Stumble Stones

by Marilyn Baron

  “Madam Hammerman,” he began in a deep voice. “So nice of you to come.”

  Was the man crazy? He acted as if this were simply a social call and she had come of her own volition.

  “You know who I am?”

  “Of course. I’ve watched you perform many times. Most recently in Swan Lake at the Paris Opera Ballet.” His eyes roamed her body, which was visible through the gown. Madeline blushed.

  “You are even more beautiful in person. You have a dancer’s body. It is very appealing to me.”

  Madeline bit her lip until it bled.

  He walked up to her, and she could feel his breath on her neck. He caressed her body lightly with the pressure of his hands, outlining her breasts with her rosebud nipples, which he teased until they stood erect, curving around her stomach and then her buttocks.

  She slapped him. “I am a married woman.”

  The man threw back his head and laughed and then caught her hand in his. “I could have you shot for that, or worse.”

  Madeline shrank back onto the bed.

  “But I have you at a disadvantage,” the man said politely. “I am SS-Hauptscharführer Maximillian von Gruber, part of the camp command. This is my house. You exist at my pleasure, and for my pleasure. I had hoped we could have a pleasant conversation over dinner, enjoy some delicious champagne, perhaps, and some rich chocolates? I have Swiss chocolates. How does that sound? And then we will discuss what I can offer you and what you can offer in return. I would like us to get better acquainted, if we might, meine Dame. May I call you Madeline? That is a lovely name. And you may call me Max. I have a proposition for you.”

  Madeline’s eyes widened in confusion. “What kind of a proposition?”

  “Auschwitz, the camp, can be a rather cold and unpleasant place, even a dangerous place. You will need someone to protect you.”

  “Against what?”

  “Many things can happen here if one is not careful. Perhaps you’ve heard?”

  Madeline shook her head. “This is my first night here.”

  “And I want it to be an enjoyable one. I can make that happen.”

  The man was polite, but his meaning was explicit. He was almost panting, like a dog. His erection was clearly outlined beneath his uniform.

  “Do I have a choice?”

  “My dear Madeline, of course you have a choice. I am not in the habit of forcing myself on women.”

  “I’m not interested in your proposition. Like I said, I am married.”

  “If we are being perfectly honest, I am married too, and I have two wonderful children back in Berlin. I haven’t seen my wife in many months, and I have big appetites. And speaking of appetites—” He walked over to the door and called a guard. “You may bring in our dinner.”

  At his signal, a guard wheeled in a tray with a bottle of champagne cooling on ice, a carafe of water, a steaming roast pheasant, wild rice, roasted potatoes and, as promised, a bar of Swiss chocolate. The guard disappeared on command.

  “Sit, please.” He indicated a small table and chairs, set for two. She sat and stared longingly at the food.

  “I’m not hungry,” she announced.

  “You don’t have to pretend with me. I know you have barely eaten since you were in Berlin, and you have had little water. Now, it would be a shame to waste such a lovely meal. So please eat with me.”

  Madeline was ravenous and thirsty. It was true. She hadn’t had much to eat or drink in almost two days. She should keep up her strength for the baby’s sake, until she could decide what to do. She nodded. Max smiled.

  They ate in silence. Madeline was so hungry she practically wolfed down the food. The water landed like a balm on her chapped lips and parched throat, and the champagne made her tingle.

  “Here, have another glass,” said Max, who started to pour the champagne.

  She hesitated.

  “I insist. It’s French. It will help you sleep.”

  Then he broke off a piece of chocolate and fed it to her.

  It was heavenly.

  “There, that’s better. Now we can discuss our arrangement.”

  “I’d like to go back to my—my room, if you don’t mind.”

  Max bellowed.

  “Your room? Madeline, you will share your room, as you call it, and its thirty-six wooden bunkbeds, with five hundred other women. Let me enlighten you. There are no windows and no bathrooms. It’s cold and unbearable, and you’ll only have two meals a day—one cup of bitter coffee and a slice of bread in the morning, and some thin broth and bread in the evening. And beatings at the whim of your guards. If you try to escape, you’ll be shot or hung. You are under the misconception that you have arrived at a first-class hotel. That is why I must protect you from harm. It is obvious you have delicate sensibilities. You can have this lovely home, where we can visit, have regular meals, enjoy a bit of music, exist in a state of seclusion. Perhaps you will even dance for me. And, when you get to know me better…”

  “I would like to see my husband first,” Madeline interrupted.

  The SS man who called himself Max took a deep breath and spoke slowly.

  “How does it feel to have your husband’s life in your hands?”

  Madeline shuddered.

  “I think we understand each other. Now you should change your clothes, and I will have my guard escort you back to your quarters, where you can enjoy the hospitality of the camp for a few days. I wager you’ll change your mind, then. I will send for you soon. Enjoy your grace period. Goodnight, Madeline.”

  Madeline discarded the flimsy nightgown and changed into the camp clothes provided for her. She breathed a momentary sigh of relief—until the guard returned and dragged her roughly out of the room.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Madeline

  The next seven days were the worst week of Madeline’s life. By the end of the “grace period,” Madeline realized the truth about Auschwitz, the reality of the arbitrary beatings, shootings, and hangings, early morning roll calls in the dark, freezing weather, frequent and random selections, the starvation, disease, forced labor, and the ultimate terror—the “showers” and the ovens. Punishment was unexpected and harsh and as varied as the monsters who meted it out. If the victim died, what did that matter? There were always more unsuspecting people to torment, coming to the camp in an endless procession of humanity.

  The stench of burning flesh could be smelled in the barracks, and the screams could be heard of the thousands of victims that streamed in daily, as they tried to escape being poisoned by exhaust fumes in the gas chambers. Rumors were that there were scratches on the concrete wall where people frantically clambered to get out. Ninety-nine percent of the Jews died within two hours of arrival. People didn’t come there to work. Auschwitz was a killing factory.

  It was incomprehensible, but true. Jews were rounded up in almost every city and town in Europe and transported to their deaths. Didn’t anyone in the outside world know what was going on? Why didn’t someone do something about it?

  Madeline was physically sick. Being pregnant at Auschwitz was more than just an inconvenience; it was a death sentence. If you didn’t die at the hands of the maniacal camp doctor, Josef Mengele, who had a penchant for torturing and experimenting on twins and pregnant women, your body would be worn out from lack of nutrition and being worked to death. You had to have a strong will to survive. And Madeline needed to survive, to protect her unborn child and reunite with her husband. She’d had no word of Abe since her arrival, but it was evident that her answer to the SS commander would seal her husband’s fate, if he were still alive.

  A week after she first encountered the SS officer, a guard came to get her out of the roll call line on a cold and rainy morning, when they’d been standing for hours, and brought her to the house in the forest.

  What a difference a week made. She was filthy. Her scratchy work dress was wrinkled, dirty, and torn. It was no wonder. She worked and slept in the same outfit. There was no change of
clothes. Her shoes barely fit, her hair was shaved off, and she bore a registration number tattooed on her left forearm. She was starving, thirsty, and freezing, and her toes nearly frostbitten. For a ballerina, that was the worst fate. But, luckily, her feet were already hardened from rigorous training and dedication to her art. She imagined what shape she would be in after a month, or a year, or for as long as this war dragged on. She could see the evidence when she stared into the gaunt faces of those who had managed to hang on. She now knew that being pulled out of the line to the showers had saved her life and the life of her unborn child.

  She stood, utterly defeated, before the SS commander as he lounged nonchalantly in his chair. She would have gladly thrown herself on the electrified fence that surrounded the complex, including the killing center, but she had another life to consider.

  “Madeline, so nice to see you again.” His cruel smile lit up his face. “Have you reconsidered my offer? Are you ready to take advantage of my generous hospitality?”

  At first, she was too furious to speak, but when she did, she kept her tone light. He was an insidious pig, but she would take what he had to offer, not for her sake but for her child’s, and when she could, she would intervene to help others. If he wanted to play this cat-and-mouse game, then she vowed to beat him at it.

  “I accept,” she whispered.

  “Speak up. I couldn’t hear you.”

  “I said, I accept.”

  “I accept, Max,” he chided.

  “I accept, Max,” she parroted in a monotone. The man was a beast masquerading as a human being.

  Max got up from his chair and came around to where she was standing. He towered over her. He went to hug her but was obviously repelled by her appearance and, no doubt, her rancid smell.

  “Why don’t you wash up? You’ll find clothes in the closet. I trust you’ll have everything you need. It’s a shame about your hair, but it will grow back.” He looked her over. “Not too long, I hope.” It was obvious he preferred her boyish appearance. He was conveying his unconventional proclivities loud and clear.

  He didn’t know she was pregnant, so she would have to sleep with him in order to convince him she was carrying his child. Surely he wouldn’t kill the mother of his own child, and definitely not the child itself. It was a gamble, but then, her child’s life depended on her ability to carry out this charade.

  She took advantage of the opportunity to enjoy a hot shower, where she tried to scrub off all vestiges of the barracks. She shampooed and towel-dried her hair, what was left of it, and applied the makeup that was in the drawer. There was a closetful of clothes to choose from, all in her size. Abe had loved her long hair, but Max was right about one thing. It would grow back. She spritzed on some perfume in all the right places and realized how lucky she was. Not because she was being forced to act against her will, but because she surely wouldn’t have survived another week in the barracks situation.

  The door opened, and Max reentered the room. He came up behind her and wrapped her in a hug.

  “You look lovely.”

  “I’ve looked better.”

  He turned her around and entreated her with his eyes.

  “Madeline, I want to apologize for my behavior at our first meeting. That was not the way I wanted things to go. I didn’t intend to be so heavy-handed. It’s that I wanted to keep you safe. By sending you back to the barracks, I was taking a big chance. I couldn’t always be there to protect you. Now I will find you a job doing cooking or light housekeeping, perhaps working in the storage warehouse in the sorting room, where you can grow out your hair and have more freedoms. I want you to enjoy our time together. I will do everything in my power to make you happy. I am not a fickle man. You will be the only one, while we’re together. You have my word as an officer.”

  Madeline managed a smile. The only one, besides your wife. And you’re insane if you think I can enjoy myself while others are suffering around me. You can sugar coat this all you want, but you’re a tyrant. You can shame me, but you will not bend me to your will. How much does your word mean?

  “Let’s start with a healthy breakfast,” he suggested. “You look like you’re wasting away.”

  “I would like that,” she admitted. He could probably hear her stomach growling. He called for a tray of hot food. “There are more clothes in your size in the closet. Feel free to use them. I’ve ordered books I think you’d like, and I have music. I have a busy day, but make yourself comfortable, and I will be back to visit you tonight. Perhaps you could dance for me. Meanwhile, I hope you can get some sleep while I’m gone. I want you to be rested for tonight. I’m looking forward to our arrangement, and I hope you are too. My assistant will bring you lunch, and we’ll have dinner together. And don’t worry. This will be our little secret. No one will have to know.”

  He turned to go, and then he reconsidered. “Oh, and Madeline, don’t even think of escaping. I have posted guards outside, and they have orders to shoot on sight anyone who leaves this house unattended. But you’ll be safe as long as you’re in here under my protection.” He smiled.

  Then he walked out the door. Madeline knew that the camp was a hotbed of gossip. She just hoped Abe wouldn’t hear about it. She devoured breakfast and then threw it up. It must be nerves or the pregnancy. She would have to hide that for the time being.

  She walked into the closet. She knew where these clothes came from. They were from the sorting area—designated as Canada—where all the clothes worn by the victims passed through. Jewish prisoners, under the supervision of the SS guards and prison overseers, inspected each garment for diamonds, gold, jewels, coins, foreign currency, and other valuables. Anything of value would be stored in a box in the center of the barracks. The SS guards frequently helped themselves to the stolen goods. The SS guards were well fed and wanted for nothing, while the inmates in their charge were slowly wasting away. She had so much to eat and the other prisoners had nothing, but exhaustion overpowered her guilt and she fell asleep on the featherbed.

  She must have slept through lunch, because she could see the full moon through the window. She got up, brushed her teeth, and picked out something to wear that was not too suggestive. Observing herself in the mirror, she looked almost demure.

  The door opened. It was Max. Instead of his uniform, he had on casual clothes. He seemed happy to see her.

  “You’re wearing white. Perfect. Very symbolic. You are coming to me as a virginal bride.”

  No matter what she did, it seemed to excite him, albeit unintentionally.

  “That’s not exactly what I had in mind,” she pointed out.

  “Nevertheless. Our dinner should be arriving any minute.”

  “What would your wife think of this arrangement?”

  “She will know nothing about it.”

  She wanted to bring up her husband, but she didn’t think the time was right.

  “Are you comfortable here?”

  “It’s an improvement over the prisoner barracks.”

  “Don’t think of yourself as a prisoner.”

  “How should I think of myself, then?”

  “As my very special guest.”

  “Do many of your compatriots have ‘special guests’?”

  “Although it’s not officially sanctioned, yes, many do have their favorites.”

  He was charming in a sadistic kind of way. And she knew he was sadistic. She had experienced his mood swings firsthand. A few days ago, when a new transport arrived, she’d seen him shoot an old man who was limping and couldn’t get in line fast enough. The man’s body just lay there bleeding while everyone filed past. He was expendable, like every other prisoner. People had become inured to death. But she didn’t point that out. She understood her purpose was to entertain Max and keep him on an even keel. She wanted to avoid another display of his temper. Like a viper, he could strike unexpectedly.

  “Dinner was delicious,” she said, wiping her mouth with the white napkin. “Thank you.”


  “You’ll have to tell me what you like, and I’ll make sure we have it on hand.”

  Such a polite conversation.

  “So, I’ve brought some music—Tchaikovsky—and I thought you could dance for me. A private show.”

  “I’m a little out of practice.” She thought Tchaikovsky an odd choice, since the Germans were locked in a death struggle with the Russians on the Eastern front.

  “That won’t be a problem. Practice makes perfect, does it not?” She didn’t know if he was talking about dancing or other things.

  She was just beginning to recover her strength. She wasn’t sure she had the stamina to dance, but she didn’t want to make waves, so she agreed.

  He put on a record, and she danced. He was mesmerized. His eyes never left her body, and when the dance was done, he stopped the record and walked up to her.

  “That was quite a performance.”

  “I am not wearing the right clothes for dancing.”

  He folded her in his arms and gently kissed her lips. “For what I have in mind, no clothes are required. Can we take the next step?”

  He was asking her permission when they both knew he didn’t have to.

  She shuddered. “Whatever you’d like.”

  He went to the door and dismissed his guard. Then he locked the door and turned out the light.

  “If you’d feel more comfortable, you may change in the bathroom. I’ll be waiting in bed.”

  Madeline took a deep breath. This was the moment, then. She stepped into the closet and pulled out a diaphanous white nightgown and brought it into the bathroom.

  When she came out, he was waiting for her in bed. He had removed his clothes, and when she approached the bed, he took her hand and pulled her against him.

  “Madeline.” He breathed her name and traced the outline of her body in the darkness before he began to undress her. He tenderly kissed her lips and then let his fingers explore, doing his best to prepare her. At one point he stuck one finger, then two, inside her, before he rolled her onto her stomach and entered her from behind.