Padlocked, page 29
“Max,” she said in greeting, her voice muffled through the material.
He pulled her into an alcove, but it did nothing to dispel the stench. “I am sending you to work in the camp.”
Her eyes widened in shock. “Max, I can’t work there, and you know it.”
“I know nothing of the sort.”
“Who will provide drinks to all the guards every evening? It will have to shut down if I am not there to serve them.”
“You can work both jobs. I’ll request the day shift for you.”
“You’re an idiot. Those guards work twelve hours a day. I can’t go from that to serving drinks for another eight hours. It would kill me.”
“You’ll figure it out.”
“Max—”
“I will give you twenty-four hours. Provide me with someone to take your place, or I will send your paperwork over tomorrow. If you do not show, they will send SS to get you.” Without waiting for a reply, Max turned on his heel and started back to his office.
“Fuck you, Max!”
“Yeah, fuck me!” Max retorted without turning around. “Everybody else is!”
By the time he had returned to his office, his mind was churning. He wouldn’t wait for women to apply. He would stop advertising in the local papers and in town centers. There were plenty of farms in the surrounding area. The women who worked there had been protected by the necessity of agricultural work to provide food to the military and locally to camp personnel, but these were extenuating times.
He stopped at his secretary’s desk. “Get me a car and driver,” he ordered.
“Yes, sir. When would you like to be picked up?”
“Right now,” he snapped as he returned to the courtyard to await his military escort.
38
Agata, Late 1944
Viewed from afar, Anke Bauer was considered attractive. Yet when one drew closer to the Ausch-Bitch, her beauty melted away. Her consistent scowl had etched permanent lines around her mouth, nose, and forehead. Once upon a time, her eyes might have been a clear or vibrant green, but they had darkened, and her pupils widened as though a sinister presence had taken hold inside her, leaving her gaze disconnected and soulless. She had two emotions, anger and rage, which she alternated between.
A former milkmaid, she could barely read or write. It was said that she had never left the rural farm of her childhood until she was brought to Auschwitz from Germany, and her knowledge and understanding of people was solely what she had learned from Nazi radio stations. She had a deep disdain for education, books, knowledge, and non-Nazis.
And she had remained Agata’s boss throughout her employment in the Auschwitz Hell. It was also rumored that she was Max Kursell’s lover, though Agata never saw them around town together. She was often rushing to grab onto someone else’s arm, attempting to cajole them into taking her to dinner or the theatre, laughing in an obscenely cachinnate manner as if she wanted every head turned in her direction. Meanwhile, whatever man was unfortunate enough to be latched onto wore a decidedly repugnant expression until they were free of her. Afterward, Anke’s harshness remained as if she had begun to wear the atrocities of her actions on her face.
It had been a year since Agata had discovered Elsa, and everything had changed. While Elsa was nursed back to a stage that would pass for life, she was far from well. She was forced to work as a seamstress for twelve hours a day, seven days a week, to provide uniforms for the men at the front. The seamstress workers were marched in a work column to get their lunch, which consisted of a bowl of soup that may or may not have contained a piece of potato or rutabaga too spoiled to serve in the guards’ cafeteria. Supper was 300 grams of black bread, carefully weighed, which also served as their breakfast.
Agata still smuggled food to Elsa, but she had been relocated twice. The women prisoners that Agata had met on that fateful day had died or been dispersed throughout the camp. She’d lost track of Felka and had no way of knowing whether she still lived. One of the guards had discovered she was not Jewish, and she’d been abruptly removed from that sector. Thankfully, Max had not summoned her again, so she assumed that he had either lost interest or discovered the information through another channel.
Getting food to Elsa was always at the top of Agata’s mind, as her methods had to vary from day to day and week to week to avoid suspicion. There were days when it was impossible, melting into nights when Agata cried for her sister and for her inability to do more.
Under Anke’s supervision, the female attendants had become increasingly more brutal, their actions often rivaling or surpassing those of the male guards. Those who were too soft according to camp requirements were no longer simply dismissed. They were branded traitors to the Nazi cause and punished accordingly. To continue her attempts to keep Elsa alive meant Agata had changed, too.
When she occasionally caught her image in a mirror, something she used to do each morning before work but rarely bothered anymore, she no longer recognized the woman who stared back. She was forced to acknowledge a darkness in her eyes, a stare as if her attention was riveted on an object a hundred yards away, which did not exist in reality. Her skin had aged beyond her years just as Anke’s had, the marks of permanent scowls etched for all to see.
When other guards were within sight, she often had to use her baton on prisoners who had done nothing wrong, simply to prove that she was a loyal Nazi. She pulled her arm back to an obscene degree. While holding it above her head, she hoarsely whispered for the prisoner to fall to the ground when they were struck and to remain still. When the baton came down, she tried to absorb its force before it made contact, but she was only partially effective. More than once, she had struck a weakened prisoner and heard a bone crack.
Word had traveled too slowly through the inmate population, so those who were more fortunate met her eyes before the strike in acknowledgement of their feigned role. Meanwhile, word traveled amongst the guards that she had such a wicked strength behind her battering that it often caused the inmates to faint.
At night, she often could not clear her mind of the atrocities she had committed and those she witnessed, as the scenes kept replaying in her dreams as if she could alter their outcome. In the beginning, she had avoided watching the beatings that occurred all around her. Now, she forced herself to observe. She had attempted to memorize who was involved and the dates and times, but the scale of their transgressions made it impossible. She now wrote down the facts each day before she left her post, placing the piece of paper inside her bodice. She had taken apart a seam in a uniform skirt and sewn shut one of the pockets, so she could slide each piece of paper into the skirt from the inside once the paper was complete. All of it was done in the bathroom, the only place she had privacy. As the documents accumulated, they became as weighty as a book, making it impossible to wear. She kept it neatly folded at the bottom of a box in which her clothes were kept, slid under her bed in the room she shared. She knew if it were found, her fate would likely be the same as the prisoners housed at Auschwitz or the attendant she’d seen beaten to death.
But there was a sliver of hope on the horizon.
She heard the news through the lens of Nazi propaganda, but there was no denying that the Allied forces were inching closer to Kraków. As Oświęcim decorated the streets for the Christmas holidays, the Nazis were being driven back in Ukraine by the Red Army. Meanwhile, the Americans had breached the German border in the west and were fighting near Aachen. The two armies were like an open book closing upon the Nazis in the middle.
The changes in the camp were alarming to Agata. In addition to the requirement that guards become more brutal, the trains had slowed due to tracks damaged from fighting or sabotage. Those who arrived were often taken directly to the gas chambers, with Agata and her coworkers leading the way. By this point, it seemed that everyone knew exactly what Auschwitz was. The prisoner population dropped substantially, either from starvation, illness, or extermination. With the Nazis no longer controlling the vast amount of territory they once did, they could not carry out their final solution on the same scale regarding what they determined was the Jewish problem.
This alarmed Agata because the vast number of prisoners working was no longer needed. Uniforms and shoes piled up. The filled warehouses had nowhere to take the supplies, and the damaged tracks further stymied their efforts. If workers were no longer needed or desired, it meant they must be exterminated.
Agata was on edge with every passing day, her mood shifting from the exhilaration of the Allies' approach to dismay that Elsa might not make it until that day.
Agata positioned herself along the line of prisoners awaiting their evening bread allotment. While others at the front of the line carefully weighed each slice of bread, which had dropped to below 300 grams due to new shortages, Agata and others walked the line to ensure no one spoke among themselves and that the strict formation was maintained.
She spotted Elsa and casually made her way toward her, her eyes flitting over the other attendants and those surrounding her sister. She shouted for those within hearing range to maintain their line, though they were already in perfect formation. As they shifted, she caught several of their eyes and expressions. She could never understand how they could be grateful for her pittance of food, shared by Elsa, and her brutality, which they had come to realize was an act, when she lay awake each night with mounting and crushing guilt.
“Hold on, Elsa,” she managed to whisper. “The Allies are approaching.”
At that, several in line gasped and looked toward Agata.
“Silence!” Agata shouted. “No speaking or you will receive no bread!” To drive home her words, she used her baton to separate two of the prisoners in line and push the others into another perfect line, steps from where they’d been. “Americans to our west, Soviets to our east,” she whispered. “Hold on. Survive.”
As the prisoners moved into their new position, a gap opened between two, and Agata found herself staring into the eyes of an attendant on the opposite side. For a moment, they both stared at one another in stunned silence. Then, Agata shouted at other prisoners further down the line as she quickly put distance between herself and her sister.
She didn’t know how she managed to complete her task. She remained until the line had dwindled to only a few. The sun had set long before, and now the lights throughout the camp cast a muted yellow glow across the frozen ground. As she turned toward the building where the food was kept, she caught sight of the attendant she’d encountered. She was speaking to Anke. When they both glanced in her direction, she felt her blood run cold.
Agata turned and strode with purpose toward the front gates. It was the end of her shift, but she fully expected Anke to call her back or stop her from exiting. She could see no future for herself, but she felt an overwhelming obligation to remain alive for her sister. She had been an idiot for speaking to Elsa. She replayed the scene in her head, wondering if Elsa had answered. She didn’t think she had. If she had remained mute, there may not have been a way in which Anke could tie the two together. That is, she thought, unless one of the prisoners provided information. It wasn’t unusual for several to be taken in for interrogation; she’d seen it too many times in the past.
She had been stupid. She mentally berated herself on the long walk home past snow-covered fields, the ruts in the road frozen and slippery. As she neared the multicolored Christmas lights in Oświęcim, they brought no joy but only hypocrisy, and she prayed that God would bring the Allies soon before it was too late.
39
Hank
Major Misha Volkov had blond hair buzzed so short that, from a distance, he looked bald despite his youthful face. His skin was smooth, his deep dimples making him seem to be smiling even when he was not. In contrast, his ice-blue eyes lacked empathy. Now, he studied the chessboard with the same intentness he might if he were planning his next battle, which Hank considered to be highly likely.
“I don’t understand,” Hank said after Misha made his move, “why the Red Army did not advance on Warsaw. Surely, they could hear the fighting. Word is that it was quite intense.”
Misha did not meet his eyes as he studied the board. “They will advance in time.”
“But the Warsaw Uprising failed. The Red Army blew an opportunity.” Hank moved his king into the corner.
“The battle was between the Nazis and the Poles. We allowed them to weaken each other.” Misha moved his knight diagonally toward the king, stopping two spaces away.
“So, are we to remain here through the winter?” With his king safe for the time being, Hank focused on another section of the board.
“All shall be revealed in time,” Misha said quietly. “You know that your friend’s lady friend is an enemy of the Soviet Union,” he added casually.
“Matylda?” Hank moved his rook, setting up a nice play. He smiled inwardly.
When Misha did not move, Hank looked up to find him studying not the board but his face. “What are your plans after the war?”
Hank couldn’t tell whether he was being asked as a friend or a foe. Misha had been cordial and accommodating, providing medical services to treat what was diagnosed as pneumonia. Hank was soon on the mend, but his assignments were few and scattered. He couldn’t help but wonder if they had been apprehended. If so, he would be eternally grateful that they had not been sent to one of the internment camps the Soviets had built or repurposed for prisoners of war. He leaned back in his chair. “I want to go home,” he said. “I have been stuck in Poland since 1939. What started as an assignment lasting a few weeks has turned into years. I miss my family. It is as if I had joined the military.”
“And where is home?” Misha asked as he moved his rook next to Hank’s king.
“North Carolina,” Hank said as he studied the board. He had to take Misha’s rook to save his king. “I think I’ll take some time off. Life is too short to be this far from Dottie. But,” he added, glancing up to catch Misha’s eyes, “you know where I live already. It was on every envelope.”
“And your friend, Rafe? Will he return to Spain?”
Hank captured Misha’s rook and then groaned as he realized what he had done. “Rafe wants to get his mother out of France. Then, he wants to take her to America.”
“And will he also take Matylda?”
Again, the game was paused as the men locked eyes. “I don’t know.”
“He should, my friend. Matylda is an opportunist. She fought the Nazis with the Polish Underground. She cooperates with us—to a point—to stay alive. But you must know that when the time comes, she will attempt to rejoin her compatriots to fight against the Red Army. And you must know that we would never allow that to happen.”
A chill crawled up Hank’s back and across his arms. He rubbed his forearms through his thick clothing. “What would happen to her if she did not go with us?”
Misha shrugged. “She would be sent to a prison camp. Most likely, it would not be in Poland but in Siberia. She would be made to talk, to identify her fellow conspirators.” His words hung in the air.
“Why is she not there now?” Hank asked quietly.
“Because of you.”
“I am not so valuable.”
“Oh, but you are.”
The sound of footsteps interrupted them, and both men turned toward the door as a Soviet soldier appeared in the open doorway. “Sir,” he said, “Sorry to interrupt. You are needed in the Colonel’s office.”
“I will be right there.” Misha stood, captured Hank’s king with his knight, and added, “Checkmate.”
As Misha disappeared through the doorway, Hank stood, leaving the pieces as they were. He grabbed a heavy coat with a fur collar slung over a nearby chair. Along with a fur cap, it was much-needed warmth provided by the Red Army. He made his way through the door and onto the front stoop. He paused for a moment to light a cigarette and then studied the surrounding terrain.
The Soviets had established numerous camps in eastern Poland, where they now enjoyed total control. It was challenging to determine what these buildings had been before the war; Hank surmised they were part of a training camp for Polish soldiers. Now, the Soviets fought alongside those soldiers to drive the Nazis out of the country, but the two nationalities remained separated when they were away from the battlefield.
He knew that Misha was right. The Soviets had only two choices when the war was over. They could pull out of Poland, leaving it to the Polish people. Or, they could negotiate with the fellow Allied countries for total control of the country. Due to Poland’s proximity to the Soviet Union, it would likely fall under its domination. If history was any indication, and Hank thought it was, the Soviets would be as brutal as the Nazis in rounding up dissidents, including those who fought for Polish independence.
Yet, Misha was in the same set of circumstances. He was Ukrainian, and through a twist of fate, his country fought alongside the Soviets. They, too, could be at the mercy of the Allied powers, who could decide whether Ukraine would be allowed to pursue democratic independence or be dominated by Stalin.
His eyes roamed the tree line. The ground was covered in several feet of snow. Snow stubbornly clung to naked trees so frigid that their bark appeared to turn white. As his eyes followed the branches to the top, he realized the skies were such a close match that it was difficult to tell where the trees ended and the skies began. A few evergreens were scattered throughout, their cone shapes a stark reminder that it was Christmastime.
He wondered what Dottie and the kids were doing. His heart began to ache as he thought of past Christmas trees, the corner of the living room anchored by their multi-colored flashing lights as they presided over brightly wrapped packages. They’d never had much, what with the Great Depression and then the war, but he’d managed to hold onto his job, which was more than he could say about some of his neighbors. The job security, however, came at a steep price, requiring him to leave the country and live in war zones.
