When Irena turned to me, I gave her a small smile. “Are you ready, Frieda?”
Hania looked more confused than ever. “Frieda?”
“I’ll explain later. For now, you’re my interpreter.”
“You don’t need a—”
“Do you have a better excuse as to why you’re here? Just follow my lead, Bubbe.”
But Hania looked as if the betrayal she feared had been set into motion: that Irena would leave us with the condemned and walk out with her SS counterparts. She was wrong, I knew she was; I needed her to trust me enough to let Irena prove it.
The door creaked open, and the guards ushered the half-dead women inside. Some were so weak and sick that they leaned heavily on one another as they shuffled toward the bunks; others pleaded for their lives, insisting that they remained fit for work. One guard looked at Irena and opened her mouth, but we were already deep in conversation.
“I wanted to rest for a few minutes, Frau Aufseherin!” I exclaimed in Polish. “I lost track of the time, but I intended on going back to work, I swear.” I turned to Hania, who stiffened. “Please tell her.”
Silence. The guards waited, and, when all eyes fell on us, Hania’s widened in renewed terror. I repeated myself in Polish, begging her to translate, silently begging her to play along. Without her, this plan was useless.
“Well?” Irena asked in German. “What is this Polack blabbering about? Hurry up, you stupid Jew.”
Hania swallowed hard, this time looking at me with slightly more assurance before responding in German. “She swears she came here to rest and intended on returning to work. She didn’t realize how late it was.”
“I knew she wasn’t sick,” Irena said with a scoff. She grabbed my collar, so I let out an appropriate whimper. “You think you’re so damn clever, hiding in an empty block to avoid your labor assignment, don’t you? If you try that again, I’ll have you moved to Block 25 for good.”
She didn’t wait for Hania to translate before shoving us toward the door. She shouldered her way past the guards and prisoners, not giving anyone the opportunity to question her, and dragged us into the courtyard. We crossed it in a few steps, passed through the gate, and continued without disturbance.
After dinner, Hania and I sneaked to the latrines so we could talk privately. Once I’d explained everything, I concluded with my decision. I couldn’t let Irena attempt to smuggle me out.
“They don’t enforce collective punishment for escaped inmates anymore,” Hania said. “You have nothing to lose.”
“Except our lives if we’re caught.”
“Irena is here undercover and could be caught just as easily if you stay.”
“Which is why she needs to leave.”
“She came back for you, Maria. She left her daughter and risked her life to save yours, and she won’t leave until you do. Don’t keep her from her child any longer than necessary.” I didn’t miss the knowing shine in her eyes.
After Irena had led us from Block 25, I was confident our joint scheme had proved that her intentions were honorable, but, once we reached our block, Hania had paused at the door and turned to Irena. My confidence fled, and I prepared to mollify them if an argument ensued. More guards were walking by, certain to overhear once they drew closer. I gripped Hania’s arm, issuing an alert, but she was already speaking too intently to notice, voice low yet urgent.
“My sons. In Warsaw. Maria said a few years ago you and your—”
I tightened my grasp as my gaze flicked to the guards again; though Hania missed my warning, Irena didn’t. She caught Hania’s collar, cutting her off and pulling her close.
“My mother has the information regarding where each child was placed,” she said, barely above a whisper. “I will contact her the moment it’s safe. I promise. Am I clear?” she added more loudly, as though finishing a threat.
While the group of guards passed, Hania dipped her head in an obedient nod, though her eyes glistened. Irena gave a tiny nod in return, then shoved us both into the block, but not before catching my faint smile.
I wanted Irena and Hania both safe, reunited with their children. Surely it wouldn’t take us long to develop a plan, minimizing the amount of time Irena had to stay in such a dangerous position. As for myself, I would do whatever it took. The only way to get justice for my family was to leave this place. Freedom was worth the risk.
Now, in the quiet latrine, I released a slow breath. “If you’re willing, so am I.”
“Me?” Hania asked with a laugh. “What does my willingness have to do with anything?” The genuine confusion on her face was baffling.
“Because you’re coming with us,” I replied. “You and Izaak.”
She didn’t react for a moment, as if unsure that she’d understood me, then she took a few steps away and passed a hand over her headscarf. At last she sighed and turned to face me. “Sonderkommando workers aren’t allowed to see anyone else. You know that. Protz managed to get me around the rule today, and since I can’t get a Sonderkommando worker reassigned, he remains my only means of contacting Izaak, and we have to speak through the fence. It would be impossible to break him out.”
“No, it wouldn’t, because Irena can get access to him.”
“The odds of four people making a successful getaway aren’t good.”
I didn’t understand why she was making the plan so complicated, but I relented with an annoyed sigh. “Fine, we’ll wait until the Home Army attacks and we revolt. There are reports of the Red Army advancing, too, so it can’t be long until—”
“There’s no time to wait. When Izaak and I are free, we’ll meet you in Warsaw to find my sons, but you and Irena have to get out as soon as the plan is in place.”
This time, I was the one who was unsure that I’d heard her correctly. After a moment, I shook my head in adamant refusal. “I’m not going unless you come with me. I won’t leave you, Hania—”
“Enough, Maria.”
The fading evening light slipped through the wooden slats and spilled across the floor and over the concrete benches while we regarded each other in silence. We tended to keep these private meetings brief due to the suffocating stench within the latrines; this time, neither Hania nor I wavered.
Sudden sobs broke me in a way I hadn’t broken in so long. I closed the distance between us and wrapped my arms around her. If only an embrace were all it took to prevent us from ever being separated. Liberation called to me, and the temptation was so strong. Once free, I could find a way to contact Fritzsch on the front lines. Once free, I could confront him.
The opportunity to move forward with my plans was most tempting of all.
Hania held me close and kissed the top of my head, then she shushed me and took my face in her hands. As she searched my gaze, a small, affectionate smile played around her lips.
“Go with Irena,” she murmured, brushing a tear from my cheek and blinking back her own. “Go home, shikse.”
Chapter 27
Birkenau, 7 October 1944
IN THE TWO weeks following her arrival, Irena learned all she could about her SS coworkers and their routines. I promised I’d go with her when the opportunity arose, but I still hoped for the Home Army’s attack or the Red Army’s advance. Pilecki had been free for more than a year, giving him plenty of time to plan our liberation, and the Soviets drew closer every day. The revolt we’d been awaiting would come, and we’d fight from the inside while our allies fought from the outside.
I was so close, almost in a position to take control of my life again, to find the man whose name I heard in the echoes of every gunshot. The thought of getting to him was almost more enticing than freedom.
One October morning, while breakfast preparations were underway, I grabbed a cauldron and filled it with the grain mixture that served as our coffee. I didn’t add water to the pot, then left it on the fire to burn. If my plan worked, I’d get sent out of the kitchen, and I could attend the brief meeting Irena and I had arranged to share
our latest tidbits of information relevant to our escape.
I sliced old turnips and potatoes until a burning stench filled my nostrils, then the kapo threw a piece of rotting potato at me and ordered me to dispose of the burned coffee. With profuse apologies, I poured water into the cauldron to cool it off, attempted to scrape the burned bits clinging to the inside, then hefted my burden and let myself out into the crisp autumn morning. An orange-and-crimson carpet of leaves painted the ground, and I drank in a cool breeze, a pleasant alternative to the stuffy kitchen air, which smelled of filthy, sweaty bodies and rotting food—and now smoke, thanks to me.
Behind the kitchen block, the sight that greeted me almost made me drop the cauldron. Irena was there, as I knew she would be, but not alone. At the far end of the building, standing by her side—close, far too close—was Protz. They were smoking and smiling, but even from my distance I could sense Irena’s discomfort.
“Aren’t you supposed to be in the main camp?” Irena asked him as I moved closer.
“The prisoners aren’t going anywhere, and if my absence is detected, no one will say anything.” Protz gave her his stupid, smug smile, and Irena probably wished she could slap it off as much as I did.
“The rest of us don’t have that luxury.”
Though she failed to keep the sarcasm from her voice, Protz didn’t seem to detect it. When she flicked her cigarette butt away and turned to go, he caught her by the waist. “Relax, I won’t let them penalize you. What are you doing this evening, Frieda?”
Though she gave him a small smile, her words were venomous. “None of your damn business.”
The response only encouraged him. He tossed his cigarette aside, tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, and pulled her close. “I’m making it my damn business.”
He didn’t notice when Irena stiffened—or if he did, he didn’t care. As Protz pressed his lips to hers, he guided her hips into his, minimizing the space between them while Irena’s hand drew back.
Before she struck, I pretended to stumble, bumped Protz aside, and tossed the ruined coffee all over Irena. They broke apart, gasping and cursing, while I scrambled across the ground to retrieve the empty cauldron, spluttering apologies.
“I’m so sorry, Herr Scharführer. I tripped—”
Though I expected the booted foot that met my stomach, it was still agonizing. For a moment, I coughed and drew painful breaths while Protz cursed my stupidity. I opened my mouth to apologize again, but, when I looked into the pistol barrel leveled at my head, the apology caught in my throat.
My plan was backfiring. I’d known it was risky because my plans were always risky, but I hadn’t expected Protz to be so upset. After all, he wasn’t the one doused in coffee. All I could do was cower, but I didn’t miss the unmistakable snap of the gun’s toggle, a sound that meant a bullet had lodged in his pistol’s chamber.
“Please, Herr Scharführer—!”
“If you touch her, it’ll be the last fucking thing you ever do.”
At Irena’s words, I cautiously looked up. Her jacket and skirt were drenched, and she shook liquid from her hands and glared at Protz.
Oh, God, she’s defending me. She’s acting like Irena, not like a guard, and now my plan has ruined everything, and he’s going to kill us both.
“What the hell, Frieda?”
Protz’s query broke through my panicked thoughts, but he fell into stunned silence when Irena grabbed his collar and pulled him close. Meanwhile, I watched in horror and prepared to wrestle the gun from his grasp.
“You heard me, you stupid bastard. Get the hell out of my way.” She pushed him aside and turned to me, her voice deep with rage. “This bitch is mine.”
On the outside, I tensed, but on the inside I could have cried with relief. Of course she had reacted like Irena. She’d seized the opportunity to “give him hell,” as she would have said, but used it to our benefit. How could I have doubted her?
For a moment, Protz didn’t react, then he relaxed and put the gun away. He stepped back to watch our exchange; time for us to put on a good show. Irena closed the distance between us while I panicked.
“Forgive me, Frau Aufseherin, please, I didn’t—”
Irena kicked the empty cauldron out of my hands, and I shrank away. “You made a big mistake, didn’t you, 16671?”
As I apologized, I glanced at Protz. He looked convinced so far, but he seemed to be waiting for the inevitable. With him watching, Irena couldn’t avoid it. It’s what any guard would have done in this situation, and if she didn’t she’d be exposed as a fraud.
She had to hit me.
I’d known this time would come. Amid my pleas, I lifted my eyes to Irena’s, urging her to do it. So she obliged.
The back of her hand smacked across my cheek, bringing my frantic apologies to a halt and sending me sprawling onto the ground. The familiar numbness followed by pain spread across my face, then I realized I’d bitten my lip, so I spat the metallic taste of blood out of my mouth. While my mind cleared, Irena’s shadow loomed over me. I drew myself in and raised an arm to shield my head, as if preparing for the next blow.
“Listen carefully, Polack. You’re going to clean my uniform until every button shines brighter than the damn sun, do you understand?”
Before standing to do her bidding, I spat out another mouthful of blood. I was tempted to aim for Protz’s shiny boots, but I dismissed the amusing thought and refocused on my part. Once on my feet, I stole one more glance at Protz, who appeared satisfied. I was satisfied, too.
You don’t get both of my friends, you vile schmuck.
Next to me, Irena seemed tense, but I brushed it aside and maintained my timid act as she led me outside the camp. We reached her barracks, and to my relief every woman was out on duty. I followed her to a large room with bunks similar to those I’d had in the main camp, but these were far nicer, of course. The space was tidy and smelled of fresh bed linens, and Irena closed the door before directing me to a bottom bunk.
“Sorry I doused you with ruined coffee to get Protz away from you.” I chuckled and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, leaving a red streak. “Give me your uniform. Have you learned anything helpful from the guards?”
I expected her to answer the question and reprimand me for the rashness of my plan, but she didn’t respond. Instead she took off her black gloves and checked her jacket’s two large square pockets. After pulling out a watch and a white handkerchief she placed the items on her bunk and removed the jacket. Irena traced her finger over the eagle atop the swastika that adorned the upper left arm, then she threw it with as much force as she could muster.
“You can take this fucking uniform and let it burn in hell where it belongs!” When the jacket landed in a crumpled heap on the floor, she sat on her bunk with her head in her hands. All I heard were her heavy breaths. “Dammit, Maria,” she whispered at last, her voice muffled.
Granted, I, too, would have been upset if Protz had kissed me, but I didn’t think that’s what had prompted the outburst. When Irena handed me the handkerchief, she refused to lift her head, and I laughed and sat on a small stool at the foot of her bunk.
“Do you think I haven’t been hit much harder than that? We did what we had to do, Irena.”
“I don’t give a damn about what we had to do. Those bastards make your life hell, and now I’m one of them.” She refocused on the dirty uniform and dropped her voice to a mutter. “This was a stupid idea. I should’ve come back as a prisoner instead.”
“No, you made the right choice. This way, you have access to places I don’t, you can learn things I can’t, and you’re safe as long as they don’t find out the truth. And even if something happens to me, you still have your freedom. You can get back to Helena.”
“Yes, my daughter will be so proud to have a mother who slapped her friend in the name of saving our lives.” The words dripped with contempt.
“We had to—”
“Don’t tell me we had to do i
t. We didn’t have to do anything, but it was that or be killed.” Her laugh was harsh, bitter. “Do you realize how absurd that is?”
Her words surprised me, and I was even more surprised when I realized she was right. Of course it was absurd. Nothing made sense here. But I’d grown so accustomed to the absurdity that I hadn’t noticed it until she said so.
A distant look filled Irena’s eyes. She went to a world all her own, and I listened to her furious mutters.
“The guards have a resort on a beautiful lake nearby. They call it Solahütte. When I went on Sunday, Heinrich told me about his favorite restaurants, museums, and nightclubs in Salzburg. Johanna cried over a letter that said her brother had died from surgical complications following a battle injury. I hiked and sunbathed with them and many others. The next day, they were beating and shooting prisoners, shoving them into gas chambers, listening to their screams while they died, and cremating them in ungodly numbers. So many corpses piled everywhere . . . they can’t even dispose of them fast enough. It’s inhuman; it’s absolutely inhuman.” Her words faded, and when she looked at me tears shone in her eyes. “But they’re people, Maria. The guards and the prisoners. They’re people. And I don’t understand how people can treat other people like this.”
I’d seen her reaction many times in my fellow inmates, even in myself. The sheer insanity and wickedness of this place would break you if you let it. It almost broke me. And now I was watching it break her.
“Even though I was here when I was going to be executed, I had no idea it was like this. I knew the resistance had received reports but never learned what those contained. When I volunteered to come, the only training I received was a brief lecture. A regime obsessed with order and efficiency, and they failed to do something as simple as prepare me for a job? Or they were deliberately vague so I wouldn’t refuse? I was praised for serving the Reich, told to supervise, maybe give punishments. Then, when I arrived, I was informed this work is important, necessary—” Irena fell silent again, stared at the wall, and closed her shaking hands into fists. When she spoke, she fought to keep her voice level. “I don’t want to be Frieda fucking Lichtenberg.”
The Last Checkmate Page 23
