The soldier turned to Irena. “If she’s telling the truth, why did you lie?”
Irena took a moment to pull her eyes away from the gun. All I needed her to do was corroborate my story. A tense silence hovered in the air as I waited for her to speak.
Please, Irena, make him believe the story.
“Of course she’s telling the truth, but I didn’t think you’d believe I broke the law just to look for her. Once I take this idiot back to my aunt and uncle’s, I will make damn sure this never happens again.” She directed a dark look my way. The threat wasn’t for the soldier’s benefit.
I took a cautious step closer. “I’m sorry, I really am. Please don’t arrest us.”
The soldier’s eyes shifted from me to Irena. When he moved in front of her, she drew back until he pressed his pistol barrel beneath her chin, and she froze while everything in me stopped. He watched her fluttering chest, then whirled and grabbed my shoulders. I gasped, expecting the blow or handcuffs or bullet that would follow.
“Next time, you won’t get a second chance.”
The menacing growl left me unable to give more than a tiny nod. He released me while his companion shoved Irena out of his grasp. With a sharp breath, she caught herself on her hands and knees. The soldiers marched away, and I watched them go until trembling hands latched on to my arm and dragged me down the street, ignoring my stumbling efforts to keep up. Irena’s fury would be next, the anticipation of a reprimand like that of bombs before they are dropped. The distant rumble of an airplane. The piercing whistle as the projectile cut through the sky. Those were the only warnings before the world erupted.
When we rounded the next corner, she pulled me down the nearest alley and transferred her ironlike grip to my shoulders. “What the hell was that, Maria? Why didn’t you go home?”
I took in the frenzied haze in her eyes, her disheveled clothes and bloodied knees, and finally managed to find my voice around my dry throat. “I couldn’t let them arrest you.”
She released me, shaking her head. “I’m not going to thank you for being a fucking idiot. Your concerns should be keeping the work safe and staying alive, and if you don’t get that through your thick head and learn to fend for yourself—”
“Yes, fending for yourself worked so well for you a moment ago,” I replied, glaring at her. “The Gestapo would have interrogated you.”
“That’s not your concern. You would’ve been free to continue working.”
“But since I intervened, we’re both free.”
“And the next time you do that, we both might be arrested.”
“Or we both could be free again.”
“Dammit, Maria, you can’t even recognize your own incompetence.” Rigid with tension, Irena turned and took a few steps away.
Somehow those words struck something within me, something she’d never touched so deeply before. “Is that what you think? That I’m incompetent for helping instead of leaving?” I asked as loudly as I dared. “Well, do you want to know what I think? You say self-preservation is what’s best for the resistance, but that’s your excuse. Self-preservation is what’s best for you, because you don’t care about anyone but yourself.”
Irena stiffened even more. Silence surrounded us, thick and suffocating, smoke after an explosion. Chaos one moment, stillness the next.
To steady the fury pumping through my veins, I inhaled the cool night air, pretending it smelled crisp and clean, not like the garbage and mildew in this filthy alley. At last Irena closed the distance between us until her tall, thin frame loomed over me. I stood my ground, but, when she spoke, her voice was sharper than the frigid gusts tearing across my skin.
“If you ever try another fucking intervention, we’re finished. And if I hear another damn word out of your mouth tonight, you’ll wish you’d left me with those soldiers.”
She didn’t wait for a reply—I wasn’t supposed to say another damn word anyway—and instead walked toward the street. I stayed where I was, watching her go. Irena had broken her own rule about using our real names during resistance activities. I wanted to tell her so, but I decided not to provoke her. It seemed I’d provoked her enough for one evening.
* * *
Auschwitz, 29 May 1941
The train rumbled along the tracks all night, the railcar dark as Warsaw’s unlit streets during curfew. Mama told us to drink the disgusting water from the communal pail, despite my fears of the drink forcing me to use the waste bucket. I already stood in a railcar, shoved against strangers, being transported like goods for trade; I could at least retain what little dignity remained. But Mama insisted.
By the time the train stopped, it felt as if we’d been trapped for decades. When the doors swung open, they revealed SS men, who ushered us onto a platform. Mama got out first, followed by Zofia and Karol, and I stayed behind to help Tata. As we neared the door, I grabbed his hand to pull him to a stop. When he looked at me, I couldn’t look back.
“Tata, I’m so—”
He cupped my face in his warm hands, so I swallowed the tears threatening to spill out. “True freedom comes from bravery, strength, and goodness. The only one who can take those from you is you.” After I nodded slowly, he took my wrist and rotated it, so I opened my palm to reveal the pawn he’d given me. With a smile, he closed my fingers over it and kissed my forehead.
“Raus!” someone shouted.
Tata and I continued toward the exit. It was a big step down to the platform, so he sat, took Mama’s hand, and landed on his good leg. They both offered me a hand as I followed.
Outside, I’d expected to have more room, but it was still crowded and reeked of passengers covered in sweat, human waste, and filth. The gray morning carried a heavy chill while chaos unfolded before my eyes. Soldiers bellowed and beat the new arrivals with guns and whips, and crazed men in striped uniforms did the same, urging everyone along.
Karol reached for me, so I lifted him into my arms and contained a gasp when his weight angered the bruises around my midsection. “Look,” he whispered. He pointed toward two soldiers who were shoving prisoners to hurry them along. “Bastards.”
I masked my laugh with a cough before adopting as stern an expression as I could muster. “Karol, don’t say that word.”
“That’s what Mama said when the guard pushed you, remember?”
I placed a finger over his lips and dropped my voice. “You’re right, but the soldiers will be angry if they hear you say so. Why don’t you and I keep it a secret?”
He nodded, seeming excited by the idea, and I kissed his cheek before putting him down and grabbing his hand. Zofia edged closer to me, eyes wide as she took in our surroundings.
“Where are we?” she whispered.
I readjusted my grip on my little chess piece and scanned the mass of bodies until I noticed a sign. “Oświęcim.”
The Germans called it Auschwitz.
As we followed the other Pawiak prisoners down the platform, the SS soldiers ordered the men to separate from the women and children. I gathered the hem of Tata’s wool jacket in my hands, but a shared glance between my parents settled my concerns.
“Would you allow us to stay together?” Mama asked the nearest soldier.
In response, the soldier spat at her feet, and Tata tensed. Mama grabbed his sleeve while the SS man looked us over with disdain.
“I don’t give a damn if you stay together or not. You’re going to the same place anyway,” he said. Something about the way he said it gave me pause, but I wasn’t sure why. “Move down the platform.” He shoved her in the proper direction before marching away.
Tata caught Mama’s arm without losing his own balance, and I rushed forward to stabilize them. Mama took Zofia’s hand and wrapped her arm around Tata’s waist while he picked Karol up.
“Stay close,” she said, and we kept going.
How was I supposed to stay close? Countless people swarmed around me, coming between me and my family as everyone lined up in rows. Thank
goodness my father was tall. I focused on the back of Tata’s head and pushed toward him. As I fought the crowd, someone jostled me, and my tiny pawn slipped from my grasp.
I darted after it, shuffling around feet clad in oxfords and pumps and loafers until I almost collided with shiny jackboots. Gasping, I straightened and found myself standing before an SS officer.
He held my pawn between his fingers.
Somehow it hadn’t broken when it fell. He examined it while I waited for him to acknowledge me, but I wished he’d hurry so I could get back in line.
Everything about him was small and pinched—slight build, beady eyes, thin lips, narrow face. I imagined one of Karol’s toy soldiers had come to life; the mental image would have made me laugh if not for the look on this man’s face. When he lifted his eyes to mine, they were hardened by revulsion, as if he’d never seen anything more inferior than the girl before him. At the same time, his lips were parted in a way that seemed far too eager.
“Do you play chess?” he asked. He looked to a nearby guard and gestured, probably to tell him to translate, but I nodded. He clenched his jaw, perhaps insulted by my knowledge of his native tongue, and dropped my pawn into my palm.
I stepped back, but I wasn’t in line at all. And my family was nowhere in sight.
I turned in a full circle. Surely they couldn’t be far; I’d walked only a few steps to retrieve my chess piece. Nothing looked familiar, I couldn’t remember which direction the soldier had sent us in, and I could hardly see over the crowd. People bumped into me and pushed me aside, making it impossible to stay in one place, and I clutched my fists to my chest, my heart hammering beneath them.
We’re going to the same place, like that soldier said. If I don’t find my family now, I’ll find them when we get there.
The reminder was comforting, but every passing minute separated us more. Maybe they’d already reached our final destination. The SS officer was watching me, so I turned back to him. I couldn’t bear the look on his face; instead I stared at the ground and spoke in a small voice.
“Could you tell me where to go? I was supposed to stay with my family, but now I’m lost, and I—” I broke off with a shaky breath. “Please, I have to find them.”
After a brief pause, he snapped his fingers at another SS soldier and nodded toward me. The soldier looked confused, probably because he was leading a group of men; still, he didn’t dispute the unspoken order. He waved me into his group, so I obliged.
For a moment, I thought I saw Tata, but my hopes were crushed as quickly as they’d risen. Not him. But we were going to the same place. How I got there wasn’t important, only that I rejoined my family.
As I followed the men, I looked over my shoulder. The SS officer watched us go with that same hunger on his face, and I closed my hand tighter around my tiny pawn. Another SS man called out to him, and the sound of his name floated across the platform and reached my ears. Fritzsch. I had a feeling I should remember it.
Chapter 4
Auschwitz, 20 April 1945
I NEVER TAKE LONG to make my play. Fritzsch, on the other hand, surveys the board as if he’s forgotten all the rules and must review them with every turn. He must know how annoyed I get when he takes his time during our chess matches, which is probably why he does it.
At last one hand hovers over a knight, then he seems to change his mind, and he adjusts the cigarette between his lips. I chew on the inside of my cheek and clasp my hands together to keep from fidgeting.
“Do you remember when you first came here?”
His question stirs the part of me I’m determined to keep suppressed, the part I have no control over. A response would risk awakening it, so to settle myself, I release a small sigh and wipe the rainwater from my eyes.
Chuckling, he toys with the black pawn he captured on his last turn. “You were a little runt of a creature, weren’t you?”
Words, that’s all they are. Just words.
“Your move.” My voice is taut, charged with a current as strong as the one that once ran through these barbed-wire fences.
“It’s been four years, so you would have been—how old? Fourteen, perhaps fifteen?” Fritzsch tosses his cigarette butt onto the gravel. “Tell me, 16671, what is it like?”
“What is what like?”
He sits up straighter and rests his forearms on the table. “Returning to Auschwitz.”
The slightest provocation is all it takes to unleash the current inside me.
How can I put into words what it’s like to return to a place like this?
Fritzsch waits, lips parted in anticipation, but I’ll be damned if I give him what he wants. The current surges through me, but, before it can manifest into shaking hands or a snap of rage, I imagine the rush slowing, calming, receding into the depths. As I lean over the Deutsche Bundesform chess set and lower my voice, the pistol in my pocket feels as heavy and crushing as my memories of this place.
“Unless you intend to resign, it’s your move.”
For a moment, Fritzsch doesn’t react. At last he relents, draws back, and moves his knight after all, but he holds the black pawn by the neck and twists it between his fingers, back and forth, back and forth. I bite the inside of my cheek harder. Though the current is buried again, its tingles of energy remain.
“It’s as if we never left, isn’t it?”
The words sound almost accusatory, as if he’s prompting me to say more, to reveal why I’ve returned to this place when I was desperate for so long to escape from it. I keep my mouth shut. He’s not going to force me into a play I’m not ready to make. Once I confess why I’ve come—if I lose control—he will have no more need for this game. For me. The past will seize me no matter how I combat it; I’ve spent three months fighting it, and not once have I won.
He will not rush me, will not bring those memories to the surface before I’m ready to battle them. I will cling to control as tightly as a lost little girl once clung to a chess piece from her father.
But he’s right. Returning to Auschwitz makes me feel as if I never left. This is where it all took place, the reality that became the memories. Sometimes it’s impossible to distinguish one from the other.
Being here is like the first day I arrived, and every day that followed.
It’s hell. Absolute hell.
Chapter 5
Auschwitz, 29 May 1941
SCHNELL!” THE SS guard shouted as I marched with the group of men away from the railway platform. He raised his whip, but I moved faster and concealed myself within the throng.
Cold settled over me. I wasn’t sure if it was from the rain that had started to fall or my lingering unease after my interaction with Fritzsch, but I wrapped my arms around myself to ward it off. Keeping my eyes open for my family’s group, I clutched my tiny pawn as we approached what appeared to be a gate flanked by a barbed-wire fence. Once we drew closer, I made out the words on the metal sign over the entrance.
ARBEIT MACHT FREI. Work sets you free.
Irena had never mentioned the Gestapo sending resistance members to a place like this. Maybe she had no idea a place like this existed.
* * *
Six Weeks Earlier
Warsaw, 12 April 1941
A tiny bell over the door jingled in greeting when Irena and I entered the small haberdashery, our final resistance errand for the day. Various patrons were in the midst of browsing, so we did the same. Dark wooden shelves brimming with men’s shirts lined the walls, and we wandered past racks of colorful neckties, leather belts, and hats before lingering at an assortment of sewing accessories.
Behind the counter, the clerk, Mr. Niemczyk, accepted payment from an elderly man, but a young couple examining neckties drew my attention. A swastika pin gleamed on the man’s lapel, and the woman bore the same symbol pinned to her breast. Volksdeutsche.
Upon this realization, I drew closer to Irena, my heart ticking almost as loudly as the bronze clock mounted on the wall. While the woman browsed the
selections, her eyes drifted toward us. Perhaps she wondered why two young girls were shopping in a men’s clothing store. She refocused on her companion, but I didn’t miss the pointed look they shared.
Another one of Irena’s cardinal rules: expect Volksdeutsche to be collaborators. Those with German heritage but not citizenship—since they lived outside Germany—were afforded the opportunity to sign the Deutsche Volksliste in support of the Third Reich’s policies for Germanization in occupied territories. Volksdeutsche living in Poland, even ones with Polish blood, who professed loyalty to the Reich were also notorious for betraying their countrymen to the Gestapo.
If Irena had noticed the couple, she gave no indication. We trailed closer to the hats, the two hovering in our vicinity. Though they attempted subtlety, it wasn’t difficult to guess their intentions. I imagined they would linger to confirm their suspicions about us. We couldn’t fulfill our task without them noticing, so we had to get rid of them.
They were hardly five meters away, close enough to overhear what I planned to do. Traces of leather and wood permeated the air, so I took a slow breath, letting the sweet aroma settle my nerves. None of the plans I’d enacted during my resistance work had failed me yet, and I’d make sure this one didn’t, either. I waited until Irena put down one hat and selected another, then I threw my head back into a groan.
“Would you just pick one?”
She almost dropped the hat and swore under her breath, but, before she could recover, I proceeded.
“Do we have to waste so much time shopping for Patryk? I wasted enough time listening to you flirt with him this morning.”
Her eyes grew as round as the hat’s rim before they sharpened in both understanding and annoyance. After so many weeks of working together, no doubt she recognized the imaginary young man I always referenced whenever we needed a convincing story. It was my favorite resistance scheme—and her least favorite. Fortunately, she always played along.
Irena lifted the hat for closer inspection, her gaze flickering toward the Volksdeutsche. “The more you complain, the longer I’m going to take.”
The Last Checkmate Page 5
