19. Danner

NINETEEN

Dachau, Germany

Days ago I worked alongside men, drowning in our own sweat, digging holes with tools too flimsy to dig sand, never mind the wet dirt we were working with. I cycled through various jobs until the SS called for me this morning to report to the medical block per my agreement to avoid execution.

I thought anything would be better than the forced labor I was being subjected to.

I was wrong.

Twelve hours into this never-ending day, I’ve done nothing more than stand in a room full of men waiting to be called. Anyone would choose this option over digging a hole.

Not me. Not after my heart disintegrated in my chest upon spotting Emilie following in Otto’s footsteps around the sick bay, working alongside the evil tyrants of this hellhole. They were on that list of all the people I had never expected to see again. They were also on the list of people I could never imagine in Dachau, especially Emilie.

Upon spotting me, she looked like she’d seen a corpse, her expression was unfamiliar. In all our years, she’d never looked at me that way. She also seemed surprised by my presence and the fact we’d seen each other here. Otto, on the other hand, walked through the doors and right past me as if I was a ghost. Despite our shared feelings for Emilie, he supported me, unlike the majority in this country who had turned their backs. But now, he was amidst Nazis who found pleasure in torturing innocent people.

I told Emilie she would have a good life with him. I was sure of it.

How could I have been so wrong?

My eyes are still set on the corner she disappeared around when Otto called for her. I’ve been waiting for her to return, but she hasn’t. I need to know why she’s here. It just doesn’t make any sense.

“You won’t be seen today,” a guard shouts. “Return to your barrack.” After standing and staring at the corner of the room, wavering like a flag that could blow away with one slight gust of wind, I learn it was all for nothing. For today, that is.

Some men here are truly ill, and I’m just trying to avoid execution. Every man in the holding room exits in a single file, heading out of the block and into the sticky, humid night air that adheres to my skin like oil. We stumble along, stiff, tired, hungry, and weak, toward our barracks. Lifting each foot feels like someone’s tied a brick to my soles, the thuds on the wooden floors reinforcing that notion.

Most of the men in my barrack are curled up under their thin blanket despite how hot it is within these walls. I know the feeling. We just need something that symbolizes the idea of comfort, even a prickly wool blanket.

“Please, God, I beg of you, spare me of these days. Take me from this pain. Take me in my sleep so I can go in peace,” Fred, the man in the bunk below mine whimpers. I stop on my way up to my bunk and tap his ankle.

“Don’t say that. We can do this together,” I remind him. “We have each other. Remember that, okay?”

“He’s right. I can smell the chicken casserole now. The potatoes, boiled just right, and the bread warm with honey dripping down the edges,” Eli adds.

“Don’t forget about the apple tart for dessert, the sweet and sour freshly plucked apples from the orchard, sliced and sugared just before being baked. A heavy plop of cream melts over the side of the slice and it tastes like heaven. Doesn’t it, Fred?” Hans asks.

Fred’s heavy breaths come and go, slowing slightly as seconds pass. “Yeah,” he says, panting. “Yeah, I can taste it now. I can.”

Other moans and groans clash around me like an untuned orchestra and I wish I could block it all out. Most have been here longer than me, which makes me believe I’m staring into a future where I’ll be crying myself to sleep, praying for death to find me painlessly. However, if I can give comfort and hold others up, even just with hollow words, I will. It’s what we do for each other.

My muscles struggle against the rungs leading to the top bunk, my wooden plank between Hans, who’s writing out a note with a pencil the size of a match, and Eli, who’s staring at the growing spider web glistening along the ceiling.

“Danner,” he says, “I was worrying where you might be this late into the night.”

“They sent me to the sick bay.”

“Are you all right? Are you sick?” Hans says, pushing up on his elbows to take a closer look at me.

“No, no, I was assigned to go there.”

“For what reason?” Eli snaps. “Those damn Nazi monsters thinking they can use us like pin cushions.”

“I’m not sure yet. I stood there all day, wondering the same.” I’m leaving out the part where I was offered exemption from execution in exchange for whatever medical research they want to use me for. I don’t think Hans was given the same offer.

He shakes his head in disbelief. “They just want to mess with your mind. That’s the only game they know how to play.”

“I think you’re right about that,” I agree, folding my blanket halfway down the wooden plank.

“I was just writing a letter to Matilda. Another one that may or may not ever reach her,” Hans says, with a sigh that ends as a dry cough.

“If you ever need paper. I have a friend,” Eli says, tapping me on the back.

“Thanks,” I offer.

“Hans, you never know. Maybe Matilda does receive the letters,” I argue.

“It’s getting harder by the day to hold on to hope, brother,” he says, lowering down to his forearms to continue writing on a scrap of paper.

I pull my knees into my chest and stare across the barrack. The lights are off but there’s an orange glow from the exterior field lights, allowing me to see the surrounding bunks. Then every thirty seconds, the rotating strobe light from the closest watchtower flashes the barrack with a blink of light that blinds anyone who’s still awake, leaving flashing spots floating in its trail.

“I saw her today, here,” I say quietly.

“I have visions like that, too. My late wife, Belle. I see her all the time,” Eli says. “Those are nice moments.”

“They are, I’m sure,” I reply, knowing we’re talking about two different visions. Still, I don’t want to disregard that he sees his wife in his dreams. We all need something to keep us going.

Hans pops his head up again. “You saw her—your Emilie? She’s here?” The whites of his eyes glow in the faint light coming through the windows.

“I did. I’m not sure why she was here,” I lie, knowing she was helping the doctors of evil. I’ll keep that part to myself for now. I’m still trying to convince myself I truly saw and spoke to her.

“You mean, you saw her here as a prisoner?” Hans continues.

There aren’t many female prisoners here as it is so I’m not sure if it’s more likely to see her as one of those or someone escorting the master race of followers.

“She isn’t a prisoner. She was in the sick bay, dressed as if we weren’t in a prison, and there’s no war.” And she was with Otto.

“I thought she was anti?—”

“She wouldn’t ever choose to support war efforts. Emilie would never follow the regime’s beliefs, but that doesn’t explain why she’s here.”

“Did you talk to her?”

“For a moment but the words didn’t matter. Nothing truly matters now.”

“Danner, tell me…did you ever tell her you loved her?” he asks. I’m sure he’s confused about why I would care so deeply for someone and not fight to keep them. I ask myself the same question too, but I remind myself it was because I loved her that I let her go. So she could be safe and not subjected to a life with a Jew.I didn’t know she would later be subjected to the influence of a Nazi sympathizer. I must believe Otto is to blame for them being here in their capacity.

“No, I didn’t. It was easier for me to believe that love is something two people silently share, and though it’s often expressed out loud, I never questioned if she loved me the way I love her. I knew she did, and it was enough for me, I guess.”

“Do you think if you had, it would have changed anything?” Hans asks. I can tell he isn’t pressing me for answers for my sake, but his own processing of thoughts.

“No, I don’t. I think it would have made life harder for her.”

“My Matilda was relentless. I tried to tell her I would end up getting her into trouble, but she wouldn’t give up and I couldn’t stay away. I tell myself I’ll find her someday. That’s the thought that gets me through each night. I might be lying to myself, but hope is all we’re allowed to have here and though it might be a reverie, it gives me strength to keep going.”

“That’s fair,” I tell him.

Hans clears his throat and readjusts his back against the beam he’s leaning against, arching with a squint in his eye. I imagine it won’t be long before I’m feeling the effects of sleeping on solid wood while taking part in forced labor.

“Will you be going back to the sick bay tomorrow?”

“I believe so.” I wasn’t told otherwise.“I was told this would be my fate after arriving here.” I swallow air into my hollow stomach, wishing the hunger pangs would become less noticeable. “My options were execution or volunteering for an experimental medical trial.” I’m not sure I feel better confessing this difference between the two of us, but he might as well know why I don’t return at some point, assuming that to be the plan.

The outer corners of Hans’s eyes sink with sorry, pity, or maybe both. “And you don’t know what the trial is for?” he asks, his voice hoarse.

“I’m not sure. Perhaps I’ll find out tomorrow. I’m to return to the sick bay each day until I’m needed—if I’m needed, and I’m not sure what that might mean either.”

He’s looking at me as if someone should already be digging a hole to bury my body. “None of us know what the next day will bring. All we can do is pray to make it through another, right?”

“Yes, I’ll agree with that,” I say.

Hans pulls something out of his pocket and unclasps his hand. “I saved some from this morning. Want half?” It’s a sliver of bread. Though I would offer a limb to taste anything now, I won’t take this man’s food from him. I wasn’t allowed to eat today in case I was needed for testing at the sick bay. He doesn’t know that but we each have our own hurdles to jump over at the moment.

“I can’t take that from you. It’s yours, but thank you,” I say.

Hans gives a dismissive shake of his head and tears the slice in half. “No, take it. I insist.”

He holds out his trembling hand, waiting for me to take the bite. My stomach gnarls at the thought of saying no once more so I take the bread. “I owe you,” I tell him.

“No, you don’t,” Hans says, holding up his piece.

I hold mine the same. “Cheers to brotherhood and finding a friend in hell.”

“Cheers to that,” I reply, taking the stale texture into my mouth. If I tell myself it’s toast, I’ll believe it’s toast.

Hans pulls his ratty wool blanket covered in threads of hay over his body. “Dream about something far away from here,” Hans whispers.

There’s no right side, but I’ll do as he says to avoid one less stench. “Thank you for the tip.”

The moment I lie down and pull my thin blanket up, thoughts of earlier rush through my mind, of staring at every person surrounding me in the sick bay. Some of them were truly sick, not there like I was, waiting to find out what I’m needed for. Many were coughing for hours; expelling fluids without anything to clean up with. A few fell asleep on the ground and couldn’t be woken.

My throat burns at the thought of how quickly illnesses must spread here, making me wonder how critical the medical trial must be if they didn’t keep someone like me separate from the ill. I’m no scientist or medical professional, but it seems counterintuitive to whatever they are trying to accomplish.

I imagine I’ll have vials of blood sucked out of my body, leaving me even weaker than I already am after going all day without food, except the scrap of bread Hans was kind enough to share.

Then there’s Emilie and her innocent promises from grade school. She constantly tried to give me hope even when there was no hint of any. Her promises used to give me a unique perspective—ones I could believe in more than my own. However, there came a time when even the most optimistic person couldn’t rely on another person’s promise. Her words became words I wanted to hear—words she felt better to speak, but we both knew we had no control over what was inevitably becoming a future we both feared.

I want to believe she has no control over her being here, but that’s a harder truth to accept.