“Fritzsch waited before killing my parents, didn’t he?”
Oskar’s head dipped into a small nod.
Of course he’d waited. He wouldn’t have missed his chance to torment two parents with their children’s lifeless bodies.
“Your mother fell to her knees beside the children,” Oskar continued, suddenly absorbed in the Totenkopf emblem on his cap. “I thought she was going to faint, but she stayed there, silent, staring at their faces. Your father took her by the hand and pulled her into his arms for a moment. Then they turned to face Fritzsch.”
Mama and Tata had comforted Zofia and Karol in the only ways they could, and they somehow managed to keep them calm until it was over. And, when it was time for my parents to face the same fate, they did so with courage and dignity. It was all they could do.
“Your father was next,” Oskar said. “When he fell, your mother flinched, but she didn’t waver beyond that. She knelt and kissed his cheek, then kissed each child’s before guiding them into her lap, taking your father’s hand, and facing Fritzsch. She held that bastard’s gaze until the end.”
In the silence that followed Oskar’s words, I heard the wind howling outside, and through the small window I saw the snow steadily falling. A damp chill filled the room, and I shivered, but I wasn’t sure whether it was from cold, anger, sorrow, or all three. My parents watched their children die. My mother watched her husband die. All because of Fritzsch.
I hope you managed to find them.
His voice echoed in my head, his mention of my family during our chess game. This couldn’t have been what he was implying. He couldn’t have known the family he shot was mine. Perhaps he guessed they’d been murdered, so his words were meant only to remind me of this fact. He didn’t know he was the one who had murdered them.
But the look in his eyes had revealed something deeper.
What if he knew? What if he knew everything?
I traced my cigarette-burn scars.
Mama. Tata. Zofia. Karol.
When I managed to find my voice, it was hardly audible. “You saw me that day, didn’t you? How long had they been gone?”
Again, Oskar didn’t meet my gaze. “Minutes.”
Minutes. I’d missed my family by minutes. Their final moments, my chance to save them, join them, say goodbye, whatever could’ve happened had I arrived in time, I’d missed it by minutes.
“I requested to be relieved of duty, so I’ll be leaving at the end of the week,” Oskar said, staring at his cap. “I know that doesn’t change anything, but I hate what goes on here.”
He was right. It didn’t change anything.
“If I could have stopped it, executions or floggings or any of it, I would have, but I’m one man, and if I . . .” Oskar rubbed his eyes and cleared his throat, then spoke again in a soft tone. “If it helps at all, your siblings seemed at peace. And even after what they’d witnessed, so did your parents.” He hesitated before returning the cap to his head.
I rose to my feet and gripped the back of the chair with both hands to steady myself. He waited, as if anticipating that I was going to say something. When I did, I didn’t bother trying to keep the tremble from my voice.
“If you meant what you said about hating what goes on here, I need you to promise me something.”
He didn’t react right away, but at last he dipped his head in a small nod.
“Tomorrow, I want you to report to the kommandant and tell him everything you know about Fritzsch.”
* * *
After my conversation with Oskar, I rushed to my block. Hania and I had plans for a chess game, but chess was the furthest thing from my mind. When I got there, Hania was lingering outside and hurried to meet me, but I passed her without slowing down.
“I’m going to find Fritzsch.”
She grabbed my arm. “Wait, Maria, you can’t.”
“Yes, I can,” I exclaimed, shaking her off. “He can flog me all he wants, but I’m going to find him. I have to—”
“Listen to me, shikse,” Hania murmured, taking me by the shoulders. “You can’t go to him because he isn’t here.”
“Fine, I’ll wait until he comes back, and when he does—”
“He isn’t coming back.” She held my hands and gave them an excited squeeze, beaming. “This morning, the SS men in the administrative office said Kommandant Höss summoned Fritzsch for a long meeting, and he left the moment it was over. Höss had ordered an immediate transfer and sent him to a concentration camp in Flossenbürg. He’s gone.”
Impossible. Fritzsch couldn’t be gone. Not yet. With Oskar’s testimony and Fritzsch’s numerous transgressions, I was almost certain Kommandant Höss would transfer him, but I had asked Oskar to give his report tomorrow so I could have time to confront him first.
“It’s true, shikse, I promise.” Hania’s voice made me blink, and she stepped closer to me with a small smile. “You’ve done it. He’s gone.”
Fritzsch was gone.
I’d spent months working toward his transfer, but my own plan had ruined everything. If I’d known he’d killed my family, I could have demanded to know if it was true, if he had been aware that he had spared one member of that family even as he condemned the others. Survival was supposed to feel like justice—a way to honor my family, overcome this place that had claimed so many lives, defy Fritzsch and his plans for me. Once again, I was facing a move I hadn’t foreseen, one that changed everything. Stripping Fritzsch of his position and fighting for my survival were not enough. Justice was hearing the truth from my family’s murderer. Finding a way to make him pay. But it was too late; he was gone.
I’d lost my chance.
No, this game wasn’t over; this pawn was still in play.
Even though the snow almost reached my knees and the relentless wind made my eyes water, I wasn’t cold. The heat of fury thawed me and left me with the embers of my resolve—a slow, steady burn that would not die.
I will get out of Auschwitz one day. And when I do, I will find Fritzsch.
Chapter 19
Auschwitz, 20 April 1945
NOW THAT THE time has come to confront Fritzsch with everything I learned from Oskar, my conversation with him pours from my mouth, though it takes considerable effort to keep my voice steady. Once finished, I fall silent and take a breath. The truth is laid out before us, as clear and defined as the squares on the chessboard. Fritzsch has no choice but to make his play.
He stays quiet, watching me; then he takes my queen, so my knight takes his. “You were told I executed your family, and that’s why you tried to ruin my career, isn’t it?”
Though I suspected he was aware of my scheme by now, hearing him say so stirs a maelstrom of terror within me, as strong as if he’d discovered my involvement at the time. To calm it, I remind myself that I have nothing to fear. The endgame will unfold as I’ve planned.
“Answer me, Polack! Did you try to ruin my career?”
The shout startles me into focus. I didn’t realize how long I’d been silent. Fritzsch glowers at me, unblinking, so I examine the board, but if I delay for more than a few seconds, he’ll take action.
“My efforts began long before I learned what you’d done, but ruining your career was your fault. I gave you opportunities to break protocol, that’s all. I didn’t force you to take them.”
“So you did cause the transfer,” he says, his voice so low that I have to concentrate to make out the words. “And you planned your actions according to the kommandant’s whereabouts, didn’t you?” When I nod, he shakes his head in disapproval. “I gave you the chance to be useful, and you turned against me.”
“Don’t act as if you treated anyone with mercy,” I reply, though my voice is strained. “Not me, and not my family.”
“My job was to keep the prisoners under control, so that’s what I did,” Fritzsch says, calm once again as he moves a pawn. “It seems I should have focused on controlling the guards as well.”
In the midst of
reaching for my own pawn, I retract my hand. “What do you mean?”
Fritzsch removes his cap to wipe the rainwater from the Totenkopf emblem, then he replaces it on his head. “The one who told you about your family. Did you not consider the possibility that he lied to you?”
Rainwater trickles down my back, and I combat the urge to shiver. I search Fritzsch’s face, looking for any indication of trickery, but he just waits, expectant, for my response. I clear my throat before attempting it.
“After speaking with me, Oskar reported the same story to the kommandant.”
“If he lied to you, why wouldn’t he have lied to the kommandant? I remember the man in question. He wasn’t cut out for this line of work, but he disapproved of me. I’m not surprised he took the opportunity to sabotage me. He’d been relieved of duty, and I was already gone, so he had nothing to lose. By speaking with you, he presented me as he wished, then delivered the same report to Höss, likely praising the kommandant for transferring me and seeking to regain the favor he had lost by being too weak for his camp assignment, all while I was not present to address the accusations against me.”
I shift in my seat, but the adjustment makes me even more uncomfortable. “He had no reason to lie.”
“Ah, that’s not true, is it? You were vulnerable, desperate for answers, and you went to this man begging for them. He told you the odds of him remembering your family weren’t good, but since you insisted, he seized the chance to undermine me, crafted a story to satisfy you, and expected you to show your gratitude.” Fritzsch leans closer, holding my gaze. “Did you make it worth his while?”
The lascivious murmur unleashes my fury. “No, I would never—”
“Didn’t you tell him you’d do anything? You shouldn’t make promises you don’t intend to keep.”
“He didn’t ask me to repay him in any way.”
“Certain rewards lose all value if you have to ask for them,” he says with a smirk. “Besides, the other female prisoner participated in race defilement—”
“Leave her out of this.”
“Don’t act so shocked. I knew everything that went on in this camp.”
“You didn’t know I was working toward your transfer.”
A wave of anger crosses Fritzsch’s visage. “I suspected as much when the kommandant mentioned the protocol violations which caused it, and most involved you. Such a shame my relocation was immediate, otherwise I would’ve had time to address it with you prior to leaving.”
The contempt in his voice is a small satisfaction, but my victory remains a marginal one. Oskar couldn’t have lied to me. The suggestion prompts the memories, and I feel the pain starting, the slight ache that precedes the bouts of relentless, uncontrollable pounding in my head. I clamp my teeth together to fight it, but it persists.
“You said you hoped I’d located my family,” I manage at last. “You wanted me to . . .”
When the headache intensifies and steals my voice, he lifts a patronizing brow. “Do you always make such drastic inferences from simple statements?”
I close my eyes as I fight the constriction that overtakes my breaths. Control has been teasing me this entire time, darting within my reach, letting me grasp it, then breaking away again. The more I wrestle it, the more it overpowers me.
“Had you focused on your family rather than having me transferred, I never would’ve gone to Flossenbürg. Instead, you waited too long to look into your family’s deaths, and you trusted a man whose story couldn’t be disputed. I’m the only one who can refute or confirm his claims. That’s why you were determined to find me again, isn’t it?” He nods to the board to indicate it’s my turn and settles back in his chair. “If I didn’t execute your family, you’ve wasted all these years chasing the wrong man.”
Chapter 20
Auschwitz, 8 June 1942
LIFE IN AUSCHWITZ was unusual without Fritzsch. As scorching heat replaced the frigid winter, no one forced me to play chess against my will, and I no longer spent my days plotting against him or hoping he wouldn’t tire of me. Though I welcomed the respite, I was left with a void, one that wouldn’t be filled until I was free to pursue the plans I’d made to locate him.
On a warm summer morning, I hurried from Block 8 and made my way to roll call. Block 8 had become my residence in March, when transports of women started arriving, and the guards had transferred us to our own set of blocks separated from the men’s by a concrete wall. As I walked, I checked my sleeve to make sure the tiny nick in my arm wasn’t bleeding through my uniform. Hania had managed to obtain typhus vaccines for me, herself, and Izaak, equipping us to fight the epidemic, which worsened every day. She’d assured me that she’d come by the vaccines honestly, but I suspected empty threats had been involved—though she wouldn’t admit they were empty or that the SS men were unaware she used their names to protect herself. She’d woven an intricate web, and it wouldn’t come apart until she gave the word.
Following roll call, I walked with my kommando to Block 11 and resisted the urge to scratch my upper back. It was probably a flea bite. Fleas had taken a liking to the women’s blocks. When the itching became unbearable, I succumbed and gave it a quick rub, and my fingers passed over a hard lump of skin. One of my flogging scars. I moved toward the secret skirt pocket with my rosary while a wistful smile played around my lips. Father Kolbe.
The smile disappeared as I entered Block 11. The first wave of victims for the day would be executed soon: prisoners who had been caught participating in the camp resistance, or underground resistance members who had been sent here simply for death. As I walked down the hall toward the women’s washroom, I passed a few rooms outfitted as barracks. Inside, civilians were being held, awaiting trial. I didn’t know why the SS men bothered putting anyone on trial. They sentenced almost everyone to death anyway.
Ahead, I glimpsed shorn, dark hair beneath a headscarf, and I craned my neck to get a better view as the owner navigated the hallway. When the female prisoner approached, my hopes deflated. Not Hania. For her sake, I was glad she wasn’t translating for trials or interrogations today. Given the torture she was forced to witness, she hated working in Block 11. For my own sake, though, I wished it had been her.
When I reached the small washroom, I paused in the hallway. Focus, I told myself, repeating the mantra I recited prior to every workday. Focus on living. Fighting. Surviving.
But no amount of focus could take away my shock when Irena Sienkiewicz walked into Block 11.
It was her; it was unmistakably her. She looked exactly as I remembered, though more haggard because she would have just come from Pawiak—and I knew how that felt. She was still dressed in civilian clothing, and she lifted her chin with her usual defiance, but her eyes roamed, quick and uncertain. The guards directed some political prisoners into the courtroom or a holding room; then they sent others in my direction, including Irena. As she followed the crowd, she didn’t notice me, so I hurried to meet her.
“Irena Sienkiewicz? Or should I say Marta Naganowska, so you won’t yell at me for using your real name in front of the SS men?”
She stepped back and stared at me, but, as her wary gaze drifted from my face to my prisoner number and back, my words must have triggered recognition. Her eyes widened, then she grinned and shook her head. “Dammit, Maria. You’re alive.”
Never did I think I’d take comfort in hearing Irena swear at me, but it almost brought tears to my eyes. As much as I hated that she was here, I couldn’t help how thrilled I was to see her. After all this time—
The thought stopped short. Irena had been sent to the women’s washroom, the last stop before the courtyard. And no one sent to the courtyard emerged alive.
Yes, she was a woman, but she was young and healthy, and usually the young, healthy women were kept for labor. Why hadn’t they kept her for labor? When I noticed her swollen stomach, the answer was clear.
“Irena, you’re pregnant.”
“Am I? I had no idea.”
We followed the other women into the washroom, and a passing SS man ordered them to undress. While Irena did so, I mechanically accepted various articles of clothing the other women handed me. Once undressed, the women left the room or moved into the adjoining one to use the latrines.
“The baby’s father?” I asked at last.
Irena pressed her mouth into a thin line. “A soldier who caught me during curfew. The son of a bitch said he wouldn’t arrest me on one condition, but I didn’t get to choose whether or not I accepted his terms. I would have chosen arrest.” She removed her blouse and continued with a halfhearted laugh. “Some fights you just can’t win, even if you fight like hell. As you can see, that was almost nine months ago, then I was caught taking a Jewish girl to live with a Catholic family outside Warsaw.” She paused and folded the blouse with meticulous care. “Someone informed on us. Once I’d dropped the girl off, the Gestapo arrested me outside the house, locked everyone inside, and set fire to it. After making sure no one survived, they took me to Pawiak. Interrogation almost sent me into labor, but my little one is as much of a fighter as I am, so here we are.”
I didn’t know what I expected the explanation behind her pregnancy or arrest to be, but that wasn’t it, and it was too appalling to process. Nothing I said could take away what she’d endured, so I asked the next question on my mind. “Your mother?”
As she stepped out of her skirt, a shadow crossed over her face, nearly broke her, before she swallowed hard. “Mama was fine a few weeks ago, but she’ll know I’ve been caught by now, so I can’t imagine how she’s coping. Your family?” My expression must have given away the answer. She opened her mouth, then closed it.
Irena removed her undergarments and handed her clothing to me, and I added her belongings to the growing pile I’d created on the floor. The bruises covering her body took me back to my own time in Pawiak. Grief and anger tightened in my chest. The Gestapo had tortured a pregnant woman.
She washed her face and hands in the sink and started to exit the room, but she paused in the doorway. She placed both hands on her stomach now that it was exposed.
The Last Checkmate Page 18
