“They’re going to kill me, aren’t they?”
She knew the answer, I could see it in her eyes, but she had to hear it from me. I couldn’t tell her the truth, how could I possibly tell her the truth—but she deserved the truth, and I wouldn’t lie to her. I didn’t trust my voice, so I nodded.
Irena didn’t look surprised, but her hand moved to the crucifix around her neck. Only then did she seem to realize she had to take it off. As she grabbed the clasp, she hesitated. “This was the last gift my father gave me,” she murmured, more to herself than to me. She hastily removed it and handed it to me. I should have put it with the confiscated jewelry, but when the crucifix and chain settled in my palm, I closed my hand into a fist. I couldn’t let it go. Not yet.
An SS officer marched down the hall, shouting orders, and he focused on me and Irena. “Keep her moving, 16671.”
Hearing the command made Irena’s fate all too real, and I had to do something. I couldn’t let her die. I didn’t have time to develop a plan, only to beg.
“Wait!” I shouted, and I grabbed his arm. “She’s going to give birth any day now, then she can work, for God’s sake, let her work—” I broke off when the officer jerked out of my grasp and raised a hand to strike me, but, before he could, Irena grabbed my shoulders and shook me.
“Listen, you crazy bitch, I don’t know who the hell you think I am, but I’ve told you we don’t know each other, and I don’t want to work with you. Leave me alone.” She pushed me away and turned to the officer in exasperation. “Please tell me where I need to go to get away from her.”
He gave her an amused smirk. “Take a left down the next hallway and continue into the courtyard.” He gestured in the proper direction before moving away from us.
Once he’d gone, Irena turned to me. “I may have learned a thing or two from Helena Pilarczyk.” She flashed a small, teasing smile as she used my resistance name.
All I could do was follow her toward the courtyard, so I did. I would stay with her as long as I could. She stood tall, shoulders back, chin and chest lifted, a protective hand on her round midsection.
“Why did you stop me?” I murmured as we walked.
Irena took a deep breath before replying. “Because even if they let me work after giving birth, they’d take my baby. And I’ll be damned if I let them take my baby.” Her voice broke as a single tear escaped. She brushed it away hastily and swallowed hard; when she spoke again, her tone was as steady as always. “I can’t save my child, but we can face death together.”
We paused outside the men’s washroom, a few meters away from the iron gate that led into the courtyard. The wall was beyond it to the right, out of our line of vision. This was as far as I could go without getting caught. When we stopped, Irena took my emaciated hand and pressed my palm to her stomach. I felt a slight yet powerful ripple as the baby moved.
“If I had a girl, I was going to name her Helena,” she said, smiling at her round abdomen. “And a boy, Patryk.”
Both names conjured such fond memories of our time in the resistance together, and I’d felt the life within her that was about to be snuffed out along with her own, and it was too much, it was all too much, but I didn’t notice my tears until I heard a familiar annoyed rebuke.
“Good Lord, stop that. You’re going to get in trouble.”
But I couldn’t keep the tears from cascading down my cheeks, and I buried my face in my hands. Every time I thought this place had thrown all the cruelty it possibly could upon me and my loved ones, it proved me wrong. My friend and her unborn child were about to die. And here I was, accompanying them to their deaths, powerless to save either one.
I felt her fingers around my wrists, and she guided my hands away. Through my tears, I looked into her face and attempted to speak clearly enough for her to understand me. “Irena, if only I could—”
She pulled me into a tight embrace and kissed my cheek, silencing me, then she released me before anyone caught us and placed gentle hands on my shoulders. She looked at me with glassy eyes full of strength, always strength, and more affection than she’d ever shown me before. I might even have called it love.
“Give these bastards hell, Maria Florkowska.”
Without giving me time to reply, she walked toward the gate. When she reached it, Irena touched her right hand to the center of her forehead, chest, and each shoulder, making the sign of the cross, then rested her hand on her stomach. The hinges creaked as she let herself out and closed the gate firmly behind her. With her head high, she continued into the courtyard and took a right toward the wall, disappearing from my sight. I turned my back to the gate and didn’t listen to the angry SS guards or look at the women filing past me to the courtyard, but I stayed where I was. I wouldn’t leave her.
A few moments later, the familiar crack of gunshots sent me to my knees.
* * *
I sobbed for a few precious seconds before I somehow dried my tears and forced myself off the floor. I wasn’t sure how I did it. Maybe because somewhere, deep in my subconscious, I knew my survival depended on it. I fastened Irena’s crucifix around my neck and tucked it underneath my uniform, out of sight. I had a piece of my family through my cigarette-burn scars, a piece of Father Kolbe through his rosary, and now a piece of Irena. Then I got back to work.
The rest of the day passed in a blur. Once it was over, I rushed toward the main gate to wait for Hania. I was so distracted that I almost passed the black skull and crossbones, ordering prisoners to HALT! and STóJ! The warning was painted onto crude wooden planks mounted on a cement pole, and I wanted to ignore it, to dart through the gate and burst into the SS administrative buildings and find Hania, but I wouldn’t. Going beyond the sign was a mistake I knew better than to make.
Prisoners marched past me while I shifted my weight from one foot to the other, but I didn’t have to wait long. When Hania arrived, I gestured for her to follow me. I led the way in search of somewhere private and settled on the alley between Blocks 17 and 18. It was out of the way, but not far from the gate, and I couldn’t keep myself together much longer.
“What is it?” Hania asked once we got there. “Are you hurt? Is Izaak hurt?”
“Irena.” Her name was all I managed before my sobs escaped, the sobs I’d contained all day, and they rendered me unable to speak. I pressed my back to the hard bricks, sank to the ground, and buried my head in my arms until I sensed Hania crouching beside me.
“Shhh, calm down, shikse.” When I lifted my head, she brushed a tear from my cheek. “Tell me what happened.”
“She was here,” I whispered. “Irena was here.”
“Your friend from home?”
I nodded. “Block 11. She was pregnant.” I couldn’t bring myself to continue, but Hania simply shook her head, assuring me there was no need. “You’ve said before that you can get prisoners reassigned,” I went on. “Can you really do it? Please, Hania, I don’t care where I work, but please get me out of Block 11. I can’t do this anymore.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it,” she said, placing a reassuring hand over mine and bringing my frantic pleas to a halt. “I’ll get you out as quickly as I can.”
“Only if all you have to do is translate or trade organized goods. Nothing else,” I whispered, my thoughts on Protz. Despite my desperation, I didn’t want her to get hurt.
“It’ll be a fair exchange, harmless for all involved,” Hania replied, flashing a small, appreciative smile. “I promise.”
When she produced a sedative and offered it to me, I shook my head in refusal. I wanted to allow myself to cry, to live fully in this moment, because as painful as it was, it meant my walls had come down in a way I hadn’t permitted in a long time. The ache of love and loss pierced me to the core of my soul. And it reminded me that I was still human.
Everyone I loved had been taken from me. Irena had been my last piece of home, the last bit of the life I’d left behind, taken as easily and viciously as my parents, brothe
r, and sister. She had prevented my attempt to help, had accepted her fate, yet overwhelming darkness struck me as it had after I had found my family. Failure. Despair. Everything I held no power to change, direct and fierce as the whip across my flesh. Father Kolbe had told me to live and fight, but the more I did the more I lost. And I wondered if I had anything left to live or fight for.
No, I couldn’t allow myself to think that way. There were a few things I had left. I had my memories of them and a life to live in their honor. I had Hania and my promise to reunite her with her children. I had my vow to find Fritzsch, to hear from his own mouth how he had denied my mother’s final request, refused to spare my siblings, and executed my family himself. I had the resistance.
When I managed to catch my breath, I lifted my head and looked at Hania. “I’ve been working with the resistance for almost a year, and you—”
“Don’t start this again,” she said, holding up a hand. She rose to her feet, and so did I. I’d attempted this conversation many times, but I wouldn’t let her avoid it this time.
“What will it take for you to join?”
“That is enough. You’ve had a difficult day, you’re upset, and I’m not discussing it,” Hania said sharply, and when she spoke again it was with finality. “I have children, Maria.”
“Children who haven’t seen their mother in over a year.”
She had started to leave the alley, but that was all it took for her to close the distance between us, fuming. “I’ve fought for my sons every day, and if I risk everything, if Protz finds out—”
“None of it matters if we don’t stop this. They’ll kill us eventually, and they’ll keep killing until there’s no one left.” I caught her by the shoulders, but my voice fell as my tears returned. “When will it end?”
Hania released a breath; then she softened her glower and pulled me close. I wrapped my arms around her, combatting shaky breaths. Of course I understood her reservations, but the fastest way to get back to her sons was through liberation. It did no good to fight for daily survival if the end was inevitable. That’s why we had to change the ending.
“If I’m going to do this,” she murmured at last, “could I borrow some of your chutzpah?”
I looked up to confirm what I’d heard. “You’ll join?”
Despite the lingering concern in her eyes, Hania offered me a small smile. “Don’t you dare say ‘Checkmate,’ or I’ll quit right now.”
Chapter 21
Birkenau, 11 October 1942
ON A DREARY October day, I trudged through mud up to my ankles and bowed my head against the lashing wind and rain, making my way to the latrines. I should have grown accustomed to the lack of roads and drains in Birkenau by now, considering that the female inmates had been moved to Auschwitz’s new addition in August, but each day I missed the minimal amenities of the main camp more than the last.
As I approached my destination, I blinked water from my eyes and made out the SS guard stationed outside. He took shelter against the building and grimaced as he wiped rainwater from his face, but when he saw me he brightened. He’d come to expect my visits. Without a word, I pressed a pack of cigarettes into his greedy palm, and he allowed me inside.
Janina, the redheaded Jewish doctor who worked as a nurse, motioned for me to sit beside her on one of the long concrete benches. I obliged, avoiding the cluster of holes that served as the toilets.
“According to my sources, Pilecki recovered from his recent bout with typhus and was released from quarantine last week,” Janina murmured. “He transferred to the tannery kommando and has started organizing valuables hidden in leather goods.”
As if to prove it, Janina offered me four small diamonds. Giving a silent, solemn thanks to whoever had left them behind, I tucked them into my pocket. They’d be useful for future exchanges.
“My next update isn’t good,” she continued. “We lost one, a woman named Luiza. She wanted to avoid transferring to another camp, so I gave her a false case of typhus.”
“Injection or gas chamber?”
“Injection.”
“You work in the hospital, Janina, you had to know it was overcrowded.”
“Of course I did, but I never know when the guards will empty it.”
Closing my hands into fists, I stood and turned away. This was why I hated when members entered the hospital under false pretenses. It was too risky. Now Luiza was dead for nothing. If we kept losing women this way, we wouldn’t have anyone left when the rebellion happened.
When Janina and I parted ways, I retraced my steps along the unpaved road, stumbling over jagged pieces of brick, rock, and rubble. I reached a large, deep puddle and moved closer to a pile of decomposing corpses. I kept my eyes on the cold, slick mud, seeking camouflaged limbs so I wouldn’t trip, and kicked muck at a rat in my path. My missile landed with a squelch, but it missed the rat, which rejoined its companions gnawing on the mass of blue-gray skeletal forms.
Upon reaching my brick barracks, I paused at the threshold and cast an envious glance over my shoulder, imagining that I could see three kilometers east, all the way to the main camp. Although Block 8 had been infested with fleas, it had level floors, latrines, and a water supply. This structure had none of those.
I shook off as much mud as possible, using the rain to my advantage, then utilized the raindrops to quench my ever-present thirst before going inside. Shivering and wiping off stray droplets, I skirted the rat lingering by the door and crossed the uneven floor toward the rows of wooden slats. When I reached my row, I climbed to the top bunk. The bunks didn’t leave enough space to do much besides lie flat, but I had a few centimeters to spare, even when I extended my legs. I hadn’t inherited Tata’s height.
I selected a piece of bread from my stash of organized goods and tore off a chunk. Despite the rain trickling through the roof, it was my favorite day of the week, because it was Sunday. On Sundays, we didn’t have to work.
I produced my camp letter form so I could compose another letter to Mrs. Sienkiewicz. Though I’d been afraid to write to resistance contacts, Irena’s fate had left me no choice. Before crafting my response, I read hers again.
Dear Maria,
Thank you for telling me about the deaths of my daughter and grandchild. While the news was devastating, I appreciated it coming from my daughter’s loving and trusted friend. It means so much to know she visited with you one last time. I’m glad you’re doing well, my dear. Please write again soon.
Best regards,
Wiktoria Sienkiewicz
A simple, safe letter. As a resistance member, Mrs. Sienkiewicz knew how to write letters that would pass the Nazi censorship office. I had a feeling she also knew that Irena didn’t die during a complicated childbirth and the baby wasn’t stillborn, as I’d said in the message I sent her following Irena’s death. Someday I’d relay the real story.
I killed the louse that found its way onto my arm, then I began writing. This time maybe I’d keep my tears from staining the pages and causing the ink to run.
Dear Mrs. Sienkiewicz,
Thank you for responding to my letter. Please tell me about yourself and everyone at home. I’m fine and doing well.
In my haste to share the news of your daughter with you, I forgot to discuss my own family. Sadly, we caught a terrible illness, and I was the only one who recovered. I miss them, but I’m fortunate to be kept busy through employment. I work in a weaving shop, and I spend my spare time translating for Poles who don’t speak German.
Today is a beautiful day, and I hope the sun is shining over Warsaw, as well. I look forward to hearing from you soon.
I hated myself for the lies, feigned positivity, and, above all, the standard reassurance of my well-being. It was a line I was obligated to include to ensure that my letter passed the censorship office. If not for censors, my letter would have shared all the details of my work with ZOW and our hopes that the Home Army would agree that an attack was necessary to liberate Auschwitz.
Please give my love to my friends, Marta and Helena.
Best wishes,
Maria Florkowska
* * *
After I finished my camp letter to Mrs. Sienkiewicz and a secret one to Mateusz, two of my bunkmates remained absent, but Hania returned to our block. Fortune had favored us and assigned us to the same living quarters, so naturally she was the fourth member of my bunk. Muttering in Czech, she attempted to wring the rainwater out of her muddy uniform. On Protz’s demand, she and her clothing received a thorough scrubbing during their meetings, so she tended to be shockingly clean when she returned. But after her trek across the drenched camp she was as filthy as I was.
“How did it go?”
Hania raised her eyebrows, chuckling while she settled beside me. “I realize you won’t be sixteen until February, Maria, but you should know that by now. If I have to explain it to you . . .”
“I’m well aware of what happened between you and Protz. He treated you to a delicious dinner of roasted duck with rowanberry sauce and took you to an opera at the Teatr Wielki in Warsaw, and then . . .” I paused, as if searching her face for clues, then gasped. “He kissed you?”
Hania placed a hand over her chest. “A lady never tells. Such a shame you missed the opera, though. It was The Barber of Seville, and it was marvelous.”
I giggled, but I didn’t miss the sad detachment behind her amused smirk. “I was talking about what you’ve been meaning to ask him. Did you do it? Is he going to let you see Izaak?”
“Yes, I asked, and he agreed. Before escorting me back to Birkenau, Protz took me to speak with him. We only had a few minutes, and Izaak hates that he’s in the main camp and we’re here, but otherwise, he’s fine.”
The Last Checkmate Page 19