17. Emilie

SEVENTEEN

Dachau, Germany

I’ve been a firm believer in following what my gut tells me, even if it’s a split-second decision. Otto has been quiet since everyone left last night, making his opposition to me being here with him this morning clear.

I knew I would be going in through the Dachau gates when Otto’s father offered me this opportunity. I agreed without hesitation, and yet now, my stomach is in knots as Otto rolls down his window to request admission.

“Heil Hitler,” Otto says, saluting the man.

“Heil Hitler,” the man replies. “What is the purpose of your arrival to Dachau?”

“You must be a new guard. We haven’t met. I’m Dr. Berger, working in Block 5. Dr. Dietrich has requested that my wife, Emilie Berger, aid him with his work as I’ve been doing.”

Groups of male inmates wearing blue and white striped uniforms watch us as we walk along the muddy, rubble pathway. I can’t avoid the dread and grief in their eyes. They recoil upon eye contact, turning away as if it’s a sin to look in our direction.

A daunting wooden door with an iron handle stands between me and this solid confinement, a place I never imagined I would see.

Otto releases my hand to close the umbrella and steps inside after me.

A distressing moan echoes between the corridor walls and I can’t tell how near or far from the source we are.

Otto stops in front of a wooden door and my heart thumps in my chest as he pushes against the slab to reveal what’s waiting on the other side. Before he steps forward, he pauses and peers down at me but doesn’t make direct eye contact. “There are patients in here, but we’ll be continuing on to the lab where I work. Don’t look at any of them. It will give them a reason to talk to you. We shouldn’t converse. I know that goes against your good nature, but these men are still criminals, even if they aren’t the dangerous kind.”

“I understand,” I say. But I’m not sure I do.

Men line the walls: some are standing, others are sitting on the floor, heads hanging between bent knees.

“Help,” someone groans. “Please, miss. Help us.”

“Ignore them. They do this to everyone who walks through that door,” Otto mumbles beneath his breath.

I wish I could close my eyes or pinch my nose to avoid the stench of what must be a mixture of body odor and sickness, but I’m not that type of person. That would be rude and disrespectful, even to a criminal.

I do my best to block out the cries for help as we near the next door, but a distinct sound yanks me to a firm stop.

“A rare honeybee,”I hear.

Groggily and softly spoken, those familiar words strike me like a punch to the gut. A rare honeybee…the world couldn’t survive without them. I’d never forget that fact. I search for where the words came from. There are so many men, and they all look alike. My free hand flares to my chest and my breath catches in my throat as I search, knowing those precise words were meant for me to hear. I was sure there wasn’t a single person here that I could possibly know. Not under these circumstances, but I must be wrong.

“Dr. Berger,” another voice calls. Otto is addressed formally with a commanding inflection. “Might I have a word with you?”

“Yes, of course,” Otto replies. “Go on and wait over by the office door ahead. I’ll just be a moment.”

From the corner of my eye, I see an inmate lift his limp arm, holding his palm toward me. I want to screw my eyes shut, to close off my ears.

Then I hear, “Is it really you?”

Unable to resist, I twist my neck slightly to the left, toward the man holding out his arm, and step in closer, his words pulling me over. My blood runs cold as I come to a stop in front of him, my brown leather day shoes scuffing against the dirty floor. He has no body hair, is malnourished, and pale. His eyes are heavy as if he hasn’t slept in weeks, and…

Bile rises from my stomach, burning through my insides as I notice a small but prominent dent on the bridge of his nose.A dent along the bridge of his nose…that I know happened when he tripped on a knot-riddled log, landing face first in a pile of splintered wood, requiring eight sutures.

I shake my head furiously as my stomach drops. I’m mistaken. He wouldn’t be here. He couldn’t be here. With my eyes shut tightly, I pray that when I open them again, I’ll see that my mind has been playing tricks on me.

But I know it’s not.

Those eyes…I would recognize them anywhere—even here, in a place like this. My breaths become frantic, and my lungs struggle to inhale. A whimper rattles deep in my throat as tears burn at the back of my eyes. He looks close to death.

“No, no—” I whisper. The sensation of his name flickers across my tongue, a relic of nostalgia that sears in my brain.

“You’re here,” he utters, his voice dry and scratchy.

My brain catches up with what I’m seeing, and I hold a finger to my lips, signaling him to stay silent. A heavy wave of dizziness hits me, but I glance over my shoulder to find Otto still having a private conversation out of view.

I swallow against the thickness in my throat, keeping myself still so no one will notice our encounter.

“Why—why are you here?” I gasp. “Did you break the law? You wouldn’t do that…you-you wouldn’t,” I whisper, my words fumbling as I try to ask everything all at once.

He tilts head to the side and the faint line of his eyebrows arch with despair. “Of course I haven’t?—”

“Tell me what’s happened. Let me—” I swallow hard and peer back once more to see if Otto is returning, but he’s not there. “Let me help. Why would anyone bring you here if you’re not a criminal?”

His sharp, bony shoulders slouch forward, and he stares up at me for a long, painful second. A second I’ll never forget.

“Emi, you must know why I’m here…”

I scan the other men around us again, taking a closer look—spotting the yellow star adhered to their uniforms with the exception of a few men who have red triangle patches. I’m not sure what the triangles mean, but the yellow star patches with the word Jude inked in the center that has branded all Jewish people of Germany for almost two years now, answers my question.

This camp—it’s not just a concentration camp for political criminals, it’s a camp for Jewish people.Until now, I’d only heard of Jewish people being deported to ghettos or labor camps outside of Germany. No one has ever hinted at them being sent to a barbed-wire, gated prison within Germany itself. I’ve only ever known Dachau to hold members of the resistance and political opponents following arrest. There are more yellow stars adhered to uniforms than not in this room. How many Jewish people have been brought here?

A cold numbness zings through my veins as bile swirls around like a tornado in my stomach. Why is Otto working in a place like this? Does he know about it? Does Otto know Danner is here? Is that why he didn’t want me to join him? The startling perception sends a sharp shiver down my spine.

“Oh my God,” I cry quietly, taking in the sight of my old friend, terrified to imagine what he’s already been through.

I’ve never seen Danner without a full head of hair, never mind bald with mere sprigs of hair regrowing. His eyes are darker, lifeless but lined with terror, and his eyelids appear too heavy to hold open. His skin is pale and gray, and his cheeks are hollow. He’s skeletal and his shoulders are drooping forward, causing his prison uniform to sit on him as if it’s resting on a hanger. And his hands…they’re hardly recognizable, just thin sticks covered in pale scratched up flesh. Dirt is caked beneath his nails, something Danner never allowed to happen before, despite all the time he spent working outside with his bees.

My chest caves in, pinning my heart to my spine. It’s hard to breathe, and I must force myself to acknowledge that he—that Danner…Danner depicts the definition of being on the brink of death.

“Are you sick?” I ask, clutching the collar of my dress.

Danner shakes his head. “No, I was given a choice between execution or reporting to the sick bay. I have a feeling I made the wrong choice.”

“Ex—” My breath catches in my throat, and I want to press my fingernails into the flesh of my chest and squeeze my heart until it stops throbbing. “Ex-execution?” I repeat. There have been rumors, carried through illegal broadcasts from other countries, but we’d been assured this wasn’t the case. I take in a shallow, shuddered breath that fills my lungs with what feels like tar. “No. No. That can’t happen. No. Jewish people aren’t being executed. That can’t be right. It can’t be true.” I’m not sure if I’m trying to convince him or myself, but along with the rumors, it’s hard to forget Hitler’s infamous words spoken three years ago, promising “annihilation of the Jewish race” if Germany were to end up in another world war. We’ve been led to believe this statement refers to the deportation of Jewish people. No one speaks of such a thing. I don’t understand.

“Emilie,” Otto calls for me.

My head slingshots to my other side, finding him waving me over as he continues his conversation.

“Emi, go. I’ll be fine,” Danner utters.

I shake my head as tears fill my eyes. I reach my hand out to his cheek, but he pushes it away while shifting slightly to shield me from anyone watching us. “You need to go. Listen to me.”

“I can’t?—”

“Go now,” he grunts. “Please. They’ll likely kill me if you don’t.” As if lightning strikes the center of my head and writhes down to my toes, I drop my hands and try to swallow my pain. “Dry your eyes.”

I shove my fists beneath each eye, doing as Danner says, and struggle to take in another shallow breath. There’s no air to breathe. “I?—”

Danner shakes his head dismissively then stares toward the corner where I’m expected to go.

I take a step away from him, trying to understand why we’re face to face like this…why? Why is this the world we live in? Who allowed this to happen?

The world becomes dark around me as I stumble somewhat blindly over to Otto, my eyes still wide with shock. He’ll ask me what’s wrong, and if he looked across the room, he would see for himself, if he hasn’t already. Otto didn’t mention seeing Danner here. Surely that’s something Otto would tell me if he knew. We’re Danner’s friends. He needs us.

With a cold numbing sensation bleeding through me, I reach Otto’s side and he swings his arm around my back. “It turns out we need your help in the laboratory today, alongside me. Isn’t that wonderful?” he asks, urging us forward to follow the other doctor—the man Otto was speaking to.

I glance over my shoulder once more, confirming that I’ve not hallucinated the conversation I just had with Danner. He’s sliding down the length of the wall, burying his head in his hands.“Otto…”

“Yes,” he says. “What is it, darling?”

“Danner—he’s…did you…he’s out there in the…the room. He’s a prisoner. Did you know?”

“Doctor, I’ll be just a moment,” Otto says to the man we’re following.

“Of course,” the man says, continuing down the hallway.

Otto stops walking and turns around to face the direction we came from, a startled look in his eye. “What in the world are you talking about? No, Danner isn’t here. Where?” He looks around. “Are you sure, sweetheart? Maybe someone looks like him?”

“Go see for yourself,” I say, staring at Otto’s chest, wondering what his heart feels like right now. Does it feel something? Anything?

He places his hands on my shoulders. “Wait here,” he says, hustling down the corridor. He only makes it to the corner where he peeks around into the open area where the prisoners are waiting. His head recoils but so slightly, I might be imagining his reaction. Otto’s facial muscles slacken and his shoulders drop. He covers his mouth with his hand, but then quickly scratches his fingertips down his chin and turns to face me, moving back down the corridor to where I’m waiting.

“I—uh—no, I—” Otto wrenches his arm around my shoulders and squeezes tightly. “We need to talk about this when we leave. I have not seen him until now. I had no idea,” he whispers.