She’d almost abandoned the idea of ever seeing Mala at one of the women’s orchestra’s concerts after receiving one evasive excuse or the other in response to her countless invitations. It pained Mala to disappoint her friend time after time, but she simply couldn’t bring herself to listen to the beautiful music interrupted by the metallic clanking of the crematorium furnaces that operated within walking distance from the Sauna. Whoever invented the idea to use it as a concert hall certainly had a warped sense of humor, Mala thought, forcing one foot in front of the other.
“Why the sudden change of mind?” Zippy had asked.
Indeed, why? She should have stayed in her room, read a book smuggled from the Kanada and pretended for a few hours that the camp around her didn’t exist; could have visited her make-believe Papa or enjoyed a few hours of self-imposed oblivion to get her through another week in this inferno; could have forgotten herself in a fitful sleep where voices of the dead and the dying couldn’t reach her, at least for a few stolen moments of peace. Instead, she was dragging herself toward the dreaded destination, reluctance in every step, and wondered how the Sonderkommando felt shoving humanity into the ovens to the sounds of the Viennese waltz.
She was going because she’d told Edek that she would be there. Because she pretended to be brave and unconcerned because he was those very things; one had to be fearless to plan what he was planning, and she wanted him to see in her a comrade in arms, someone to trust above all, with his very life.
Because she simply wanted to see him.
As the realization dawned on her, Mala came to an abrupt halt as though stunned by a physical blow.
She wanted to see him because he was the only person who could still make her laugh in a spiritless place that belonged to the dead. She needed him to be near because his strength gave her strength, made her believe in the impossible, promised her that nothing yet was lost, that there was a chance for a new life somewhere beyond the outer cordons of the barbed wire-wrapped hell.
“Just want to see if Frau Alma indeed made a passable mandolinist out of you and your two left hands,” Mala had said, concealing her intimate thoughts behind jest instead and grinning in gratitude when Zippy had taken the hint and didn’t proceed with the interrogation.
In front of the Sauna, the crowd was already gathering. From the direction of the crematorium, the soot-stained wind threw a whirlwind of ghastly ashen flurries and, for a few instants, wrapped the figures in its shroud-like embrace, dissolving into ash. A dreadful sense of danger crept over Mala, turning her own face into a mask of chalk. They would all turn into ash, she realized with blood-chilling clarity that instant. They would all perish here, in that purgatory where the sun itself appeared dimmer, tainted by the clouds of ash and lost souls.
“I don’t think we’ll be able to hear the music from here.”
Startled by the voice, Mala turned to the man whose hand was still lying gently on her shoulder, and felt a smile blossom on her face in spite of herself. It was Edek, his cheeks fresh with frost, white teeth bared in a smile; he was life itself against that deathly picture of eternal doom and, just for that, Mala caught his hand and pressed it with endless affection.
“I’m so glad you came,” she said and meant every word.
“It seems like a few more minutes and you’d have changed your mind and stood me up, judging by your stance.”
It was intended as a joke, but his eyes searched hers earnestly.
“No.” Mala shook her head, still holding his cold hand in hers and feeling warmer just from standing so close to him. “I would never.”
He released an audible breath of relief and, as though remembering himself, shoved his hand inside his overalls, muttering apologies about being a forgetful mutton. “Here. I got this especially for you.”
Mala regarded a geranium flower in his hand in frank astonishment.
“Just how did you manage to conjure it up?” With fingers that trembled imperceptibly, she took the bright pink flower from him and slowly lifted the tender petals to her nose, across her lips, eyes closed, mind lost in memories. Belgium, apple trees in bloom, the sun warm on her face, her hand encased in the hand of the young man whose features she could no longer clearly remember. Years had passed since someone had presented her with flowers. She had long lost all faith that the day someone would do so once again would ever come.
“It’s a geranium.” Edek’s voice was tinged with embarrassment. “I’m sorry. It doesn’t really smell.”
“I don’t care one way or the other. It smells like a rose in my mind.”
Once the flower was gone from her lips, Edek saw a blissful smile playing on them.
Opening her eyes, Mala looked at him again. “Where did you get it from?”
“I stole it from the SS,” he admitted with endearing honesty. “Smuggled it in my toolbox after I was done fixing a heating element in their quarters.”
“They could have shot you for that stunt.”
“What a cause to die for though.” He was grinning roguishly again, reminding Mala of precisely what had brought them together and how bravery was a muscle that ought to be trained. Edek had certainly excelled in that—he was the bravest man she’d come across. “Shall we?” With an old, civilian-world gallantry, he offered her his elbow.
Mala put her arm though the crook of his and, somehow, the road to the Sauna lost its nightmarish quality and the thought of hearing music in a place that processed batches of people destined to die within days, or weeks if they were fortunate, somehow didn’t revolt her so much.
Inside, the women’s orchestra were already tuning their instruments. In the first rows of chairs placed in a semicircle, SS men and wardens sat like distinguished guests in a Viennese opera house. Behind them, Kapos, block elders, and other privileged inmates were seated, while the rest of the prisoners had to crowd together by the back wall. They didn’t seem to mind in the slightest, as long as they could steal a few treasured moments of absorbing the music, inhaling it greedily as though coming up from under water for a precious few gulps of fresh air. They were crammed like sardines against the back wall and yet their eyes shone with excitement, their tattered attires forgotten, the pain temporarily gone from their battered bodies. The expectation of hearing Frau Alma’s magnificent Mozart worked its magic. The air itself tingled with it, while the conductor, collected and cool as always, tuned her own violin for an opening solo.
“What about all of those people outside?” Edek asked once they made their way inside the makeshift concert hall. “Will they have to remain there, in the cold, the entire time?”
“They don’t have much of a choice,” Mala explained softly with a smile that felt guilty for some reason. Zippy had saved her a seat—‘Two seats, actually,’ the mandolinist gave Mala a wink as though she had suspected the motive behind her friend’s sudden change of heart—but now Mala suddenly couldn’t bring herself to sit among the privileged crowd. “Music is the only escape that they have in this place. Zippy says they’ll stand in the freezing cold for hours listening to it.”
“I suppose I can understand that,” Edek said pensively. “It makes them forget.” Seeing the expression on Mala’s face, he changed the subject self-consciously. “Not much room for dancing here, is there?”
Mala chuckled, grateful for the timely distraction as they stood elbow to elbow among the crowd of prisoners. “No. It’s not allowed here at any rate. Neither is applauding.”
“So what, we’re just supposed to stand to attention while listening like some demented tin soldiers?” Edek snorted incredulously at the outright ridiculous set of rules.
“I’m afraid that’s precisely the case.”
“Sod it then.” Edek grasped her hand and, before she could protest, headed for the door. “I came here to dance with you. If it means that we’ll dance in the freezing cold, fine by me. We’ll just have to dance faster.”
When Edek pushed the door open, a gust of wind hit Mala in the face; t
he ash blinding her momentarily, and yet, it occurred to her that she was laughing, laughing despite it all, in a place where laughter died before anything else—and it was he who made it possible.
“Thank you,” Mala said as the first notes of music struck and they lost themselves in it. “I was so afraid to come here and now I’m glad I did.”
“Thank you for inviting me,” Edek spoke, his cheek pressed against her hair, his hand holding hers firmly as he took the lead. “I could have never imagined that it’s possible to be happy in Auschwitz, but today you have proved me wrong.”
For a moment, Edek pulled away and gazed deep into her eyes and Mala felt his words inside her chest where her heart beat twice as fast just because her palm was enclosed in his and, for a few instants, the camp itself ceased to exist.
He was right; it was a capital offense to feel happy in this place, but that Sunday afternoon, they simply had no choice. The music enveloped them like a warm, tender embrace, swirled them, guided them through the brilliance of the fresh, glimmering snow and they lost themselves to its power. Eyes shining with self-forgetful, reckless joy; fingers entwined and no longer freezing; lips smiling ceaselessly and, at last, laughter erupting in translucent, misty clouds—a long-forgotten sound of the carefree past—mirrored by the uncertain, wavering grins of the inmates who stood surrounding them from all sides and watched them dance like a miracle of some sort.
Without once noticing it, Mala and Edek had created a circle of life around themselves; a circle of life in the middle of the SS-run graveyard, and instilled faith into something bigger than death itself in the hungry hearts aching for a sliver of hope.
Seventeen
The girl, who looked oddly familiar, was wearing the Music Block uniform, but demanded two plumbers for the camp administration office with all the authority of an SS warden.
“One of the faucets is leaking in one of the SS bathrooms and the noise is driving Obersturmführer Hössler mad. He said if it’s not fixed within an hour, he’ll send the entire fitters’ Kommando to the gas. He doesn’t want any Jews working on it though, so I’ll take those two Poles.” Her slender arm, with an index finger pointing, was directed straight at Edek and Wiesław.
Their new block elder must have been familiar with Hössler’s methods, for he nearly knocked the food bowls from Edek and Wiesław’s hands and dealt both swift kicks to their backsides in typical Auschwitz encouragement. “Get your fat behinds up right this instant!”
Edek tried to protest that it was dinner hour and surely the faucet would still be there after they were done eating, but the block elder’s expression, together with the imploring faces of the rest of the fitters, made him stop mid-sentence.
The Music Block girl watched them collect their toolboxes and only spoke to them after they were well away from the fitters’ barrack.
“I hope you’ll forgive me for interrupting you in the middle of your meal,” she spoke to them in German, the communal language of the camp; though Edek recognized a trace of the Slovakian accent in her speech. “Don’t fret, Mala and I receive double rations as the camp office workers. We’ll share with you.” She gave them a bright smile.
“Mala?” Edek’s head shot up at once.
“Naturally, Mala. Who do you think summoned you to the office? Hössler? He doesn’t use the office facilities. He has his own in his personal quarters, but your Kapo wouldn’t know about that.” The girl gave him a sly look from under her long black lashes. “Besides, all the SS are already gone for the night. Only the sentry is left, but he’s harmless.”
She was a head shorter than Mala and thinner too but just as confident and, it was Edek’s instant conviction, just as camp-savvy.
“Aren’t you with the orchestra?” It was Wiesław who regarded her blue outfit, visible under her warm coat, with suspicion.
“I am,” she replied, undisturbed. “Mala and I, we do several jobs around the camp.”
“You’re Zippy.” Recognition flickered in Edek’s eyes. Now, he remembered Mala’s friend from the Sunday concert, the mandolinist who had saved them the seats they traded for the freedom of outside. He searched the girl’s face, wondering if she knew about their escape plan.
“Yes, but keep it to yourself. I’m Spitzer from the Schreibstube for everyone else.”
And just like that, he had his answer. She was with the “organization” too, this young Slovak girl with wry eyes and a grin to match.
Mala met them in the doors of the office. Along the entire corridor, the lights were extinguished. She stood, basking in the soft warm glow of the office lamp, her back against the doorframe, arms crossed against her chest and the usual, somewhat mocking smile on her face. “Greetings to the working class.”
Edek suddenly felt inexplicable lightness in his chest at the sound of her voice. For some reason, he was sure it wasn’t from hunger.
“Is the coast clear?” Zippy demanded, removing her coat and throwing it over the back of her chair.
“Perfectly,” Mala confirmed, motioning both men inside and turning the key in the office door.
“They just leave you here for the night unsupervised?” Edek looked around.
In the corner of the room, a small tree stood wrapped in tinsel and decorated with glass balls. It occurred to him that he had all but forgotten it was almost Christmas.
“Technically, we’re assigned to regular camp barracks, but we have our own rooms here, in the cellar,” Mala explained, searching the filing cabinet for something. “As long as we’re present in our barracks for the roll call, they let us sleep here.”
“Here? Inside the camp office?” Edek regarded both women incredulously.
“Sometimes I spend a night with the orchestra, but yes,” Zippy replied, holding out a plate with roasted potatoes and even bits of blood sausage mixed in to the men. “We both have our private rooms here. Dig in.”
The two friends exchanged embarrassed looks. It went against their personal men’s code to take the food away from the girls, even though the girls belonged to the privileged caste of the camp population. Only after both Mala and Zippy assured them that they had already had their dinner and had rations from the Red Cross in their rooms did Edek reach for the plate reluctantly. Edek was relieved that Wiesław was the first one to shovel a forkful of potatoes into his mouth as he wasn’t sure how long he would be able to resist the tantalizing aroma. Once the first few golden potato nuggets touched his tongue, he couldn’t help but close his eyes with pleasure, savoring the taste and trying to prolong it, chewing as slowly as possible.
“You in particular ought to eat, and as much as possible.” Mala gave him a strange look. She was beaming, and yet, her gaze was full of some unspoken melancholy. “How do you plan to pass as an SS man if you look starved? They’ll smell a rat in a split second. As a matter of fact, I’ll make it my business to fatten you up in the next few months. You aren’t planning to run in the middle of winter, I hope?”
Once again, the two comrades looked at each other. They did in fact plan that very thing. As soon as they got their hands on the Ausweis and the uniform.
“Oh, come now, you ought to have more sense than that.” Mala shook her head in disapproval. She had finally uncovered the file she was looking for and laid it out on top of her desk, right under the green-shaded lamp.
“That fellow, who had just escaped—”
“Got lucky and that’s all there is to it,” Mala, now holding a pair of scissors, interrupted Edek with a categorical sweep of the hand. “A snowstorm was the only factor that saved him from being discovered. It swept away his footprints and made the dogs lose his scent. Say you do walk out of the camp in your disguise. You’ll have to do it in the morning or the middle of the day as no guard in his right mind shall let you out with an inmate in the evening or at night. This gives you only a few hours, and that’s if you’re lucky, to make it to the nearest forest before they discover your disappearance in the evening roll call. I hope you weren’t
considering going into the nearest village or town, because someone conscientious would report your SS uniform and the inmate’s one before you knew what hit you and then it’s the gallows for you, my children.”
She finished cropping something with her scissors that Edek couldn’t quite make out and straightened before her desk to look both men in the eyes.
As though on cue, the friends lowered them, chewing on their unexpected feast of fried potatoes instead of holding that accusatory gaze of hers.
“You suggest we wait till summer then?” Edek’s voice cracked, in spite of himself. To him, it might as well have been another ten years.
“Till May, at the very least,” Mala explained patiently. “You’ll have to spend a few nights in the forest if you wish to stay undetected. If you don’t want to freeze to death, I would strongly advise to wait till the weather gets somewhat tolerable. Besides, May and June are particularly misty here due to the swamps. It shall play in your favor as well.”
Without waiting for their reply, Mala turned back to her desk. This time, Edek approached it as well, leaving the rest of the plate for Wiesław. His eyes widened when he saw Mala glue the photo of his friend into a camp pass—the coveted Ausweis—and something caught in his throat at the sight of her delicate fingers holding their very fates in them, or at least so it seemed to him at that moment.
“Won’t they start asking questions about the missing photo?” He regarded the opened file, from which she’d cropped the picture, doubtfully.
“You shall be long gone by then.” Mala smiled at him, seemingly unconcerned.
“Yes, but you…” He looked at her tragically.
The Girl Who Escaped from Auschwitz: A totally gripping and absolutely heartbreaking World War 2 page-turner, based on a true story Page 14