As I snuck back into the sick bay, I was again given a look by many of the Jews who were standing in line, but I tried to avoid the questions in their eyes and focused solely on the German nurse waiting for me behind the desk.
She spared no time upon my return. “You will register each Jew. Their number, ailment, age, and whether they are expectant.” The woman was not speaking to me softly, and I witnessed the sickened expressions on the faces of those who were waiting in line.
“Yes, Madame,” I replied.
The woman took the chair from behind the desk and moved it to the other side of the room. When she returned, she pointed to the stack of papers. “There you are.”
The papers were all handwritten notes about each patient who had come and gone, including only the four pieces of information she asked me to record. I took a stack of fresh paper and piled it neatly onto a clipboard, then found a pencil in a tin can I noticed on the corner of the desk.
I pulled my coat collar up and buttoned it over my mouth and nose, fearful of contracting anything from the sick people.
Immediately, I began questioning the patients standing in a line that was spreading throughout the alleyway of the barracks. It seemed like an endless amount of work.
Without knowing how many hours had passed, I guessed the time from the position of the sun and the fact that it was slowly beginning to set.
A hand on my shoulder pulled my attention away from the woman I was questioning. I turned to see who was behind me, and found him—Charlie. Taken aback by his greeting, I struggled to maintain my composure due to the unease I was feeling. “Yes, sir,” I greeted him, sounding weary. There was a certain look in his eyes that I couldn’t quite understand, and it made me wonder what his intentions were. With everything that had happened to my family and myself, I was smart enough to know I couldn't and shouldn’t trust anyone—particularly a soldier of any kind.
“Follow me,” he stated with a commanding tone, one that didn’t sound authentic.
I did as I was told, feeling even more confused about his intentions, but I dared not ask him anything at that moment. After all, I should have known better than to argue with a Nazi after watching the way they killed Mama, even if I had already tested my limits with Charlie. I followed closely in his footsteps while analyzing his straight posture and how tightly his hands were clasped behind his back. I walked as straight and tall as I could, but had to hold my arms over my chest as if embracing myself to shield my body from the icy cold wind.
We stopped at a small nook between two barrack blocks where there was no one else in sight. I didn't speak first. I had already thanked him the night earlier for the bread, and I didn't know what else he wanted from me. “I'm glad to see you’re doing paperwork,” he said.
“Why is that?” I questioned.
“Your longevity depends on your assigned job,” he answered. There was a seriousness in his voice, and his hands still had not moved from behind his back. I couldn’t understand why he would say that to me, and I wondered if it was a warning or threat?
“Are you trying to get me killed?” I whispered. I was not flattered or humbled by his pleasant attitude toward my new job. If we were caught having a private conversation back there, I could assume how it might turn out. I was the enemy, and he was—I'm not sure. I knew what he did not want to be, but if push came to shove, would his allegiance be to those that could have me killed without blinking an eye, or to a Jewish girl he just met?
Charlie’s eyes were not one of a Nazi. He had an innocent look that set him apart from the others. I could see hate and resentment a mile away with some of the passing men, but not Charlie. I was not about to admit that to him, though, because I was still unsure about trusting anyone.
“What do you want?” I asked, looking over my shoulder as my level of discomfort escalated. I didn't understand what was happening, but I knew I shouldn’t be back there.
“A friend,” he said.
I covered my mouth as if trying to hide the sarcastic laughter threatening to erupt from my dry throat. “Nazis are not friends with Jews. That’s just absurd.”
“Of course. That’s what we’re supposed to think. That’s the way they want us to be. Where’s my say in the matter, though?” he argued. “I had no choice about becoming a soldier on this side of the war. I was forced to, and I don’t want to be considered a Nazi because I’m not a killer.”
“Clearly, it can be worse, so be thankful you aren’t Jewish,” I replied with haste.
He leaned forward and lowered his voice to nearly a whisper. “I am not comparing our situations. I’m simply answering your question as to why I’m as desperate for a friend as you are. I obviously shouldn’t have approached you. My apologies.”
The feeling of guilt hit me hard, even though I couldn’t figure out why—I had nothing to feel guilty for. He was the enemy. He had the upper hand. He was the lion, and I was the mouse, yet there I was, feeling bad for one of them. I figured I must have been on the verge of insanity while being brainwashed to think I was nothing more than a speck of dirt. “You don’t need to apologize,” I replied. “You scare me. That’s all.” That’s what they all wanted. They wanted us to admit to feeling frightened, whether by words or action. It was their goal. Scare, torture, kill. Jews were their enemy, but what did I do? What did Mama do?
“That’s just it. I’m a monster, yet I have done nothing to earn that title,” he said.
“You put that uniform on,” I told him. Just as I had patches labeling my religion, he had clothing that represented the dictator in charge of all the hate there.
He took my arm and pulled me to the ground, squatting down in the corner as if he were trying to hide us, but without any further coverage. “No,” he argued. “I was trained from the age of ten until I turned eighteen, then never given a choice on whether I wanted to live this way. I don't want to be here, and I certainly don’t want to do the things they expect me to do. I would be slaughtered if I didn’t follow orders, however. Much like you, I’m afraid.”
His words terrified me more than they enlightened me. I couldn't understand the meaning of a ten-year-old being trained to hate. Plus, he wasn't sleeping in filth or being treated like an animal from what I could tell. “Well, I would trade places with you in a heartbeat,” I told him. I thought it would be easier to hate than to be hated, but I might have been wrong about that.
My eyes narrowed in on his, wondering how he had managed to remain in an authoritative position while admitting his defiance toward Hitler. “Why choose me to unveil this information to? I’m a no one. Why not one of those other women. They’re all desperate for help.”
His eyes closed for a moment, and I watched Charlie struggle to swallow. “I was sent on a mission to retrieve your sector in Prague. I was the one who pulled your mother off the other soldier’s back.”
“You killed her?” I yelled as quietly as I could. “That’s why you’re being nice to me? That's why you gave me an extra loaf of bread? You killed my mother?” I knew I couldn't raise my voice any louder, but the anger was searing through my entire body, igniting a fire within my soul.
“No, no, no, I did not—that was not me, but I was there. I watched you and your world fall to pieces like I’ve watched so many times before with others, but you were different. The intense pain I saw in your eyes made me feel heartache after being numb to it for so long. I never looked anyone in the eye after they watched someone in their family fall to their death, but I made the mistake of looking in your eyes for just a moment.” Charlie took a couple of breaths, as did I. He ran his hands down the side of his face and fell completely into the soil. “Amelia, time stood still for those few seconds, and even though I could almost feel your pain, I also felt jealous of you—that you could love your mother as much as you obviously did. Yet, I'm here because my mother forced me to train for this life.”
I was speechless and heartbroken all over again at the thought of Mama, and I couldn't clear up the foggy feeling in m
y head from his explanations. He watched Mama die in front me, and for that, he wanted to be my friend. He wanted to risk both of our lives for a senseless friendship? “People die every day,” I told him, simply ignoring the trueness of his confession.
His lips pressed together, and he swallowed hard once more. “I know.”
“I need to get back to my job before I'm caught,” I told him, needing more air than what was available in that corner.
Friends. For so long, Jews had not been allowed to be friends with anyone except our own.
I began walking back toward the alley where the line was still growing longer, but Charlie grabbed my arm, unknowingly where I had blood taken from just a few hours earlier. I couldn't help but wince at the tenderness. Feeling an immediate release of his hand, I turned quickly to hear his final words on the matter. “I'm sorry,” he said. “You look just like her, beautiful and pure. I hate that you have to live on without her—here of all places.”
His words hurt me. They cut through me like a knife, scraping the outside layer of my heart as my wounds felt renewed. Charlie may not have intended to hurt me, but I'm not ready to listen to an apology from any of my captors, not even him.
CHAPTER TEN
Emma
A hand on my shoulder shocks me into awareness, and I jump up from my seat with a gasp. “Aren't you supposed to be reading that to your grandmother?” Jackson asks me with a raised brow.
“Should you be listening in on conversations?” I question, mirroring his raised brow.
“It's part of my job sometimes,” he argues.
“Right.” With a grin pulling at my lips, I close Grams’s book and slip it into my bag before swinging it over my shoulder. “Normally, I might shower and freshen up before a ‘date,’” I tell him, making sure to air quote the word date.
“Hey, I offered to reschedule,” he says, taking my bag off my shoulder. “What do you have in this thing?” He swings it over his free shoulder, seeing as his backpack is hanging off his other.
“My life,” I tell him.
“You have a heavy life, I guess.”
“Not really, but my laptop is heavy,” I say with a bit of sarcasm.
“Fair enough,” he replies while pulling open the heavy glass door to the outside, unveiling a heavy downpour of rain. I hadn't looked out the window since I tried to get some fresh air earlier, but it was perfectly clear with a blue sky then. The drastic change in whether proves how long my day has truly been. I must already look totally disheveled, but now I’ll be soaking wet on top of it. Not a good look for a first date with a handsome doctor.
“Why don't you wait here, and I'll come pick you up?” I suppose I didn't consider the whole driving situation either. We both have cars here, but it would feel awkward to drive separately to dinner.
“It’s okay, a little rain won't hurt me,” I tell him.
“I insist,” he says handing me back my bag. “Stay dry.”
He runs out, holding his bag over his head as puddles splash up the sides of his jeans that I'm only now noticing he has on. I've only seen him in scrubs, but I like the way he looks in jeans and his leather jacket. I feel my pulse speed up, and I know if he keeps having this type of affect over me, I may need a heart doctor.
I watch him until he disappears into the parking lot across the street, and I quickly power up my phone and flip my camera around to see how bad I look. Please don't have dark circles of worn-off makeup caked up under my eyes. Somewhat surprised, my reflection reveals that my hair isn't too bad and most of my makeup is still on. I could look worse. I guess if he sees me like this, hopefully he’ll be pleasantly surprised if there is a second date—one where I have time to fix myself up first.
A dark car pulls into the main roundabout and parks in front of the doors. I don't know much about cars—it's never been my thing, but I know this car is sleek looking and it’s a Mercedes, and I've never been inside one of one before. I guess there’s a whole list of “firsts” for me today.
I open the door to run out, but Jackson jumps out of the car with an umbrella and runs toward me. “What are you doing?” I shout over the thunder and rain.
“I don’t want you to get wet, I told you.” Is he for real? The men I have come across, don't act like this.
I watch him curiously as he opens the passenger-side door and I slide in, still dry as a bone. He closes my door and makes his way back around to his side, closing the umbrella, tossing it into the back, and sliding in. His dirty blond hair is soaked and spiked in every direction and his jacket has droplets of rain dripping down the sleeves. “You’re drenched,” I tell him, stating the obvious.
“I’ll dry,” he says, glancing over at me with a small smile.
“You are quite the gentleman. Are you always like this?” I ask with a raised brow. That came out a bit sarcastic. I didn’t intend for it to, but I honestly didn’t think there was a man left on earth who acted so cordially. I could easily get used to this.
“What do you mean?”
I settle my bag between my feet, but he picks it up and places it on the back seat. “I wasn't aware there was a man around who still opened doors for women and picked them up in a rainstorm. I thought chivalry was dead.” Dad certainly never did that for Mom when they were together, and through my years of dating in high school and college, I never witnessed such a good-old-boy act of kindness.
“I was raised by two women, so I guess that has something to do with it,” he says through laughter.
“Two women?” I question.
He looks over his shoulder and pulls away from the curb. “Yeah, my dad left when I was two, and my sister is thirteen years older than I am.”
“Wow,” I say. “Are you still close with your sister?”
“Very. She has her own family now, and I like to be around my niece and nephew whenever I can.” All I can think to myself is that he is the perfect man; perfect manners, good looks, a great job, cares about people, and likes kids.
“If you tell me you’re Jewish, my mother might get a Rabbi to marry us in the hospital tonight,” I say, but immediately regret the words. That’s rude. Regardless of what Mom and Grams like to say about me marrying a nice Jewish Doctor, it's something I should probably keep to myself.
“Hmm,” he snickers. “I’m not Jewish; I’m Catholic…and German, so after listening in on some of your grandmother’s story, I’m not sure that’s what you want to hear.” He glances over at me with a quick wink, but his words settle in my head. It’s 2017. Religion and origin shouldn’t determine who we choose to spend our lives with now. Mike is Jewish, and considering how that relationship went, I can honestly say religion will not be the deciding factor in who I end up with.
“I was kidding,” I tell him. “It’s not something I’m concerned about, but my mother can be a little over the top sometimes.” I laugh quietly, hoping to defuse some of the awkwardness I created.
“Actually, your grandmother already knows, and it didn’t seem as though she cared.” With a soft snicker, he squints one eye and leans away from me as if I'd punch him or something, which I briefly consider doing as I remember how this all came together today. “Don’t forget, we shouldn't speak ill of the ill.” His words remind me that I should be nice regardless of this little setup between him and Grams. He did save Grams’s life today.
“Okay, I'll pretend like we were both blindsided by the guilt trip of us going out together.” I press my lips into a straight line, trying my best not to smile, but it’s hard to avoid while looking at him. “So, where to, Prince Charming?”
“I am kind of charming, aren't I?”
“You are kind of charming.” I'll give him that much.
“Well, since I know almost nothing about you, are you the wine and dine type of woman or do you prefer something a little lighter and fun?”
I run my fingertips up and down the smooth leather seat cushioning my legs as I think about his question. What am I? I guess I’m a workaholic that doe
sn't fit into either category. “I like to experience life, but I don't have the opportunity to do so as often as I'd like.”
“Not that you've answered my question, but you have me wondering why a person couldn't enjoy life as much as she would like to?”
“I work a lot,” I tell him. “I'm also alone a lot and sometimes forget to eat, never mind exploring the big world out there.”
“So, how do you know you like to experience life?” He has a valid point.
“I guess it was more of a wish than an answer to your question. I’ll go with fun. As much as I enjoy wine and food, fun sounds better tonight.”
“My kinda girl,” he mutters as he takes a sharp turn into a different direction. I guess he had me pinpointed as a wine and dine kind of girl.
How did today end up like this? Never in a million years would I have expected to be out on a date with a different man tonight, let alone a great guy. Mom has always told me I give off an uninterested vibe to people, like I'd rather not meet anyone new or interact with those I don't know. I've never tried to be that way, but I'm unintentionally quiet because I like to observe. It's the artist in me, I suppose, plus there’s the whole six-year relationship part I had been dealing with.
As we drive through the city, the street lights and painted lines on the road seem to have a hypnotic effect on me, and I feel unusually relaxed for the first time all day. I gaze out the window at the rain cascading down the glass in a solid sheet of water, lost in thought about Grams and her past. I hope she told that soldier—Charlie—to take a hike. It didn't seem like she was interested in his story, even though it was about him being forced into his position. He was probably up to something. Maybe she keeps calling out his name because she wants revenge on him for being one of the bad soldiers. I would. I could imagine it haunting me until my dying day. “Beer or wine?” Jackson interrupts my scattered thoughts.
“Beer,” I tell him, turning back in his direction.
He looks impressed as his lips purse together. “Light or dark?”
Last Words: A Diary of Survival Page 9
