and she poured some of the water from the jug over her hair, soaping it and rinsing it as best as she could. She supposed she should be thankful for the opportunity to wash, and then decided she was. She would be.
“Good,” the guard said when she was finished, shivering and dripping naked before him. “Come here.”
Lotte walked towards him, willing herself to make every step, for now she trembled from fear as well as cold. She knew so little of what went on between a man and a woman, although she realized this would not be anything like what it was supposed to be, the sacred, loving union of a husband and wife.
“It’s a shame how thin you’ve become,” he remarked as he ran a callused hand down her body, from her shoulder to her hip. “You were so pretty before.”
Lotte, having no idea how to answer, did not reply.
He curled his other hand around the back of her neck and then drew her to him for a kiss. His lips were both fleshy and hard as he kissed her, his tongue probing her mouth in a way that had her struggling not to choke. After a few seconds he pushed her away, a look of irritation on his face.
“Haven’t you ever kissed a man before?”
“No,” Lotte said simply, thoughtlessly. The guard stared at her for a moment
before he swore and then he stood up, his back to her as he fumbled for his cigarettes.
Lotte stared at him uncertainly, sensing she’d displeased him. Did he disdain her inexperience? Had he wanted a courtesan, here in the camp? She knew there were brothels for guards in the other camps, and the women came from Ravensbrück.
The guard lit his cigarette and smoked silently while Lotte shivered, still wet and dripping. Finally he turned around, eyeing her coldly.
“You’re lying to me. How can you never have kissed a man before? You must be well over twenty.” He spoke with accusation; Lotte hesitated, not wanting to make him angrier.
“I… I was a nun before this,” she said. “I entered the abbey when I was eighteen.”
“A nun?” The guard stared at her in disbelief, and then he swore again. He kept smoking as he glared at her and she waited, unsure what would happen next. Then, in a savage movement, he threw his cigarette onto the floor and ground it under his boot before striding towards her, grabbing her by the shoulders as he kissed her hard enough to make her want to cry out, his hips thrusting purposefully against her.
Lotte closed her eyes as he flung her onto the bed. She heard him fumbling with his belt buckle, and then, thankfully, wonderfully, she felt as if she were floating above the room. This wasn’t happening to her. It wasn’t. She was high, high above it, floating, floating, mindless of the heaviness of his body on top of her, his ragged breathing, the stabbing pain…
Eventually, although surely only a few minutes later, he rolled off her onto the bed. Lotte felt as if she were coming back into her body, her soul occupying this broken flesh once more. She was conscious of tenderness, stickiness, pain. She didn’t move, because she did not know if he wanted her to.