Beneath the Universe

by Jennifer Gaskill Miller

  “Why are you telling me this? You know I’ll have him arrested.”

  “He’s already dead. Shot in his car making a delivery. I suppose the SS investigated after that. I had no idea they’d been harboring Jews. I went to their house and the front door was open, the handle had been broken off. Inside I found Olivia’s mother. She had been shot trying to cover the closet she’d been hiding them in. You could see where the wardrobe had been, the outline of it where the sun had bleached the wallpaper around it. The closet door was open, but there was no one inside. That surprised me. I would’ve thought they’d have been killed on the spot. I couldn’t find Olivia either. I was told they had been taken to Mauthausen. That was three weeks ago. I don’t know how long your transport takes, but I would think they’ve arrived by now. I came here to find her. Senseless, I know. She’s there and I’m here and that’s all to be done about it.” Grey stopped talking. He’d worked himself into a frenzy and now tried to compose himself again.

  “Blaz, I beg of you, she’s only a child. She’s as innocent as we were, more so. She had no control over what her parents did. You can save her, I know you can. Blaz, if you . . .”

  “What are you asking me to do? Do you even know?”

  “Blaz, I understand the dangers that . . .”

  “It isn’t about danger. You’re proud of the things this French family has done? I am sorry if your friends have fallen prey to the deceitfulness of the Jews. But I cannot allow my sympathies to dictate my actions. I have a duty to uphold. And I will not allow you or anyone else to dissuade me from doing what I know is just. How could you even ask me to? Why did you try to lure me here?”

  “You asked me here. I didn’t lure you anywhere,” Grey could tell he was losing the fragile connection. “Blaz, what’s happened to you? You love your country, I know that. But the boy I knew didn’t want to hurt anyone. He just wanted to understand.”

  “Well, I’m not a boy anymore,” Blaz stood up. His chest heaved and his shoulders ached. He felt as if he’d just stopped running, still catching his balance, trying to stand still without reeling. “We’re in a war, Grey. The one you said was going to happen. And I do understand. You helped me understand it, particularly when you abandoned me to join the wrong side.”

  “Maybe you chose the wrong side,” Grey ventured standing himself, his boldness catching Blaz off guard. “What if you weren’t German? What if you weren’t even Aryan? What would you have to say then about the superiority of the race with all the scientific evidence?”

  “If I were anything else I would kill myself. There would be no point to living a halfway life.”

  “Is that how you see it? Halfway? Incomplete? Inferior? You only believe in all that Nazi propaganda because you fit into their standard. This “Aryan pride” is just plain arrogance. You’re nothing more than spoiled children but more dangerous because along with the ridiculous notion that you are somehow superior, you’ve been given guns!”

  “Enough! We are a legion of gods in a land of insects! Of course we are superior.”

  “Do you hear yourself? You think you’re a god? You’re insane! You lock up anyone who believes in tolerance, in equality. You build temples and breeding houses and killing camps. For what? To create a world with only you in it?”

  “God willing.”

  “God doesn’t want any part of what you’re doing,” Grey said, his voice suddenly quiet. He sighed, shrugged his shoulders as if shaking off an imaginary spider crawling up his arm. He closed his eyes and opened them, looking at Blaz in a pitiful and pleading way. It was obvious Blaz would not help him and Grey finally started climbing the stones back to the road. As he stood on the crest of the rocks he turned.

  “If you want to live in some imaginary universe, I can’t stop you. But mark me; God isn’t going to live there with you.”

  Grey waited. His voice was calm but his body tensed. Blaz could almost see the pulsing veins in his neck from where he stood. When the only response was the thrashing below as the water broke against the rocks, Grey left. Blaz could feel the twitch in his arm as all his training instructed him to follow and shoot Grey. But he ached for his old friend, too. He had no intention of seeking out the girl, no interest in saving her. But although he would never acknowledge it, the part of his heart that belonged to his memories of Grey begged him to at least consider it.

  He thought about Grey as he rode back to the camp. It was strange that Grey asked about the coin, stranger still that he even remembered it. Blaz pulled it out of his pocket. He always had it with him. A talisman of sorts, it was a reminder of how Blaz’ life really began. After Grey left, Blaz listened more to his father’s lectures about the government, the world. After hearing about the Beer Hall Putsch and his father becoming a member of the Blood Order, it became easier to obey than to fight. Then there was Giselle. If Grey hadn’t left, Blaz might not have been so lonely. He might never have talked to her. As much as he hated to admit it, Grey had a hand in all the success that Blaz had found in life so far. Unlike his scar, the coin represented two sides of a friendship; one side the brotherly love that had once existed and the other the reality of their world now. He turned the coin over and over again.

  Alright, he thought. Alright, Grey. I’ll let the coin decide if I help you.

  A few hours later Blaz stood outside of Barrack number one. The coin that had compelled him to find the girl was back in his pocket. The small green building was the last place to look. The sun had briefly come out and light reflected off the windows and pierced his eyes. He rubbed his bottom lip with a thumb and surveyed the yard for incoming guests. This was one of the few places in the camp where inmates were somewhat eager to be, most of them anyway. There were awkward men with anxious eyes that often didn’t have the strength to last the allotted time. Instead, they ended up just talking to the prostitutes, starved for female attention. The women who serviced the visitors approached even more slowly than their patrons when they were moved to Barrack One. Eventually, they learned to just get it over with so they could get their rations and escape into sleep for a few minutes before the next invasion of their womanhood.

  Blaz lit a cigarette and let the chilled breeze blow out the match for him. He would get through at least one butt before going inside. Like most of the decent guards, Blaz hated the brothel. It was disturbing to hear the grunts and cries from the kapos and criminals who frequented its rooms. The clientele, though the brothel was open to all non-Jewish male prisoners, was logistically only accessible to the few who were willing to con, bribe or steal for its pleasures. One third hour visit required two Reich marks and a spot on the waiting list. And if their appropriately matched prostitutes were sick or deceased there were no refunds.

  Some of the women volunteered, eager to clutch their bony fingers into any extra food or special treatment they could get. It wasn’t until their flimsy bodies were spent on abortions or the slow suck of time that they preferred death over the beds. Most of the whores were enslaved, shipped in from Ravensbruck at Himmler’s command. Oddly, it was the older women who fought it for the longest. The younger they were the sooner they adapted to their new lot. But the older, married ones, the mothers especially, cried longer and wore more bruises.

  Blaz finished his cigarette. A young guard approached the house. Blaz didn’t know his name and didn’t care to know it. But he was relieved to have someone there, a breathing body in the quiet yard.

  “No activity today?” He asked the guard.

  “No, Sturmbannfuhrer. Not until tonight. Brothel doesn’t open until seven.”

  “Right. I was wondering, how accurate are the records?”

  “Perfect, sir, as they should be.” The guard seemed concerned that he might be in trouble.

  “So I can see everyone who has been in?”

  The guard swallowed. “Yes sir. But I can assure you, none of the guards use it. Wouldn’t want to.”

  “At ease, soldier. I’m not here to accuse anyone. Besides, I think
you and I both know the guards use it. I’m wondering about one of the prostitutes.”

  “A whore?”

  “That’s right. Are your records of them as good as the clientele?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I want to see those records.” Blaz dropped the cigarette into the dirt, grinding it with his boot.

  “Of course. This way.”

  The young man unlocked the door and led Blaz inside to a small office with a desk and a bench. Blaz settled himself on the bench as the boy pulled open the file drawer.

  “I wouldn’t sit there if I were you, sir. Some of our guests are exposed to certain ailments . . . down there. We give them ointments before and after, but the damned diseases just keep coming anyway.”

  Blaz found a place to lean against the wall closer to the administration desk.

  “What exactly are we looking for, sir?”

  “A girl. French. Hasn’t been here longer than a couple weeks. A catholic girl, Olivia Vrimone.”

  “Oh, I don’t need a file for that. Dark eyes, smallish?” The guard indicated breasts.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Yeah, that’s her. We had a girl start a week ago. We only have ten girls at a time, but one of the new girls died during sterilization. Leonord Pozi, a greenie from Prague, noticed your girl. He asked specifically to have her. Said he’d pay triple. Jasper pulled her from her barrack and said she was pitching the Lords prayer all the way here. She clawed the hell out of Pozi. You’d think he’d put her out but I guess he likes it that way. Has her every chance he gets. Yeah, he’s scheduled to have her tonight, eight to eight twenty. See?”

  He held out the board for Blaz to read. Olivia’s name was not on the signup sheet, just a room number. Blaz handed the board back to the guard and went back to the porch. He heard the click of the door being locked and the guard stood beside him again.

  “Think it will snow tonight?” He asked casually.

  Blaz didn’t want to be friends. He didn’t want to be having a conversation. But his gut ached and he retrieved another cigarette just to have something to do.

  “Clear her from the schedule. Send her back to her barracks.”

  “But, sir . . .”

  “Just do it. She shouldn’t be here anyway. You’re not supposed to have anyone under seventeen.”

  “We’re not exactly concerned with their ability to cope here, sir.”

  “I didn’t ask your opinion. I ordered you to release her back into the general population.”

  “Yes, sir. But may I say, I sense concern for this girl. Far be it from me to ask why. But if it’s her protection you are after, she’s far more likely to survive in here than out there.”

  Blaz considered this.

  “I want to see her.”

  “Of course, sir, do you want to . . .” His graphic gesture earned him a disdainful look.

  Blaz sighed with impatience and moments later was being led down the hallway of Barrack One. At the end of the hall the guard stopped at a wooden door with a peephole and motioned for Blaz to look inside. When he did, he saw a pleasantly furnished room complete with bed, table, a window with curtains and a wash basin. But no girl.

  “There’s no one there,” he said.

  Confused, the guard rapped on the door.

  “Sie dort?!” He called out.

  Blaz looked again and saw a dark head come into view through the small hole, followed by pained eyes and a small mouth. Blaz stood back and motioned for the guard to open the door. He hesitated, but did as he was bid.

  When the door opened, the girl was hiding again. Blaz stepped into the room and saw her huddled to the left, pushed between the wall and her table. Blaz sighed, a mixture of impatience and pity. He beckoned her to come forward with a flip of his fingers. Her gaze darted between Blaz and the young guard, fearful. Finally, she shuffled towards Blaz, her bare foot hit the leg of the table but she didn’t react. She stood before Blaz, her chin down, her eyes on the buttons of his uniform. He could see why the kapo had been so intrigued by her. She was young, but undeniably beautiful. He wondered if Grey had told him the truth. Maybe there was something more to their relationship than the innocent way Grey had explained it. Her hair, while straight and thin was brushed and the dark strands caught the light in waves of shine. Her eyes were rimmed by lashes so long, he couldn’t even see the whites of them as she looked down.

  “You’re hurt,” Blaz nodded at her ankle where a trickle of blood slithered down to her sole. Blaz took her by the shoulders and gently set her onto the chair. He kneeled down to get a closer look at the injury and lifted her leg to inspect it.

  “Sir,” the forgotten guard spoke from the hallway. “I won’t tell anyone. But the others will be arriving within the hour, so you’ll have to hurry.”

  Blaz didn’t look away from the bleeding foot.

  “Whatever you think I’m going to do, Scharfurher[6], you’re wrong. Leave us.”

  The guard nodded and closed the door. The door locked and there was a pause before the guard’s steps disappeared down the hall. Blaz knew the guard had been watching through the peephole.

  “Olivia?” Blaz asked.

  The stunned expression confirmed it. She was the girl Grey had asked about.

  “I know you’re scared. And I know you shouldn’t be here. What your parents did was wrong. But you would have chosen more wisely, wouldn’t you?”

  He took his handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed deliberately at the wound. A small shred of skin came off as he did so, but the girl didn’t wince. Blaz looked into her face where tears were streaming silently down her cheeks.

  “They rape me,” she whispered.

  Blaz closed his eyes.

  “I know.”

  “Will you send me home?” Blaz could hardly bear the hope in her voice.

  “I can’t. I’m sorry.”

  Olivia seemed more confused than disappointed.

  “But then why are you helping me? How do you know my name? You came for me, didn’t you? Why?”

  “I don’t know. To see if you’re dead.”

  “Why?”

  “Because someone who was once very important to me asked me to.”

  “Who?”

  “It doesn’t matter. I have no way of telling him, anyway.”

  “You were concerned enough to come.”

  “I was curious. But, yes, I am concerned. I can’t send you home but I can make life easier for you. Pack your things. You can work in the officer’s house. Can you cook?”

  “No.”

  “Well, pretend that you can. It’s the best I can do. I’m sorry.”

  “You should go.” She stood from the chair and backed away.

  “What?”

  “You should leave me. I don’t want to be half rescued. And I’m not going to let you walk away patting yourself on the back for being my savior. So either use me or go.”

  “This isn’t what you want. I know it’s not. I’m a married man and I know that women will say they’re fine when they’re not.”

  “I didn’t say I was fine. I’m here, aren’t I? I said I wanted you to go.”

  Blaz felt the frustration gathering in his jaw. But he knew there was no reasoning with her. He wouldn’t plead with a prisoner.

  “Sir?” Olivia called as he opened the door. “If you ever do get the chance to tell your friend about me?”

  “Yes?”

  “Tell him I’m dead.”

  CHAPTER 9

  September 1944

  Cora

  Cora lingered in the bathroom. She would be called out soon enough. When her father was away she could stay in the bath as long as she liked, until her hair corded around her neck and her fingers wrinkled. But if he was home he would surely demand that she go to bed as quickly as possible.

  That was his way with her, with all girls really. Not women. Women seemed to charm him. He was pleasant, even delicate with all their female friends and relatives. But not the chi
ldren. Young girls disturbed him. There was anger towards them that Cora never understood. In an odd way, she was glad of it. At least it meant that it wasn’t just her he disliked. That would have hurt more. At least, she could hope that the more grownup she behaved, the more loving he might be.

  She sat forward in the water, her knees curled up and her arms wrapped round her legs. It was her thinking position, her I can’t be touched position. Her father had come home the night before in a fierce temper. Even Giselle had not been able to calm him until he barricaded himself in the study. Something had happened at the camp and he was in no mood to discuss it. Cora had eaten silently with her mother and then made sure the puzzle she had been working on was neatly put away. She had hoped it would be a way to draw her father in, but he never saw it. If he had he would have been angry about the mess. It was a puzzle with a print of a black sun. A boy at school had told her that the emblem of the sun wheel represented the most important Nazi ideals. She didn’t fully understand what they meant but maybe her father would appreciate her interest.

  The water was getting cold. Cora felt the chill returning to her bones as she removed the stopper and stood to wrap herself in a towel. As she did, she slipped on a trail of suds as they slid toward the drain and fell face first into the back of the tub. The rim caught her on the cheekbone and she heard the crack more than felt it, a walnut being cracked on Christmas. But the pain came swiftly, bursting from the wound and flooding her jaw. The tears would not be stopped. Cora burst into sobs as she laid her forehead against the porcelain, not bothering to get out or to cover herself.

  Giselle responded to her daughter’s cries, and in moments, Cora was wrapped and maneuvered out of the bathroom towards her room. Her face was bleeding. She could see the red expansion on the towel where it draped her shoulder. Blaz had heard the cries, too. He was in the doorway of his study and stood without sympathy.

  “What’s all the noise?” He snapped.

  “Cora’s fallen. She may need stitches, darling. Look.” Giselle had started herding Cora towards her father but stopped when she realized he was not interested.