“Jerzy will take you there and point you to the right spot,” Kostek said, passing a small pouch to her, which Mala immediately concealed in her pocket. Edek caught a strong whiff of some Russian tobacco the prisoners of war from Wiesław’s block smoked and which made his own eyes water. “Jerzy will be your lookout. When he tells you that the coast is clear, remove the planks, drop the food in between them, put everything back in order and sprinkle this Soviet makhorka all around it so the dogs can’t sniff them out. For some reason, only this potent tobacco works.”
Jerzy measured Mala doubtfully. “Are you sure you’ll be able to move those planks all by yourself?” He turned to Kostek, concern written on his face. “Perhaps it would be better if Mala stands as a lookout and I move the planks?”
Kostek tossed his head. “We need someone with a very slight build. The construction of the dugout is very flimsy. A rhinoceros like you will fall right through and then we can say goodbye to the entire enterprise.”
Filip guffawed while Jerzy grinned, not appearing offended in the slightest.
It was then that the meaning of their words finally dawned on Edek. His eyes flew wide open as he gaped at them, stunned with sudden realization.
“They haven’t escaped, have they?” he asked in the softest of whispers despite their location being quite secure—no one could approach their group without being noticed. “They’re still inside the camp.”
“My child, you’re a quick learner.” Kostek dealt him a friendly clap on his back, chuckling. “The Russians invented the idea after studying failed escapes for years. That was why they installed themselves in the Mexico—it’s the closest to the forest work detail that is presently under construction, swamped with building materials.”
“Among which it is perfectly convenient to hide,” Filip added, nudging his friend in the ribs.
“The Germans are very efficient, but our Russki friends are much savvier,” Kostek continued. “The Germans rely on logic, whereas the Soviets rely on their… I don’t know what to call it, but I admire their inventiveness.”
“The reason why so many escapes have failed is that the outer cordon is so well-guarded,” Mala said, motioning her head toward the Mexico, behind which the cordon lay. “SS dogs would sniff out the escapees within hours. If they don’t discover their trace within a few days, the SS will decide that the inmates are long gone. They’ll send telegrams to local authorities to be on the lookout for them, but they’ll abandon the search inside the camp.”
“So, after a few days of lying low, it’ll be perfectly safe for them to leave,” Edek concluded, his voice thick with a mixture of disbelief and admiration. Kostek was right. The plan was truly genius and crafty as hell.
“Will you come with me tomorrow?” Mala asked him, looking into his eyes searchingly. “As my lookout.”
“Of course. Do you truly have to ask?”
She beamed at him in gratitude.
“Do I know them?” Edek asked, addressing no one in particular. “Their names didn’t ring a bell when the SS announced them.”
It was Filip who nodded at once. “You met at least one of them. Rudek. He was the fellow who came to the crematorium the morning after that rotten business with the Family Camp, asking about his girlfriend.”
“Not the block clerk? The young fellow?”
“The very same,” Filip confirmed. “He couldn’t bear losing her. Swore revenge and said he’d do anything to stop the Nazis from murdering more. Well, we took him up on his word, stuffed his pockets with blueprints of the crematoriums, wrote the names of the SS men who work here, numbers of transports and people gassed, added a Zyklon-B label I personally tore off from one of the containers, and sent him on his way. If he lucks out and reaches the Jewish leaders in time with all those documents, perhaps they’ll do something to prevent the Hungarian Jews from being sent here to die in the gas chambers.”
Edek felt the blood draining from his face at those words. “The SS will slaughter him properly if they discover all those papers on him.”
“And that’s why it’s in his best interests not to get captured.” Filip shrugged, but a ragged breath he released betrayed his true feelings.
“We armed him and a friend who’s accompanying him with hunting knives.” Mala’s voice had a strange undertone to it. She didn’t look at Edek when she spoke, staring vacantly past him instead. “In case the Nazis discover them, they’ll kill themselves so as not to betray anyone.”
“Rudek is our only chance,” Kostek announced, contemplating the finished ramp with eyes full of unspoken torment. Still empty and silent, it would soon be swarming with innocent souls who would perish forever in this very crematorium, burned with Kostek’s own hands. He stared at his palms with sudden hatred before burying them in his pockets. “Mala says there’s a rumor that the Old Man shall soon return to replace Kommandant Liebehenschel.”
At the mention of the camp nickname for Kommandant Höss who’d been shipped away just last fall on corruption charges, Edek leaned against the wall, his head turning light with a sense of approaching terror. Unlike the soft Liebehenschel who had been fighting with Berlin about every transport and never sanctioned any gassings on his own initiative, Höss was a perfect bureaucratic murderer who had turned Auschwitz into a veritable annihilation machine. Unlike Liebehenschel, Höss wasn’t burdened by any sentimental principles that at least women and children didn’t belong in gas chambers. He’d personally shove the last batch in there and lock the door, his face as impassive as a Teutonic Knight’s statue—stone-cold and devoid of feeling.
“I’ve seen papers mentioning Moll’s name as well,” Mala added. The dark shadow that passed over her face didn’t escape Edek’s attention. He sensed with his gut that there had been some history between Moll-the-brutal-SS-killer and his beloved and, whatever it was, it sent a cold chill down his spine. “Berlin officials proposed to appoint him as head of the Hungarian Aktion, virtually placing him in charge of all crematoria.”
“Moll? The glass-eyed Moll?” Kostek turned to her, instantly alarmed. “The one who locked us inside the crematorium and gave me a beating for trying to warn him that you were among us?”
“The very same,” Mala confirmed his worst fears, softening the words with a crooked grin.
“Just what I needed to hear today.” Filip wiped his hands down his face with a moan. “Cyclops as my immediate boss.”
“Don’t shoot the messenger,” Mala quipped grimly.
No one laughed, a tense silence hanging around them like gray mist. The faint scent of some terrible approaching danger tainted the air they breathed.
Edek was reluctant to leave her. He longed to speak with her in private—no, that wasn’t quite the truth, he wanted to hold her against him for a few precious moments at least, to feel her warm lips open to his, to inhale the heady scent of her hair—but Mandl was already waiting for her at the camp office and he had to head back to the men’s camp with Jerzy in tow.
“Jerzy?”
“Yes?”
Edek hesitated before opening up to the man whom he didn’t know all that well, but suddenly, he didn’t have a choice. “I also have an escape plan.”
“Oh yes?” For some reason, Jerzy didn’t appear surprised. It occurred to Edek that after the Family Camp liquidation, every other inmate began considering such an idea.
“You work mostly in Auschwitz, right?” Edek probed once again.
Jerzy grunted in response and looked at him with his big, kind eyes, the gentle giant who looked like a grizzly bear but had a heart of gold, as Edek would soon discover. “Just tell me what you need and I’ll do it,” he said simply and grinned.
“I’m going to need you to help me with Mala.”
“Done.”
One simple word, a proffered palm and the deal was sealed. They made the rest of the way back in companionable silence. No words were needed between two newfound resistance brothers. Everything was understood.
Twen
ty-Nine
Two weeks had passed since then; two weeks thick with fog and tension and eerie stillness. The night had enveloped Birkenau and the men’s camp was still being confined in Stehappell—the standing roll call. The men were tired, but no one dared to complain: after all, a standing roll call as a punishment was quite an improvement after the summary executions in which all escapes had ended just a year ago.
The liquidation of the Family Camp reverberated through the camp and resulted in a series of escapes, spurring the men on. Rudek and his friend were the first ones to run; Soviet prisoners of war from Block 8 followed them by way of the same “Russian route” through the Mexico, and more of their comrades had joined them. Some were caught, some remained blissfully at large, but the communal feeling was there: it was now or never.
The SS had made their plans for the camp inhabitants’ account known after they gassed the Theresienstadt inmates directly under the protection of the international Red Cross. If the world’s biggest humanitarian organization meant nothing to them, the organization for the sake of which they had established the Family Camp in the first place, all bets were off. There would be no more pretending that the Jews were well cared for in Nazi concentration camps. The propaganda films made in the Theresienstadt ghetto to feed to the world leaders were all that was left of the Theresienstadt Jews. There would be no more Red Cross delegations inspecting the inmates, scrubbed off and dressed up for the occasion; no more pretense as to what the Nazis’ goals concerning them were. By mid-April, everyone who could, decided to make a run for it. At least this way they had a chance to survive.
“I’m not liking this present state of affairs,” Edek commented to Wiesław after yet another escape. As was their habit, they sat at the table in Wiesław’s room, drinking the fiery Soviet-made vodka. Making use of his position as clerk, Wiesław had procured neatly made civilian clothes for himself. Edek began to grow out his hair, which the barracks’ barber was cutting for him in exchange for cigarettes. Both friends could have passed for civilians now, if it weren’t for Edek’s overalls. “More and more of them bolt,” Edek carried on, “and half of the escapees are from your block.”
“And?”
“Do you not think the Political Department will take special interest in your barracks?”
Perfectly unfazed, Wiesław waved him off. Edek watched his friend stir his goulash soup—a special favor bestowed upon all clerks, which Wiesław had split with his friend—and lowered his own spoon, unable to force a single bite down. It wasn’t only the possibility of the camp Gestapo descending on the block with a search that was gnawing at him. It was the only secret he’d kept from his best friend that made him hide his guilty eyes from Wiesław’s searching ones and mumble something incoherent in reply to Wiesław’s question if anything was the matter.
Edek couldn’t explain, even to himself, why he still hadn’t said anything to Wiesław about Mala joining them. Was it his reaction that he feared? Inwardly, Edek scoffed at the idea. Wiesław was the kind of a friend who would give his own life for a comrade. It was ridiculous to imagine that he would suddenly begin to protest Mala’s involvement with their daring plan.
As though reading his mind, Wiesław nudged him gently with his elbow. “Eat before it gets cold.”
The understanding in Wiesław’s kind eyes nearly tore at Edek’s heart. He felt himself a traitor, a pitiful traitor, with a very guilty conscience.
Putting away his own spoon, Wiesław folded his hands atop the table. “Edek. Are you afraid? Is that it?”
Seeing that he was smiling, Edek also broke into laughter, but it came out uneasy and hollow. And then it occurred to him that his friend saw right through Edek’s own heart, guessing instinctively what was in it before Edek himself could.
He was afraid. Only not of the gallows; he was terrified to put the final plan into words, terrified to make it real and thus somehow jinx them all.
But then Wiesław patted his hand with his, which was reassuring and steady unlike Edek’s, and the terror melted away.
“Wiesław?”
“Yes?”
“What would you say if I told you that I want to take Mala with us?”
Wiesław didn’t answer at once. When Edek risked a glance at him, he saw mirth dancing in Wiesław’s eyes.
“I’d say, I thought you would never ask.”
Edek laughed, but this time with immense relief. The pressure fell away from his chest. The steaming plate before him suddenly looked appetizing. “Your Soviet friend, Kolya, gave me an idea for a disguise. We’ll dress her up as a fitter as well, so I can lead you both out of the gates dressed as your SS escort.” He paused for effect. “And as for concealing her face, the credit for that idea goes to you.”
Curious, Wiesław arched a lively brow.
“Remember how you carried a sink to the Music Block, on your shoulders, with your head concealed completely inside?” After getting a nod of acknowledgement, Edek continued, “If we put a sink on top of her shoulders in the same manner, no one shall know she’s a woman.”
“That is a brilliant idea!” Wiesław exclaimed in approval and raised his mug with vodka. “And here’s to yours truly who’d conceived such a brilliant plan without realizing it.”
There was no arguing the point. Laughing at such shameless self-praise, even though he knew Wiesław was only jesting, Edek toasted him and downed his vodka in a few fiery gulps.
“There’s an issue with an Ausweis for her though…” Edek mused out loud, shoveling the goulash into his mouth to kill the burning aftertaste.
Before his friend could work himself into a nervous state again, Wiesław dismissed that new concern of his with another wave of the hand. “You’ll figure something out. You always do.”
“Are you working on bribing someone to get you into a work Kommando? I can only escort a regular inmate out of the camp; not a block clerk. And particularly not one attired as fancily as you are now.”
“Edek.” His head tilted to one side, Wiesław gave his friend a look of faint reproach. “Stop fretting over everything and eat. There’s still time. We aren’t going anywhere till June, are we? I’ll get myself a position in a regular Kommando a couple of weeks in advance. There’s no reason to rush things now. Look how nice of a room we’ve got ourselves here. And the hiding place for the goods—that, too.”
To be sure, Wiesław had a point, and so, Edek tucked away his concern into the darkest corner of his conscience and patted his friend’s hand instead. “You just keep watch over that hiding place, will you? It would be idiotic to lose all that hard-earned stuff to some stupid block search.”
“Don’t panic. They won’t search the bread store. Not under the floorboards at any rate.”
For a couple of weeks, it appeared that Edek was worrying for nothing. More men escaped and, this time, annoyed with having to stay up every other night minding the inmates, the SS didn’t even summon the prisoners for the Stehappell punishment.
“See?” Wiesław beamed at Edek. “They don’t care anymore. The Soviets worry them much more than our sorry lot. By the time we run, they probably won’t even search for us.”
Edek wanted to believe him, yet something was still nagging him.
On Sunday evening, he went to see Mala. On his way, he had to pass right by the gallows, from which three recently captured men were swinging, with mocking signs “We’re back!” hanging off their necks. For a few instants, he stared as though hypnotized at their protruding, black tongues, their swollen faces around which the swarms of flies were buzzing, their sightless eyes looking fixedly at their feet that had failed to carry them far enough away from the camp. Swiftly, Edek averted his gaze, a superstitious fear threatening to seize him once more.
It was best not to think of it just then.
It was best to believe that Mala, Wiesław, and he had a chance to escape that inferno alive.
Mala met him by their usual cellar door, sun-tanned and smelling faintly of lavende
r. After the suffocating stench of thousands of unwashed bodies, rotting flesh, and incinerated humanity that burst from the chimneys and contaminated the very air they breathed, it was as if Edek was inhaling heaven itself.
“Your hair has grown even longer,” she said to Edek, brushing it neatly to one side.
“Do I look like an SS man yet?” He tried to hide a grin and couldn’t.
Mala made a face. “You’ll get there.”
Still smiling, he followed her into her room. For some reason, Mala almost danced on the way there, replying with a mysterious, “you shall see, all good things for those who wait,” to all of Edek’s questions.
Once inside, she produced a plate with cheese and breadcrumbs scattered on it and gestured excitedly to Edek to join her as she settled herself in front of the radiator.
“Look!” she whispered with a triumphant look, gathering a palmful of crumbs and holding it to the hole in the wall.
After only a few short moments, a familiar rodent with a missing ear poked its face out and sniffed the air, its shiny black eyes trained on the generous offering. With a look of utter concentration, Mala held her hand, palm up, as steadily as possible. It occurred to Edek that she was scarcely breathing at all. It was then that he realized that neither was he, much too self-conscious so as not to frighten Mala’s tiny pet.
To his great astonishment, the mouse hesitated for just a fraction and then leapt straight into Mala’s open hand, grabbing a tiny fistful of crumbs and stuffing them at once into its cheeks that were growing rounder and rounder as Edek watched on. He felt his shoulders quivering with silent chuckles which soon grew louder and louder, joined by Mala’s.
“Look at the little fellow, not afraid in the slightest,” he declared, obviously impressed.
“No wonder. This little man is an Auschwitzer. He’s a tough old prisoner.”
“He’s a survivor.” Edek nodded, his voice weighted with unexpected emotion. “Just like we shall be.”
The Girl Who Escaped from Auschwitz: A totally gripping and absolutely heartbreaking World War 2 page-turner, based on a true story Page 24