Conclusion
Dr. Snider arrives with more results from the latest experiments. "UGGGH" she growls and hands over the papers to me. "They didn't even consistently record the blood type…if they bothered at all!"
Perhaps it's me, but she still seems frustrated, I consider as I flip through the sheets of scribble. I wonder if a chalkboard would help her.
"So….what do you know about the Russians?" I ask her and sit on my bed.
"They are getting closer. Germany will not be able to hold them off," she says it as if it was a weather report. "Why do you ask?" She says with irritation.
"Why the hell are you still here? You need to leave," I almost shout, surprising her.
"I can't leave," she says wearily, shaking her head at the apparently ridiculous thought.
"Sure you can. Just down the hall to the left is a large door, go through it and you're outside. Then, head towards the front gate. I'm sure you'll have much better luck than I had. Just don't walk too fast and yell 'I'm free I'm free'…."
"Janice!"
"If the Russians come, you don't want to be here, Greta. Tell me, is 'Uncle' Mengele still here?" I ask, not having seen him in a while. I bet he and a good number of other butchers are already gone.
"Janice, I can't leave until I've figured out why yet," she says with annoyance.
"Fuck the why, Greta! Get yourself out of here. Go home to Vera and try to put as much distance between yourself and this Godforsaken place as you can."
Greta looks at me with pain in her eyes. She sighs heavily and pinches the bridge of her nose.
"Work is all I have …now," she says fighting back tears.
Ah shit. No wonder she's been agitated. I get up and walk to her, determined to convince her to save herself.
"Greta, listen to me. Think about this logically. You need to protect yourself right now. If Germany does lose the war, your country will need every able body to help her recover. If you get yourself killed, you won't be able to help anyone."
"How can you possibly think of Germany after what you've been put through!?!" she says with vehemence.
"I'm thinking of you, Greta, not your fucking country! You've got to leave," I argue.
"I can't leave! Not before I can make some contribution in all this…insanity. If I can just figure out how the ambrosia…"
"Now wait a minute, Greta…."
"I …I just have to do something…right," she interrupts as she paces. "Maybe if I can finally…."
"Dr. Snider!" I snap, getting her attention. "You've helped me," I continue softly but firmly. She shakes her head and tries to speak but I continue. "And if your treatment of me is any indication of how you've treated others, you helped them too. But one person will not be able to erase the crimes of your 'respected' colleagues. Even if you can figure out the ambrosia, which isn't looking any more promising than when I first got here, THIS happened and you can't change that," I say.
Tears well up in her eyes.
"Accept it and move on, Greta. Survive it and help others," I say, not sure I will be able to take my own wonderfully sage advice. Of course, I have no choice about the surviving it part.
"I'm so sorry…" Greta says, surprising me with a desperate hug, and bawls. I awkwardly pat her on the back as I gently return the hug.
"Greta, it's ok," I say for lack of something better, but she continues to sob. "It's ok…."
The awkwardness of the embrace fades as I find something I didn't expect. Comfort. I've been too long without a hug. She is a little shorter than Mel, I note, as I rest my head on her shoulder.
Closing my eyes, I remember.
We stand like that for a long moment. Greta's sobs have silenced and she holds me, rocking slightly as her breathing becomes steady.
"You need to go," I remind her softly.
"I … I will miss you," Greta says uneasily, hugging me tightly before relaxing her embrace.
"Yeah. I kinda grow on people," I say with a grin as we step back from each other. "Like a bad rash."
She chuckles and wipes her tears. She looks at me and sobers up. "Your records …I have most of them in the main office. I should be able to take them out of the camp over the next few nights."
"You could destroy them," I suggest.
She looks startled by the suggestion.
"I don't want to be an experiment forever," I add with irritation.
She appears to think about it a moment before sighing with a reluctant nod.
Days pass and I have not seen Greta. I miss her daily visits, but I hope she is far away from here.
The sound of keys jingling is no longer a welcome sound. I've seen only guards checking in on me or giving me scraps of food.
I sit on my bed and watch the door open with patience. I hope Judith is right and the Russians get here soon.
Two, armed guards come in with a new doctor. One of them looks like a teenager. Christ, Hitler is robbing the cradle for solders now?
I've never seen them before, but from their scowls, I conclude they must be bastards. I haven't been wrong yet.
"On your feet," the older guard barks.
I stand, apparently not quickly enough and get roughly yanked to my feet. I throw a glare at the guard and pull my arm from his grasp. A rifle butt to my stomach causes me to huddle over and gasp for air.
My hair is grabbed and I am pulled upright, to be inspected by the new butcher. He glances towards my arm, causing the younger guard to grab it and display it. I guess the new butcher doesn't want to soil his hands by touching me. He writes down my number on his clipboard, angering me. I am more than a fucking number!
"The name's Janice Covington," I blurt out.
"Quiet!" The older guard barks, hitting me in the stomach again with his rifle butt. Something tells me the honeymoon is over.
The doctor ignores me as I gasp for air and nods to the guards as he walks out.
"Come," the older guard orders, motioning for me to follow him.
Out of the cell? This is the first time I've been invited outside. Are the Russians
here yet? Am I going to be released? I try to curb my growing, unfounded hope by
remembering my luck so far has only been bad.
Why would it change now? But I have to say, my curiosity is definitely peaked. Too bad I'm
not a cat.
I am taken outside. I eagerly look for the sun but I am disappointed. The sky is cloudy and dark…of course.
I cough noting the frigid air still reeks of death. I rub my hands over my bare arms as they march me through the snow. My feet are freezing. Damn! I knew I forgot something. I should have asked for socks before Greta left.
I look around the camp. I did not get a good look at it before. Hard to get an appreciation of a place when you are running and being shot at. But I quickly conclude I didn't miss anything. I glance up. The towers are still manned but the grounds are no longer teeming with guards.
My eyes are drawn to the remains of the gypsy camp. Tents are still standing, but there is no one dancing or singing around the fire. There is no fire.
As I think of my friends Ivan and Madam Madeline, I am roughly shoved for being too slow. Surprisingly, I am not angry with the young guard who doesn't look like he's finished high school. Kids with guns. I wonder if it is another brilliant idea of the Master Race or just desperation of a losing country? I take a calm breath and speed up as they wish.
I jump when I hear an explosion, then another. My head jerks towards the source of the noise. The factories! They are destroying the crematoriums. They must be destroying the evidence. But can not help but think this is the best use of explosives I'll ever see. They must be really worried about the Russians coming. They must be close.
I hope.
We march to the front of a barracks and I am startled to see how many others are being gathered as well. There is a sea of twins - well over two hundred people. Good God, I've never seen so many twins. Children to adults. There are no old people.
I am told to stay in the group. I feel like a sore thumb in this crowd of doubles. I guess they are lucky to have their siblings to go through this with. But I wouldn't even wish this on my brother, Denny. Oddly, I am glad to be among the other prisoners. I don't feel so alone.
I spot a few single faces in the crowd of doubles. They must be the surviving twin.
I hear a number of whispers amongst the prisoners.
"At least we're not going to the showers," one woman next to me blurts hopefully to me and two brothers.
I have to agree. But not for the reason she would think.
"They are just going to take us out and shoot us. Like the others," a brother counters.
"No fool, they are taking us to another camp," the more optimistic brother snaps.
I suddenly wonder if the guards are aware of my little 'condition.'
One guard barks out "shut up or be shot."
There are no more words for now.
A jeep with a machine gun mounted on the back drives to the front of the platoon of prisoners. Another jeep with another machine gun pulls in behind us. Falling in on either side of us is a small squad of guards with rifles at the ready.
The front gates are opened.
My heart races with the excitement that we will be leaving here. Like the other prisoners, I have no idea where we are going. I am with others and outside. This is better than before, I consider as I shiver and rub my hands over my arms, trying to warm up.
We are told to march.
As the front jeep starts the procession, I notice the other prisoners are barely better dressed for the freezing weather than I am. I wonder how they will survive the cold.
I remember how Sister Mary Roberts would march us to the playing field and back to St. Ignatius for gym class. God I hated that. We were students not fucking soldiers! After getting yelled at for the millionth time for falling out of the ranks, I wanted to tell Sister Mary Roberts just where she could shove her God damn 'left right left'…but Sister Mary Kathryn showed up.
I will listen to Sister Mary Roberts and keep up with the other students. I will
listen to Sister Mary Roberts and keep up with the other students….
We have marched for hours, not knowing where we are headed. I can't even tell our direction from the sun. It remains hidden behind the blanket of gray covering the sky.
Great, a light snowfall has started. The flakes hit my body, melt, and refreeze. I shiver, longing for warm weather.
Mel used to say she thought Columbia's weather was almost perfect, except for the lack of snow at Christmas and the August humidity. As far as I'm concerned, South Carolina's weather is perfect. If you really wanted snow, you could drive to the goddamn mountains. And regardless of how nice the weather is, I will always hate August.
There is much coughing and stumbling by the prisoners. Many are too sick to survive this. Many are starting to fall out. I look uneasily to my left as one twin coughs violently and collapses. Her sister and I break rank to help her up.
The guard barks at us to get back in line. He orders us to get off our lazy asses.
I wonder if he is related to Sister Mary Roberts.
We physically pull the woman up, but cannot provide her the strength she needs to survive.
"Leave me, Elsie," she says through her hacking.
I see red on her lips and hand. She's coughing up blood.
"No! Irma, you must continue," Elsie pleads with her.
"I…," Irma says, slipping from my grip and crashes down into the snow.
Oh God… It is like a slow dream as the guard points his pistol and puts a bullet through her head. I let her slip….
"NO!" The sister screams.
The sister will be next if she doesn't move. I can't let this happen again.
I quickly grab her and pull her from the bloody corpse. "You must go on for both of you," I urge her, dragging the sobbing woman back to the group.
I glance back at Irma's lifeless body left behind on the side of the road. I know I actually have an out. A chance for freedom. Greta must have had something to do with that.
But as I steady the sobbing woman in my arms when she stumbles, I focus on the surviving sister.
I can't leave.
We march. More and more people fall out. The guards don't even bother shooting them now because they will freeze to death shortly.
God, I want to help them up! But I don't. There are so many. And they will die soon, regardless of what I do. Fuck.
"They should just shoot us and get it over with," one man says to his brother through chattering teeth.
"We are going to another camp, you fool!" the brother responds, rubbing his arms vigorously.
"Quiet!" A guard barks.
The jeep in front stops next to a large, snow-covered clearing.
The field reminds me of the one in front of St. Ignatius Academy.
For the few students who didn't go home on the weekends or holidays, namely the Covingtons, the field was our playground. It's slight slope made it perfect for sledding. My brother and sister and I would spend hours in the snow, building forts and snow women, and sledding. When our clothes became thoroughly soaked, the freezing weather would finally drive us back inside.
Besides the winter playground, we all appreciated the special attention Sister Mary Kathryn gave us during those uneasy times when other students were home with their parents. She would wait for the clan of Covingtons to return and supply us with lots of hot chocolate and blankets.
That was one of the very few times when we all got along. Then the disaster with Sister Mary Kathryn happened. Denny never did forgive me for screwing things up for our family again.
I wonder what Roberta and Denny are doing now.
I shiver and try to rub warmth into my shivering arms. A cup of hot chocolate would be nice right now. A cup of hot anything would be nice right now.
As the prisoners catch up to the jeep and come to a halt, I stumble over some rocks in the path. My feet are too numb to feel the ground now. I don't like their darkening color. But on the bright side, soon it will look like I have socks.
The foot soldiers gather up front, discussing something.
There are concerned murmurs from the prisoners.
But as I look around, I cannot help but feel the odds are in our favor if we work together. I count the number of guards at twelve. There would be no way they could catch everyone if we scattered into the forest. And they couldn't defend themselves if we all attacked together. But when I look over the sickly group, my growing hope is quickly dashed.
Too many would die. They are weak and, more importantly, terrified.
Only twelve fucking guards! I eye the jeeps in front and behind us, each mounted with a machine gun. What I wouldn't give for a machine gun right now.
I look up at the gray sky.
Ok, GOD, it's me again. I know I keep asking for stuff, but this time it's for these people. If you really cared about them, you'd give me a machine gun right now!
After an uneventful moment, I drop my eyes to the people ahead of me with a heavy sigh. Didn't think so.
"Run!" One guard barks to the startled group, pointing to the field. We look at each other in confusion. Another guard shoots his rifle in the air and repeats the order. "RUN!"
Oh Fuck!
Part of the sickly group stumbles towards the field. They are tripping over each other just to become…sitting ducks!
Oh God!
I hear the Nazis laughing as the machine guns are aimed at the field.
"Target practice!" One calls out jovially to the gunner in the other jeep, then lets out a burst into the fleeing group. Rrrrat-ta-tat-tat. Four fall.
The second machine gun is fired. Rrrat-ta-tat-tat. Three more fall. "Damn!" The killer of three shouts, disappointed he didn't kill more.
I thought I was too numb to be affected by any more of this insanity. But I stare at the field with horror.
As the machine gunners volley shots into the fleeing sheep, the foot soldiers turn their rifles on the few scattering prisoners and those lingering behind. Shots are fired. A few drop to the ground dead, successfully prompting more panic and more to run into the field of death.
As a guard points his rifle at me, I dive to the ground and grab a sharp baseball-sized rock. Somehow, I avoid his bullet. Before he gets another shot off at me, I hurl the rock at him, nailing him in the face. He collapses to his knees holding his bloody face. Strike ONE!
I grab two more rocks as a prisoner charges another guard, stopping him from shooting me. I throw my rocks, which only get deflected. Fucking fouls!
The rat-ta-tat-tat of the machine guns continues over the field of fleeing prisoners as the foot soldiers randomly shoot those who lag behind the flock.
After another rifle shot, I feel some warm clumps splatter against my tattooed arm. I turn and find the man who just helped me fall into a heap to the ground, his brains no longer in his head but on the ground …and me.
I scream as I charge towards the closest foot soldier, startling him. I tackle him to the ground and we fight for the control of his rifle. I see another soldier approach and roll the bastard on top of me as the other shoots. The body on me stills.
A Nazi glares at me with annoyance for causing him to kill one of his own. Too fucking bad!
A sadistic smile fills his face as he slowly lifts his rifle to finish me off. His dark eyes are full of excitement at his next kill, just before they widen with surprise. He sees the pistol I've pulled from the dead bastard and now point at him.
"God help you," I say evenly and shoot him in the face, feeling the pistol's satisfying recoil.
His body falls like a rag doll next to mine. I barely blink at the bloody messes lying next to me on the frozen ground. I numbly push the dead man off of me and aim at the Nazi targets close by.
With quick precision, I aim.
I shoot.
I kill.
The machine gunner in the jeep behind us is next. With one shot, I stop his fucking target practice.
Two of the prisoners who scattered take advantage of the turn of events and emerge from the protection of the trees to grab the now free weapons from the dead bodies. They quickly return to the trees and start shooting, trying to hit the other machine gunner, who jumps behind his jeep for cover.
I see a soldier aim at me. I dive to the ground but get nailed in the leg. Fuck.
Another Nazi aims at me but doesn't get a chance to shoot. He is hit in the chest and tumbles over.
I hobble towards the trees to seek cover as I expend the last bullets in my pistol. I carefully peak out from behind a tree and look over the reddened field, littered with bodies. About twenty prisoners continue to run into the trees at the end of the field.
About twenty…from over two hundred.
The machine gunner turns his weapon towards us as the other soldiers provide cover fire.
The three of us cringe behind the trees as we are showered with machine gun fire. Limbs and branches rain down around us as the metal flies. The remaining soldiers are yelling to each other to flank us. My back is pressed against a cold tree as I look at the empty pistol angrily and throw it to the ground in disgust.
"Hey! Here!" One prisoner calls out, tossing a rifle at me. All right!
It falls short, a few yards from me, in the open.
I look at the rifle, then blankly at the man, who cringes. Thanks a lot pal.
Maybe they didn't notice.
I quickly reach out for the weapon and more quickly retreat as bullets are sprayed over the area. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!
The metal shower stops and I hear a Nazi call out in panic. "It's jammed!"
I dive out to the rifle as the prisoner with the lousy throw provides cover fire. He nails two more guards trying to hide behind trees. At least 'lousy throw' is a good shot. I grab the rifle and limp quickly towards the cover of a tree and look for more targets.
The Nazi with his machine gun is not among the ten Nazi bodies. Two bastards left.
Where the hell are they?
I look at 'lousy throw' and his brother curiously. They shrug and look around the forest carefully. I motion that we should separate and scout the area. They nod and we quietly search.
My breath is heavy with excitement, wondering where the two soldiers are. The seconds pass into minutes. I hear and see nothing. My hands tremble, but not from the cold. It is raw emotion. I try to steady myself, needing to be better focused. After a few deep breaths, I hear footfalls crunch the snow behind me.
I wait a moment before I turn. They say patience is a virtue. But timing is everything.
I whip around and aim my rifle at the noise.
The Nazi with the machine gun awkwardly points his heavy weapon at me. We stand, mere yards away from each other.
I have to smile as he says "Drop your gun," with feigned authority, struggling to keep his weapon pointed at me. I see a trembling boy trying to be a man. My smile fades, seeing a trembling murderer of over a hundred people.
I hear a distant rifle shot echo in the forest and pray 'lousy throw' or his brother was the one shooting.
"Who are you?" I ask, surprising him when I take a step towards him.
"Stay back or I'll shoot," he growls, trying to be menacing. I know he would have shot me if he could have. His machine gun must still be stuck.
"What's your name?" I ask again.
"Give me your weapon," he barks harshly, still pointing his machine gun at me.
"No," I say simply. "What's your name?" I ask again.
He is shaking more now. "Give me your weapon!" He yells.
"Harvey? Tom? Oscar?" I ask. He eyes me as if I'm mad. I might just very well be.
"Why? What difference does it make!?!" He blurts nervously.
"You know it's harder to kill someone if you know their name," I offer.
He swallows hard then blurts with pride. "Corporal Frederick Schmidt."
"Drop your gun," I say to him, making him look down at his weapon then up at me with fear.
"What's your name?" He asks, surprising me.
"You are the first Nazi to ask me that. Are you sure you don't mean my number?" I ask with irritation.
"Your name. I want to know who is going to murder me," he says with forced bravery.
I look at him amazed at his audacity. After what I have seen, I guess I should be amazed I am still amazed.
"The Gypsies call me Muló, Fred. Do you know why?"
He looks at me in confusion.
"That's because they believe my spirit won't rest until I get revenge for crimes against me…and my friends."
"I have only served my Fuhrer, Muló. The only crime I have committed is not ridding the world of more trash before I died," he spits. "Kill me now," he says with forced courage and tightly shuts his eyes, trying not to shake.
I should just shoot him for that speech alone.
My eyes narrow with anger as I raise my rifle and aim at the unrepentant boy.
A moment passes. He deserves to pay for his crimes. Another moment passes. But he is just a boy. Another moment passes. A boy, who killed hundreds for sport. Another moment passes. But he's a fucking boy!
God damn it GOD, help me out here!
Nothing. Fuck. Why do I bother?
"RUN!" I yell at him, shooting the branch over his head, causing snow to fall down on him.
His eyes pop open, wide with surprise.
"You are getting a chance, Fred. Don't make me sorry. Cause I swear to GOD, I will live up to my name," I promise angrily.
"RUN!!" I yell again.
The boy drops his jammed weapon and scrambles away, deeper into the forest. He stumbles once before he disappears.
My head drops. I exhale with exhaustion, hoping I made the right decision.
I finally look around and take deep breaths. The air is clean and fresh. The quiet is calming.
I look down at the discarded machine gun on the ground.
Shaking my head, I walk over and pick it up. The gray clouds are breaking up and the sun comes out from hiding and starts to warm my frozen skin.
I glance skyward and my eyes narrow with irritation.
"For the record, I do NOT count this as an answered prayer!"
"Hey…who are you talking to?" Mr. Lousy Throw asks me as he emerges from the trees with his brother. They both look around curiously.
I am relieved they're alive.
"God."
"Oh…."
As we walk back to the battleground, Mr. 'Lousy Throw' smiles at me and holds out his hand.
"I'm Peter Grossman and this is my brother Lee," the newly free man says with an edge of excitement in his voice.
"Janice Covington," I say and shake their hands.
We stop at the side of the road, joining the few who have emerged from the trees. We all take in the extent of the bloodbath. The snowy field of death is stained red, covered with so many bodies, including children.
My eyes drop. I know this was only a small sample of what the Nazis had done, yet to witness it and not be able stop it….
"Some people are alive. You should be happy for that," Peter says softly. I look at him, appreciative of his attempt at comfort, but unable to take his advice.
"We are not out of the woods yet," I say and leave his side to join the other survivors.
"Literally…." Lee smirks and chuckles. Peter shakes his head.
We decide it is best to make camp and start our journey in the morning. The clouds are gone and I look up at the starry sky. Something I haven't seen in so long. It is simply spectacular. However, the starry night brought with it a harsh drop in temperature. I didn't think it could get colder, but it has. Of course.
As a group gathers items from the dead that will help them to survive, I busily add more branches to the campfire, which I was lucky to start using a old felled tree. With a sufficiently large blaze, I selfishly take a moment and hold my darkened feet near the fire.
"uhhhhh." I say with a grimace as the feeling returns, wondering if the pain is really better than continued numbness.
"Janice?" Elsie says timidly. I look up curiously and am surprised to see her wearing a Nazi jacket.
She looks down with embarrassment. "It is warm," she explains simply.
"Good idea," I quickly say, feeling like a heel. "Good idea," I repeat awkwardly.
"I'm glad you think so," she says and holds out socks and boots in one hand, and blood stained Nazi trousers and a shirt in another.
"Take them," she says. "You need to survive this too," she says firmly.
"But someone else might…" I blurt uneasily, unsure how to explain that I won't freeze to death.
Elsie interrupts. "Please," she says with concern. "Irma would have insisted too," she adds.
I take a long breath and finally nod as I accept the gifts. "Thank you."
Elsie nods with a small, pleased smile and sits down, holding her hands out to soak up the warmth of the flames.
As I put on the clothing, Peter comes back from hunting with his brother. They had found only two rabbits for the group. Not nearly enough to fill twenty-six empty bellies.
They look at me uneasily. "The weakest should get the food. I don't want to lose any more," I say firmly, gaining nods of agreement from the people standing around me.
We settle around the fire, donned with clothes of the dead as the rabbits cook. I look around the fire and observe the twenty-six, weary faces in my group. Among them are seven, very young faces.
Children. I shake my head. With a heavy sigh, I think of them and I think of Faith.
"Where should we go?" Peter asks me. The others look at me expectantly.
"Uh…" I say with great certainty.
"Well…I understand the Russians are coming so the Germans may be retreating out of Poland. We should try to find out what is happening for sure before we commit. If they are really retreating, uh….well, a major city, I think. We 'd have a better chance of getting help and transportation to the rest of Europe. How does Krakow sound?"
I hear the city name repeated around the campfire.
"That sounds good. Better than Birkenau." Lee says with a shrug, gaining a few chuckles.
Our Jeep sputters. Peter steers to the side of the road and stares at the dashboard with a heavy sigh.
"What's wrong?" I ask Peter, who looks over sheepishly.
"We're out of gas."
"You are desperate, aren't you?" Lee chuckles, annoying his brother.
"Gee thanks," I say dryly.
"Uh…Not that I mean…." Lee blurts uneasily.
"Of course not," I interject with a thin smile.
The second jeep also pulls over behind us, also unable to run on fumes.
"Well, we knew it would happen eventually," I say and get out. The group grumbles as they get off the jeep.
I look over the group uneasily. I don't know if they will make it all the way to Krakow on foot.
"Well, at least we can stretch our legs now," Lee says loudly, stretching. Others follow his lead. Lee may be odd, but he has a good heart.
After a few hours walking, Helen, the sickest survivor can no longer keep up. Even with us taking turns carrying her. We stop and let her rest on the side of the road.
Elsie and I try to make her comfortable as the group goes off and gives her some privacy. They all know what I am refusing to accept. She is dying.
I gently place my coat on top of her, not knowing what else to do.
Helen keeps coughing. It drains her of valuable energy and I can see her fading from us. After a few moments, she doesn't even have enough energy to cough any more. It sounds like she is just clearing her throat, but she is struggling for air.
"Come on Helen, you hang in there." I say uneasily, not wanting another to die. She's finally free for God's sake. How can he let her die now?
Her eyes look at me a moment and I see a sad smile fill her face. Even she has accepted her fate and fades into death.
"Helen," I say and shake her lifeless body. "Helen," I say and shake her again. Fuck!
"Janice," Elsie calls to me as I continue to shake Helen.
I feel a strong hand on my shoulder, startling me. I look over my shoulder angrily. It is Peter.
"She died a free woman, Janice. That is something you should take comfort in," he said. I knock his hand off me and bolt into the forest.
Comfort? Comfort?!?
I am angry. I am so god damn angry!!
I abruptly stop and look up in the crisp blue sky. "How DARE you do this! How DARE you tease us with hope and turn around and yank it away. How DARE you continue this cruelty! What the hell do you want? How many more must die before you are satisfied. How many more must die before you give these people a fucking break!"
"Janice?" Lee asks nervously.
"WHAT!?!" I snap, startling the two brothers.
"Who are you talking to?" Peter asks uneasily, looking around the forest.
"God," I growl.
"Oh," they say uncomfortably, looking at each other.
Ah Fuck. I shake my head and start marching back to the road.
I suddenly hear an odd commotion. Cheering? I look to the brothers, who shrug.
We jog to the road to find a Russian army truck has pulled over. We quickly learn the Russian soldiers have offered to give the group a ride.
"Looks like your little 'discussion' with God worked," Lee says with a smirk.
"About Goddamn time…." I mutter, glaring at the sky, and head to join the others in the truck.
We arrive in Krakow and know our long journey home has just begun. Now, we must focus on food and shelter for the next few nights. Elsie and I are relieved to find a Red Cross center that will feed us.
When we return to the group with our good news, we find Peter and Lee also have good news. They've found an abandoned home. We will have a roof over our heads tonight.
At the Red Cross center, our group mingles among the other survivors. We are pleased and relieved there are others. We hope even more survived this nightmare too.
There is much excited chatter between the survivors as we sit and dine upon a decent meal.
I silently listen, trying to absorb the conversations of the different groups. They do not know each other, yet they have an undeniable bond that makes them brothers and sisters. They are in a family of survivors.
I listen in awe of these people as they speak of what happened at their camps and how each survived the final days. They survived and they continue to fight now, without the magic of the Gods.
These people are truly heroes.
I continue to listen with amazement as I sip my warm soup.
"What about you?" a young woman from another group asks me. My friends grin, waiting for my tale, which I cannot share.
I look at the curious woman with great discomfort. I am not like these people. I am a fraud being here among them. I only survived because of the ambrosia.
"Uh…not much to say…" I blurt with a shrug and sip my soup, hoping they would ignore me and continue their chatter.
"Nonsense!" Elsie says indignantly and turns to the curious woman. "She saved me during the march when my sister was murdered. She gave me the strength to continue when I wanted nothing more than to die right then and there. I know that soldier would have shot me like he did my sister," she said bitterly. "But I'm thankful, Janice didn't let me give up."
"Misery loves company," I say weakly.
"And when the Nazis started to mow us down with their machine guns, she launched an attack and saved us from being targets," Lee added a grateful smile.
"I threw rocks…" I say weakly, knowing they had far more to lose than I did and so many others still died. "And you wouldn't be here right now if you didn't join in and help," I uncomfortably interject, realizing they were determined to see things differently than I did.
"Well I'm not so sure how much Peter helped when he tried to toss you that rifle," Lee blurts and nudges his brother, who blushed. "It didn't quite make it to her," Lee adds for the group's benefit, making a few chuckle.
"Yeah, well," Peter said, scratching the back of his head. "It was the thought that counts."
"If it wasn't for Pete's good shooting, they would have killed everyone," I quickly add.
"Yeah, Peter is a very good shot," Lee agrees with a warm smile as he puts a loving arm around his brother.
"But he still can't throw," he adds with a smirk.
I have to smile. Lee is right.
"Ah, bread that is not stale!" Lee Grossman suddenly announces and takes a big bite, making the group chuckle again. He has a gift for that.
"And hot soup!" Elsie adds gleefully. More chuckles.
"Such is the life of Kings!" Peter grandly announces.
In the abandoned home, there is no furniture but it is shelter from the freezing weather. We have a fire going in the fireplace, which thankfully warms us.
I hate being cold.
I look around the now-quiet group, having had their fill of food and conversation. The children are huddled together in a surprisingly peacefully sleep. One could almost imagine their lives an easy one from their serene faces. The adults also settle in, attempting to find sleep.
Peter and I quietly discuss the plans of the group. We have broken up everyone into a travel group based on where they want to go. It would be a lot easier if everyone lived in the same place. Unfortunately, their homes are all scattered over Europe, if they are even still there.
I will be going south with those heading towards Czechoslovakia. From there, I will go to Germany.
"We've been lucky, haven't we?" Peter says softly, pulling a blanket over his shoulders.
"If you say so, Pete," I say with a sigh, looking over the children, who shift slightly but stay asleep. I wonder if Faith is sleeping as peacefully.
"I say so," he says with a smile. "I'm glad you will be traveling with us south," he says warmly.
"Someone's got to keep you and Lee out of trouble," I say, eyeing his brother, who was sound asleep.
"You have a husband in Germany?" He asks suddenly, then looks embarrassed.
"No. My daughter is there. I think," I exhale uneasily.
"I hope you find your daughter," he says, knowing my task will be difficult. "Well, we will have a busy day tomorrow," he says as he lies down, tucking the blanket around him. "Good night, Janice."
"Good night, Pete."
I remain awake. There is too much racing through my mind for me to try to sleep now. Staring at the fire, I remember three precious words. She is safe. I pray that is still true.
I look over the sleeping forms on the floor. Each has a difficult journey ahead of them.
How long has each of them wished for the day when they would be free? And what reward do they get for surviving? A desperate search for family and friends and the difficult burden of rebuilding what is left of their lives. That is truly a second tragedy. The heartache will continue, long after the day they became free.
But they are taking one day at a time.
As should I.
I shake my head wondering how many days I'll have to do that.
Our dinner group at the Red Cross Center is already smaller our second night. We have said good-bye to three in our group heading home to Northern Poland.
We are quiet, lost in our thoughts as we wonder what lay in store for us during our journey home. Home. A frightening word these days. What will it be like?
Four years is such a long time. I fear too long a time.
'Hi honey, I'm home!' I consider with an uneasy grimace. With a heavy sigh, I shake my head. What if she has moved on? I usually was able to avoid thinking about that in my cell. But now free and soon to face the truth, I can't help but think about it. And the thought makes me physically ill.
And what if I can't find Faith?
Doubt and fear crash down upon me. I have to shut my eyes a moment and take a deep breath. One day at a time. One day at a time.
We finish our dinner and dutifully return our bowls. As I hand mine over to the nice old lady in the hair net, I smile. It's been a while since I've seen someone that old. Luckily, I am at least wise enough to not mention that to her.
A new group of survivors enter the Center. We are happy for them and their accomplishment. The family has grown.
As Peter and Lee go over to say hello and share news, I notice a man's head sticking out well above the others. It belongs to the tallest man I have ever seen!
"IVAN!"
"MULÓ!" Ivan shouts, startling everyone with his low booming voice.
I can't help but laugh as he waves his large hand as if I would have trouble spotting him. We barrel towards each other and I jump up into his arms. He easily whisks me high above the ground.
"GOD, I can't believe you made it!!" I say with excitement. I hold his head and plant a big fat kiss on his forehead.
"And you are free too, Muló!" He says and chuckles as he carefully puts my small frame down.
"Ivan, what happened to you during the closing of the Gypsy camp?" I ask the tall man with amazement as a few from my curious group and I join him for his meal.
"Those of us still of interest to the doctors avoided the gas," he says, his eyes dropping remembering the loss of his family and friends.
I too will always remember that night - the worst night of my life. Understandably, the group looks uncomfortable, each remembering their own terrifying experiences with the doctors. Experience that they do not discuss.
"Madam Madeline avoided the gas, too, Muló. But I do not know what happened to her. It was a hectic time before the Russian's came," he informs me softly. I nod, grateful for even a little sliver of hope for my friend.
"Muló? Why does he call you Muló?" Peter asks me, looking between the two of us.
"It's a long story," I blurt with irritation.
"Go on, Ivan," Lee says, before Peter could ask me to tell it.
Ivan looks at me with an understanding nod and continues.
"As the Russians came closer and closer, the doctors and guards started to leave. The remaining guards were getting rid of the prisoners. Thousands were forced to march."
"We marched," Lee says, getting somber nods from the group. "Fell down, got up, marched, fell down, got up, marched…"
The group chuckled. Yep. Lee is definitely odd.
"What happed to you? Did you escape during the march?" I ask
"No, a group of us stayed behind at the camp. The Russians found us."
I nod. Judith Denkel was right. I smile sadly wondering what happened to her. I suddenly look at Ivan curiously, thinking about what he just said.
"How did you avoid a march?" I ask with a furrowed brow.
"They couldn't find me," Ivan says uncomfortably under the amazed stares.
"How the HELL did you, of all people, hide?" I ask the very tall man, voicing the question on everyone's mind.
"Uh, well, the latrines were dug deeply and…." he offered with a shrug, provoking 'eeeewwws' from the other survivors.
"Ah shit," I say, laughing.
"Yeah," he agrees with a grimace, provoking hardy laughs from everyone.
It is good to laugh.
I am among the last of my group to begin the journey home. The breakup of our odd family borne from circumstance is bittersweet. There is a sense of happiness, for we are free now and ready to live our lives. Yet, there is a sense of loss with the good-byes and, of course, fear of the unknown.
You would think we would get use to that by now.
Now it is our time to leave the abandoned home we've lived in for the past few days. My small group prepares to begin our journey South. Along with Peter, Lee, and Ivan, there are two children that will travel with us.
I walk over to the quiet young twins, Paul and Daniel, who are packing their meager belongings. They are ten years old, but amazingly mature. But they have to be. They lost their parents at Birkenau and are looking to find the rest of their relatives, if they are alive. I am glad they have each other.
"Don't forget to bring extra socks," I advise them. "It's winter and..." They patiently look up at me as they show me their extra socks before they pack them. "Oh…good thinking," I say, scratching the back of my head. "Are you bringing some food? We may not have a chance…to…" I say, stopping when they silently show me the bread and cheese they have. "Oh…" I say, feeling silly for bothering.
"Carry on…." I say briskly and walk over to Ivan, who is chuckling as he picks up his bedroll.
"What?!?"
He looks at me and smiles. "You are a good person, Muló," he announces and goes outside.
Was that a crack?
"Hey! What the hell is that supposed to mean??"
Lee watches Janice follow the tall man then looks over to Peter. "Remind me never to compliment her…."
Peter's eyebrows furrow. "Why does he call her Muló?"
"For the last time, I don't know! Why don't you stop bothering me and just ask her?" Lee says with irritation and leaves the house.
"You could ask her…" Peter suggests uneasily, following after his brother, who calls back "Oh, no. If you are so curious, YOU ask her."
The young twins look at each other as they pick up their bedrolls.
"Grown-ups," the boys blurt in unison. Shaking their heads, they follow the adults, closing the door to the empty home behind them.
And Life Goes On….
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