The Road to Liberation: Trials and Triumphs of WWII

by Marion Kummerow

  When Laura recovered her breath, she raved at Mindel, “Take those shoes off.”

  “Now, wait a minute. I’m sure Mother Brinkmann paid for them. Maybe we should ask Augusta?” Laszlo defended her.

  “You can’t! She’s dead!”

  “Dead?” Mindel yelled, looking in horror at the shoes that suddenly felt like millstones around her feet, dragging her into the mass grave where Augusta waited for them. Desperate to get rid of these cursed things, she bent down to undo the laces.

  “What are you doing?” Laszlo asked.

  “I don’t want them. Not if Laura’s friend died…”

  “Don’t be stupid,” he said harshly. “That’s how it works in the camp. Augusta can’t use them any longer and if you take them off, you’ll be walking around barefoot in the snow.”

  Mindel stopped what she was doing and considered the impact of returning the shoes. Mother Brinkmann’s warning echoed in her head and she whispered, “I don’t want my feet to freeze and fall off.”

  Laura had forgotten about her outrage and conceded generously, “You can have them. Augusta would want it. She always liked you.”

  Mindel had noticed for a while now that even her best friends had become increasingly irritable and lashed out at anyone with no reason at all. She shrugged it off as a thing that happened when children grew up. Graciously, she extended her hand to Laura. “Friends again?”

  “Friends again.” Laura shook her hand and trotted off.

  Mindel and Laszlo returned to the food line where they were lucky enough to receive the last two loaves of bread. On the walk back to their barracks, Laszlo tried to persuade Mindel to sneak with him onto the transport to Switzerland, but she wouldn’t be swayed. Instead she begged him to stay, but to no avail.

  At night he snuck out, promising Mindel they'd see each other again after the war, when he’d be waiting for her in Switzerland. When he left, she returned despondently to sleep.

  In the morning she refused to get up and even to have breakfast. With that many children in the barracks she didn’t expect anyone to notice, but sometime in the morning, Mother Brinkmann came looking for them.

  “Mindel, are you sick?”

  “No. Just tired.” She pressed her face into Paula’s dirty dress.

  “Where’s Laszlo?”

  Mindel looked up at the woman who had been acting as her surrogate mother, and although Laszlo had impressed on her not to tell anyone, she couldn’t resist the piercing gaze. “I’m not supposed to say.”

  Mother Brinkmann’s stare intensified and seemed to look right into Mindel’s soul, reading all her secrets like an open book. “What exactly aren’t you supposed to say?”

  Mindel studied her bitten fingernails and whispered, “He snuck out last night to go to Switzerland.”

  “He did what?” Mother Brinkmann gave a gasp of dismay, turned and headed for the door to the barracks. “You children are to stay inside until I return. I mean it. Not one of you is to leave this building. Do you understand? Sandy and Michael, you are in charge.” Then she hurried out of the barracks, concern etched on her emaciated face.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Where’s she going?”

  The questions kept coming until Mindel decided she might as well answer. “Laszlo is trying to sneak onto the transport to Switzerland.”

  Her statement was met with shocked silence. Several long seconds later the children began talking all at once; they were still sitting in the hut, speculating about Laszlo’s fortunes, when Mother Brinkmann called to them from outside the barracks.

  “Open the door and be quick about it.”

  One of the older boys opened the door and everyone stood up and watched curiously as Mother Brinkmann walked in, carrying Laszlo in her arms. At least Mindel believed it was him, because his face and body were completely covered in blood, his eyes swollen shut and an open cut crossing his face. His arm hung in a strange angle from his shoulder and Mindel involuntarily groaned.

  “Hurry, children, we must see if we can help him. The SS caught him trying to sneak onto the transport. If I‘d arrived a moment later they would have beaten him to death.”

  Mindel stared at her friend in horror as Mother Brinkmann began to assess his injuries. Laszlo’s mangled face was barely recognizable and the new adult teeth he’d been so proud of were missing. She looked away, because it made her stomach hurt. After the first shock she became angry. Why did the SS have to do this? Why did he go there in the first place? Hadn’t she warned him this was too dangerous?

  But then she looked at Mother Brinkmann, confident the woman could make everything better. Under her care, Laszlo would soon be all new again, playing with the other children.

  “We have to bring him to the infirmary,” Herr Brinkmann said, assisting his wife in undressing the boy and cleaning his wounds. Laszlo didn’t even stir when the wet cloth touched his bruised skin.

  Mindel crept forward, “Please don’t. People don’t come back from there.”

  Mother Brinkmann glanced at her for a short moment, before she returned to her work. “Mindel, Laszlo is hurt very badly. He might not survive this.”

  “Please, don’t let him die.”

  “I’ll do my best, child. Now, everyone go, I need to concentrate.”

  Mindel moved to her bunk and watched as Mother Brinkmann tended to Laszlo’s injuries. She kept waiting for him to wake up, but his eyes never even fluttered.

  For the next week, she watched over him, day and night, refusing to leave his side unless she absolutely had to. She talked to him in the same way she talked to her doll, not minding that he wouldn’t answer. In the depths of her soul she knew he heard and understood her and that was all she needed.

  But one day he simply stopped breathing. Mindel looked at him and shook his shoulders. “Stop playing, Laszlo! That’s not funny! Don’t you know that you’ll die when you don’t breathe!”

  Alerted by Mindel’s yelling Mother Brinkmann rushed to the bunk, but there was nothing she could do for him. Laszlo had left this world behind. Mindel felt a big hand on her shoulder, trying to yank her away from her best friend. Desperate, she wrapped her arms around Laszlo’s body, willing him to wake up again. He was only pulling her leg; he wasn’t really dead.

  He couldn’t be.

  But he was. When his body turned cold, she finally acknowledged that her best friend had abandoned her and she was all alone again. Not even Paula was a solace, because she was only a stupid doll… Tears streamed down Mindel’s cheeks and at one point in time she found herself in Mother Brinkmann’s embrace, while Herr Brinkmann carried Laszlo’s corpse outside.

  She couldn’t stop crying, didn’t even eat or drink for two days, so deep ran her grief. She missed him so much, missed his arm around her shoulders when they were sleeping, his mischievous glance when coming up with new games – heck, she even missed the way he used to pester her.

  24

  January 1945

  A new shipment of women arrived at the salt mine, bringing with them news of what was happening in the outside world. According to these women who’d been transferred from the camps in occupied Poland, the Red Army was storming across Poland, and the Nazis were struggling to keep the prisoners from being liberated at their hands.

  Rumors purported that the Western allies had already crossed into German territory over the Rhine River. Not that anyone could confirm the rumors, but if the nervous behavior of the guards was anything to go by, then Germany really was about to lose the war. And soon.

  Rachel found hope again. She’d withstood the harsh treatment for such a long time, she determined to hang on to her life by sheer willpower, counting the days until the Allies – Eastern or Western, she didn’t care – would liberate them.

  One of the encouraging signs was the constant bombings of German cities. Underground in the salt mine, the women weren’t privy to anything going on outside, but during the march to and from the camp, and at night in their freez
ing barracks, they heard the aircraft flying over their heads.

  It invariably was American or British planes. The last Luftwaffe fighter Rachel had seen must have been weeks ago. She didn’t especially like the bombing raids, but so far, all the planes had passed their tiny village and flown on to more populated places. Sometimes at night, she saw the flicker of a burning city on the horizon.

  Trudging to the mine for another grueling shift, Rachel heard the air raid siren scream across the landscape and like rabbits in flight, the SS guards took cover, leaving the women in the middle of the road.

  For a moment, Rachel considered running away, but discarded the thought again. It was impossible. In her current condition she couldn’t run, only poke along, and even if she found cover in the flat surroundings, she’d be discovered in no time at all. The villagers were hostile to the Jewish prisoners and one glimpse at her skeletal appearance would alert them to the truth and they’d bask in the glory of returning an escaped prisoner to the camp.

  Together with several women she was crouched in a ditch when she heard a rattling noise and looked up to see a train making its way through the landscape. Within moments two bombers swooped down from the sky, strafing the train with their deadly load. Explosions burst out and the train abruptly halted, its passengers fleeing like voles evading a hawk.

  The planes turned around, flying low and strafing the running passengers. Rachel couldn’t help but cheer for the pilots, hoping they killed as many of them as possible.

  After what seemed an endless circling back and forth, the bombers had accomplished their goal and flew back the way they had come. The SS guards emerged from wherever they’d been hiding and unleashed on the women their wrath over the destruction of the train. Everyone suspected of dallying received her fair share of whiplashes or baton blows.

  While the air raid had given Rachel and the other exhausted women a small respite, now the marching speed was doubled up and more than one woman was left behind – dead. Rachel somehow gathered the strength to keep up with the column, maybe because she’d seen a silver lining on the horizon in the form of enemy planes.

  She hoped and prayed the rumors were true and the end of the war was really impending, albeit she couldn’t muster any sympathy or compassion for the civilians who had died today.

  I wish the Allies would kill of all of them! Every last one! The violence of her thoughts shocked her to the core, since that was so out of character for her. Not once in her life had she wished evil on another person, but it seemed the last shred of her humanity had been rubbed away by the penetrating salt and she’d become an evil soul, just like the Nazis themselves.

  Too exhausted to come up with a coherent thought, her mind shut down and once again she was reduced to a barely functioning shell. Down in the salt mine, her hands took up the pickaxe all by themselves and she listened only with half an ear to the whispers of the other women.

  “The Allies must be close.”

  “God, I can’t wait for the time they liberate us.”

  “And kill all the Nazis.”

  “If the Allies don’t kill them, I swear to God, I’ll strangle the Mouse with my own hands.”

  Rachel found herself nodding. The women used nicknames for most of the guards, and the Mouse had received his for his mouse-like face. His behavior, though, was that of a cat, playing cruel games with the prisoners, before killing them for the joy of it.

  25

  The New Year had come and gone without the children noticing it. Every day in the camp was like the last one: a constant struggle to stay alive. It had been weeks since Laszlo’s death, but Mindel still missed him ever so much.

  One morning, Mother Brinkmann told the children, “Today is a very special day. Today is Tu BiShvat, also called Rosh HaShanah La'Ilanot, the New Year of the Trees and Plants.”

  “There are no trees in the camp,” one of the older boys murmured, seemingly fearing a lesson about Jewish holidays.

  “I know,” Mother Brinkmann answered with serenity. “One more reason to celebrate this holiday. Because without plants, we humans cannot exist. Traditionally on Tu BiShvat the table is set with the best fruits nature provides us with.”

  “What is a fruit?” asked Rita, a girl of two and a half, who’d been born in the camp.

  “Fruits are foods that grow on trees or other plants,” an older girl explained, but Rita only shook her head, since she’d never seen a tree or other plant in her life.

  Mother Brinkmann produced two crumpled apples and showed them to the children. “To celebrate Tu BiShvat, everyone will get a piece of apple, and then you’ll know what a fruit is. After, we will take the seeds and plant them near the fence.

  “That’ll never work,” Michael, one of the older boys, whispered.

  “Even if it does, people will rip out the sprig and eat it,” Sandy whispered back.

  “Wherever did she get the apples from? I haven’t seen one since I arrived here,” Katrin asked.

  Mindel turned her head to look at Katrin, before her eyes returned to the apples in Mother Brinkmann’s hand. They were yellow and crumpled with a few brown spots, nothing like the plump and shiny red apples she’d eaten on the farm.

  Her mind wandered back to happier times, when she and her brothers climbed the old apple tree in the orchard to pick the best ones. Of course, her brothers had always climbed higher than she dared and had teased her that the apples up there were a lot better than those she could reach. Her mouth watered at the memory of the apple cake her mother had made for her birthday, which she remembered to be in autumn.

  “What season is it?” she asked out loud.

  “Winter,” Mother Brinkmann answered.

  “Does autumn come before or after winter?”

  “It comes before. The year starts with spring, summer, autumn and then winter.”

  Mindel cocked her head, thinking hard. “When did I arrive here?”

  “You and Laszlo came to us last autumn, but your arrival in the camp was in April, which is springtime.”

  The mention of Laszlo’s name stabbed Mindel’s heart, but she ignored the pain, using her fingers to count the seasons. She was pretty sure she’d turned four when mother had made her the cake, since that was the last birthday celebration she remembered. So, if four seasons had passed, and it was already winter again, she must be a year older by now.

  Aware of the enormity of her discovery, she straightened her shoulders and said as loud as she could, holding up all five fingers of one hand, “Then, I’m five now.”

  Mother Brinkmann smiled and asked, “Do you remember when your birthday is?”

  A shadow of doubt crossed Mindel’s face. “No, but it was in autumn, I’m now sure of that. My mother baked me an apple cake with fresh apples from the tree when I turned four.”

  “Well then, how about we make Tu BiShvat your new birthday?”

  “That I would like.” Mindel was moved to tears, to finally have a birthday again and – even more important – that she had grown older and now belonged to the five-year-olds.

  “I guess that’s a reason to celebrate.” Usually, Mother Brinkmann saved up part of their rations for special occasions like this and made a kind of cake with bread crumbs glued together with jam or margarine. Today, though, she was unprepared.

  The children sang “Happy Birthday” for Mindel and once they finished Mother Brinkmann declared that to mark the occasion, Mindel would receive two pieces of apple instead of just one like everyone else. Mindel beamed from ear to ear as she savored the special treat.

  The next day even more surprises showed up. Mother Brinkmann received a large box from the Red Cross.

  “What’s the Red Cross?” Mindel asked.

  “An organization that helps the injured and the poor,” Sandy explained.

  Mindel cocked her head. Nobody in their barracks was injured and she wasn’t sure whether they were poor. “Why don’t they come and take us out of here? Wouldn’t that be better?”
/>   Sandy gave an exaggerated sigh. “Don’t ask stupid questions. Because the SS doesn’t allow it.”

  Mindel knew that too many questions weren’t appreciated, but she needed to clarify one more thing, “Why do they even keep us in here?”

  “Now, that is an exceptionally stupid question,” Sandy said and walked away, while some of the other children poked their tongues out at Mindel. But before she could retaliate, Mother Brinkmann called them to order.

  Everyone settled in a circle around her. It was completely silent in the hut, except for the rustle of cardboard, as she opened the large box. From what Mindel understood, the box was stuffed with goods.

  Mother Brinkmann removed one thing after another and put them onto the bunk where she was sitting. Pairs of socks, gloves, caps, two shirts, one dress, one pair of trousers and several packages that looked like food came to lie on the bunk.

  She handed the foodstuff to her husband to put into the secret stash and then carefully scrutinized each of the children. There were so many of them, thirty-five in total, that there wouldn’t be a gift for each one of them.

  Mindel waited with bated breath to find out whether she’d be one of the lucky ones. The dress went to Sandy, the tallest girl. In turn her dress was handed down to Franzi, and Franzi’s to Mindel.

  It wasn’t what she’d wanted, but she smiled nevertheless. Franzi’s dress fit her like a glove: the sleeves covered her wrists and the waist didn’t pinch at every movement. It had buttons down the front and the skirt was long enough to cover her legs down to mid-calf.

  Mindel’s own dress was handed down to the next smaller girl, and the same happened to the shirts and trousers in the box. The old socks of the children who received new ones unfortunately were much too holey to be handed down, so Mother Brinkmann tasked the boys with unraveling them and the older girls with knitting new socks or gloves from them.