I felt the eyes of the Oberfeldwebel on us as we worked in silence. Lotte sat beside me, and I couldn’t help but notice how she kept dropping small bolts and screws onto the floor. Her cheeks were chapped and red, and her hands were so unsteady she kept rubbing them together and clutching them to her chest.
“Here,” I whispered, pulling off one of my gloves and handing it to her.
She took it gratefully, but immediately stiffened as the Oberfeldwebel walked behind us. Two male guards supervised us each day. We had nicknamed one of them the “Khazer,” the Pig, because of the rolls of skin that strained his uniform and his snout-like nose. The other we nicknamed the “Fux,” the Fox, because he was silent and sly and would lash out unexpectedly. Though the Pig was the larger of the two men, we feared the Fox the most.
“Keep working,” I muttered under my breath as the Fox paced toward the other side of the room. Lotte nodded, but I heard her whisper, “Mama, help me. I don’t feel so good.”
My stomach clenched into a knot. So many were falling sick as the winter wore on. I wanted to reassure Lotte, to put my hands on hers and stop their trembling, but I continued to work methodically, concentrating on my own work, afraid to draw attention to myself.
At some point in the day, the Pig came to relieve the Fox of his duties. I felt my body relax slightly as the Fox spoke to the Pig in clipped words, then saluted and walked out the door. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the Pig wipe his forehead, covered in perspiration despite the cold, and take off his hat as he settled into a chair in the corner. I glanced at Lotte to silently assure her the rest of the day would be easier, but her face had turned a sickly gray.
“Are you all right?” I whispered.
She shook her head but couldn’t speak. Then she fell off her stool and crumpled to the floor.
I instantly knelt beside her, trying to gather her in my arms. “Lotte!” I cried. “Lotte, wake up!” Her eyes were closed and her skin felt clammy. I realized too late that the room had fallen silent. I glanced up and saw the girls at the table staring down at us. I swallowed as the Pig stood up and walked to my side, frowning as he grimaced down at us.
“What happened here?” he asked.
“I, I’m sorry, Herr Oberfeldwebel,” I stammered as sweat broke out on my own forehead. “She fainted.”
I waited for the blow that would surely come, but the Pig considered us for a moment before smiling. It was a small, thin smile, but not unfriendly. He shook his head and said in a sympathetic tone, “They work you girls too hard, and in such conditions. Help her to the infirmary, then report back to me.” He held out a hand, and I hesitated, unsure whether to take it. I was still waiting for him to beat us or, worse yet, shoot us. But he nodded encouragingly and helped me to my feet. Lotte blinked as I dragged her up, her eyes glazed. “Mama?” she whispered, her stale breath against my cheek.
“Let’s go, Lotte,” I whispered back, my heart racing.
Out in the cold yard, I trudged through the mud, half-carrying Lotte against my side. “Can you walk?” I asked, shivering as my feet sank in filth. The sky overhead was a cold steel gray, threatening more snow. Clouds of black rose from smokestacks in the distance. Lotte’s head rolled back, and her feet dragged in the dirty slush. I felt my back bend beneath her weight, and it was a miracle I made it to the infirmary without both of us falling into the muck. The tired-looking prisoners who worked in the infirmary took her from me.
“What will happen to her?” I asked, glancing around at the patients lying on the cots. A smell of urine and feces permeated the air. A thin layer of ice spread over the cement floor, and sheets of plastic flapped against the open windows, offering little protection from the cold. The only light in the room came from a few spare bulbs that hung from the ceiling on frayed cords.
“We’ll find her a bed,” one of the prisoners who worked in the infirmary said. “The camp doctor will see her.”
“Can I go with her?” I asked uncertainly.
“You don’t want to be here,” another prisoner said. “Everyone dies here.”
I balked and took a step backward. The prisoner turned from me and began to walk away. “Wait!” I cried, taking off my other glove and handing it to him. “Take this to her. Tell her that her mother will be here shortly.”
I ran back into the yard, breathing heavily, my lungs constricting from the cold. The sun was setting low in the gray sky, and the wind howled like a mad animal, blowing dead branches and dried leaves across the camp yard. I entered the work shed just as the siren announced the end of the workday. I moved to my empty stool to clean my workspace, careful to avoid the Pig’s eyes. But he noticed me and stood, stretching and rubbing his gloved hands together, walking to my side as the other girls lined up by the door.
“Your friend,” he said. “How is she?”
I shrugged as I gathered the small arrows for the compasses into a leather pouch, worried because I hadn’t met the day’s quota. The Pig made a small tsking sound with his tongue. I felt his eyes on me, but I couldn’t bring myself to look at him. I heard him sigh as he turned and dismissed the girls waiting by the door. I quickly turned to leave as well, but he put out a hand and said, “Wait just a moment.”
My stomach dropped. I don’t know how I managed to remain standing. Fear held me in a vise-like grip. I was sure I was about to be punished. I closed my eyes, waiting as I held my breath. But once we were alone, he turned back to me and said, “You’re shaking.”
I swallowed and said, “It’s very cold.”
He took a step toward me and bent so I was forced to look him in the eye. His cheeks were puffy, his bulbous nose red. “You’re scared,” he said in a matter-of-fact tone. “Don’t be scared. I mean you no harm.”
I blinked, unsure what to do or say. He smiled again and said, “It is wrong, how they treat you girls. I have a daughter too, you know? About your age. I can’t imagine her living in conditions such as these.”
I remained silent, waiting. He pulled at the bottom of his uniform jacket to straighten it over the bulge of his stomach. I saw how the buttons strained against his bulk. He regarded me for another moment and said, “If my daughter were here, I’d want someone to take care of her. Perhaps, I can take care of you?”
I didn’t know what he meant. He moved toward the door, then glanced over his shoulder at me. “Please,” he said softly, “follow me.”
Every instinct told me to run, but I knew better than to disobey. I followed him across the yard. Night had fallen so completely that the spotlights from the high watchtowers swept over the grounds, illuminating the exhausted prisoners who trudged back to their barracks. The Pig was headed toward the cluster of buildings that housed the SS offices. As he climbed the stairs, I hesitated. I had never been in these buildings. The Pig turned when he reached the top of the steps and smiled. “Come,” he said, and I silently followed.
Once inside, I felt immediate relief from the cold. A long hallway stretched down the main part of the building with doors opening on either side. Small lamps were lit along the walls, creating circles of light on the tiled floor. I followed the Pig to one of the doors, the sharp staccato of his footsteps echoing in the passage. He opened it and stepped aside, ushering me in.
His office was basic but clean and neatly appointed with a desk, bookshelf, rug, two armchairs, and, most importantly, a fireplace. I sighed, eyeing the flames hungrily. He smiled gently and said, “Your clothes are so thin, you must be frozen. Go warm yourself by the fire.”
This time I didn’t hesitate. I moved to the hearth and put my hands toward the flames, feeling the heat from the fire work its way up my arms to warm the rest of my body. I sighed contentedly. The Pig was standing behind me, but I almost forgot his presence as my body began to relax. I jumped when I heard a scraping sound and saw that he had moved a chair closer to the fireplace. “Have a seat,” he said, gesturing to the
chair. I wanted to say thank you, but my mouth was dry and my heart was fluttering nervously. Instead I nodded and sat gingerly on the edge of the chair, my whole body leaning toward the fire. Just then, my stomach growled loudly.
“You are hungry,” he said, moving to his desk and reaching for a glass bowl that held chocolates wrapped in gold foil. I began to salivate, imagining the taste of the chocolate on my tongue. He smiled knowingly. “Please, take as many as you like,” he said, offering me the bowl. I reached out and hungrily grabbed one, closing my eyes in delight as I bit into the chocolate and a burst of cream filled my mouth. The taste was so foreign and unexpectedly sweet that I couldn’t help but shove the entire chocolate into my mouth, impulsively grabbing more from the bowl in my lap.
“You are a very pretty girl,” the Pig said, leaning against his desk and watching as I greedily licked chocolate from my fingertips. “What is your name?”
“Sarah,” I said softly, lowering my hand to my lap.
“A lovely name,” he mused. “Sarah, I usually take my tea at this time of night. It’s a tradition I picked up from my travels to London in my youth.” He pressed an intercom on his desk, and a tinny voice said, “Yes, Herr Köhler?”
“Bring me my tray,” he replied, then dragged the other chair across the floor to face mine and sat down. A moment later, the door opened, and a young SS officer who appeared no older than me came in carrying a domed tray. He started walking toward the center of the room but stopped when he saw me. The Pig snapped his fingers, and the young man stood taller, marched to the desk beside us, and placed the tray on its surface. “Heil Hitler,” he saluted with his hand in the air. The Pig dismissed the boy with a small wave. I saw the young officer glance at me with a confused look as he stepped into the hall and closed the door behind him.
I kept my head low, my eyes on my lap, as the Pig lifted the sterling silver tray cover. He leaned down and inhaled deeply. “Ahhh,” he breathed, “nothing better than a cup of tea on a cold day.” He began to pour a steaming liquid from a teapot into a delicate cup. To my surprise, he walked around his desk and handed it to me. Again, I wasn’t sure whether to take it.
“Go on,” he urged. “Drink up.”
Gingerly, I reached out and took the cup into my hands. The steam warmed my face. I noticed the Pig arranging small biscuits and sliced fruit onto a plate, slathering thick butter onto the biscuits and pouring cream onto the fruit. Fresh fruit! My stomach clenched at the sight. The Pig handed me the plate with a gentle, almost loving smile. “Please take this,” he said in a soft voice. “I hate to see someone as young as you suffering so much.” I couldn’t believe my eyes as I stared at the food before me.
The Pig walked to the fireplace, silently considering the flames with his back to me as I bit eagerly into one of the biscuits. “I’d like to help you,” the Pig said in a low, soft voice, his gaze still trained on the fire. “I know you are hungry and frightened. While you starve, we have so much. It’s not right. I could give you some food to take back with you to your barracks. I’m sure the other girls, like your friend earlier, would benefit from something more than the rations they give you each day, no?”
I couldn’t believe what he was saying. He turned from the fireplace and walked toward me, his footsteps muffled by the thick carpet. “If you come visit me every evening, I’ll make sure you are accompanied safely back to your barracks. You don’t need to starve.”
He was standing right behind me. Before I could move, his hands closed on my shoulders, gently rubbing them. I froze. His hands inched down my arms. I felt his stale breath on my neck. He was breathing rapidly. I couldn’t move. I felt his palms move up to my breasts, cupping them, massaging them. I tasted bile in the back of my throat. But I didn’t stop him. I thought of Sophia and Risa, Lotte and Miriam. I thought of what he was offering. And I closed my eyes.
Forty-Five
Villa in the foothills of the Owl Mountains, Reichenbach, Germany, July 1945
I woke in a cold, trembling sweat. I could still feel the Pig’s hands on my body, feel his weight pressing me to the floor as he lay on top of me. I ran from the room, barely making it to the bathroom, where I was sick, clinging weakly to the toilet. When I was finished, I lay shivering on the cold tile floor. That’s where Harry found me.
“What happened, Sarah?” he asked, rushing to kneel at my side and putting his hand on my clammy forehead. “Are you sick?”
I shook my head. “I’m fine,” I whispered. My throat was raw. He took my elbow and helped me to stand, leading me to the kitchen and pushing me gently into a chair. He fetched a warm blanket, which he threw over my shoulders, then handed me a glass of water. As I sipped gingerly, he knelt in front of me again, trying to meet my eyes. “Is it Sam?” he asked gently. “Did he upset you earlier?”
Again I shook my head. Harry reached for my hand, but I flinched and drew away. I felt dirty. I hated the way he regarded me with concern. I felt undeserving of his kindness. My whole body was filled with shame. Sam’s words from earlier that evening still echoed in my ears. You liked to flirt. You’ve always been too eager for the attention of men. And then I remembered the angry look on his face as he’d said, “You were acting like a common whore.” I thought again of the Pig, and tremors overtook me.
“Please, tell me what’s wrong,” Harry begged.
“I, I can’t,” I said, afraid of how Harry would look at me if he knew. And I suspected Sam knew already. I recalled his eyes, watching me when I was with Michal, with Harry, accusing me as if I’d spoken my secrets aloud.
What had I done?
“Should I get Sam?” Harry asked.
“No!” I cried.
Harry nodded and reached again for my hands. “Sarah,” Harry said gently, “whatever it is, you can tell me.”
I wanted so much to confess, to rid myself of my guilt and humiliation. But if I told Harry, I would risk losing him. He would never look at me the same way again. When I remained silent, he moved closer and whispered, “If you won’t speak, then I will. I have something I’ve been meaning to ask you.”
“Please don’t,” I said, knowing already what he wanted to ask. I knew now I could never be the wife he wanted. I was unclean. I wasn’t as innocent as he thought. How could I ever replace his first wife?
Before he could say another word, I told him everything. The words came out in a rush before I could stop myself. I told him about the afternoons I spent in the Pig’s office, silently enduring his touch. I told him how I tried to block out the Pig’s whispered words of kindness and affection as he moved on top of me, thinking only of the food he gave me when it was over. I needed to get the words out, to purge my body of them.
“Just forget about me, Harry,” I said, afraid to look him in the eyes, afraid to see the disappointment and disgust I knew must be there. “I don’t deserve your love.”
I buried my face in my hands. Harry was so still; all I heard were the crickets chirping outside the kitchen window. I wanted to drown in self-pity, imagining him standing up and turning his back on me, walking out of the room and out of my life. But then he reached out and pulled my hands from my face. He cupped my chin. He leaned in and whispered, “Be my wife, Sarah. I will take care of you. You don’t need to feel ashamed.”
I fell into the safe cocoon of his arms, stunned by his unwavering acceptance. “Do you mean it?” I whispered incredulously, feeling his chest rise and fall against my cheek, breathing in the scent of him. His lips touched the top of my head.
“We all did what we had to do. I have my own secrets, Sarah. I love you. Nothing will change that.”
I looked up at him, hoping, finally, to put my past behind me. He wiped the tears tenderly from my cheeks. When his lips met mine, I believed for the first time it was possible.
I told Sam the next day.
I paced the front path, waiting for him to come home, twisting my ha
nds nervously. Harry had asked if I wanted him to be there, but I told him no.
“Are you sure?” he’d asked, holding me close.
“Yes,” I’d said. “This is something I need to do myself.” After a moment, I’d whispered, “What if he doesn’t approve?”
“You don’t need your brother’s approval.”
“But he’s the only connection I have left to my family. How can I leave him?”
“He’ll never see you as anything but a child,” Harry said. “You are not a child anymore.”
When the sun was low in the evening sky, I finally saw Sam walking toward home, his shadow stretching on the path before him, the limp he sometimes endured from his broken leg noticeable. I felt a lump rise in my throat. Despite what Harry had said, I knew I needed Sam’s blessing.
Sam walked slowly, his head down, lost in thought. He only looked up when he was a few feet away and paused when he saw me, his brow furrowing. When he was at my side, our eyes met for a time in uncomfortable silence. Finally, Sam said, “Sarah, I’m sorry for yesterday. I shouldn’t have spoken like that.”
“It’s all right,” I said.
“No, it’s not.”
I searched Sam’s eyes, wondering how to make things right between us. I considered telling Sam what I had told Harry the night before, but I didn’t want to see the rage and disappointment in his eyes. I didn’t know how to make him understand what I had done. I just wanted his love and approval. I wanted him to look at me like he had when we were children.
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