“It’s chained; can’t you hear the metal clanking?”
He recognized a hint of a grin on her face and laughed soundlessly at his own stupidity. “Forgive me, please. It’s the nerves.”
She regarded him with faint reproach. “Would you be just as nervous if Wiesław was by your side and not me?”
Edek was about to argue the point, but at the last moment stopped himself and lowered his gaze, feeling guilty for some vague reason. As though sensing his inner torment, Mala placed her warm palm in between his shoulder blades and all at once, the tension began to fade. He could breathe again.
“I appreciate that you worry about me, Edek. I know that you feel responsible for me, that you’ll blame yourself and yourself only if something goes wrong. But you ought to stop. It’s not helping. I’m strong. Just as strong as you are. I won’t break. Treat me as your comrade, not as a girl you ought to protect. I’ve been working with the resistance for years; I dug my Papa out of the death trench; I assisted Rudek with escape; I carried the blasted porcelain sink on my head for what felt like hours under scorching heat—I think I have proved myself capable enough. We’ll have much more of a chance if we work as a team.”
Her voice was hushed but full of force and, suddenly, it struck Edek how fortunate he was to have a fearless warrior by his side.
“Thank you,” he whispered at last.
“For what?”
“For being so calm when I was about to fall entirely apart.”
“Well, one of us has to.” Mala arched a brow in mock reproach and Edek nearly suffocated from the power of his feeling for her just then.
He was about to say something else but decided to leave it for later. After all, he would have his entire life to tell her just how much he loved her—her cool, logical mind, her steady hand in his, and her spirit that instilled even him with confidence that everything would turn out just fine as long as they were together.
“I’ll go fetch Szymlak,” he told her instead, letting go of her hand with great reluctance.
From her hideout by the fence, Mala watched as Edek approached the house and knocked on the window by the porch. After a brief wait, a curtain twitched, revealing a woman’s face. Her eyes widened in fear as she recognized the SS uniform on the stranger, but she didn’t dare close the curtain in his face.
Soon, the door pulled open, but it wasn’t the woman who came out onto the porch; it was an elderly man whom Mala assumed to be Antoni Szymlak, the Auschwitz civilian tiler. Mala had only a moment to make out his gray, thick mustache and lined face in the pool of light that came from the house. In great haste, Szymlak pulled the door closed, obscuring Edek and himself almost entirely from curious eyes.
For some time, they were talking, their voices inaudible; only wild gesticulation betraying the urgency of the subject. From the corner of her eye, Mala saw the curtain move again, revealing the round, curious faces of two young boys, their eyes riveted in fascination to the mysterious SS man. Noticing them, Edek raised his hand and gave them a friendly wave, but they didn’t get the chance to respond; their mother, her face white with horror, snatched them away from the window, pulling the curtain tightly closed once again.
And then, distant, but bloodcurdling nevertheless, the camp siren finally began its wailing, instantly turning Mala to ice.
The men heard it too; they froze where they stood and peered into the darkness as though expecting the search party to pour out of the woods with their beastly dogs any moment now. Alarm written all over his creased face, Szymlak turned his gaze slowly to the window, behind which his family sheltered. Edek followed his gaze and clearly understood everything without a single word being uttered. He clapped the old man on the shoulder and said a few words that only made the old man shake his head in obvious despair and lament his fate—their common fate, the oppressed, persecuted people—and apologize profusely for making promises he could no longer keep. Mala couldn’t make out the words, but she saw every emotion painted as clear as day on the men’s faces; she felt it all too—their sorrow, agony, and the soul-tearing manner in which they had to part, two countrymen separated by the war.
Not wishing to endanger the tiler with his presence any longer, Edek thanked him all the same and turned to take his leave, when Szymlak reached out and grasped him by the sleeve, saying something urgently and pointing in the direction of the meadow which they had just crossed. In the uncertain light from the window, Edek’s face brightened visibly. A second later, he turned on his heel and trotted toward Mala’s hideout, keeping to the shadows out of precaution.
“We can’t stay in his house for obvious reasons,” he informed her as soon as he reached her, his breath short. Yet Mala was relieved there was a note of excitement in his voice as he confirmed, “But he said we can spend the night in the barn that belongs to him, where he keeps the hay. It’s a perfect hideout, even if the Nazis come here at night, which is highly improbable. Most escapes are from Birkenau and they all take the opposite route, so it’s a safe bet that they won’t disturb us tonight. He said he’ll bring us food and milk later.”
“And what about clothes?” Mala asked, raising her voice in spite of herself. The blaring of the siren, no matter how distant, seemed to drown everything else. Only the wild pounding of Mala’s heart against her ribcage, forceful like a fist against the bones, overpowered it.
Edek’s face fell. “No clothes, unfortunately. He owns only two different shirts just like his daughter, who came here with her sons and whatever clothes she had on her back. If he gives us his clothes and we get caught, the village people will recognize them instantly when interrogated. He doesn’t want to risk it.”
Mala nodded—yes, that was perfectly understandable—and rose to her feet, the dew glistening in her hair like diamonds. She narrowed her eyes as they stopped on the two lightning bolts on his collar. “You know, I hate that uniform on you.”
Without another word, Edek removed his belt and began to unbutton his tunic. Before long, he stood before her only in Lubusch’s old breeches which bore no insignia for her to disapprove of.
“Better?”
Her eyes almost black against the satin of the night, she slowly shook her head. “No. The jodhpurs have to go too.”
“Do I at least have permission to keep them on until we reach the barn?”
Mala made no reply, only laughed in that way that made his blood turn to molten lava and set off in the direction of the barn, the creature of the night he’d give his life and soul for.
Later that night, they lay atop the roof to which they had migrated from the stuffy confines of the barn and gazed at the stars dotting the inky sky. The scent of fresh hay clung to their hair; on their lips glistened the remnants of rich and sweet goat’s milk supplied by Szymlak’s daughter a couple of hours ago. The jug of it was still half-full and warm, standing next to a basket with bread, potatoes, and smoked meat also delivered by the farmer’s daughter, along with apologies they refused to listen to.
“You risked enough for us as it is,” Mala had assured her, accepting the jug from the woman. “We couldn’t be more grateful, truly.”
A gentle breeze caressed their bare bodies, still hot and wet with sweat after their lovemaking. From their vantage point, the entire world appeared to be sprawled before them, ripe for taking, brimming with possibilities. That night, death had ceased to exist. The air itself was full of life and, for a few stolen instants, they breathed pure freedom.
“Even if we get caught—” Mala began in her still-husky voice, with which she had whispered the most impossible things to Edek just minutes ago.
“Don’t!” he interrupted her, his arm stiffening under her neck at once. “You’ll jinx us.”
“Even if we get caught,” she repeated, lifting herself on one elbow so he would see her eyes that were bright and clear without the haunted look in them that she had carried in their amber depths for far too long. “It was worth it. Just to have this one night with you, free, on t
his roof—it was worth dying for.”
“We won’t die,” Edek said with certainty he didn’t feel.
“Everyone dies, my love.” She smiled serenely at him. “What’s important is how you die. And I’m determined to die a hero, not a coward.”
“You’re already a hero.” Edek reached for her fingers and pressed his lips against their tips. “My hero. You made this night possible.”
“No, love.” She shook her head and tenderly brushed a lock of hair away from his forehead. “We made it possible. Together, we’re indestructible. In spirit, if not in flesh.”
That night, for the first time in years, they both slept deeply, without any dreams. Their most important one had come true, and now, there was nothing else to dream of.
Thirty-Four
In the dusty, golden-red rays of the setting sun, the water in the small lake shimmered as though infused with a thousand precious gemstones. Having scrubbed themselves raw with the fine, yellow sand from its bottom, Mala and Edek reclined on the bank, soaking up the tender warmth of the day that was balancing on the brink of the approaching twilight. An opened map before her, Mala traced their progress with her finger, measuring the distance not in kilometers but in days they spent away from the camp and nights they spent in each other’s embrace.
“How far away from Szymlak’s village?” Edek asked, caressing her bare thigh absentmindedly.
“Seven days precisely. Last Saturday, we waited in the forest for the dusk to settle in.”
“How many more till the mountains?”
“If we take the roads, only two weeks.”
“But we’re not taking the roads.”
Mischievously, Mala glanced over her shoulder. “That would be an incredibly idiotic thing to do.”
“You’re a commanding officer here; I’m your loyal infantryman.” Edek grinned in response. “Out of us two, you spent years preparing to become a soldier in your Jewish army. I’m only a useless naval cadet, who got arrested by the Gestapo before I could make use of my new uniform. You know how to read the map. You know how to avoid them the best.”
A teasing smile slipped off Mala’s face, as though a mask from which someone had cut off the strings. “Two thousand years of persecution are in my people’s blood, I suppose.” Heaving a sigh, she concentrated on the map again. “Might as well make some use of it.”
The shadows were already settling all around them, drawing mysterious designs on their bodies. With his finger, Edek traced them along Mala’s skin that had acquired a healthy golden tan after all the days they spent sunbathing naked by the streams, concealed on all sides by the thick woods. On her expert advice, they moved only at night, invisible as shadows, blending with the environment and stopping at hearing any suspicious sound that travelled long distances in the dark.
Shivering with pleasure against his touch, Mala felt him counting her ribs that stood out even sharper under her skin now that they had to rely only on mushrooms and berries and an occasional fish instead of smoked sausage from the Red Cross parcels and whatever else privileged inmates like Mala could secure on the Auschwitz black market.
“After this war is over,” Edek said, “the first thing I’ll do is fatten you up.”
Sitting up, Mala tossed her head with unexpected resolution. “No. Leave all my bones to me. I want to wear them proudly as proof of what they failed to break. And leave all my muscles to me, so I’m ready to fight at the first sign of this fascist filth spreading through the world again. Even after Germany falls, it will go nowhere. It will lie in wait until some fanatic comes and stirs all this baseness and hatred in his followers once again and reminds them of how their ancestors loathed and annihilated everything foreign and how immigrants were always the enemy and how anyone who differs from them in any way deserves to be persecuted and exterminated without mercy. I don’t want to soften up and forget it all like a bad dream. I want to remember every person who died on my watch and I want to stay sharp as a knife, so I can cut out this cancer as soon as I recognize it spreading through the body of whatever nation I shall belong to.”
In the descending twilight, her eyes shone like two fiery coals. Bare-skinned, savage creature of the night, of the forests they crossed, of the lakes they bathed in, she watched Edek regard her with pure reverence in his gaze and heard him say quietly: “No. You’re not just my commander. You’re my goddess,” breath catching in his throat, he reached for her face and traced the sharp outline of her jaw with his fingertips with an awe-like fascination, “and I shall worship you all my life, no matter how long or short it shall be.”
Zywiek Mountains, Poland. July 6, 1944
The road before them stretched long and empty in the early-morning sunlight. Under the dome of the pale blue sky, the air was fresh with the promise of freedom in it. Her blue overalls dusty and wrinkled after yet another night spent in a forest, Mala chewed contentedly on the blade of sweet grass, unbothered in the slightest by the rumbling of her stomach. Next to her, Edek was whistling a joyful tune, his arm draped around her shoulders, his SS tunic unbuttoned and smelling faintly of moss and smoke.
In the distance, the mountains rose, hiding in their shadows the coveted land of freedom, of partisans, of glorious fights to come. Just the last barrier to cross to forever shed the title of the Nazis’ slaves and turn into fearless fighters instead, to avenge the ones who had perished and protect the ones who were destined to die.
Alone and unchallenged, they traveled during the day now, the map forgotten in the pocket of Mala’s overalls. After poring over the map for weeks, she had memorized the local terrain like the back of her hand. She knew precisely where they were heading.
It was because of that unshakable certainty of their success, of her faith in their glorious future together, that the blow came like a physical one, straight into her gut, forcing the air out of her lungs—a doomed half-a-gasp cracking with horror.
“Edek.”
Halted in her tracks, Mala stared in despair and horror at the two uniformed figures walking purposely and deliberately toward them. Her blood turning to ice, she recognized the uniforms instantly.
The border patrol.
The German border patrol.
Edek hadn’t spotted them yet, only turned to her, smiling—What it is, my love?—but then his smile faltered as he slowly followed Mala’s gaze.
They must have appeared from behind the bend of the road, heavens only knew why, as they knew that the Germans hardly ever patrolled this area.
Already doomed, already half-dead with anguish—so very close to freedom!—Mala saw Edek look with infinite longing at the forest looming to their right, then shift his gaze back to the approaching German border patrol. The muzzles of their submachine guns shone brightly in the golden rays of July sun. He stared at the weapons with bitter disappointment, angry tears pricking his eyes just like they were pricking hers.
So very close and so infinitely far…
Mala picked up his hand and pressed it tightly, shaking her head with a small smile. No, Edek, my love. We shall never make it into the forest. Let’s die with dignity instead; not like two cowards, shot in the backs at the attempted escape.
He had always been a dreamer. She had always been the voice of reality, and now, that reality stared into her soul with those black muzzles and there was suddenly no escape from it all.
“Forgive me, please, Mala… I love you.”
The very last words he uttered before the Germans leveled with them, saluted crisply and politely demanded, “Your papers, please, Herr Unterscharführer.”
Of course, Edek didn’t have any, only a useless camp Ausweis.
Of course, they instantly recognized the telling Auschwitz tattoo just below Mala’s rolled-up sleeve.
Of course, the border patrol agents had a paper on them with two recent escapees’ names, descriptions, and numbers and, of course, after exchanging knowing glances, they swiftly put two and two together.
“No, you forgive
me, Edek,” Mala whispered just before the Germans took them into official custody and prohibited them to talk altogether. “I may die, but my love for you never will.”
Thirty-Five
Auschwitz, July 1944
“It was good while it lasted.” Edek released a dejected breath and handed Jakub, the Block 11 bunker Kapo, a note for Wiesław. “Thank you for letting me write it. It explains everything: how we got arrested and, what’s more important, why I couldn’t get the uniform back to the others from Szymlak. He wouldn’t take it from me. He suddenly realized it was too much of a risk for him and his family.”
“So, you just kept wearing it?”
“I had no choice. He was too afraid to give us his clothes in case someone from his village recognized them.” He shook his head. “Blast it, I should have foreseen it. I shouldn’t have had such blind trust in people. There’s a war going on; I should have known. I should have taken clothes out of the camp myself, so we could change into them. If we wore civilian clothing, that border patrol wouldn’t have given us a second glance. But an SS man without documents? I knew we were done for as soon as they stopped us and asked me for papers.” He sighed. “Again, thank you for allowing me to write to Wiesław. Tell him, please, to stay put and not try anything. The war shall be over soon. I want at least one of us to come out of here and tell the world what happened.”
Jakub concealed the note in a seam of his sleeve and gave Edek a sympathetic look. Hey, that’s what comrades are for. He felt for Edek and Mala. He was from the underground too, despite being an inmate functionary in charge of the most dreaded punishment block in the entire camp complex. “I’m sorry about how it all turned out. People are cowards for the most part. Only few rare ones…” He broke off.
The Girl Who Escaped from Auschwitz: A totally gripping and absolutely heartbreaking World War 2 page-turner, based on a true story Page 29