14. Charlotte

Chapter fourteen

Charlotte

Auschwitz, Prisoners Hospital Block 20

"Number 132689, you are not allowed to enter. You are not sick. You know the rules," the hospital block's supervisor stands before me at the door and doesn't let me in. She speaks to me in Polish.

"Take it," I tell her in Polish and put in her hand a slightly rotten potato I hid in my ragged prisoner's uniform. It's amazing how quickly I learned to say basic sentences in all the languages spoken here in camp. Everyone here speaks a mixture of German, Russian, French, Polish, Yiddish, and Ukrainian.

"I give you five minutes. If one of the Germans in charge comes in here, you'll be punished," she says while examining the potato and tucking it into her prisoner uniform.

"I know," I reply and enter the smelly block.

"Wait, what is this?" She reaches out to the enamel cup I hold and blocks my way again. She's stronger than me. She's not skinny like us, the other prisoners. She receives double food rations from the Germans for her job as well as bribes from anyone who wants anything from her.

"It's none of your business. You got your potato," I push her hand away with my skinny arm and move inside. It's amazing how quickly I learned to be tough in this place. Those who aren't tough don't survive.

"Five minutes," she says and lets me through. But I don't even answer; my eyes are already scanning the beds, looking for her.

The sick female prisoners lie in this part of the block, crowded on wooden beds. At least they have thin mattresses stuffed with a bit of straw or sawdust and crumbling blankets to cover themselves with.

People cough from all sides as I walk between the beds, looking for her. Some follow me with their eyes, but most of them just lie there and stare at the ceiling.

"Charlotte," I bend down next to her.

"Sarah, you shouldn't have come," she rises a little and whispers. She's almost the only one in this place who knows me by name and not by number.

"I brought you some soup," I take a plain metal spoon out of my uniform pocket.

"You shouldn't have. We get food here."

"You get less. Try to eat," I dip the spoon in the watery soup and bring it to her mouth. Here, in the labor camp, those who are sick and can't work are worthless and receive only half the food ration .

Charlotte takes several sips of the soup I pour into her mouth, but then she stops and leans back. She's become so thin.

"Enough, no more for me," she says and looks at me. Her brown eyes look cloudy.

"You have to eat and get out of here. You have two days to rest here and go back to work. Otherwise, your fate is sealed."

"I won't return to work. You know that."

"Charlotte, please, you can get better," I try to give her another spoonful of soup.

"I have some cigarettes in my pocket, take them, my shoes also, they're better than yours. Yours are torn," she tries to speak.

"I won't take your shoes."

"You know that if you don't take them, someone else will. Please, help me take them off," she tries to sit up but can't.

"Charlotte, no..."

"Please, Sarah, you'd do it for me," she puts her arm on mine.

I look back at the hospital block's supervisor, she sits with her back to me, and I turn to Charlotte. My fingers untie the laces of her shoes, and I gently remove them, trying not to hurt her. We all have calluses on our feet from walking in shoes without socks.

"Are you in pain?" I ask her as I put my shoes on her.

"It doesn't hurt. I'm okay," she whispers. "Sarah, the cigarettes in my pocket," she reaches for her prison uniform pocket under the thin blanket. I help her and take out two cigarettes.

"Thank you, Charlotte," I hold her hand, knowing this is the last time we meet .

"Sarah…" She makes another effort and slightly raises her head from the mattress.

"Yes, Charlotte?"

"Give Rebecca a hug from me," she says slowly, resting her head on the mattress again.

"I will," I reply, knowing she's already hallucinating. I don't want to tell her that I lost my daughter, and I have no idea where she is.

"Thank you," she says and takes a deep breath, closing her eyes.

"Tell Rebecca that I love her," I whisper to her, teary-eyed.

"No..." she keeps speaking and opens her eyes. "Sarah, promise me that you'll live and that you'll find her, and tell her that I love her," she raises her skinny hand and touches the yellow Star of Life and Death on my prisoner uniform. I can hardly feel her fingers touching it.

"I promise," I say to her, tears rolling down my cheeks.

"And now, get out of here," she puts her hand on the thin mattress. "Remember, you promised me."