You Are My Sunshine: A Novel Of The Holocaust (All My Love Detrick Book 2)

by Roberta Kagan

  “Up,” Katja said in Polish. Zofia lifted the girl.

  “Please, take her out of here…” Christa said in broken Polish and German.

  “Yes, ma’am.” Zofia was beginning to establish a good understanding that enabled her to communicate with her German employer.

  As Zofia swept the floor, Katja pretended to sweep too, toddling around on her short legs. Zofia’s heart grew with love for this little girl, who had begun to call her Mama. Zofia was afraid that Christa would hear Katja referring to her as mother and become angry, but Christa’s illness seemed to be getting worse, and she spent most days in bed.

  The grandmother never left her window seat. At night, she slept on the same sofa where she sat all day. Before Zofia returned to the barracks, she would deliver a meal to the older woman, then lay out the sheets and blankets for her to sleep. All the while, Christa’s mother continued to stare out the window, never acknowledging Zofia standing right beside her. Once a day Zofia helped her to change her clothes, and sometimes even to bathe. When the fights ensued between Manfred and Christa, the old woman sang softly to herself. Zofia tried to pity her. Instead, she was a little jealous that Christa’s mother had lost her mind and therefore she knew nothing of the pain all around her.

  When Zofia left at night, Katja would cry and reach her arms out as if to say, “Please take me with you,” so Zofia began to feed the child earlier and put her to bed before she left.

  Winter was on its way. There was no heat or fire in the barracks.

  The weather grew colder. Zofia shivered in her bunk in with just a thin woolen blanket for cover. Every night when everyone seemed to be asleep, Marsha crept into Zofia’s bed. She brought her blanket and the two girls put the two blankets on top of each other making one thick cover. Then Zofia gave Marsha the food she brought for her. The two women huddled beside each other to keep warm. They told fairy tales that they remembered from their childhoods. Sometimes they sang songs and even giggled over memories. Marsha reminisced about her husband and her wedding day, telling Zofia about the dress she’d worn and the wonderful meal that had been served. She even told Zofia about the boy she dated and slept with before she’d met her true beshert.

  Zofia told Marsha about Katja, and how much the child reminded her of Eidel, they both agreed on how kind Christa was to give Zofia the extra food. But Zofia bit her lower lip, shaking her head in despair when she spoke of Fruma and Gitel, her dear friends, and of Dovid, the gentle boy whose only crime was loving her. Sometimes Zofia allowed herself the indulgence of tears, her slender body rocking while Marsha held her.

  One cold night, after Marsha gobbled the thick crust of bread that Zofia had brought, they lay shivering under their two blankets

  “What is he like at home?” Marsha asked one night.

  “The Arbeitsführer?”

  “Of course. Who else?”

  “I don’t know him, really, but I hear him fighting with his wife all the time. He beats her.”

  “That’s not surprising. He’s very cruel. I think he hates women. I’m terrified of him.”

  “I know. So am I. Once in a while he comes home before I leave to come back to the camp, and he looks at me.”

  “Looks at you, how?”

  “I don’t know, actually. He looks at me with a strange longing, kind of like he wants to sleep with me.”

  “Oh, no!.”

  “So far he has done nothing that I could say was unacceptable. He leaves me alone. Most of my fear of him is from how I see him treat others. I just hope he never touches me in that way.”

  “Yes, so do I. Oh, my friend, what a terrible place this is. We are in constant fear of everything.”

  “I know. The terror is the hardest part. Often I think it is harder than dying.”

  “It’s like dying every day, every minute.”

  “At least we have each other.”

  “Yes, at least we do.” Marsha was silent for a moment. She smoothed Zofia’s hair out of her eyes. “Have you ever thought about what we might be doing if Hitler had never taken over?”

  “I try not to. The yearning is too painful. For me the only thing that I allow myself to think about is Eidel. When I leave here, I will go and find my child.”

  “And that keeps you going?”

  “Yes.”

  Ice and snow covered the ground as Zofia walked to the Blau’s home. She’d been fortunate to find a pair of clogs that had been abandoned by a prisoner who died during the night. They were slightly big on her, and now, as she walked, they slid on the ice. Her uniform, although of thick cotton, did nothing to shield her against the cold. One morning when Zofia arrived, she found Christa in bed. She knocked softly upon the door.

  “Can I bring you anything?” Zofia asked.

  “Some tea, bitte…”

  “Yes, ma’am. Would you like some bread and jam with it?”

  Christa did not understand. So Zofia held an imaginary piece of bread and spread it with an imaginary knife. Then she cocked her head and waited for the answer.

  “No, thank you.” Christa shook her head. “I’m not hungry.”

  Christa looked at Zofia. Her skin was red from the cold.

  “Oh dear, look at you. Do you walk outside all the way from the camp without a coat? How stupid of me. Of course you do. You have no coat,” Christa suddenly realized. She was talking more to herself than to Zofia.

  “Here.” Christa got up from her bed. She went to her closet and removed a thick blue gray wool coat. “This should fit you.” Christa held it up to Zofia. “It looks like it should be about the right size.”

  Zofia looked at Christa, unsure of what she wanted.

  “Here, try this on,” Christa said as she helped Zofia to fit her arms into the coat. “Perfect fit, this is for you. It is a gift from me,” Christa said, pointing to Zofia, and then to the coat.”

  “For me?” Zofia hugged the warm garment to her body. Then she took Christa’s slender hand and put it to her lips. “Thank you. God bless you.” Zofia fell to her knees. She felt the tears fall upon her face as she still held the thin-skinned hand lined with purple veins, just like her mother’s.

  A coat! A coat! How wonderful to be warm. That night Zofia and Marsha put the coat on top of the blankets where they slept. It felt like heaven. Both women held tight to the coat, even in sleep. Zofia knew better than to ever let the coat out of her sight. Shoes, hidden food, anything at all that could make life even a little more tolerable was at constant risk of being stolen. The guard, who escorted Zofia to the Blau’s residence each morning, asked Christa if Zofia had stolen the coat.

  Christa told him it was a gift, then scowled and demanded that he leave.

  As the months passed, Zofia became almost fluent in German. She understood most of what was said to her. And as time went by, Christa found Zofia to be a friend to confide in. Manfred still kept watch on Zofia. His eyes, hungry with desire, unnerved her, but he did nothing.

  One morning, just as the weather was beginning to break. Zofia straightened the living room. She noticed that Christa’s mother had lain her head down in an unnatural position. It was only an hour since Heidi Henkener had finished her breakfast and Zofia assumed that she’d fallen asleep gazing out the window. So, Zofia took a blanket to lay it across the old woman’s body. But when she did, Zofia realized that Heidi had passed away. Quietly, while watching the birds fly from tree to tree, the flowers just beginning to bud, and mother earth embracing another spring, Heidi had left the confines of a cruel world and risen with the angels to meet her husband.

  The old woman had already turned cold.

  Zofia hung her head. It would fall upon her to tell Christa the bad news. She walked slowly into the bedroom where Christa lay under a thin cotton quilt.

  “Ma’am.”

  Christa turned to her. “What is it Zofia?” Her left eye was filled with blood and surrounded by a watercolor purple and yellow bruise.

  “Ma’am, I’m sorry to have to tell yo
u this, but your mother, has passed away.”

  “What? Are you sure?”

  Christa got out of bed. She walked stiffly into the living room. When she saw her mother, Christa fell to her knees and took her mother’s cold hand into her own.

  “Mama… Oh Mama, how am I going to go on without you?”

  She wept.

  Zofia stood there, not knowing what to say or do until Katja came racing into the room, a doll in her arms.

  “My dolly sick. Make better. You be doctor,” Katja said in her broken baby language.

  “Shhh. Quiet, your mama is having a hard time right now. Come with me. We’ll go to your room and take care of your doll. All right?”

  Katja nodded and put her tiny hand into Zofia’s.

  For several days, the guard did not come to the camp to take Zofia to the Blau’s home. Instead, she was shuffled out to work in the quarries with the other prisoners. All day she carried stone. Manfred was there. She saw him and wished she could ask him why she’d been taken away from the house, from Katja, who she missed terribly, but she dared not speak to him.

  “You over there,” Manfred said to a woman who was probably only thirty, but hard work had made her look at least twice her age. She slumped over and moved slowly as she carried heavy piles of rocks. “You’re too slow. I think you are trying to avoid working. Let me show you what happens when someone avoids work.”

  He pulled her up by the back of her dress. She was so thin she was almost weightless. Then he called all of the prisoners over.

  “Here we have a lazy woman. That is just not allowed. Laziness must be punished.” Manfred slapped the prisoner across her face. One of the others, a girl of about twelve winced.

  “That is her daughter,” Marsha whispered to Zofia.

  “Oh, so you think I am wrong to punish this woman? Well, let’s see… Would you rather I punish you?” Manfred said to the young girl who looked around in terror.

  “Please,” the mother said. “I am the one who was lazy. I am the one who was wrong. Please let her be. Punish me, not her. I beg you.”

  “Oh, she must be your friend…”

  “Come here, friend…” Manfred said. Zofia saw the cruelty glittering in his eyes and she shivered.

  “So, who should take the punishment? Shall we make a game of this?” he asked.

  “Would you like to take the punishment for your friend?”

  “She is my mother. Please, Arbeitsführer. Please let her be…”

  “Your mother? That explains everything. Women and their mothers: a disgusting lot.” He smiled. “Well, I have an idea, Mother… Watch this. I’ll bet you won’t be lazy anymore.” Manfred pulled the gun from his waist. He held fixed on the daughter’s head.

  “Please, have mercy…” the older woman cried out. She ran to her daughter and lay on top her. “Please… It is my fault…”

  With his black leather boot, Manfred kicked the mother out of the way, and then fired a shot. The daughter’s brains splattered across the ground and into the mother’s face. The older woman screamed in agony. She wept. Loud heart wrenching cries filled the air.

  “Shut up,” Manfred said. “Shut up right now.”

  But the woman could not be silent. No one dared go to her to comfort her, lest they be next.

  Manfred seemed somehow frightened by the wailing. He turned, gun still in hand, and fired into the mother’s head.

  Zofia’s throat was dry. She felt as if she might collapse.

  “Don’t look. Turn away. Just go back to work. And work quickly,” Marsha whispered to Zofia.

  It was several days before the guard returned to escort Zofia back to the home of the Blaus. After the rigorous, hot days of working in the quarries, she was relieved to see him. She had begun to fear that she would never return to the house again.

  Zofia arrived to find Christa in bed, her skin white and thinned like parchment. Although she’d always been frail, the loss of her mother seemed to age her further. Her once-golden curls had thinned, and now lay like straw on the pillow. The room was dark, except for a thin ray of light that seeped through the curtains.

  “Good Morning, ma’am. Can I get you anything?” Zofia asked, keeping her voice soft.

  “No, thank you,” Christa said, barely above a whisper.

  “Where were you?” Katja asked, angry and accusing. She’d been lying beside her mother.

  “I couldn’t come,” Zofia said.

  She picked the child up into her arms and put her face into the baby’s soft hair, taking in the sweet smell of her.

  “I’m mad at you,” Katja pouted.

  “I’m sorry,” Zofia said. “Forgive me and I promise we will play a game.”

  Katja smiled and hugged Zofia’s neck. “What kind of a game?”

  “It’s a surprise. First you should eat some breakfast.”

  “Do I have to?”

  “Yes, you do, if you want to play.”

  “All right…” Katja said, reluctantly agreeing.

  “Thank you, Zofia. I’m so glad you’re here. I need to rest.” Christa said, her voice a croak.

  “I’ll take her out of here and close the door.”

  “Thank you, so much.” Christa turned on her side as Zofia took Katja out of the room.

  When Katja had finished her breakfast, Zofia peeked into Christa’s room to see if her employer was all right. Christa lay facing the door, eyes wide open.

  “Ma’am, can I get you anything?”

  “No, nothing.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Zofia turned to leave.

  “I’m so tired of all of this,” Christa began to speak. Although the room was dark and Zofia could only see shadows she could tell by Christa’s tone of voice that she was crying “ I’m not well, and sometimes I feel that it is all just too much for me, this camp, with its murder and torture. I am married to a man I don’t even know. Worse yet, I am so weak. I have no fight left. Soon I will die, and what will happen to poor Katja? Manfred has changed so much since we were married. I cannot trust him to care for a child when I am gone. He is far too angry, and has turned so vicious and cruel. My life is a terrible mess,” Christa said

  Zofia did not answer. If she could, she would promise this woman who had been kind to her that she would care for the child. But, as the last few days proved, the decision was not hers. So all Zofia could do was stand silently in the doorway and listen.

  “Zofia, where is your mother? Where is your family from?”

  “My mother is dead. I have no living relatives,” Zofia said, but she thought of Eidel

  “I am sorry, I am so sorry for you.”

  Zofia realized now that Christa was somewhat aware of the goings on at the camp. She longed to tell her about Fruma and Gitel, even about Eidel, but she could not take the risk. If Christa turned on her, Zofia would be sent back or worse. It was best to just stand there and listen.

  Finally, that afternoon Christa agreed to try to eat some tea and dry toast, which Zofia brought to her. She nibbled a bit, and then lay down and fell asleep. Zofia took the tray and covered the woman. She wondered how, even in her own misery, she could feel so sorry for someone else.

  Christa was asleep when Manfred arrived early from work. Zofia had just given Katja her afternoon meal and put her down for a nap.

  When the door creaked open, Zofia turned quickly. A shiver ran up her neck. It was the Arbeitsführer.

  “Hello,” he said, his voice civil, almost warm.

  She cast her eyes down. “Good afternoon, sir,” Zofia answered.

  “You look quite lovely today,” Manfred said.

  Zofia did not answer.

  “You aren’t afraid of me are you?”

  She shook her head.

  “Well, good, although it would do, you well to maintain a healthy respect, if you understand what I mean. So…then…” he said, smiling. “Come to my office. I have something to talk to you about.”

  Zofia followed him, wishing somehow that she mi
ght escape.

  He sat behind his desk and motioned to her to take the seat opposite him.

  “Do you like it here? Working in my home?” He smiled.

  “Yes, Arbeitsführer.”

  “You realize of course, that I could send you back to the quarries at any time.”

  “Yes Arbeitsführer.”

  “Speak up, I can’t hear you.”

  “Yes, Arbeitsführer.” She cleared her throat and tried to speak louder.

  “I am a very powerful man. Your very life lies within my hands. So in a way, to you, that makes me God.”

  She kept her head down.

  “What do you have to say to that?”

  “Yes, Arbeitsführer.”

  “Well, I would like to keep you here working in my home. My daughter likes you, and you provide much-needed help for my invalid wife.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “However, I expect more of you. This job you have… It is a very comfortable job, plenty of food. I know my wife feeds you well. I realize she gives you more than you deserve. I don’t care. But there is something you can do for me.”

  “Yes, Arbeitsführer.”

  “Come here,” he said. She did not move. “Come on…” he said, his voice suddenly gentle in a frightening way.

  Zofia got up. Her legs felt as if they were about to buckle underneath her. She gasped for breath.

  “Don’t be so scared. I won’t hurt you,” Manfred said.

  She walked over.

  “Closer,” he said.

  She moved closer.

  He put his hand under her dress. She recoiled.

  “Ech…don’t do that. You must pretend you want me. You must convince me of it. Do you understand? I don’t like to feel as if I repulse you. I get enough of that from Christa.”

  “Yes, Arbeitsführer.”

  He pulled the blinds shut. The room was total darkness.

  “Say it,” he said. “Say...I want you! You are a powerful man!.”

  “I want you, Arbeitsführer. You are a powerful man.”

  “Use my name, call me Manfred. Tell me that I am a good husband. Say that you love me.”

  “I love you Manfred. You are a good husband.”