635798

Not a single nun was sure what caused 635798’s seizure. 635798 herself didn’t remember it. She despised talking about it. We understood. When 635798’s seizure was over, her face turned so red that it matched the hue of the blood she coughed up. It took her a few minutes to admit that she had peed in her undergarments during the experience as well. She never stopped apologizing after she realized she coughed and threw up on me, no matter how many times I told her I didn’t mind. Besides, all I needed was one shower to get it off.

There was a good thing that came out of the seizure. Actually, it was great. Whatever caused the seizure seemed to cure 635798. It had only been two days and she grew healthier. One could easily see it. Color was coming back to her skin. Her cheeks were rosy and I could no longer see her veins. She stopped sweating drastically. Her hair – which was well passed her ears by now – was smooth as I ran my fingers through it and it was a luscious brunette that reminded me of chocolate. She had the chills still, but they weren’t as violent. This went for her heaving as well. Her breaths became steadier by the hour. 635798 still coughed up blood, but each time it happened the blood was a lighter hue than before.

635798 was also gaining strength. She stood up for the first time by herself this morning. Her walks were shuffles, but it was something. 635798 was finally eating, too. It was still very little but I couldn’t complain. I no longer had to force-feed her. She kept the talking to a bare minimum, like usual, and her facial expressions seemed happier. Even Siostra Katarzyna noticed this. 635798 began to say hi to her and answer her questions through facial expressions, just like we used to.

Besides watching 635798’s progress, I listened to the radio almost all day. Siostra Katarzyna brought one to us after the news of the liberation of Yugoslavia. I was waiting for more liberation news, or just war news in general. Hiding wasn’t my ideal thing to do, so I was calculating when 635798 and I could get out of here. Calculations changed every day.

Something that bothered me was 635798’s future. After the war, she had nowhere to go. Her pregnant Mutter was most likely gassed. If her Vater wasn’t killed, then he probably died from the weakness 635798 told me about. 635798 couldn’t run off with any friends either. Her only friends, Chaya and Shifre, died. Her house in Berlin was definitely sold to a German-Christian family and wherever she lived after had probably been ransacked. She could live with neighbors, but for all I knew they were prejudice against Jews. 635798 could live with me, but I didn’t exactly have my own home yet. We wouldn’t be able to buy one since both of us were jobless (I didn’t count being a Nazi a job).

From the table in the kitchen section, I looked over at 635798. She sat on her bed, knitting, which is something Siostra Katarzyna taught her how to do. It was only to keep her busy. She was biting her bottom lip as she struggled with the utensils and yarn. I walked over and sat next to her on the bed.

“What are you knitting?” I asked.

“A blanket.”

When I scanned her, I was surprised at her attire. Instead of a nightgown, she wore a blue sweater on top of a white blouse. Her skirt, which I saw because she wasn’t covered in blankets, was black and knee-length.

“When did you change into these?” I asked, surprised.

635798 jerked her head towards the door, not taking her eyes off her work. “You. Downstairs. For the food.”

“How’s it feel to wear real clothes?”

635798 sucked in a breath and then let it out while bobbing her eyebrows. She laughed.

“Nothing has been said on the radio lately,” I said. I put an arm around 635798 and she willingly leaned against me. “I keep listening.”

635798 smiled. “I know. I hear. Just wait. Wait for November.”

I slouched in my seat, sighing.

“Wolfgang,” 635798 said. She quit knitting and looked up at me. “Will the war. The war be over soon?”

I shrugged. “That’s why I keep listening. I need hints to figure it out.”

635798 set down the knitting equipment. She looked up at the ceiling, showing her yellowing teeth as she smiled. “Papa took us. Me and Mama. Took us to the cinema. A lot. I want to go. To go to the cinema. As soon as the war ends.”

“How often did you go?”

“Every Saturday.”

I had to hold back my scoff of surprise. My family didn’t go to the cinema that often. A lot of families didn’t. I still had yet to see a popular picture called The Wizard of Oz. There were some people who had never even seen a moving picture in their lives.

“You saw a new film every week?” I asked.

“Sometimes,” 635798 said. “Other times we. We saw one we’ve seen. Seen before. Only if we liked it. My favorite was. Was The Wizard of Oz. Saw it five times in a row before. Before Papa and Mama grew annoyed. I still like it. Some of it is. Is in color.”

“Never seen it,” I said, hiding my surprise. A colored film? No one ever told me it was in color.

635798 literally jumped as she faced me. Her eyes were wide in surprise. “What? Why?”

I shrugged. “Did your family do anything else?”

635798 nodded feverishly. “Many things. Went out to eat. Went to carnivals. Circuses. Plays. I went to an opera once. Very boring. I was six. After seeing a. A doctor, Papa bought me. Bought me ice cream. Ice cream every two weeks!”

I raised an eyebrow. “Doctor for what?”

635798 tapped her head.

“Did he know what’s wrong?”

635798 shook her head. “We. We had to stop. Stop seeing him.”

“Why?”

“Jewish. He was German.”

My stomach sank.

“Started from there.” 635798 waved her hands, indicating that that was when her life went downhill.

I hugged her tighter. “What exactly happened to you?”

635798 fidgeted, getting comfortable against my chest. In a matter of seconds, her face went from bright and rosy to sullen and grave. She stared straight ahead, eyebrows scrunching together, contemplating where to start.

“When were you born?” I asked.

“January nine, 1921. In Berlin. No ghetto. Just regular neighborhood.”

“All German-Christians?”

635798 nodded. She stayed silent then, continuing to stare at whatever it was ahead. I nudged her, pressing her to proceed. My response was a shake of the head.

“Can’t stay silent forever,” I said.

635798 repositioned herself. “One neighbor was nice. Very nice. I got sweets from her. No children, so I tried finding others. Others to play with. But I was. Was like this forever. Many children laughed at me. One girl didn’t. Marta. Friends since we were six.

“Marta lived two houses away. We played. Play every day. Both of us broke our. Our legs. We were in a tree. The branch fell. Our grades were. Were the same. She helped me with. With everything. Mama couldn’t get me to learn how. How to tie shoes. Marta taught me. She taught me how to do my hair. How to add. How to spell my name. She did a lot of talking for me. I never liked talking. People laughed. One time Marta beat up a boy. We were seven.”

I found myself chuckling. “Why?”

“Mmm. Something to do with me. I don’t remember what. What he said. But she was angry.”

“How badly was he hurt?”

635798 smiled. “Bloody nose.”

“How frightening.”

635798 laughed, sending chills up my spine. It was the first time she had ever laughed around me. Actually laughed. The quality was like a birdsong, brightening the mood of anyone in the room. If I closed my eyes and let my imagination take over, I could picture a tiny white house that was in the prairies all the American stories talked about. Dandelions covered the acre, and an old, smiling couple stared at it while holding hands. Wind chimes sang as birds flew about and sang as well. The sun was bright and warm and clouds weren’t in sight. Grandchildren were laughing in the distance, playing with the farm dogs and chasing the hens. The Mutter and Vater danced to a fiddle, taking advantage of the beautiful day.

I was able to imagine this just by listening to 635798 laugh. Just a laugh.

“In 1936, Papa wasn’t allowed. Allowed to be. A shoemaker. The reason: Jewish. He opened up a bookshop. Not many people bought anything. The Star of David was on. On the window. Pushing people away.

“During Kristallnact in 1938, the window crashed. Papa couldn’t. Couldn’t keep the store. He lost his job. Mama didn’t have one. That meant no more money. No more cinemas. No more ice cream. No more circuses. No more anything.

“Mama made me. Made me sell newspapers. On the street. That meant I had to talk. People left me. Shouted rude things. They threw things at me. I never sold a newspaper.

“Marta’s parents no longer liked. Liked us. Marta and I couldn’t see each other. Marta didn’t. Didn’t care. She walked me to. To my new high school. The one with only Jews. She didn’t. Didn’t mind walking on the streets. With me. If I had to buy. Buy something, she gave me money. Sometimes we went. Went to Jewish shops together. The Jews liked her. Because she was nice. Sometimes she helped sell. Sell my newspapers. People always bought them from her. She gave me. Me the money later. Or she spent it and brought. Brought our food to us.”

“What about that nice neighbor you told me about earlier?” I asked.

“Helped too. Very little. She was poor as well. But we appreciated her. Sometimes we shared. Shared our food.

“In 1940, my family was forced to move. To move to a ghetto. It was in. In another. Country. I don’t know why. Why we had to move there. But we did. I couldn’t see Marta again. I couldn’t tell her I was leaving. Sometimes I wonder if she thinks about. About me now.

“We left our belongings in Berlin. Each person wasn’t allowed much. I saw why when I. I reached the ghetto. Small spaces. Had to share with multiple families. I helped with the children. Mama and Papa sold newspapers outside. With the other parents.

“Nothing much happened next. We waited for our names to be called. Nazis started taking Jews. Started taking them to places. No one knew where at the time. Now I do. Papa kept our names off. Off the list. He still had some. Some dignity with the soldiers. Because he served in the Great War. Sometimes we received extra food. A doctor came in to check. Check on me once a month. Some Nazis whistled at me. It was to frighten me I think. When they tried talking, I ran. Ran away. I didn’t like them.

“I did like one man. A Jew. Only a year older than me. Isaac Goldberg. We met outside. I was buying bread from. From him. He said I was pretty. He even liked. Liked how I talk. We went home together. Papa met him. Said he liked him.”

“When was this?” I asked.

635798 held up two fingers. “Two years ago. I was twenty-one. Isaac brought me to places. Dinner. Coffee. His work post. Couldn’t do much in the. The ghetto. After a month, Papa. Papa let me court him. Isaac took me to the. The synagogue every Saturday. We sat next to each other. People stared. Many wondered if we would kiss. Kissing before marriage is bad.”

“But did you kiss?”

635798 shook her head. “Isaac was conservative. But we held hands. And hugged. His friends didn’t like me, though. Thought I was strange. Isaac said to ignore them. So I tried. Still hurt, though. Isaac beat a friend up. His other ones stopped after. But we didn’t see most anymore. Some were killed. Some were taken away. Only Isaac was left.”

“Did he come to camp with you?”

635798 shook her head.

“Did he stay at the ghetto?”

Another shake of the head.

I raised an eyebrow. “Then what happened to him?”

635798 sucked in a deep breath and waited a few seconds before letting it out. She leaned her head against my shoulder. “One day at. At the synagogue. Nazis interrupted the service. Forced everyone outside. Mama and Papa weren’t there. Just me, Isaac, and strangers. The Nazis lined us up against. Against a wall. Started shooting. It was a pattern. Isaac figured it out. Made me switch places with him. Before I knew it, Isaac was. Was dead.”

I wiped a tear that had formed on 635798’s eyelid. “When was this?”

“A month before coming. Coming to camp. So in December. 1943.”

“Do you think he would have come to Auschwitz with you?”

635798 nodded. “His family’s name was called. His family didn’t like me anymore. They thought. They thought his death was my fault. They tried so hard to stay away. Away from me on the train. We were still very close. Isaac’s father relieved himself on my shoes.”

I stifled my laughter. Cruel thing to laugh at, but still.

“We were on that thing. For three days. I was so hungry. Thirsty. So was Mama. She feared the baby would die. Papa was quiet during. During the ride. Even when we arrived. Instead of screaming. Like the others. He kept us quiet.

“We arrived on my birthday. They took Papa away. I fell and was beaten. But the Nazi stopped. Mama was taken away as well. I met Chaya some time then. I got her through the entrance. Even though she was too young. Once in camp, everything was taken away. My suitcase. It had so many things. The Menorah. My favorite dresses. A journal. Pictures of Isaac. We had to give away. The clothes we were wearing. We lost our hair. Our names.” 635798 rubbed the tattoo on her arm. “Once situated, we lost our dignities. No food meant no weight. We all lost weight. No sleep meant no strength. We all lost our strength. We lost our ability to choose. They chose when we died and. And how it happened. They chose what we ate. What jobs we did. What we wore. Some people lost. Lost their sanity.

“Jürgen picked me to. To work for him in. In I think January. Before, I went to Buna. With Chaya. I worked in the snow. Hauling things back and forth. Frightened of guns. Frightened of the insane. One insane prisoner beat me. I was in my deathbed when. When Jürgen found me. He took me to his mansion. Waited for me to heal. Then tested my cooking. He liked it. So I stayed.

“Throughout my time there, we lost. Lost many. Our neighbors changed. Every day. People died in front of me. Shifre’s personality was dwindling. Chaya was getting weaker. I brought them food. It didn’t help. Shifre was getting in trouble every day. I saved her ass so. So many times. Working for the General helped. I hid Chaya plenty of times. Soldiers looked for children all. All the time.

“When you came, I think I met. Met a hundred people by. By that time. Only ten were still alive. Everyone I came with was gone. Well, almost everyone. Maybe two were alive. But I lost Shifre. And as you know, I. I lost Chaya. So lost everything by then.”

“Do you think you’re home in Berlin is intact?” I asked.

“They. They probably sold it.”

Inside I agreed, but I shrugged anyway. “You never know.”

“It was a big house. Practically a mansion. People offered to buy it. Even if we are Jews.”

I sighed, slouching. “Damn. What has this world come to?”

635798 shrugged. “I’m glad you’re here. Got me away. Maybe we will survive. I haven’t lost you.”

“And you won’t.” I kissed the top of her head. “We’re going to survive this war. Bet on it.”