“Her. I’ll take that one,” Manfred said in German as he pointed to Zofia. She did not speak German; she could not understand what he said. “Clean her up a bit first, and then send her to my house.”
“Yes, Arbeitsführer, it shall be taken care of for you.”
Chapter 50
The guard pushed Zofia to the head of the line where women and men were separated. Why was she being singled out? The Nazi had pointed to her, indicating something, but what? Terror came over her in waves of panic.
“Take off your clothes,” the guard said in German
“I don’t understand you,” Zofia answered in Polish.
“Take them off now, schnell.” She knew the meaning of the word schnell, but nothing else. She stared at him blankly.
He raised the club to strike her. The woman guard came forward.
“Hans, she doesn’t understand you. This shipment just came from Poland.”
“Gretta, tell her to take her clothes off and get into the shower. The new Arbeitsführer has chosen her as his housekeeper.”
“Take off your clothes and get into the shower,” Gretta, the female guard said in Polish. She handed Zofia a bar of soap.
Zofia did as she was told, ashamed of her nakedness, afraid of the shower. How could she be sure that this was not the shower that the woman had spoken of, the one that was gas instead of water? How could she be sure that this was not the line to the death chamber? She stood naked and shivering in a large room, waiting for the water, the water, or the gas. A dead silence came over the area. Others had heard the rumor too. Someone wept softly; the sound echoed. What would it feel like to die? Would it be painful? Would it be quick? It was only a few minutes, but it seemed like a lifetime before the nozzles began to spray water. Sighs of relief filled the room.
Zofia came out of the shower to find her shoes gone.
“You should have taken them with you,” another prisoner said. How would she function without shoes? She looked around frantic, hoping to find them.
A guard came up behind her, with a long iron rod. She pushed it into Zofia’s back. Zofia jumped.
“Keep moving, mach scnhell.”
Another line. Zofia, panicky and completely naked, was trying desperately to cover herself with her hands. At the end, a woman prisoner handed Zofia a stripped green and brown dress made of rough cotton. She bent over and flipped it over her head. It hung like a rag but she was glad to be covered. Another line.
This time, as she got closer to the end, she heard screaming. It unnerved her. What could be coming next?
She would have run, but there was nowhere to go. Gun- and club-weidling guards ushered her into the next room. The first thing Zofia saw was the floor, covered in hair of all colors and lengths, some curly, some wavy, some straight. She edged out of the line just enough to see what took place at the front. Three chairs, each with prisoners seated in them behind the newly-arrived, stood other prisoners, who quickly shaved their hair leaving them bald. Some cried, others screamed, but the most unsettling were the ones who just remained silent.
Zofia felt the tears form in her eyes as she watched the locks of her full wavy hair fall to the ground. The shaving took only a few moments. But as painful as it was to lose her hair, it felt wonderful to sit down. Her legs ached from standing.
Another line. This time, the group was ushered into the women’s barracks. Long lines of cots stood in rows on a wooden floor. Each of the women searched for an open bed. Zofia found one at the end of the row near the wall, where she saw a black hairy spider crawling up toward the ceiling. She’d always had a terrible fear of spiders. Trembling, she tried to look for another cot, but nothing was open.
“Take that one,” the girl across the row said. “If you don’t find one, you’ll end up on the floor and that’s worse.” She was young, Zofia noticed.
“I’m Thelma,” the girl said.
“Zofia.”
“Welcome, I guess.”
“Thanks. Is it as bad here as it looks?”
“Worse,” the girl said, and smiled. “But it could be even worse than it is. We could be on the other side.”
“You mean the gas shower? Is that true or is it a myth?” Zofia asked.
“It’s true. I’m sorry to say it, but it is. My mother and father were both sent to the gas chamber.”
“But how do you know? Maybe there is another work camp on the other side,” Zofia said.
“I work sometimes in the crematorium, sweeping up the ashes. Believe me, I know,” Thelma said.
Zofia thought of Fruma and Gitel. They were probably already dead, their bodies on the way to be burnt. It felt unreal that she would never see them again. How could this be happening? It seemed like a nightmare, and yet here she was in this terrible place. The musty smell of unwashed bodies and dirty bedding wafted through the room. Zofia looked around her. She ran her hands over her shorn head. The tiny bristles of hair felt alien against her fingers. Hopelessness began to creep in. The strength she’d been fighting to maintain slowly began to seep away. Her friends gone forever… Dovid… He might be here, or he might be dead. Gitel, dear Gitel, with her warm, protective smile. And Fruma, the mother she never had. Fruma… When she thought of Fruma, she wanted to cry out in anguish. Her mind went back to the time they spent sewing side-by-side in the shop together. Fruma… She remembered how worried she’d been when she found out that she was pregnant. She’d been so afraid she would lose her job. But Fruma knew. She always knew, and she had her unique way of making things better. Dear God, help poor Fruma. Could she really be dead already? Could that be possible? I must try not to think about this; I must try to think of Eidel. When this is all over, Eidel will need me. Eidel, my daughter, my child… God, please be with her, protect her, keep…
“You!” A guard pointed at Zofia. He spoke in German, but she understood by his facial expressions and hand gestures. “Follow me.”
Zofia felt Thelma’s worried eyes on her back as she followed the guard out of the barracks.
As they walked across the field, Zofia saw that there was a barbed wire separating the men’s camp from the women’s. She looked over, hoping to see Dovid, but knowing she would not.
The guard noticed that she’d slowed down and edged her side with his rifle butt. She looked forward and moved faster.
When they walked up to the exit, the guard explained something to the watchman in German, and they were allowed out of the gate.
Zofia followed the guard to a gate that opened to the entrance of a comfortable country house that sat back on a quarter of an acre of manicured lawn. As they got closer to the door, she saw an old woman peering out of a picture window in the living room, her face deeply lined. Her hand fisted under her chin had purple veins that protruded from the thin pale skin.
They walked up three steps to a thick wood door painted black, with a swastika in the center. The guard rang the bell and they waited.
Zofia stared at the sign of the Nazi Party and shuddered.
A man opened the door. He wore a stripped uniform. His head was shaved like Zofia’s.
“Go and get the Arbeitsführer,” the guard said.
The man nodded and walked away.
Zofia and the guard stood waiting. The woman with the pale skin watched them from her window seat, saying nothing. From where she stood, Zofia could hear a baby crying. The sound brought back memories of Eidel. She felt tears forming in her eyes and forced the memories from her mind.
Several minutes later, a pretty blonde walked into the room. She carried a toddler in her arms. As soon as the child saw Zofia, she smiled. Zofia felt her heart melt as she looked at the lovely little girl with blonde curls just like her mothers.
The woman called out, and the male prisoner who had let them in entered.
“Can you translate for me?” Christa asked the prisoner.
“Yes,” he said
“My name is Christa Blau. My husband is the Arbeitsführer. You will be working here a
t our home to help us with the housework and with Katja.”
The prisoner translated from German to Polish.
Zofia nodded.
“This is Katja.” Christa indicated the little girl, who smiled again. “Do you have any experience with children?”
The butler translated.
“Yes I do. I had a daughter of my own.” She told Christa then reached over to touch the tender baby cheek “Hello Katja. My name is Zofia,” she said, pointing to herself, smiling.
The baby laughed. It broke the ice, and then the two women laughed too.
“You may leave us,” Christa told the guard. “She will work out just fine.”
Christa showed Zofia around the house, accompanied by the male prisoner who translated her explanation of the tasks to be done.
She was not well, she told Zofia. She had been ill and needed help with her daily workload. As she walked, her blonde curls bounced. There was something good and kind about this woman. She was not cruel like the others that Zofia had encountered. She appeared to have a heart.
It seemed to Zofia as if all would be well until the Arbeitsführer arrived at home. As soon as the door opened and he entered the house, Zofia could feel the tension in the air. She kept her head down, did not meet his eyes, but when he looked the other way she watched him, a slender man, proud in his uniform, demanding respect as he walked through the house, barking orders at the prisoner who served as their butler. She wondered if the Arbeitsführer’s overbearing manner had anything to do with his small stature. Perhaps, he needed to prove his manhood. He was abrupt with his wife, and worse with his mother-in-law. She remembered him distinctly. He’d been the one who’d beaten the redheaded girl with the club. Because he spoke in German, Zofia could not understand what he said, just his tone of voice, and that it made her shiver.
At the end of the day, a guard from the camp came to take Zofia back to the barracks. Soon after her arrival, she was required to attend roll call. The prisoners stood in line as their names were called, then, the dead were accounted for, their bodies carried out by other prisoners and placed at the end of the line, to be counted and removed from the next roll call. Then the prisoners lined up for dinner.
“Here are your spoon and your bowl,” a guard said to Zofia in broken Polish. “If you lose them, you won’t get another.”
When she got to the front of the line, she saw a huge steel pot filled with soup. One of the prisoners poured the contents of a single ladle into her bowl and gave her a small piece of bread. Then she sat at a long table beside several other prisoners to eat. The soup was nothing more than water with a small piece of potato, and a bean or two. She was so hungry that when she saw the dead fly at the bottom of her soup, she continued to eat anyway, gagging a little. One of the other prisoners noticed Zofia’s expression.
“Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it. There are insects in the soup all the time.”
“I can’t believe that I am so hungry that I don’t care,” Zofia said. “I wonder what I am becoming.”
“You just got here. Wait. It gets worse,” the other woman said. “By the way, my name is Marsha. My bunk is just a few away from yours. I noticed you when you came in.”
“My name is Zofia.”
“Dora said that one of the guards took you to the Arbeitsführer’s house. He is new, but already he is a terror.”
“I was taken to his house to help his wife. She is sick and they have a little girl.”
“I have not seen his home and I know nothing of his home life, but he is cruel, and quick to administer a beating.”
“Yes, I know. I saw evidence of that when I first got here. When I was standing in line, he was hitting one of the girls with a club for trying to escape. Then, today, when he came home, he seemed to be a difficult man, even with his family.”
“So, what can we do? Nothing. I just try to stay out of his way.”
“What kind of work do you do?”
“We work in the stone quarries.”
“That’s hard work for women.”
“Yes. The Nazis don’t care. We carry the smaller stones. If one of us dies, then they replace her with another one. The trains keep coming, with more and more prisoners. It is very hard work, heavy work. In the summer, it is so hot that I feel as if I will die of heatstroke. Then the winter is so cold that we pray for the heat of summer. Still…we try to stay alive another day.”
“What did you do before you came here?”
“Me? I was very good with numbers. I worked at the bank.”
“A woman who worked at a bank… That’s very impressive.”
“Yes, I suppose,” Marsha laughed. She was a tall girl, with soft brown hair and eyes the color of maple syrup. “On the side, I kept the books for the local businesses. And you? What did you do?”
“I was a seamstress.”
“I suppose you made lovely gowns.”
“Yes, I did.”
“It’s good to remember, and it is not so good,” Marsha sighed. “My heart breaks when I think about the way things used to be, and what has become of us now.”
“I know. You’re right. Sometimes I feel as if my heart is breaking for all that I have lost. Sometimes I want to die too. But it isn’t that easy.”
“No, it’s strange. No matter how harsh things are, the will to live is strong, and it forces you to go on.”
“That’s true, but if that were all of it then I could see giving up. But for me there is more.” There was something about this girl with the amber eyes and sweet smile that made Zofia feel the need to confide in her. “I have a daughter. Somewhere out in the world, far away from this terrible place, I have a child. And as long as my child is living, then I have the need to fight to go on.”
“I never had children. My husband and I were only married for two months before they arrested him. He was a lawyer, and he refused to stop practicing when the Nazis took over. Besides, he was far too outspoken against Hitler. At first, I thought that he was arrested because he caused so much trouble. Would you believe that I went to the authorities, begging for his release? Do you know what happened? They arrested me too. What a fool I was. I thought they would be fair.” She laughed a harsh laugh, then looked out into the distance and shook her head.
“Get up, let’s go,” one of the guards said as he walked around, gathering the prisoners into a line. “Back to the barracks, schnell.”
“Do you understand German?” Zofia asked as they hurried into the line.
“Some. The longer you’re here, the more you will understand.”
“Quiet, no talking. March. Let’s go.”
Zofia lay upon her cot. It smelled musty, but she was so tired that within minutes she fell into a deep sleep.
Most days were spent taking care of Katja and keeping the house clean for the Blaus. The longer Zofia worked at the home of the Arbeitsführer the more she became aware of the tension between Manfred and his wife. Christa was ill weak. She grew tired easily, while her mother seemed mentally incompetent. Often the older woman would go off talking to herself as she sat gazing out the picture window. The little girl, Katja, followed Zofia from room to room as she cleaned, sometimes begging to be picked up or played with. Zofia didn’t mind. She loved the gentle, innocent child, forgiving her that her father was a monster, which he proved at the quarries, time and again, so she heard from Marsha. When Manfred was not at home, Christa offered Zofia food and drink, which she gratefully partook of, splitting what was given to her, eating half, and bring the other back to Marsha, who had become a dear friend.
As she worked for the Blaus, Zofia learned to speak some German, and Christa learned to speak some Polish, making communication with Christa easier. But when Zofia and the baby were alone, she always spoke in Polish, not realizing that little Katja was learning.
One morning following roll call, as Zofia waited for the guard to escort her to the home of the Blaus she heard the voice of the Arbeitsführer. He spoke quickly making his wor
ds difficult to understand but his tone was filled with anger. Then she heard a gunshot and moved closer to see what happened. One of the women, whom she had met briefly, but did not really know personally, lay in a pool of blood at Manfred Blau’s feet. She saw him kick her and then walk in the other direction. The guards forced two prisoners, using rifle butts in their ribs, to move the body out of the way. Once it was done, the women began their daily march to the quarries. Zofia tried not to look at the body, but she couldn’t help herself. The young woman lay dead, eyes open, with a track of blood leading to a large pool. The dark blood, combined with the terror of what she just saw, made her gag. Zofia could not stop dry heaving, even as the guard approached to take her to the Blau’s home.
“Let’s go. March. Schnell.”
Why did everything have to be done fast? Schnell: that was the first German word she learned.
Now she feared Manfred even more. Once she’d seen his cruelty first hand and knew how heartless he could be, her fear of him grew so strong that she tried to avoid being in his presence. Some nights he returned late, and she was relieved to be gone back to the barracks before he entered the house. But when he came home and she was still there, Zofia noticed him always watching her. She heard arguments, raised voices, coming from the living room between Manfred and Christa. Although she could not understand everything they said, she heard the yelling and the slaps, followed by Christa heart wrenching weeping. Once the weeping began, Manfred walked out, and then went into another room. slamming the door. This same situation occurred at least twice weekly. And always on the following day, Christa would have a black eye or a bruised cheek. Zofia said nothing, but she knew Manfred hit his wife. Once, Zofia arrived, early in the morning, and Manfred was already gone, but Christa sat at the kitchen table, her eyes swollen, and her nose wrapped in white bandages. Katja played on the floor with a stuffed fabric doll. When the child saw Zofia, the child’s chubby arms reached up.
You Are My Sunshine: A Novel Of The Holocaust (All My Love Detrick Book 2) Page 21
