Crossing her arms, Erna said, “That must be Reichenbach.”
Twenty-Nine
Reichenbach, Germany, May 1945
The first thing I noticed was the quiet. It was like we had entered a ghost town, everything hushed and unmoving. The air itself had grown still. We matched the silence as we walked, first onto residential streets lined with small cottages and two-story apartment buildings, then onto the cobblestone streets that led to the center of town. Reichenbach seemed spared from the constant bombings by the Allied forces. Many of the homes were intact, the taller buildings toward the city center still standing, a church steeple, crowned with a cross, rising against the darkening sky. But the streets were empty and silent. The shutters of the homes were all closed against the windows. Many of the storefronts we passed had been boarded up, closed signs hanging from the windows.
“Where do we go?” Gutcha asked, glancing around.
“Look!” someone shouted. In the middle of a small square was a well with a pump. Without thinking, we ran to it, fighting our way forward. Someone grabbed my arm to pull me back, but I pushed her hard, guided by thirst. When I was finally at the front of the line, I eagerly pumped the handle, ducking my head under the flow of water so it washed over my face and mouth. The water felt marvelous on my lips, in my mouth, on my burning skin. The water we had been given in the camps was enough to slake our thirst so we could work, but it was often murky, unclean, and more often than not made us sick. This water was fresh and cold, perhaps from a spring that ran through the mountains that bordered the town.
I could have stayed there forever, bathing in the cool stream of water, but I was pushed aside roughly. Stumbling, I looked around for Gutcha. I needed to make sure she had reached the well. I found her leaning against a nearby wall, her eyes closed.
“Did you drink?” I asked, going up to her. She nodded, her eyes still closed. “Are you all right?” I asked, and she finally opened her eyes and looked at me. “Is it really over?” she whispered tremulously, and I swallowed and nodded.
The women began to disperse, some heading toward the center of town, some retracing our steps and heading back toward the homes near the outskirts of Reichenbach. Blindly, Gutcha and I followed a few women down an alley to our right and came out onto Kopernika Street. Ahead of us, hanging above an ornate wooden door, was a sign that read “Kaiserhof Hotel.”
“Is it locked?” Gutcha asked as I reached out to test the knob. It turned easily in my hand, and the door opened with a low groan. We huddled in the doorway, gawking into the ornate lobby. It was dim inside, but a smell of lilacs lingered in the air, as well as an underlying scent of cigar smoke and fried onions. My mouth watered. Erna, who was part of our little group, tried a switch on the wall, and suddenly the lights over a large front desk came to life.
We entered the room hesitantly. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end as I looked around the richly appointed room, afraid that at any moment someone would come and throw us out or report us or arrest us. I still trembled at the idea of being seen outside the camp. I didn’t believe I belonged anywhere but inside the barbwire fences—certainly not in a richly furnished room such as this one.
Gutcha approached the front desk, where vases of fresh lilacs and violets bloomed in crystal vases. She fingered them gently then turned and said, “Whoever was here must have left recently.”
I ran my hand along the richly upholstered arm of a chair. I wanted nothing more than to sink into the soft, plump seat and close my eyes. That’s when I noticed a glass sitting on the small table beside the chair, half filled with an amber liquid, and a half-smoked cigar lying in an ashtray by its side. I leaned forward, and the pungent odor of the cigar assaulted my nose.
“Look at this,” I said. “Someone left this here not too long ago. I still smell the cigar. The ashes are fresh.”
“Hello?” Erna called in her loud voice, walking to a swinging door beside the front desk. “Shhh!” I hissed. I was so used to not drawing attention to myself that I worried what would happen if someone answered her call. But no one did.
She disappeared into the room behind the swinging door. When she didn’t return, we followed her into a lavishly appointed dining room with tables covered in crisp white linen, red velvet chairs, and crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. I gasped as I looked around. But then Gutcha ran past me and I blinked, turning to see why she was in such a rush. Erna had just come back into the room from another set of doors at the far end of the dining room, her arms filled with loaves of bread and apples.
Before I knew it, the rest of us were running into the kitchen, hardly paying attention to the stainless steel cooking surfaces and large ovens and porcelain sinks. We silently jostled each other to grab what we could from the stocked fridge and pantry, struggling like we had at the well to slake our hunger. I fought my way to the large refrigerator and reached blindly for the produce that hung in baskets over the kitchen island. With my arms full, I knelt on the floor with the ripe peaches, hard-boiled eggs, and slices of cold roast beef I had found. Roast beef! I hadn’t had meat in so many years that I nearly gagged as I ate it hungrily. Unlike the rations the Russians had given us from cans and tins, this food burst with flavor and texture. I was eating not only for necessity but for pure enjoyment.
When I was done, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, I came back to myself. I realized with a start that I was alone, stooping on the floor over scraps of food like a wild animal. Blinking, I stood up, my pulse racing. I was suddenly afraid. I couldn’t remember how I came to be by myself. The sudden silence in the kitchen sent me into a panic. “Gutcha?” I called out desperately. “Where are you?”
I heard a muffled response. “I’m here!” Gutcha pushed open the door of the kitchen and rushed to my side.
“You left me,” I accused, trying to calm my racing heart. “Please don’t leave me again.”
“I didn’t leave you,” she said, pulling me into a hug. “I was just on the other side of the door, exploring the dining room. I would never leave you.” I nodded, but my heart still pounded in my ears. She took my hand and led me through the dining room back into the lobby. Erna was standing at the base of a large staircase. “Let’s make sure we’re alone,” she said, starting up the steps. Silently, my cousin and I followed her to the second floor of the hotel. I knew from the way our footsteps echoed in the silence of the upstairs corridor that it was deserted too.
We had the hotel to ourselves.
I pushed open the first door I came to and saw two beds made up in crisp, clean sheets, draped in gold curtains, with red velvet blankets folded at their feet. Blackout shades were pulled across the window, which looked out onto the alley. I forgot all about the other women from the camp. I didn’t wonder where they were or if they had found lodging. All I knew was that there was a bed, and my cousin was with me, and for the moment, we were safe.
Someone was sobbing.
I tried to ignore it. It was muffled and sporadic, as though the person crying was trying to swallow the sound. I also heard the rough scrape of peelers against potatoes. The Aufseherin strolled back and forth in front of the tables where we worked, watching for the slightest infraction, trailing her whip along a floor littered with potato peels. I tried not to glance at the switch, slithering on the floor like a snake ready to strike. I heard the sobbing again and thought, Shut up. Don’t you know what will happen if you keep crying?
“You!” the Aufseherin yelled so loudly I jumped. I glanced up, my heart in my throat. Was she yelling at me? Had I done something wrong? But to my relief, the Aufseherin was pointing the end of the whip at a girl to my right, who suddenly dropped her dull peeler and backed away from the long table. The Aufseherin faced her, staring at her with a cold smirk. “Pull back your sleeve,” the Aufseherin commanded in a clipped voice.
“Wh-What?” the girl stuttered, hunching her thin shoulders instin
ctively.
“Your sleeve,” the Aufseherin shouted again, pointing at the girl’s arm.
I kept my head low, methodically peeling the rotting potato in my hands, refusing to look up.
“Wh-Wh-Why?” the girl stuttered again. She was younger than I and still had flesh on her cheeks. I guessed she had arrived at Klettendorf recently. I wanted to tell her not to question the Aufseherin. I wanted to warn her how brutal the older woman could be. But I remained silent.
I heard the whip come down on the girl’s arm. I heard the girl’s shout of pain and surprise. Something fell to the floor and rolled toward the Aufseherin’s foot. With downcast eyes, I saw it was an unpeeled potato. The Aufseherin kicked it to a corner of the room, at the same time grabbing the girl and dragging her in front of the table.
“You thought you could hide it from me? I saw you try to slip that potato up your sleeve, you dirty Jewish thief,” the Aufseherin said in a low, menacing voice. “You’ll soon learn there is no stealing!” She threw the girl to the floor and raised the whip.
No! I wanted to yell. My ears filled with blood, the drumming sound so loud it almost cut off the sound of the girl’s screams. No! No!
“No!”
“Sarah, wake up!”
I blinked against sudden brightness. Gutcha was standing over me, shaking me awake. I saw her short-cropped hair, her sunken cheeks, the dark circles under her eyes. “You were dreaming again,” she said, sitting down beside me. I sat up sluggishly, glancing around. I was in a beautifully appointed room, surrounded by riches I couldn’t even imagine. How had I gotten here? A fog settled over my thoughts. The screams were still ringing in my ears, but as I looked around, the girl and the Aufseherin slipped away. In their place were memories of the night before, finding the hotel, the food in the kitchen, climbing the stairs to the guest rooms. This was more like a dream than the one I had just left.
“Where is everyone?” I asked as Gutcha walked to the window. She parted the drapes to look down on the street below. I walked to her stiffly and looked over her shoulder at the empty alley. “It’s like everyone disappeared,” I whispered. A bird landed on the drainpipe outside the window, gave a quick chirp, and then took flight into a blue, cloudless sky. My stomach grumbled as I turned back to glance around the room again. “I’m hungry,” I said.
“Me too,” Gutcha said. Our eyes met, wondering what to do next. We realized this was our first morning of freedom in almost four years. With no roll call, no orders to report to work, not even the Russians there to tell us what to do, we were helpless on our own.
We wandered aimlessly into the upstairs hallway. As we walked to the stairs, we passed a large mirror in an ornate gold frame that had been obscured by darkness the night before. I froze when I saw my reflection. The person who stared back at me was a stranger, a girl so thin she looked like she would break in half. I raised trembling hands to my mostly bald head, touching patches of dull hair growing in clumps across my scalp. My cheekbones were so prominent they protruded from paper-thin flesh. I blinked a few times, watching as the girl in the mirror blinked. It was like looking at a ghost—there was a remnant of the girl I had been before, somewhere in the brown eyes that gazed back at me, but she had been replaced by a skeleton encased in gray skin. I felt faint as I turned away.
Gutcha reached for my hand and led me away from the mirror. “Let’s find food,” she said softly. I noticed tears on her cheeks and wondered if she had glimpsed her own reflection.
As we entered the kitchen, we saw Erna and another woman standing at a counter, silently eating slices of cheese and bread. We joined them; without asking, we reached for the food spread on the counter and began to eat as well.
“It will run out soon, you know,” Erna said over a mouthful of food.
Gutcha grunted as she stuffed a baguette in her mouth. Again, the intoxication of fresh food was enough to put us all in a stupor.
“I just don’t understand,” I said finally, after I felt my hunger replaced by an uncomfortable weight in my stomach. “Who was here before? Why did they leave everything in such a rush?”
“It could only have been the Germans,” Erna said. “I imagine it was expensive to stay here. Who else could afford such a place?”
“So they just left?” Gutcha asked.
“Think about it,” Erna said. “They must have known the end was near. Maybe they got scared and ran, just like the guards at the camp. Maybe they were evacuated.”
“Maybe,” I muttered. Again, we looked at each other, unsure what to do. Leaving the kitchen, we ventured out into the town square. The air was fresh and clean, the sun gilding the caps of the surrounding mountains, the sky a pure blue. We wandered through the streets, occasionally glimpsing other women from the camp who looked as lost and confused as we were.
“Look. There’s a shop,” Gutcha pointed as we reached a corner. Across the street we saw a small mob gathered around the door of a store. As we approached, I noticed the women in front were trying in vain to pull the door open, but it was securely locked in place. I looked through the windows and saw mannequins dressed in fine women’s clothing. “Stand back,” someone yelled, and a rock was thrown against the glass, shattering it into a million pieces. We joined the throng now pressing through the entrance. I glanced around the dim space, taking in the racks of silk and satin dresses, finely embroidered blouses, fur stoles, jewelry dripping in colorful gems, scarves, hats, and gloves decoratively laid out in display cases. I had never seen so much finery.
I stood frozen as everyone else ran to gather whatever they could lay their hands on. “Come on, Sarah,” Gutcha said, clutching my hand and pulling me forward. “Get the clothes.”
We rushed toward a rack of summer dresses in yellow polka dots and brown plaids. I paid no attention to what I grabbed. Size didn’t matter; I doubted even the smallest size would fit my gaunt frame. Blindly, I piled clothes into my arms until I could hold no more. Some of the women started bickering near the jewelry. They fought, tearing articles of clothing and jewelry from each other’s arms, possessive and fierce.
“Let’s go,” I urged, and we quickly pushed our way out onto the street once more.
As we walked back toward the hotel, I noticed a new wave of people entering the town square. They looked like us—dressed in rags, skin clinging to flesh, with vacant, almost feral expressions. There were men as well as women, and I stopped as they passed.
“Are they from another camp?” I whispered.
“Must be,” Gutcha said.
I swallowed. A group of women about our age slowly walked toward us, shuffling their bare feet along the rough cobblestones. I noticed blood on the stones. I looked at my feet and saw my toes sticking out where I had cut away the tips of my stolen shoes, my heels exposed where the soles had separated. I remembered the day I had pulled the shoes off a lifeless body before anyone else could. Although they were worn and ill-fitting, at least they offered some protection.
Suddenly, one of the young women dropped to the ground and didn’t move.
“Anna!” another woman cried, kneeling painfully beside her. “Anna, get up!”
We ran forward and knelt over the unmoving girl.
“Is she breathing?” I whispered. Her face was a sickly yellow. Her eyes rolled back in her head.
“Anna, don’t give up now. Please. Open your eyes!”
We waited, holding our breath, watching as the girl’s chest slowly rose and fell and finally stopped moving altogether.
“Anna!” the other woman cried, throwing herself on the girl’s unmoving body. “No! Anna! No!”
We tried to help her stand. A few more women joined us, hoping to guide the bereaved woman away. But she fought to stay with the dead girl. I turned away, feeling sick.
“Let’s go,” Gutcha said. “There’s nothing we can do for her.”
I walked away a
s if in a trance. I had seen so much death already that I felt immune to the crying and suffering behind me. I wanted to get back to the hotel, to the bed I had slept in the night before. I didn’t care about anything but the bed and the blankets that would hide me from the rest of the world. I felt dead inside. I wanted to drown out the crying I heard, the despair that followed us down the street. But then, through the wails, I heard my name.
“Sarah!”
I turned. I recognized the voice.
“Sarah, is that you?”
I saw a girl standing behind me. Despite her withered frame and bald head, I recognized her immediately. I knew her. I’d have known those brown eyes anywhere.
“My God,” I whispered. “Helena?”
Thirty
We reached for each other, hugging fiercely, afraid to let go. “It’s you,” Helena whispered. “It’s really you!”
“Helena!” I cried. “I can’t believe it!”
She pulled back and cupped my face in her hands. We stared at each other hungrily. I noticed how much older she appeared. Her once youthful, beautiful face was now gaunt and heavily lined, dark circles under her eyes, a fine fuzz of hair growing where thick hair had once crowned her head. I touched her hollow cheeks and remembered how Jacob had touched her in the alley behind our home as they stole furtive kisses when they thought they were alone. I reached for her again, allowing myself a moment of hope.
“Which camp were you in?” Helena asked when we finally parted, grasping my hand and walking with me to the corner where Gutcha stood waiting.
“We were in Peterswaldau, a satellite of Gross-Rosen very near here,” I said. “I worked in a weaving mill.”
“We just arrived yesterday,” Gutcha added, embracing Helena.
“I was in Auschwitz,” Helena said softly. “We have been walking for days. I had begun to wonder if there was anything left of the country.”
What She Lost Page 18
