18. Emilie

EIGHTEEN

Dachau, Germany

The walls feel like they’re closing in around me as Otto’s hand trembles against my shoulder, telling me he’s speaking the truth when he says he didn’t know Danner was being held captive here. I’m just not sure I can wait until we leave the sick bay later to discuss this further. We can’t just act as if he’s not standing out there.

Otto urges me to move forward, further down the corridor alongside him. We both walk as if in a trance until we reach the laboratory, two doors down and to the left. He stops before entering, closes his eyes and stretches his neck to both sides.

His shoulders press back and he clears his throat. “Follow my lead.”

Again, I try to swallow against what feels like sand in my throat as we enter a large room with sterile equipment, tables, lab desks, and tools. There are no windows, just a large room of stuff that could be used for an infinite amount of things. Where are all the other staff?

Once we’re closed into the room, Otto gestures to another man waiting in the room. “Emilie, you remember my uncle, Dietrich, don’t you?”

My stomach twists and turns, cramping as I try to focus on the middle-aged man in front of me rather than Danner sitting on the other side of the corridor. “Of course.” I met him several times when we were younger, and he was at our wedding. “How do you do?” I say with a hand wave, turning toward the nearest wall, wishing I could see through it to the other side.

“I’m well, thank you,” he says just before letting out an explosive sneeze that recaptures my attention.

Dietrich is middle-aged, and although he’s Herr Berger’s younger brother, he could pass as ten years his senior. His horseshoe of white hair is combed into patterns for more coverage and his thick, black-framed glasses magnify his eyes beneath his sharp, shaped brows. Then there’s his smile that contradicts the rest of his face—it’s kind and warm, but forced and unnatural.

“Dr. Dietrich,” Otto says, clearing his throat again while emphasizing the doctor part of his title, “is heading up the new research study for aiding hypothermia. We’ll be working with him to formulate studies that will encompass the trials of testing and follow-up reports.”

“Here?” I ask, my word broken like a crow’s squawk.

“This camp is not just for political prisoners?” Otto turns to Dietrich, forming his statement into what can be taken as an unknowing inquisition. “There are Jewish people here, too. I thought?—”

“This camp is not just…” Dietrich silently echoes the words Otto is speaking, his way of digesting confrontational statements. “It’s a concentration camp, Otto. You’ve been here since February. Surely, this isn’t breaking news,” Dietrich says, holding his arms out like this shouldn’t be a confusing topic. “Jewish people, black people, homosexuals, handicapped, and political prisoners—yes. There isn’t enough space in the camps to keep everyone segregated by their ethnic differences. Of course you know this. Everyone knows this, yes?”

“No,” Otto says. “There are innocent people here, not just political criminals like I thought.”

“No one is truly innocent. Not you, nor I, are we, now?”

“I—I—yes, people can be innocent—even if you’re not.” My words are broken and my voice hoarse. The struggle to think of words when all I can do is picture the tortured look in Danner’s eyes is keeping me from saying anything firm.

Dietrich lowers his hand and glances over to Otto. “I’m not sure I understand the issue here, Frau Berger.”

“You’ll have to excuse us,” Otto says. “I—uh—I didn’t quite brief Emilie on much before arriving today as we hold a strong focus on classification for our studies.”

“Ah, well, I suppose we should start from the beginning,” Dietrich says with the return of a wide grin.

“Actually,” I say, holding up my index finger. “I would like to speak to my husband in private before continuing this conversation.”

Dietrich repeats my words to himself then shifts his stare down to his wristwatch. “I’m afraid I’m on a tight timetable today. If we could just chat for a few minutes first, you can discuss whatever you’d like with your husband afterward.”

Otto remains quiet, allowing me to argue or agree to Dietrich’s schedule.

I’ll do nothing to help any staff, police, or whoever is here. Had I known this was a concentration camp to punish innocent people… Herr Berger asked me to assist with the overload of patients, but it doesn’t really seem like that’s why I’m truly here.

I should have questioned the logic behind arresting so many political prisoners, just to put them in impoverished living conditions. Only for them to end up in a bind when they become overwhelmed with medical issues. It makes no sense. It’s foolish. And worse, Danner isn’t even in the sick bay because he’s actually sick.

I’d like to know how many of the men waiting in that room are sick versus here for reasons like Danner’s. With that answer, maybe I would understand what it is I’m supposed to be doing here, or worse…what Otto has been doing here all this time and how he didn’t know the entirety of what was happening here. He may not have seen Danner before today, but how could he not have known this isn’t just a prison for political criminals? I know he wouldn’t want to tell me something so awful, but a secret like that…I can’t fathom Otto keeping such a thing from me. Unless, he had an idea that there was more than just political prisoners here, and that’s the real reason he argued with his father about me helping out with the sick patients. Another bout of nausea waves through me. I’m not sure I’ll even make it to the trash receptacle from here, but I run and heave up the small breakfast I’d forced down my throat this morning.

Otto yanks at a metal paper-towel dispenser, grabbing a handful for me. I take them and press the dry napkins to my mouth. Otto’s hand circles around my back, trying to calm me, but it doesn’t seem to be working.

“Come, have a seat. You’re as pale as a bed sheet,” Otto says. “Do you need to use the lavatory?”

I shake my head, not wanting to wander around these halls anywhere. “No, I’ll be fine.”

“I understand this sick bay is a lot to take in at first, but I assure you we’re here for valuable reasons,” Dietrich adds, pulling a stool away from the lab table, and tapping his palm on it, gesturing for me to take the first seat. The only reason I sit is because I might fall over otherwise.

He pulls a second one out for Otto and a third for himself. Before Dietrich sits down, he makes his way across the room and opens a metal cabinet door, retrieving thick folders and pencils. He places one of each down in front of Otto and me, then finally takes his seat.

“Okay,” Dietrich says as we settle in around the table. He intertwines his fingers together on top of his folder. “The nature of our research is in response to the request from the German Air Force, seeking additional aid tactics and solutions to combat cold-climate elements—particularly immersion hypothermia after suffering a loss of crew members who were recently shot down over the North Sea.”

The hypothermia question Otto’s father asked me last night makes more sense now. “I see,” I reply.

“Otto was just telling me how brilliant you are with all the studying you’ve done beyond your time in nursing classes.”

Is that what Otto truly thinks of me? Maybe it is. Now that I know the reason he hadn’t wanted me to join him today, maybe it wasn’t his level of faith in my knowledge I should have been questioning.

“I’m not so sure. I can tend to sick patients, but anything more than that—” I croak.

“Don’t be modest, darling,” Otto says, squeezing my knee beneath the table.

“Moving forward then. As you can imagine, we are already in a time of war and don’t have an extended period to follow the research steps we might normally follow. We will be complementing our research efforts with experiments here in our lab, using prisoners who have volunteered to be case studies in exchange for a shorter sentence.”

Even though I knew the truth was coming, it still hits me like I’ve just been immersed in ice-cold water. “Human experimentations,” I repeat, knowing the spoken words may make me vomit again. I clutch my hand around my throat and wrap my other arm around the center of my stomach as if trying to physically prevent myself from purging again.

“Correct.” I want to glare at Otto. I want to slap him and scream at him, but all I can do is sit here as if I’m being held hostage. I can’t get up and run. The entire camp is surrounded by guards. I need to be escorted out, and I want nothing more than to get as far away from here as I can right now.

Except, Danner just told me he volunteered to be here so he wouldn’t be executed.We hear so much chatter over the radios but no one has mentioned the act of execution. Executed for being Jewish?

My eyes blur as I stare at a blackboard full of chalked chicken scratch. The blasts I’ve been hearing from our house—they might have been executions, not methods of redirection. It could be a scare tactic to force the Jewish people to comply with their demands, but I’ve heard the sounds. There’s no choice but to believe the threats. Danner’s ultimatum says it all—die quickly or suffer until you do. Danner’s face—the pale, thin, sickly version—floats across my mind’s eye and then another blast rattles through my core, a bullet shoots straight through Danner’s forehead and his eyes bulge and remain in shock, frozen, lifeless before he falls. Another blast hits his chest, forcing his dead body to bounce. “No!” I scream, gasping for air.

“Emilie,” Otto hisses, grabbing my hand. “Are you okay?”

“No—no, I—I need to leave. I can’t be here. You can’t?—”

“I knew she wasn’t feeling well last night when we went to bed. I was hoping it would pass,” Otto tells Dietrich.

“Oh, dear. Can I get you anything? Some cold water, perhaps?” Dietrich asks.

“Please,” Otto replies.

Dietrich pushes his stool away from the table and takes his folder with him. “Oh, I don’t want to be carrying this around. Why don’t you take this, Otto. The folder contains IDs for our experimental subjects, and you’ll also find accumulated data given to us by the air force. All notes you add to this folder must be datemarked, and cited.”

“Okay,” Otto says, keeping his eyes glued to my unseeing expression.

Dietrich walks out of the laboratory to find me a glass of water.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Otto says, wasting no time in expelling his thoughts.

I drum my nails against the tabletop, collecting my thoughts before I say something I shouldn’t within the confines of these walls. Anger is raging through me and I’m having trouble looking at Otto.

“Tell me you didn’t know you were working in a death camp torturing innocent people…” I say.

“No, Dachau is a concentration camp—a prison for persecuted criminals,” he replies, avoiding the answer he knows I’m waiting for.

“Did you or did you not know that Dachau was interning innocent Jewish people too, and not just political criminals?”

“I’ve just been assisting with note-taking and data entry on the research pertaining to the potential cancer cure until now, Emi. This new order just came in and everything shifted within days. I—I don’t know what to say…This—it’s complicated here and I’m sure you understand now why it’s the last place I want you to be.” Otto is obviously uncomfortable, shifting around his seat, a sheen of sweat glistening across his forehead. He knew there were innocent Jews here.

“Yet here I am.”

“Because of my father, yes.”

“It’s always because of your father, Otto. Tell me why you decided to leave your dream of becoming a pilot behind. Why did you suddenly change your plans to attend medical school? I was so foolish convincing myself that it was because you wanted to share a common interest with me, but that wasn’t it, was it? I knew your father had something to do with you choosing a different career path, but I didn’t know he had hatred running through his veins until today.”

Otto rests his elbows on the tabletop and drops his head between his clenched fists. “I don’t know what you want me to say. Yes, my father told me I wouldn’t be able to support you or a family on a pilot’s income. He told me the only chance I would have at giving you a proper life was if I went into the medical field—that and that it would keep me off the battlefield. I fought him on this, Emi. God, I fought him for weeks about this, but the man is relentless. You know this. I never intended to end up here. I didn’t know before it was too late. I swear to you.”

“You knew yesterday, and the day before that. You’ve known since February and didn’t say a word.”

“Because—I’m already in too deep. If I walk away…I’ll be a loose end. Hitler’s army does not have any loose threads. Do you understand?”

“So, you let me walk in here to also be trapped by what I’d find, rather than telling me the truth and giving me the choice to stay away.”

Otto stares into my eyes and I can read his thoughts of blame. You’re stubborn. You would have forced me to leave, getting us killed. You wouldn’t listen if I told you this was a bad idea last night. I tried. If those are his thoughts, he’s right.

“So it’s my fault.” His sarcasm is clear and unnecessary. “Look, if either of us walk out now—it will end as badly as you can imagine. There are two sides of this war. There’s the side that lives and the side that dies. Which side are we going to be on?”

“Not this one. I’d rather die than be the cause of someone else losing their life. This isn’t a world I chose to live in, nor will I take part in crimes against the innocent.”

Otto stands up, shoving his stool back, the metal legs scraping against the wooden floor. “You don’t understand what you’re saying. This order—it’s from the Reichsführer.”

“Your father did this to us,” I utter, breathless as tears run down my cheeks. “I have an excruciating headache and need to get home. Now.”

Otto holds his hands up in defense as if I’m threatening to physically assault him. “Emilie, we need to talk about this more. You can’t just run away, and I can’t leave for the day.”

“I understand your situation perfectly. However, I need to take care of my headache so I can think straight. So, please, take me home at once.”

Otto slaps his hands against his hips, closes his eyes, and paces two steps forward, pivots, then two steps back, again and again, until he stops. His eyes open as he squeezes his hand around his temples. “Okay, okay, but this is all confidential, and?—”

“I’m aware of what the consequence entails,” I tell him.