Through a fitful half-a-dream, Mala still caught snatches of Zippy’s grumbling, but all the resentment the Slovakian mandolinist and her fellow camp office colleague expressed for the inmate women was easily explained. Just like Mala, she felt powerless to help them all and so, she huffed and cursed—at the women themselves, at Mala, at the camp and the sodding SS and their blasted Führer—because she had to vent the frustration at someone, somehow, so as not to lose it altogether. But despite all of Zippy’s grumbling remarks, Mala knew that Zippy would have done the very same thing if she were in Mala’s place, and Mala loved her friend all the more for that.
The soft, velvet darkness descended upon the camp. The SS office staff, including Mandl, had left for the night; only the lone guard was strolling leisurely around the building. Every ten minutes, Mala saw his boots pass by her window in the camp administration office cellar, the snow crunching softly under his unhurried steps.
She loved her private quarters—an unheard-of privilege granted only to the so-called camp elite. The room was small, and mice visited it more often than not, but Mala didn’t mind such company. She had even befriended the most curious one of the group—the one with the missing ear—and left breadcrumbs by the hole in the wall, just by the radiator, from which her little pet appeared every night without fail.
At first, the mouse would grab the crumbs and disappear into the hole at once, but with time, it had grown accustomed to the young woman and began to eat in front of Mala, still on guard, still keeping its black, beady eyes trained firmly on the human. In Mala’s eyes, that was already progress. She hoped that eventually the mouse would learn to trust her enough to eat out of her open palm. Ridiculous as it sounded, that was her private dream of sorts—to have a pet in Birkenau, even such an unorthodox one. There was so much death around, Mala wanted to return to her room, after witnessing yet another mass murder, and simply sit on the floor and hold something warm and still breathing, feeling the horrors of the day fade away as she stroked the soft, gray fur with the tip of her finger.
Another ten minutes must have passed—the guard had made another circle. But Mala was on the lookout for another pair of boots. A few days earlier, she had instructed Edek how to get to her quarters undetected and which window to knock on so that she would let him in. A risky enterprise, and that was putting it mildly, but the patrolling guard was far too lazy and predictable and, unlike many of his compatriots, didn’t have the habit of shooting first and asking questions later. Even if Edek got caught, she’d explain his presence near the office building easily enough: the pipe in the cellar was leaking and could only be changed at night so that by the morning the camp office’s SS personnel would return to the warmth of their offices. Fortunately for Mala, the guard wasn’t overly enthusiastic and made it a point of honor to never do more work than he was being paid for. Both she and Zippy had smuggled guests into their rooms before, and the SS fellow had not once made the slightest attempt to investigate anything.
The familiar scratching by the radiator caught Mala’s attention. Sliding from the top of her bed to the floor, with a smile she watched a little nose appear out of the hole, its whiskers twitching slightly. A tiny pink paw followed, the other one held apprehensively in the air. Mala had ceased to breathe altogether. That night, she had added some cheese to the mouse’s usual ration of gray camp bread but placed it further away from the hole, almost by the soles of her feet. At first, the rodent appeared to hesitate; however, it was an Auschwitzer too, much like the rest of them. Just like the inmates pinched food right from under the Germans’ noses, the mouse strutted, with admirable insolence, toward Mala’s feet, grabbed the biggest piece of cheese and scrambled back to its hiding place.
In spite of herself, Mala discovered that she was laughing. It was a ghostlike, almost soundless laughter, but it was as genuine as it got, particularly in that hell on earth. “You fearless little thing, you!”
She watched the mouse return for more. Someone had taken a chunk out of its ear, but it still persisted. It hadn’t lost its spirit and Mala couldn’t help but feel a kinship of sorts with the brave furry fellow.
During the days filled with relentless gore and permanent dread, it was these moments that she looked forward to. Her small, spartan room with its bed and a table at which she ate her rations and read the books Mandl generously permitted her; the stillness of the place; the soft glow of the lamp and her little companion. It was almost a sanctuary. After the mounting pressure of the day, after feeling her shoulders tensing and gradually turning to lead with never-ending stress, what immense relief it was to come down here and just breathe, just sit on the floor and not think of anything for a change.
The sense of relief was always tinged with guilt though—guilt for having personal quarters in the first place, guilt for having access to food when others went mad from starvation; a survivor’s guilt, simply for being alive. But as long as she was alive, so were the others, thanks to her tireless efforts—at least, according to Zippy’s logic. Deep inside, Mala knew it was true, but that useless knowledge didn’t lessen her suffering one bit. The world around her was still an ugly place and she was still powerless against its injustice and cruelty.
It was Mala’s profound conviction that she would have never survived in the regular block to which she had been assigned and which she visited for daily roll calls. She would have gone mad from all the people around; people who constantly cried, pleaded, died—right in front of her eyes. As it was, everyone wanted something from her. She was Mala, the camp administration’s favorite, the girl with the lists who could arrange a transfer to a detail that would make the difference between life and death. She was the girl who always carried bread on herself to smuggle to others. She was the one who could move freely about the camp and pass a note to a loved one. They just had to catch her sleeve in passing, plead with their begging eyes and she would part with her bread, take the note, promise to see what she could do about the dreaded transfer.
Zippy claimed they took advantage of her. We’re not some almighty goddesses, her camp office friend claimed. There is only so much we can do for the poor devils. But Mala simply couldn’t say no. She listened to the inmates’ troubles even when she had too much of her own on her mind; she gave the rations she’d been saving for herself; she never turned anyone away, unless there was truly nothing she could do for them. And even then, she went to Mandl or Hössler and begged for a prisoner she barely knew, explaining what an irreplaceable worker they were and how much the camp would benefit from keeping them alive.
An urgent knock on the glass brought Mala out of her reverie, sending her heart sprinting with excitement. Eyes glowing, she was instantly on her feet, motioning to Edek, who crouched by the window, to stay put. In another moment, she was running along the corridor, barefoot and silent like a cat, to open the door through which the coal Kommando brought the sacks to warm the quarters.
Edek’s shadowy form was barely visible from here. But then it occurred to Mala that he had spent far too many years in the camp not to acquire the lifesaving skill of blending in with the environment. He slid toward her, keeping close to the wall and away from the searchlight roving the ground, as though he’d trained his entire life to become invisible at will. For the first time, Mala began to believe that he may just succeed in his daring plan. He was a good partisan already. Give him a rifle and he’d make an excellent one.
A sudden sense of longing came over her at the thought that one day he would disappear, quite possibly forever, and she would never see those shining eyes, that smile; would never get to hold his hand again. With an effort, Mala pushed the thought away, shoved it into the darkest, cobwebbed corner of her mind. He was setting off to fight for freedom. How utterly selfish it would be to prevent him from doing so just because she wanted him near.
“Cold?” Mala asked, pulling him inside and bolting the door at once.
“Not in the slightest. I ran all the way here.” He was still slightly ou
t of breath.
“You shouldn’t have. Running is dangerous in Birkenau.”
“I learned long ago how to avoid the searchlights.” He didn’t sound boastful. Dejected, if anything.
Mala, too, lowered her eyes as she led him toward her room, her bare feet padding noiselessly on the concrete floor.
“A rather swell arrangement you have here,” Edek commented, changing the subject self-consciously.
“What did you expect? We’re the camp elite.” Mala forced joy into her voice. It rarely came naturally; all the smiles came through the tears, all gaiety was theatrical, to cheer each other up when the entire world was shattering to pieces. Gallows humor, inspired by the very real gallows always just within reach. “Wait till you see my room. You’ll grow green with envy.”
With a dramatic gesture, she pushed the door to her private quarters open. Edek paused on the threshold, visibly impressed, and whistled his approval.
“No wonder you don’t want to run with us. I wouldn’t want to run either, if I lived in such an apartment!”
Mala laughed, grateful for the joke. “Now, if we were back in civilized society, I’d ask you if you were hungry before offering you anything, but since we’re here, in this hole, it’s sort of a given. So—” she moved the only chair for him to take, “sit here; I won’t be a tick.”
Edek watched as she kneeled in front of her bed and pulled a box from under it. His eyes widened when he saw her produce all sorts of delicacies from it.
“Now, you can’t eat all of this at once—it’ll quite literally kill you,” Mala said in a matter-of-fact tone, placing sardine tins, smoked salami, and jars with jam and honey on the table in front of her astounded guest, “but feel free to choose whatever few items you’d like the best and we’ll save the rest for later. As I said, we ought to fatten you up, as we need you to pass for an SS man. So, dig in. We’ll increase the portions little by little. By May, you shall look a regular German poster boy, glowing with health.”
But instead of throwing himself on the unexpected feast in front of him, Edek only observed it in stupefied silence.
“Did you steal it all?” he asked, finally recovering from the shock.
Mala laughed. “No, of course not. We have privileges. One of them is double rations and parcels from the Red Cross that Mandl allows us to take every now and then. It’s all from Switzerland.” Mala turned one of the tins toward Edek, so he could read the label.
“Red Cross sends us food?”
“You would never tell, would you?” A sneer marred Mala’s sharp features. “It’s because most of it goes to the SS. A small portion of it ends up in the hands of the privileged inmates like us. Very few of these parcels actually reach the ones who need them the most. But, on paper, everything is dandy, of course.”
Once again, Edek looked at the food, then at Mala, measuring her tall frame up and down with a skeptical look. He didn’t seem able to reconcile the fact that she had all these riches this entire time and yet had remained so painfully thin.
As though guessing his thoughts, she gave him a somewhat guilty smile. “I don’t eat most of it. So it’ll all go to you.”
He was already shaking his head, pushing the food away from him and toward Mala, despite his mouth watering frightfully at the tantalizing scents invading his senses. “No, I won’t take it.”
“Then it’ll go bad.” She shrugged indifferently.
He blinked at her uncomprehendingly.
Seeing that the conversation was unavoidable and that without a proper explanation he wouldn’t put a single piece in his mouth, Mala released a voluminous breath. “I don’t think it’ll make any sense to you, but I don’t eat because life here is too chaotic.”
“You’re right. It makes absolutely no sense.”
Mala chuckled. “Life is too chaotic, and I never know what to expect. I know I shouldn’t complain because I’m not the one breaking my back in the outside detail. At Buna, hundreds die daily from hard labor. In my case, it’s not about the physical toll. It’s more about the emotional one. As much as I try to help as many as I can, people still die and I feel helpless. Helpless and guilty for not being able to do more. And so, I double my efforts, I try to do as much as I can, give as much as I can, but it’s never enough. I simply don’t have the authority over most things. Eating—or, shall I say, not eating—is the only thing that I can control, that I can use to feel less helpless. Usually, I give the contents away to people who need it more or bribe Kapos with it in exchange for favors or medicine—and I actually feel better about myself that way. Not as guilty. But these I’ve been saving for you specifically.”
The small smile she gave him didn’t reflect on Edek’s face. Instead, he regarded her, almost mortified.
“Mala, you shouldn’t punish yourself by refusing to eat,” he said softly at last. “If anything, you ought to eat everything they give you, so you can stick around for longer, so you can help more people. They need you. What good will it do if you starve yourself to death?”
“I don’t deserve to eat when the rest are starving,” she objected flatly. “I shouldn’t be eating more than a regular inmate.”
“But it’s insanity! A regular inmate survives on some soup made of rotten turnip and a piece of dry bread.”
“See?” She crossed her arms over her chest. Through the gap in her uniform blouse, he could clearly see the sharp outline of her collarbone. “I’m already eating more than I should, with the rice and potatoes camp office gives us. I’ll cut down on my portions even more now.”
“No! That’s not what I—” Edek stopped himself in exasperation.
What have they done to you? She could read the silent question clearly in the tragic look he gave her. They both knew that this was in no way normal, rational thinking. Mala had always prided herself on concealing just how broken inside she was under a carefully constructed, impenetrable façade. But he had seen right through it and, for the first time, she didn’t mind revealing her weakness to someone who would never take advantage of it but would offer her the support and understanding she so desperately needed in this place where each person was out for themselves.
“I won’t eat unless you eat with me,” he said, setting aside a head of yellow cheese and a pretzel. “For each bite I take, you have to take one.”
Mala stared at him with accusation in her gaze, but, in spite of herself, she couldn’t help but feel warmth spread through her chest like a gentle caress as she looked into the eyes of the man who actually cared whether she lived or died.
“Or, it simply won’t be fair,” he continued, breaking the pretzel in pieces. “I have a conscience too. I’ll also feel guilty if I eat and you go starving. No, Mally, this won’t do.”
Mally. She glanced up, surprised and touched to the marrow at the pet name only her closest friends and family called her.
“Either we both eat or we both don’t. Your call.” Edek held out a piece of pretzel to her.
In the golden glow of the lamp, the grains of salt on its brown crust shimmered like diamonds. No, Mala thought, these were far more valuable, for they could be eaten. She saw Edek swallow instinctively a few times; she knew he could almost taste them in his mouth, and yet, he waited for Mala to make her move.
With great reluctance, she took a piece from him and brought it to her lips.
Grinning with anticipation, he mirrored her gesture.
“Ready? Set,” he said and smiled wider, for she had finally relented. “Go!”
“Kommandoführer Lubusch has agreed to supply me with a uniform,” Edek said, after they finished their modest feast.
Mala glanced up sharply. “You told him about the plan then?”
“I had to.” Edek shrugged, licking his fingers clean. The scent of cheese and pretzel bread still clinging to his skin was too tantalizing to mind one’s manners. “There was no way around it.”
“And you’re quite certain he can be trusted?”
“If he wasn�
�t, I expect the camp Gestapo would be beating the names of my accomplices out of me as we speak.” Edek smiled briefly and then suddenly remembered himself. “I wouldn’t tell them anything, of course. Even if I do get caught, you have my word—”
“I don’t care one way or the other,” Mala interrupted him with an astonishing indifference about her. “I’m sick to my stomach of this place. The only reason why I haven’t gone to the wire yet is that there are people I can still help. If they appoint some collaborator to my position, everything will be lost for them for good. So, if someone decides to string me up on the Appellplatz for aiding you, they’ll do me a favor, if I’m entirely honest with you.”
Edek pulled forward, reaching for her hand, but stopped short of taking it into his. More than anything, he wished to touch her, but the setting was much too intimate, the light much too dim. It frightened him for some reason. He felt himself balancing on the edge of the metaphorical abyss from which there was no return, for once he had tied himself to her, there wouldn’t be any turning back. It would be only her or nothing at all. All else would simply cease to exist, lose its meaning without her by his side. “Run with us then. This place is destroying you, both physically and mentally. Run with us. We have already secured the aid of a civilian man who will shelter us and provide us with civilian clothes.”
“Your plan is only good for two men.” Mala grinned crookedly. “How are you planning to take a woman out of the camp without causing major suspicion?”
“I’ll think of something,” Edek promised with certainty he didn’t feel. “Just say yes and I’ll invent something.”
Shaking her head, Mala stood up. While she was searching for something in her pillowcase, Edek heard her mutter something about his being an insufferable idealist. He felt his breath catch in his throat when she approached him, holding a few nuggets of gold in her open palm.
The Girl Who Escaped from Auschwitz: A totally gripping and absolutely heartbreaking World War 2 page-turner, based on a true story Page 17