Through the darkness, I located the ARBEIT MACHT FREI sign above the gate. The sign triggered memories of following my family out of the railcar, lingering with Tata as he comforted me one last time. I nearly smelled the wax and pine from the polish he used on his cane, almost felt his gentle hands warming my frozen cheeks while his reassuring voice warmed me to the core.
True freedom comes from bravery, strength, and goodness. The only one who can take those from you is you.
I closed my hand, as though his fingers were wrapping mine around the tiny pawn.
I hadn’t been to Block 11 since transferring out of the kommando, and when we arrived it felt as if I’d never left. It looked the same, stark and cold and bare, and smelled the same, like filth and death and bodily fluids. And it felt the same. Hopeless, desperate, agonizing.
We walked down the eerie halls until we reached an interrogation room, one where I’d spent numerous hours cleaning blood, urine, and vomit from the floor. As I entered, the Gestapo agent conducting the interrogation was sitting behind a small table, smoking a cigarette.
Sturmbannführer Ebner.
Sheer horror brought me to a sudden halt. Fortunately it was an appropriate reaction for my situation, so Irena pushed me farther into the room. I wasn’t aware that Ebner had transferred from Pawiak to Auschwitz, yet there he was, and suddenly I was fourteen again. Almost naked, alone, terrified, immobilized by strong men, remaining as silent as possible while this man cursed and struck me, this man who had outwitted me, tormented me, and threatened my family. This man who had sent us to Auschwitz.
Irena didn’t know my history with him, but she clapped a hand on my shoulder, as if pushing me into my seat, and gave me a quick squeeze. Reminding me I wasn’t alone.
Once I was across from Ebner, I swallowed hard, suppressing my terror. Think. Study him.
I knew this man, but as I looked into his face he didn’t appear to recognize me. He didn’t seem to remember the girl he’d tortured all those years ago, likely because he’d tortured many more since me. Which meant I had an excellent advantage.
The last time I’d faced Ebner, he’d won. We’d matched wits, we’d fought long and hard, and he had emerged the victor. But the pieces had been set up again. It didn’t matter who won last time; it mattered only how the game was played this time. And this time, I had two more pieces on my side, and I knew how to play Ebner’s game.
Let him believe I’m falling for every trick he plays.
My strategy was in place, and it was time for a rematch.
“Prisoner 15177 is the interpreter, Frau Aufseherin?” Ebner indicated Hania with a nod.
“Correct, Herr Sturmbannführer.”
He focused on Hania. “You will speak only to interpret. If you say anything else to Prisoner 16671, I’ll assume you’re encouraging disobedience and take necessary action upon both of you. Do you understand?”
She managed a small nod. “Yes, Herr Sturmbannführer.”
Ebner placed a fresh cigarette between his lips and lit it before turning to me. “My name is Wolfgang Ebner. Would you care for a cigarette?”
When he addressed me, I watched him with no apparent recognition or understanding on my face, then waited for Hania to translate. Once she finished, I widened my eyes, as if surprised by the generous offer.
“Thank you, Herr Sturmbannführer. I don’t smoke, but would you mind if I hold one?”
When I accepted the cigarette he offered me, my hand lingered above the table long enough for him to notice the tremble I inserted for his benefit. I twirled it between my fingers, and Irena snatched one without waiting for an invitation. Meanwhile Ebner smoked and watched me, allowing the suspense to drive me mad. So I gave him exactly what he wanted.
“Please tell me why I’m here, Herr Sturmbannführer,” I exclaimed, tripping over the words in my haste. “It’s because of the uprising, isn’t it?”
Ebner held up a hand to silence me and looked to Hania, who stood beside me. She was quiet for an instant, as though reminding herself to treat this interrogation like all others she’d witnessed. It was another day at work, nothing more. When she spoke, her German was clear and precise, her expression neutral.
Ebner flashed a reassuring smile. “Yes, but if you cooperate, you have nothing to fear.”
I released a breath, letting him know his words had produced their intended effect. “As a former resistance member, I know better than to make that mistake again. Actions have consequences, Herr Sturmbannführer. Sometimes the consequences only affect the guilty parties, but more often, they affect innocent people like myself. That’s something many forget.”
“Indeed.” He took a long draw from his cigarette. “You’re saying you were rightfully condemned for the resistance activities which sent you to Auschwitz, but this time, you weren’t involved in the rebellion?”
“That’s right.” I turned the cigarette over in my hands while Ebner tapped ashes into an ashtray and consulted the papers on the table.
“You spent a few weeks working in the Union Munitions Factory during the spring of 1944. Why did you spend such a brief amount of time there?”
I drew a ragged breath and let my voice quiver. “Because I was young when the occupation began. Working with gunpowder and explosives reminded me of the bombings from the invasion.”
“Were you involved in smuggling gunpowder for the uprising, and even if not, were you aware of the scheme?”
“No, Herr Sturmbannführer.”
Ebner stayed quiet once Hania finished speaking. Despite her attempts at indifference, she seemed more tense with every passing moment. Irena had positioned herself behind Ebner, probably so she could play her role without the added stress of him watching the entire time. I didn’t dare look at them too much, but their presence provided me with comfort.
The heavy silence was enough to drive me mad; fidgeting would serve my position well, so I didn’t fight the urge. At last Ebner turned to Irena.
“Frau Aufseherin, I’m told you keep a close eye on Prisoner 16671. Do you recall detecting any suspicious behavior?”
“No, Herr Sturmbannführer, but I know where she was on the seventh of October. The clumsy bitch spilled coffee all over my uniform that morning, so I supervised while she cleaned it. And it took far longer than it should have since she’s too incompetent to shine a damn button properly,” Irena said with a condescending laugh as she exhaled cigarette smoke. “By the time I escorted her back to the kitchen, the camp was in an uproar.”
After Hania translated the response, I seized her skirt and pulled her close with such force that she staggered. “The coffee was an accident! Tell Aufseherin Lichtenberg it was an accident, please—”
“Shut up!” Irena shouted, so I released Hania and flinched in anticipation of a blow. She tossed her cigarette butt on the floor and stepped on it, then held up a hand to interrupt Hania’s translation of my plea. “Don’t bother, Jew. I don’t give a shit.”
While we’d been talking, Ebner had moved to the back of the room, where the torture instruments were displayed in a case. He’d been calm, likely putting me at ease so I’d be even more startled when he flew into a sudden rage. It was about to happen. I could feel it.
When Ebner returned to stand across from me, he held a whip in one hand and a club in the other. He placed both on the table. One reminded me of my last Gestapo interrogation, the other of my flogging, but I wasn’t afraid of either, because I remembered this stage of his interrogations. He wasn’t going to torture me, because I was already cooperating. He just wanted to terrorize me.
We’d reached the most critical moment of our game. We’d made our opening moves and had established control of the board, strategizing and planning. Now we attacked.
I inserted a level of heightened urgency into my voice. “You said I had nothing to fear if I cooperated.”
“Which is why you’ll continue,” Ebner replied, studying his options.
From her position behind him
, Irena made eye contact with me, as though unsure how to proceed, but I hoped the look in my eyes urged her to stay in her role, as she’d promised. Meanwhile, Hania struggled to force her translations out.
“Frau Aufseherin, which do you suggest?”
Upon Ebner’s prompting, Irena selected the club. Hania appeared too stunned to translate, but it didn’t matter because I grabbed her arm. Even though I was pretending to seek protection, I gave her a small squeeze, urging her not to lose faith. She grabbed my forearm in response, and I could feel her pulse pounding, but she returned the gesture.
Ebner lifted the club toward me. “Unhand her at once.”
I recoiled while Hania backed away and Ebner came to my side. Since I didn’t have a braid for him to grab this time, his rough hand closed around the nape of my neck while the club lifted my chin.
“You’re certain you knew nothing of the smuggled gunpowder?” he asked, tightening his grip while I gasped. “Why don’t I leave you with Aufseherin Lichtenberg while you consider your answer?”
When he referred to Irena, I tensed, then he released me and passed the club to her. Before Hania had finished translating, I started begging, and I suspected Ebner didn’t need a translation to believe his plan was working.
Lips curled into a wicked smile, Irena toyed with the club. “Did you hear that, Polack? Just us.”
I fell into abrupt silence while Ebner looked between me and Irena, waiting to see what we would do next. My shallow breaths were the loudest sound in the room, and I met Irena’s gaze.
Your move, Frieda.
In a sudden explosion of motion, Irena slammed the club down on the table and lunged for me, and I released the most petrified scream I could muster and fled toward the locked door. With shrieks rivaling Mandel’s, she caught me and forced me into the chair. Keeping me immobile, she hit the table again. Even as I let out another cry, I sensed the hope and urgency and desperation between us and Hania, whose back was pressed against the wall, panicking as much as her part required—though some of it seemed authentic, too.
Before entering my interrogation, we’d detoured to the women’s washroom. I’d bent over the filthy sink and gulped mouthfuls of water, enough to take my terrified prisoner role as far as necessary. It was time to enact the next phase.
Amid Irena’s threatening bellows, I cowered and pleaded and sobbed and released the tight hold on my bladder. The pungent smell of urine filled the small space while the warm wetness seeped into my uniform, puddled in my chair, and trickled onto the floor. Irena’s jeers and threats were lost amid my continuous blubbering, and I buried my head with a final despairing cry.
“I told the truth, I swear I told the truth! Please don’t leave me alone with her.”
Aside from my weeping and Hania’s trembling voice finishing interpretations, everyone fell silent. Ebner must have been pleased. And so was I. I heard him striking a match, then the smell of smoke reached my nostrils.
“Prisoner 16671, is there anything else you need to tell me?”
“I told you everything, Herr Sturmbannführer, I promise. Please get her away from me,” I whispered, drawing farther from Irena.
Ebner allowed the tension to linger, and my panicked sniffles filled the room, as loud as the thoughts racing across my mind. So close, we’re so close . . .
I jumped when Ebner’s chair scraped across the floor, harsh and chilling, as he pushed away from the table. “We’re finished.”
Checkmate.
With a parting shove, Irena released me, so I reacted with a sharp intake of breath. I remained curled into myself, afraid to lift my head and risk looking at her or Hania. We couldn’t ruin it now. I focused on the cigarette I’d dropped during the scuffle, now on the floor, soggy and saturated with urine. The sight was oddly satisfying.
“Frau Aufseherin, escort the prisoners back to Birkenau,” Ebner said. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” Irena asked while I looked up.
He nodded and tapped his cigarette, watching the ashes fall to the floor. “We’re conducting final interrogations today, but otherwise, we’ve caught the women responsible for smuggling the gunpowder from the munitions factory. Tomorrow the entire women’s camp is going to watch them hang.”
* * *
“I knew you had a lot of chutzpah, Maria, but not that much,” Hania said, shaking her head as we traveled back to Birkenau. “I don’t understand how you came out of an interrogation unscathed. That was a risky scheme.” She’d spent the beginning of our walk carrying on in various languages to calm her nerves, so I considered this a step in the right direction.
Irena said nothing. Deep lines traveled across her forehead, a sign she had pushed Frieda away and was left with only lingering hatred toward her.
Shivering and silent, I wrapped my arms around my midsection as snowflakes descended around us. Of course I was relieved that I hadn’t been implicated, but it didn’t alleviate the familiar chill of guilt. While working in the munitions factory, I’d corresponded with the Jewish women who had been caught. They could have named me, Hania, or countless others, but they hadn’t betrayed anyone. Tomorrow they would pay with their lives.
Hania must have sensed my thoughts, because she wrapped a comforting arm around me. “Even though the uprising failed, it gave hope to so many. Those women will die as heroes.”
She was right, but I couldn’t erase them from my mind. In this terrible place, so many heroic people had met death with unmatched courage. I would always admire their bravery.
Even though I’d emerged unharmed from my Gestapo interrogation, it rekindled memories I’d suppressed for so long. All day, I waited for Ebner to summon me, saying my role in the smuggling ring had been uncovered, that I’d be joining the condemned women. Whether or not he believed my lies was irrelevant. Lies hadn’t saved me last time.
Last time, I thought I had protected my family. Last time, my false confession had spared them an interrogation but put us on a train. This time, I had no reason to believe I had protected myself or my friends any more than I had protected my family.
That night, in our bunk, when Hania and I were bundled under our blankets, I rested my head in her lap and produced the bottle of vodka I’d organized after my interrogation. I took a sip and let the heat build in every corner of my mouth before swallowing and passing it to Hania, who accepted it without a word.
When the bottle was empty, warmth tingled through my body while the room gently swayed. I was no longer so concerned that Ebner would come for me or that this interrogation would yield similar results to my last. Hania’s hand rested on my head, but she was quiet. Somehow I’d ended up drinking more than she did. Maybe I’d have a headache in the morning. How could a tiny bottle of clear liquid give me a headache? The absurd notion made me giggle.
“Hania?”
“Hm?”
“Will you tell me a story?”
She chuckled and sat up as far as the space would allow. “A bedtime story for the girl turning eighteen next month?”
I grinned. “Precisely, Bubbe.”
“Oy, I’m afraid I haven’t told a bedtime story in a long time, Maria.”
“Don’t worry, I haven’t heard one in a long time. Will you tell it in French?”
“You want a story you won’t understand?” She laughed, but she knew how much I enjoyed listening to her speak the language. After I nodded, Hania traced her finger over a small cut on my cheek and spoke in a murmur. “Il était une fois . . .”
I closed my eyes while her lilt wrapped me in the finest French silks and filled my stomach with the most delectable pastries, perhaps a croissant, macaron, and mille-feuille from a quaint bakery in the French countryside. Hania’s voice was one I could have listened to all the time without tiring of it, no matter the language, but her French captivated me. It was as delicate and beautiful as she was. I didn’t know what the story was about, but as it lulled me to sleep I heard a familiar Yiddish word amid the French. S
hikse.
Chapter 29
Birkenau, 17 January 1945
CHECKMATE AGAIN.”
Hania exhaled and massaged her temple. “You’ve won four games in a row.”
“Because you’re a bit slow today, Bubbe.” I giggled when she reprimanded me in Yiddish. “Rematch?”
“So you can continue gloating?”
“I’ll only gloat a little this time, I promise.”
We huddled near the small stove, desperate for the bit of warmth it provided. I started setting up the chess pieces, but Hania climbed to our bunk, so I collected them and joined her. We lay close together and watched a few prisoners trudge through the deep snow, their noses red and lips blue. A mixture of snow and freezing rain descended from the sky and pummeled the unfortunate women, urging them along until they disappeared into another block.
Two SS guards hurried by, wasting no time as they sought shelter. The guards had been in a strange mood during the past few days. They’d been more anxious than usual, and they’d destroyed various buildings and countless records, filling the air with the smell of burning paper rather than burning flesh. Irena had been busy, so I hadn’t had the opportunity to ask what had prompted the shift.
As if on cue, the door swung open, and Irena slammed it behind her. “Good Lord, it’s freezing!” she exclaimed, hurrying to the stove. She stood there for a moment before casting a disapproving gaze over the bedraggled women packed into their bunks. “You call this a fire? Prisoner 16671, fix this.”
Irena never barged into our block without reason. Something had happened.
I hurried to do her bidding. I gathered kindling and stoked the fire, pretending to be absorbed in my work while she hovered over me and spoke in a hushed voice.
“The Red Army is near. Evacuations have already begun, and tomorrow the women’s sector will relocate toward Loslau.” A town west of Oświęcim, known in Polish as Wodzisław Śląski.
The Last Checkmate Page 25