Day 6 - January 1942

After almost a full week since I arrived at my assigned “shelter,” there was still no sign of a future for us. The Nazis had also done their best to strip us of any trace of our past, so all we had left was the present. Our austere barracks were crowded with dirt-ridden bodies surrounded by feces, urine, and other bodily fluids, and the foul stench of death and decay became part of my dismal reality.

Sleep was a rare treat due to pain and fear, but I managed to find a couple hours of peace that night before the door was thrashed open and several Nazis stormed into our already confined space, shouting orders. They told us to get up and stand in front of our bunks. It took everything inside of me to find the strength to hold myself up that day, but the memory of Charlie’s warning was the motivation I needed to move.

The clothes I wore were soiled and damp from night sweats, and they smelled as bad as the floors and mattresses. When I had gotten dressed at home the week before, I had no way of knowing it would be the one ensemble of clothing I would have on for the indefinite future. I certainly would have chosen something more comfortable than a form-fitting day dress made of wool.

“Today, you will begin work. If you are capable, you will be assigned a job. If you cannot handle the work, you will be managed accordingly.” I waited patiently for my number to be called, barely able to keep my head up as I watched one after another of the able-bodied occupants of my barracks be summoned and marched out to an unknown work assignment. It must have been at least an hour before I heard it—the number that had become my label, in place of my name. I walked over to the Nazi holding the clipboard and waited for the assignment. “Medica.”

“Where—”

“Keine!” he yelled. German was another language I wasn't well versed in, though I was thankful to be familiar with at least the basics. The Nazi pointed to the door, and I made my way through the hall and outside, unsure where the medical office was located.

I walked as quickly as I could, fearful of being spoken to by anyone. It was frigid outside, but the sun was bright, whiting out the signs that would point me in the right direction, and it took my eyes a while to adjust to the sunlight after being in the dim barracks for days. I didn’t have to go far before I saw an adjacent block labeled as the sick bay. There was a line of other Jews out the door, mostly mothers with their children.

Worried about being too close to those who were sick, I covered my mouth and nose with my sleeve as I snuck inside, to the right of the line. I received looks from many people, most likely wondering if I was skipping ahead of them, but their questions were answered when a Nazi grabbed me by the arm and nearly pulled me off my feet. “What are you doing?” he asked.

“I’m reporting to work here,” I told him, trying to speak affirmatively, rather than sounding weak and afraid like I was feeling.

He pulled at the collar of my dress, peeling it away from my skin to reveal my number. Mama had written it there in ink last year when we were all assigned numbers, as well as Jude stars to wear on our sleeves. “Anzahl 24225,” he shouted to a female Nazi, whom I believed to be a nurse, according to her uniform.

“Ja,” she replied, waving me over. I placed my covered hand back over my face as I approached the woman who was sitting behind a wooden desk with a stack of papers in front of her. Her eyes were dark and menacing as she visually inspected every part of my body. She then stood up from her chair and walked around to meet me, pulling me to the corner of the room. Her fingers tugged through my hair, yanking strands apart in what I assumed to be a search for lice. “Your hair is to be up and tightly secured,” she snapped in her thick accent. She then clapped her hands against my cheeks before angling my head in various directions. “Strip.”

I swallowed hard as I peered over at the dozens of people staring at me from just a few feet away. The hesitation must have been longer than I thought because the woman's hands furiously began tearing my clothing away. I was left bare and cold, on display for everyone around me. Having been raised to act modest about my body, I felt violated and embarrassed. I tried to cover my private areas as well as I could, but she was quick to force my hands up in the air so she could inspect every inch of my body. I closed my eyes, avoiding the looks and the mortification the others may have been feeling for me. I knew they probably did the same thing to everyone there, but that didn’t make it any easier.

With my eyes closed, hiding from the happenings around me, I was startled by a poke through the flesh on the inside of my arm. The sharp pain forced me to open my eyes, and to my disbelief, I saw a hypodermic needle, a tube, and a bag. Without my permission, they were stealing my blood. At that moment, I realized I had lost my rights…all of them. It was as if my body didn’t belong to me anymore. They weren’t just treating like an animal, it was as if I were of lesser quality than livestock on a farm. It was very hard not to ask questions, but I was starting to see that the less I knew, the better off I was.

Several minutes passed as the woman jotted down notes, then stored my blood away in a blue metal cabinet. “Go shower,” she demanded.

“Shower?” I questioned. Considering my filthy conditions, I wasn't aware there were showers anywhere.

“Out back and through ‘Block A,’” she said.

I picked up my clothing from the floor and held it in front of me as I scurried out of the building and around the side to Block A, where I found a room with cement walls and rusty shower heads protruding from the ceiling every few feet. The room was filled with other people—more people than there were showers, none of whom seemed to care that they were bare in front of each other.

I had always been a very private person, and I hadn't been naked in front of anyone since I was a small child. I didn't like the feeling of being looked at, but after being covered in urine, vomit, feces, and whatever diseases accompany those conditions, the shower was appealing.

I stood under the water, feeling it wash away what was left of my dignity. The water was cold, as I expected it to be, and there was no soap, but I scrubbed with my fingernails, scratching at the dirt and grime that had built up, wishing it would offer a small sense of refreshment.

“Be careful,” the woman beside me said. “If you scratch too hard, you'll have open wounds. That's how people die around here.”

My jaw fell open, not that I shouldn't have thought of it on my own, but I hadn't considered that fact. “Oh,” I responded simply, digesting the truth.

“I'm sorry to scare you,” the woman continued.

I rubbed the water away from my eyes and to look at the woman, recognizing her. “Leah?” I questioned. She was the woman standing behind me in line when Mama was shot. I may not have remembered most faces after those first few days of oblivion, but a pregnant belly stood out, especially a naked one.

“Amelia, right?” she returned, smiling a bit.

“Yes. How are you? Your baby?” I whisper.

“Hungry,” she says, cradling her arms below her stomach.

I could only gaze at her with sympathy, knowing how hungry I had been—remembering that I was given extra food last night when she needed it more. “Your husband—”

Her brows furrowed and pulled in toward her nose as if she might cry. “I'm not sure. I haven't seen him since we were separated at arrival,” she said through a sniffle. “Did you find your papa and brother?”

I shook my head as more comprehension hit me. The barracks were filled with only women. The line at the sick bay was made up of mostly women, though I did see one or two men scattered throughout the line. The shower, though—all women. “I don't think men are living here, other than the Nazis, of course.”

Her lips fell into a downward curve. “I know,” she whispered.

She stepped away from the shower and twisted her hair tightly to free the trapped water.

I followed Leah, dressing at the same time. “I'm sure we'll see each other again,” she said.

“I hope so,” I replied, though I didn't know how many people were around in the same location, or how often I would be running into familiar faces.

I hurried back around the corner toward the building but stopped with fear when I came close to running into a group of Nazis who were standing in a circle, having a discussion. I was quick to notice that one of them was Charlie. I caught his eye for a brief second before we both looked away. Part of me wondered if I had imagined the odd interaction from the night before, but by the look in his eye, I knew I most definitely had not.

The men carried on through a roar of laughter, and I walked around the side of them, ignoring their presence while they ignored mine.

As I snuck back into the sick bay, I was again given a look by many of the Jews who were standing in line, but I tried to avoid the questions in their eyes and focused solely on the German nurse waiting for me behind the desk.

She spared no time upon my return. “You will register each Jew. Their number, ailment, age, and whether they are expectant.” The woman was not speaking to me softly, and I witnessed the sickened expressions on the faces of those who were waiting in line.

“Yes, Madame,” I replied.

The woman took the chair from behind the desk and moved it to the other side of the room. When she returned, she pointed to the stack of papers. “There you are.”

The papers were all handwritten notes about each patient who had come and gone, including only the four pieces of information she asked me to record. I took a stack of fresh paper and piled it neatly onto a clipboard, then found a pencil in a tin can I noticed on the corner of the desk.

I pulled my coat collar up and buttoned it over my mouth and nose, fearful of contracting anything from the sick people.

Immediately, I began questioning the patients standing in a line that was spreading throughout the alleyway of the barracks. It seemed like an endless amount of work.

Without knowing how many hours had passed, I guessed the time from the position of the sun and the fact that it was slowly beginning to set.

A hand on my shoulder pulled my attention away from the woman I was questioning. I turned to see who was behind me, and found him—Charlie. Taken aback by his greeting, I struggled to maintain my composure due to the unease I was feeling. “Yes, sir,” I greeted him, sounding weary. There was a certain look in his eyes that I couldn’t quite understand, and it made me wonder what his intentions were. With everything that had happened to my family and myself, I was smart enough to know I couldn't and shouldn’t trust anyone—particularly a soldier of any kind.

“Follow me,” he stated with a commanding tone, one that didn’t sound authentic.

I did as I was told, feeling even more confused about his intentions, but I dared not ask him anything at that moment. After all, I should have known better than to argue with a Nazi after watching the way they killed Mama, even if I had already tested my limits with Charlie. I followed closely in his footsteps while analyzing his straight posture and how tightly his hands were clasped behind his back. I walked as straight and tall as I could, but had to hold my arms over my chest as if embracing myself to shield my body from the icy cold wind.

We stopped at a small nook between two barrack blocks where there was no one else in sight. I didn't speak first. I had already thanked him the night earlier for the bread, and I didn't know what else he wanted from me. “I'm glad to see you’re doing paperwork,” he said.

“Why is that?” I questioned.

“Your longevity depends on your assigned job,” he answered. There was a seriousness in his voice, and his hands still had not moved from behind his back. I couldn’t understand why he would say that to me, and I wondered if it was a warning or threat?

“Are you trying to get me killed?” I whispered. I was not flattered or humbled by his pleasant attitude toward my new job. If we were caught having a private conversation back there, I could assume how it might turn out. I was the enemy, and he was—I'm not sure. I knew what he did not want to be, but if push came to shove, would his allegiance be to those that could have me killed without blinking an eye, or to a Jewish girl he just met?

Charlie’s eyes were not one of a Nazi. He had an innocent look that set him apart from the others. I could see hate and resentment a mile away with some of the passing men, but not Charlie. I was not about to admit that to him, though, because I was still unsure about trusting anyone.

“What do you want?” I asked, looking over my shoulder as my level of discomfort escalated. I didn't understand what was happening, but I knew I shouldn’t be back there.

“A friend,” he said.

I covered my mouth as if trying to hide the sarcastic laughter threatening to erupt from my dry throat. “Nazis are not friends with Jews. That’s just absurd.”

“Of course. That’s what we’re supposed to think. That’s the way they want us to be. Where’s my say in the matter, though?” he argued. “I had no choice about becoming a soldier on this side of the war. I was forced to, and I don’t want to be considered a Nazi because I’m not a killer.”

“Clearly, it can be worse, so be thankful you aren’t Jewish,” I replied with haste.

He leaned forward and lowered his voice to nearly a whisper. “I am not comparing our situations. I’m simply answering your question as to why I’m as desperate for a friend as you are. I obviously shouldn’t have approached you. My apologies.”

The feeling of guilt hit me hard, even though I couldn’t figure out why—I had nothing to feel guilty for. He was the enemy. He had the upper hand. He was the lion, and I was the mouse, yet there I was, feeling bad for one of them. I figured I must have been on the verge of insanity while being brainwashed to think I was nothing more than a speck of dirt. “You don’t need to apologize,” I replied. “You scare me. That’s all.” That’s what they all wanted. They wanted us to admit to feeling frightened, whether by words or action. It was their goal. Scare, torture, kill. Jews were their enemy, but what did I do? What did Mama do?

“That’s just it. I’m a monster, yet I have done nothing to earn that title,” he said.

“You put that uniform on,” I told him. Just as I had patches labeling my religion, he had clothing that represented the dictator in charge of all the hate there.

He took my arm and pulled me to the ground, squatting down in the corner as if he were trying to hide us, but without any further coverage. “No,” he argued. “I was trained from the age of ten until I turned eighteen, then never given a choice on whether I wanted to live this way. I don't want to be here, and I certainly don’t want to do the things they expect me to do. I would be slaughtered if I didn’t follow orders, however. Much like you, I’m afraid.”

His words terrified me more than they enlightened me. I couldn't understand the meaning of a ten-year-old being trained to hate. Plus, he wasn't sleeping in filth or being treated like an animal from what I could tell. “Well, I would trade places with you in a heartbeat,” I told him. I thought it would be easier to hate than to be hated, but I might have been wrong about that.

My eyes narrowed in on his, wondering how he had managed to remain in an authoritative position while admitting his defiance toward Hitler. “Why choose me to unveil this information to? I’m a no one. Why not one of those other women. They’re all desperate for help.”

His eyes closed for a moment, and I watched Charlie struggle to swallow. “I was sent on a mission to retrieve your sector in Prague. I was the one who pulled your mother off the other soldier’s back.”

“You killed her?” I yelled as quietly as I could. “That’s why you’re being nice to me? That's why you gave me an extra loaf of bread? You killed my mother?” I knew I couldn't raise my voice any louder, but the anger was searing through my entire body, igniting a fire within my soul.

“No, no, no, I did not—that was not me, but I was there. I watched you and your world fall to pieces like I’ve watched so many times before with others, but you were different. The intense pain I saw in your eyes made me feel heartache after being numb to it for so long. I never looked anyone in the eye after they watched someone in their family fall to their death, but I made the mistake of looking in your eyes for just a moment.” Charlie took a couple of breaths, as did I. He ran his hands down the side of his face and fell completely into the soil. “Amelia, time stood still for those few seconds, and even though I could almost feel your pain, I also felt jealous of you—that you could love your mother as much as you obviously did. Yet, I'm here because my mother forced me to train for this life.”

I was speechless and heartbroken all over again at the thought of Mama, and I couldn't clear up the foggy feeling in my head from his explanations. He watched Mama die in front me, and for that, he wanted to be my friend. He wanted to risk both of our lives for a senseless friendship? “People die every day,” I told him, simply ignoring the trueness of his confession.

His lips pressed together, and he swallowed hard once more. “I know.”

“I need to get back to my job before I'm caught,” I told him, needing more air than what was available in that corner.

Friends. For so long, Jews had not been allowed to be friends with anyone except our own.

I began walking back toward the alley where the line was still growing longer, but Charlie grabbed my arm, unknowingly where I had blood taken from just a few hours earlier. I couldn't help but wince at the tenderness. Feeling an immediate release of his hand, I turned quickly to hear his final words on the matter. “I'm sorry,” he said. “You look just like her, beautiful and pure. I hate that you have to live on without her—here of all places.”

His words hurt me. They cut through me like a knife, scraping the outside layer of my heart as my wounds felt renewed. Charlie may not have intended to hurt me, but I'm not ready to listen to an apology from any of my captors, not even him.