by Joan M. Wolf
"Yes, yes, Franziska. You are such a good student!" The teacher would praise her immensely.
And Franziska was always right. She worked hard to master this new language and received constant praise from all the teachers. In this place she was admired and respected by adults for her complete devotion to the rules and her critical eye. Other girls began to notice this favored status. Some even started to sit next to her in an attempt to receive the same special attention.
Unlike Franziska, I had a difficult time mastering the German words and phrases. My mind was muddled, trying to place the new words next to the old ones I had grown up speaking. Nothing, new or old, seemed to fit together anymore.
One night, after a very hard day of language les sons, I burst into tears of frustration. "I hate this language. I hate German. I hate the Nazis!" I cried softly in the dark from my cot.
"Eva," Franziska said quietly from her own cot. "German is the Aryan language, the true language."
"But..." My words trailed off as I saw the night guard pass by the door on her rounds. I closed my eyes and pretended to sleep, deciding not to finish what I had started to say—that neither of us was Aryan or German.
***
Heidi, the little girl who had arrived with her sister, was struggling even more than I was. One hot day in August, during language lessons, Fräulein Schmitt gave us a ten-minute break away from studies. Everyone was sweaty and tired from the long drills. The windows were open and several fans were on, but only hot air circulated. We were all feeling irritable and short-tempered.
Heidi and her sister, Elsa, were seated at their desks. Across from them sat two girls who bunked near them, Siegrid and Gerde. All four were discussing ways to keep cool. Gerde and Siegrid were arguing that fans did not help when it got too hot. Heidi and Elsa argued that they did.
"The blades of a fan don't cool the air. They just move it around," Gerde said in near-perfect German. Fräulein Schmitt, who had been listening from across the room, smiled.
"Nein. The air moves faster with a fan, and that cools it," Elsa argued. Her German sounded almost as good as Gerde's, and she, too, got a smile from the teacher. Heidi sat at her desk wiggling with impatience and eager to join the conversation with her own thoughts. But when she spoke, she used words I could not understand. Everyone in the room stopped what they were doing and looked at her. Franziska actually stood up from her desk, gaping at Heidi with wide eyes.
Heidi had spoken in Polish.
"Heidi!" Fräulein Schmitt snapped to attention. Her eyes latched onto the small girl like a hawk that had found its prey. No one else in the room moved. Fräulein Schmitt walked purposefully to Heidi, lifted her from the chair by her arm, and, as everyone watched, lifted her skirt and pulled down her underwear. With her ruler she hit Heidi five times on bare skin, a sickening thrack, thrack echoing in the room with each strike. When she was done, Fräulein Schmitt pushed the small girl to the floor, then crossed her arms and watched Heidi scramble to get her clothes back on.
That night angry welts appeared on Heidi's skin where the ruler had struck. We were all kept awake by her cries and the sounds of Elsa trying to comfort her.
I grew more and more angry as I listened to Heidi's moans. Who were these people, these Nazis? Why were they trying to make me one of them, with their language and their salutes and their uniforms?
I knew Mama and Papa would come for me eventually. And when they found me, we would all watch Heidi beat Fräulein Schmitt with a ruler, and then we would go home. There would be a big party, and I would make sure to take sugar so we could have a real cake to celebrate the Nazi defeat.
***
As we began to master the German language, our lessons changed to include German history and home economics. Fräulein Krüger made a special appearance to tell us about the League of German Girls, an organization for Nazi girls. There was another group called the Hitler Youth, for Nazi boys. We were still too young to be official members, but the League of German Girls philosophy and activities guided everything we did. It was during this lesson that I finally grew to understand the word "Aryan" and to see why everyone at the center had blond hair and light-colored eyes.
"In this room you will learn of the tragic persecution of Germany after the Great War. You will also learn of the glorious salvation our Führer has brought to Germany," Fräulein Haugen, our history instructor, began on our first afternoon of her lessons. "You will learn how you, as part of the Aryan race, are far superior to others, most especially to Jews, who are no better than the rats that live on the streets."
Aryan. That word was repeated over and over again. Fräulein Haugen explained that certain things about us, such as our blond hair and light-colored eyes, made us part of the Aryan race, a group of people Hitler deemed superior to all other races.
"You will learn how you, chosen young Aryan girls, are the German salvation." She walked briskly between our rows of desks, the short heels of her black shoes clicking and punctuating each of her words.
"You are all so very important," she continued, as she reached down and softly touched Franziska's hair. "When you go out into the German world, you will help Hitler usher Germany into greatness once again." Franziska's eyes followed Fräulein Haugen, her head nodding in agreement.
I fingered my own hair, looking at the light-blond strands. "Straw" was what Jaro would call my hair when he was teasing. "Sun-kissed" was how Papa always described it. Either way, it was the color of my hair that had brought me to this place.
One day we came to class to find a movie projector sitting at the front of the room. I had seen very few picture shows in my life, and despite where I was and what I was learning, I was excited to see another.
"This film," Fräulein Haugen said, as she wound the film onto the reel, "will help you better understand your Aryan heritage, and the scourge of the Jews."
My stomach sank with disappointment. I didn't understand why Hitler hated the Jewish people so much. There were no Jews in Lidice, and I knew nothing of their beliefs or traditions. How could one group of people be the cause of so much trouble?
We spent the next hour watching Jews be compared to rats and cartoons of Jews with huge noses. We also saw pictures of the ideal German family, all blond haired and blue eyed, playing happily in the park. The movie was convincing. But because it was the Nazis saying it, I didn't want to believe it.
"Your homework tonight is to read the first two chapters of your racial textbook," Fräulein Haugen said at the end of that day's lessons. "It will help you to better understand the importance of race in Hitler's new world and to fully appreciate the Aryan ideal."
Franziska and Siegrid huddled on Siegrid's cot that evening, poring through the book together. They talked and giggled in places. I tried to concentrate on my book, ignoring the sounds coming from them. Watching them made my heart ache with loneliness for Terezie.
"Can I sit with you?" A voice interrupted my thoughts, and I looked up to find Liesel standing by my cot.
"Yes," I said, surprised. "Of course."
We spent a few minutes reading quietly to ourselves. The first few pages had graphs and charts about nose size and head width and lists of the specific physical standards for the true German ideal. In the pictures I recognized the metal instruments the doctors in the Kladno gym had used on me.
"No!" Liesel said out loud, then looked around to see if anyone besides me had heard her.
"Pardon?" I asked, looking over at her.
"This doesn't make sense to me." Her voice lowered to a whisper. "How can the size of your nose make any difference?"
I stared at her a few seconds before answering. I had been wondering the same thing but thought I was alone in my doubt. "You're right," I said, so quietly that only she could hear. "It makes no sense."
She smiled and continued to read. I smiled too, warmed by the thought that I might have found a friend.
***
"Tell me what you learned from your studies last nigh
t," Fräulein Haugen demanded during class the next day. Immediately, many hands went into the air, and we spent the rest of the day discussing Hitler's views on race.
I had never been to school all year long. The late-summer air was hot and sticky and made it difficult to concentrate, especially when all we heard about was Germany, Germany, Germany. Constantly we were told of the glory of Germany, the glory of the Nazi party, the glory of Hitler. Constantly we were told that we were part of the German agenda. I had heard this so many times, it was hard to remember that I wasn't a Nazi, that I didn't want to be the Aryan ideal, that I hated Germany.
Perhaps that was what I had seen change in Franziska. Whereas I worked hard to remember that I was not German, Franziska seemed to embrace what she was learning. She studied even harder than she had in Lidice, and she appeared to accept everything that was told to her without question. It was as if she no longer remembered that she wasn't German.
One day, during lunch, Franziska and Gerde exploded into an argument. Loud shouts from the table brought Fräulein Krüger rushing over.
"What's this, girls? What is the meaning of this? Why these loud words?" A look of genuine concern was on her face. She sat down in an empty chair, pulling Franziska and Gerde into chairs on either side of her.
"Franziska says that my nose is not the right shape!" Gerde began, her lip quivering.
"There are certain standards for the Aryan nose," Franziska said with a sniff of authority, looking at Fräulein Krüger for approval.
"Oh, girls!" Fräulein Krüger laughed, putting an arm around each of them. "Franziska, I am glad you are concerned about the purity of our race, and Gerde, you need not worry. We can check."
She left the room and reappeared with the instrument I now understood was used to measure nose size. Carefully, she pressed it against each girl's nose.
"See, Gerde, yours is a bit longer than Franziska's," Fräulein Krüger noted, "but still within the correct limits." Gerde smiled.
"So, really, you are both right, and there is no need to argue. Now, everyone, off to afternoon les sons." Fräulein Krüger hurried us out of the room with a wave of her hand.
I walked toward our classroom behind Franziska and Gerde, who were chatting happily. Now that Fräulein Krüger had made it clear that Gerde's nose was acceptable, it seemed as if it was all right for Franziska to be friends with her.
"Noses again."
I turned to see Liesel walking next to me. "Pardon me?" I asked, not sure what she was talking about.
"Noses. That's what Franziska and Gerde were fussing over. What a ridiculous thing to argue about."
"I agree." I smiled, following Liesel into the classroom.
"Good. Then we won't have to measure our noses to see if we can be friends," she said, sliding into the chair next to me and winking at me.
***
That afternoon we sat through a long, boring arithmetic lesson. The monotonous drone of the teacher, Fräulein Müller, was making it hard to concentrate. I had begun wearing Babichka's pin on the inside of my skirt, rather than my shirt, so that I could easily finger its outline during the day without being noticed. Now I felt for the pin through the pleats of my skirt and let my mind drift.
The warmth outside and the tedious sounds of the lecture made me think of the piano lessons Mama had insisted I take the year before. Mama was very good at piano and singing and all things musical, and she had made me sit at the piano for hours in the warm summer air, practicing the same chords and scales over and over again. Unfortunately, I was clumsy and awkward, and her wish for me to play the piano well had been disappointed. I had found both the lessons and the practice pointless and tiring.
One hot summer day Papa and Jaro had appeared at the window as I sat practicing.
"Milada! Come here." Jaro beckoned from outside, his head appearing just above the windowsill. I stopped playing and put my hands in my lap.
"Jaro, what are you doing? I'm supposed to be practicing," I whispered. "Mama will be mad."
Papa's head appeared next to Jaro's, a grin on his face. "Your mama has left for tea with Mrs. Janecek."
I needed no further prompting and climbed out the window and into the arms of Papa and Jaro. We spent the next hour sitting in the field, watching clouds and chewing wheat gum. While we were there, I told Papa that I didn't really enjoy the piano. A few weeks later Mama announced suddenly that I didn't have to take piano lessons anymore, and even though he said nothing, I had had a feeling Papa had convinced her to let me stop.
Tears began to roll down my face as I thought of this time with Jaro and Papa. When would I see them again?
"And then..." Fräulein Müller stopped in mid- sentence, staring at me as the tears dripped from my chin. Everyone in class was suddenly awake and interested, turning to see what she was looking at. I straightened and desperately tried to stop the tears, afraid that I would receive a beating like Heidi.
Fräulein Müller walked to her desk and withdrew a handkerchief. "We must be careful to add the proper numbers to get the sum," she continued, dropping the handkerchief on my desk. "Of course, you know, there will be exceptions."
Tears were routine that first summer at the center. Some girls cried every moment they were awake. Others walked around with eyes that were dry but looked dazed and confused. Clean, fresh handkerchiefs were always available, but there was never any acknowledgment of our sadness, never a hug or a pat on the shoulder. In the eyes of our captors sadness was the same as weakness, and weakness would not be acknowledged or tolerated. We were, after all, Germany's hope and pride. We were the chosen Aryan nation, God's special children, sent to save the world from the Jews.
I was learning to tuck away pieces of my real self: the girl from Czechoslovakia who had a family waiting somewhere for her. I was learning to put that girl in a box during the day, safe and secure, until just before going to sleep at night. Then I could take the real girl out in the darkness and examine her more closely.
The days belonged to Hitler, but the nights were mine. At night I could step inside my memories and listen to Mama singing our own beautiful national anthem, not the ugly German song I awoke to each morning. I could see Jaroslav and Papa playing ball and watch Terezie riding her bike. I could see Anechka's little hands playing patty-cake and Babichka's nimble fingers kneading the morning bread. If I tried hard enough, I could even see Babichka's face: her hair in the bun she always wore and the plain dresses she liked, with their tiny flowers sprinkled across the fabric. But it was getting harder to hear her laugh or remember the sound of her voice.
***
By October we had been at the center for four months, and it seemed Franziska was starting to forget her real self. Really forget. Not just tucking away who she was, but erasing everything she had been before coming to the center. As hard as I worked to remember, it seemed, Franziska worked to forget.
She excelled in everything and had become the shining example of the ideal Aryan girl. In the few short months since we'd been at the center, she had grown taller and more confident. She was an eager participant in all parts of our training and seemed to be slipping further and further away from the person she had been in Lidice.
Heidi, however, continued to struggle. Her problems worsened after the beating she received from Fräulein Schmitt. It was as though she was caving in on herself a little bit each day, and nothing seemed to help.
Her sister, Elsa, stayed protectively by her side, constantly reminding Heidi what she should be doing and where she should be going. She tutored Heidi in German at night, going over the day's lessons with her long after the lights were off and everyone else had grown quiet. But Heidi seemed to wilt a little more each day. She grew thin and walked around looking dazed and lost. Several times she wet her bed. One night we awoke to the hushed sounds of Elsa moving about in the darkened room.
"What is it?" Franziska asked, pushing herself up to lean on one elbow.
"I think Heidi wet the bed again," I whisper
ed.
"She shouldn't drink so much water before going to sleep." Franziska sat all the way up.
"Would you like help, Elsa?" It was Gerde, from the other side of the room.
"No, no. Just go back to sleep," Elsa replied, her voice tense and quick. In the dark I could see her outline as she removed the covering from Heidi's cot and tried to air it out.
The next morning Fräulein Krüger knew what had happened the minute she walked in.
"Again, Heidi?" she asked, her lips pursed together so tightly that the words coming through them sounded like the hiss of a snake.
Heidi nodded, her eyes on the floor. Everyone was standing in the morning pose, arms out in the Hitler salute, waiting to be dismissed for breakfast.
"Well, Heidi. Well, well." Without finishing the morning inspection, Fräulein Krüger left the room, clicking her tongue and absently waving a hand behind her to release us from our salute.
The next afternoon neither Heidi nor Elsa appeared for lessons.
"Heidi needs additional training," Fräulein Krüger announced, interrupting our last lesson that day. "She will attend a special camp for this training."
Franziska glanced at me with an I-told-you-so look on her face. I was filled with a jealousy so strong, I could feel the hair on my arms raise. Perhaps Heidi had been sent back home, and was with her mama and papa by now.
"I knew something would have to be done," Franziska murmured next to me. The superior look was still on her face. "I am sure it is a good camp."
When we returned to our bunks after lessons, Heidi's cot was gone. Elsa sat on her own cot, the one that had been next to her sister's, with a handkerchief wound between her fingers. Her eyes were red and swollen.
"Oh, Elsa. Don't worry." Gerde went to her and put an arm around her shoulder. "She will come back once she's learned what she needs to."
"No." Elsa said flatly. "No. She will not." My stomach gave a lurch at the finality of those words. Suddenly, I felt guilty for my jealousy earlier.
