21. Emilie

TWENTY-ONE

Dachau, Germany

Ingrid’s children are playing outside on the street, laughing, and cheering without a care in the world, and yet we live within blocks of an electrified prison fence. The innocence of Ingrid’s children is still pure because they don’t know what I know. Though innocence can be obliterated in the blink of an eye, apparently.

If I could convince myself I imagined the inhumane scene I was witness to, I would.Danner in the prison sick bay, labeled a criminal because he’s Jewish. There could be an alternate reasonable explanation, but the harder rationalization is to believe that he’s truly guilty of anything more than being Jewish.Rather than leave the sick bay with a “headache,” I should have tried to find out more of what was going on there. Not all the prisoners gathered in that hall were volunteers. Many of them were obviously sick. Danner appeared healthy; therefore, a volunteer makes sense. Why have a sick bay and a lab inside a prison if we aren’t going to help the so-called prisoners live? To think I was fearful of being around all those poor men today. They are the ones who are living in fear.

As if my life is well-balanced like the contrast of night and day, I’m back here, at “home,” in our kitchen, an apron secured around my neck and waist, and a noodle casserole simmering in the oven. The savory aroma fills the room, but it can’t cover up the unease gnawing at me. My options are this or aiding in human research trials. It wouldn’t be apt to use an animal for testing, never mind a person.

When Otto dropped me off here earlier, per my request—or demand—we didn’t say much to each other before going our separate ways. He was in a hurry to return to work.I’ve been in a trance for hours now, staring out the kitchen window toward the curb that meets the corner of our street. I’ve washed the paring knife pinched between my fingers half a dozen times, soothed by the running water cascading over my hands.

Through the window, I see Ingrid shuffling along the curb with an oven mitt dangling from her right hand. She’s in her favorite navy blue, polka-dot dress, stockings, and pink house slippers.

“Gunter and Ada, what did I tell you?” she calls out. “Your bedroom is a mess. You aren’t going outside playing until you’ve completed your chores. Your papa will be home soon, and you know what he will do if he sees the mess you’ve left.”

Every day, Ingrid chases her two youngest children around, trying to get them to comply with rules. Those two children just want to play ball and ride their bicycles all day during their summer school break, and I can’t say I blame them. However, they’re growing up in a world where broken rules are punishable without the chance of forgiveness.

I twist the faucet dial to stop the running stream just as I hear Otto’s Volkswagen come to a stop in front of the house. With a quick glance at the clock on the wall behind me, I notice I’ve lost track of time today, but he’s home at the time he promised. I reach for the crumpled dishrag set down on the counter beside me and dry the knife until my reflection sharpens along the blade and I place it back into the drawer I took it from.

My heart drums against my chest as I count the seconds down until Otto makes his way in through the front door. Strands of hair tickle the sides of my face as I whirl around to untie the apron and straighten my dress. I pat my hair back into place and hurry into the foyer to greet my husband like every good housewife ought to do. Although, I suppose in his mind, I’m no longer considered a housewife—just a fellow unlicensed nurse.

As I approach the front door, the weight of the unknown hovers over me while I continue to ponder what other secrets lie behind those prison walls, and within my husband’s mind. I want to believe he’s trapped in this situation like me, a person who has never agreed with the atrocious laws and regulations our country is being forced to follow, and a person who refuses to support this corrupt government, their antisemitism, and hatred for so many. The Otto I’ve always known would never agree to take part in anything supporting the regime. But he told me he wouldn’t be working alongside the prisoners, and yet, they were there. Innocent Jews being labeled as prisoners in the same hall. How could he be okay with this?

The door opens and as usual, I’m greeted with a smile—today, the smile is more fearful than loving, but nonetheless, he’s trying to act as if nothing out of the ordinary happened today. “Hello, darling,” he says, removing his fedora before leaning down toward me with a kiss. He doesn’t look worse for wear after finding out one of our closest friends is a volunteer waiting to sacrifice God knows what in the name of Hitler. “How is your head feeling? Better, I hope?”

“Yes, I’m fine, thank you.”

“Oh good. I’m glad to hear it,” he says. Otto smells like cigarettes and rubbing alcohol—not my preferred combination, yet our new normal. “It turned out to be a lovely day, didn’t it? I was sure that rain wasn’t going to let up.” It’s clear his tactic is to be abundantly cheerful in the hope that I’ll mirror his mood, which tells me he hasn’t come up with a better idea in the six hours we’ve been apart. And as for the weather, I haven’t paid much attention to it. My thoughts are too cloudy.

“I suppose so,” I reply, taking his briefcase to drop it off in his study. His eyes burn into me as I hurry away, but the moment I return, a more complacent expression conceals whatever he’s truly thinking.

“I’m so sorry for—for this morning,” he says, loosening his tie as if it were a noose restricting his air all day.

“I understand your father has put you in a tricky situation.”

Otto tilts his head to the side, raising an eyebrow as he twists his lips into a scowl. “You look pale, Emilie. Are you sure you aren’t coming down with something?” he asks, reaching for my hand to draw me in closer to him. He touches his palm to my forehead, checking for a fever I don’t have. His steel-blue eyes pierce into mine, trying to read the thoughts between my responses. I can’t see a single thought when looking back at him.

“I’m quite well. My headache went away. I just couldn’t bear the thought of being in there for another minute.”

“I know the prison was an unsettling sight for you this morning. It can be jarring the first time you walk in through those doors, but after a while you learn to focus on the tasks at hand,” he says.

I’m not sure the sight of ill people ever becomes easier to witness, never mind the healthy who are volunteering to become ill. Nurses are supposed to learn how to put on a brave face to keep patients calm, but how could I be brave in a situation like this?

“It wasn’t what I was expecting? Is that all? What about the fact one of our very best friends is being held there as a prisoner? We haven’t seen him in years, wondering what might have happened to him, and now—well, now we know, and it’s the most horrific answer to our questions possible.” I don’t understand why he’s curtailing the blatant issue. “It’s a concentration camp, imprisoning innocent lives. Danner, my God. I refuse to take part in anything that jeopardizes a life, and if you choose to continue to do so…I’m not sure—I don’t even know what to say to you.”

Otto walks past me, following his nose into the kitchen. “I understand how jarring it is to know Danner is within those gates, and us, essentially on the other side. But we aren’t Nazis, Emilie. We’re assisting with scientific research, and offering medical care to sick patients, prisoners or not—we aren’t hurting anyone. We aren’t the people who decided to create internment camps, but we can take care of the people who are prisoners in them.”

“You aren’t hurting anyone? You must be fooling yourself if that’s what you believe. Human experimentation is not research, research does not involve testing theories on living people.”

“You’re making this sound much worse than it is,” he says, his words so unconvincing there’s no way he believes what he’s saying. He must be in denial or trying to convince himself that this isn’t as deplorable as it is.

I follow at his heels but remain in the open archway. “With so many…prisoners, we’ll call them, I imagine many must die under Dietrich’s treatment, all while you’re doing research, yes?”

Otto pulls open the oven door to peek inside. “Emi, I’m not a monster.”

“I think this would define the act of a monster, Otto. How can you not see it that way?”

He moves down the counter to where he keeps the glass ribbed bottle of brandy and takes one of the clean glasses that I’ve left out for him to pour a pre-dinner splash.

“Working within those gates makes you—would make me an accomplice.”

“Emi—we can help them. You know I support your endeavors and studies just as you support mine, and it must seem unfair that I’m working in the field we both planned to be a part of while you’ve been here at home, but now…we have a chance to make a difference.”

I make my way to his side and take the second glass in front of the bottle of brandy, pouring myself a small serving.

“Life isn’t always fair. Isn’t that what they say?” I reply.

A common housewife wasn’t written into my life plans, but neither was another world war. One thing shouldn’t have anything to do with the other, but here, it does, and for reasons I can’t understand. People need medical care—all people, and if help is needed, I shouldn’t have been pulled away from the opportunity.

“I know you’re upset that we had to uproot our plans and place a pause on our classes, but while this current opportunity isn’t something I would have chosen, it’s experience we can use when moving forward later. Maybe it’s best if we look at this as a situation we were meant to be in to do the right thing and help those who need us.”

“We aren’t helping people. We’ll be hurting them, Otto.”

“No, we won’t. We won’t hurt anyone.” He sounds much less defensive now as if he thinks he’s proven his point, but there’s no way to make this sound any different to what it is.

With his final words, he will continue thinking I’m not disgusted by the idea of what’s happening within those walls. I keep so many of my thoughts bottled up inside lately that I’m not sure he knows what I’m truly thinking now. I take a sip of the brandy, allowing the burning liquor to trickle down my throat. I’d rather go back to being naive about his job that I thought was so dangerous.

Otto has a kind heart. He will never just agree with someone else’s opinion if his doesn’t match. But that’s with the exception of his father and uncle, who he just can’t seem to fault or argue with. The Otto I’ve known most of my life would never volunteer to spend his time in a concentration camp where innocent people are being held captive, nor would he consider what he’s doing an experience he could use in the future. I would know if I was married to a man capable of forgetting his morals. What wife wouldn’t know this about her husband?

“Has your father brainwashed you? Because I can’t even begin to think of what to say to you right now. Who are you, Otto? I feel like I’m married to a complete stranger.”

Once upon a time, I wouldn’t have thought his father would set foot inside a concentration camp either, but it’s becoming clearer by the day that he has betrayed his morals on behalf of his brother’s promises to be world renowned for curing cancer if that’s even still a work-in-progress now. I don’t understand how Otto has walked through those gates day after day without noticing the truth of the people being held within them. It seems impossible to avoid, and to withhold it from me for five months is unfathomable. I have tried not to fault him for being so loyal to his family, until today.

“Yes, Emi. Yes, he did, and now I’m stuck, so I’m going to do what I can to do right by those who deserve help. That is my answer to you. I’ll help Danner, and whoever else I can to keep the odds of their current inevitable outcome as far away as possible. However, I need you to return with me, or we’re going to face issues—terrifying ones.”

He wants to help.

He wants me to help.

I would walk through a rain shower of bullets if there was a chance of protecting Danner. I’ve never been one to shy away from bravery but we’re all so small in the face of what’s taken over our world. Nothing is black and white, or maybe it is, and that’s what scares me the most. I clench my hands and release them continually, feeling the sweat pool as I consider what’s to come. I fan my hand in front of my face and lean against the arched wall.

“Despite the desire to help whoever we can, I can’t move past the idea of us facing ‘issues’ if I don’t return with you. Your father and uncle are responsible for setting up this supposed research trial and yet, you’re afraid for our lives. Am I understanding you correctly?”

I thought I was at a loss for words, but in truth, I’m doing everything I can to bury my rage. No matter what he responds with, nothing will change because his father is a man of his word and when he commits to something, it’s done. He expects Otto to act the same. I never considered that I might have to question who Otto would be more loyal to—his father or me. Regardless, if there’s a chance to help Danner, I have to hope Otto will indeed be a man of his word.

“You understand perfectly well and I’m unable to make an excuse for him. I believe many people have been blindly led into situations without knowing what’s around the corner and everyone is afraid for their own lives. My father and uncle are likely feeling the same way. I’m not sure what to think, Emi. That’s the truth.”

My heart is pounding so fiercely, it’s hard to portray any sort of calmness, but I can’t let myself explode. It will only make things worse.

“I’ll return with you, but let it be known that I’m only returning to do whatever I can to help Danner and the other innocent people there—however possible. And I’m terrified that this will all end badly. The thought of what can happen… I can’t wrap my head around the fact that we’re in this situation. I can’t.”

“Understood, and thank you,” Otto says, dropping his head, a sign of the shame he must be feeling. “I can’t fathom the thought of Danner being among those men. Of all the people in the world… You know I wouldn’t want anything to happen to him. He doesn’t deserve this or anything he’s had to deal with over the last four years.” He lifts his glass from the table and takes a long sip of the bourbon. “Danner was in Poland for a while, wasn’t he?”

I shrug because I don’t know much of how Danner ended up Dachau, but he’s there.

“What is this prison camp doing to Jewish people, Otto?” He must know they are executing them.

He shakes his head and closes his eyes. “Everything is so covert. I only see the people who are in the hospital block, but until last week I wasn’t crossing paths with anyone except other medical professionals working on the research I had been assigned. I told you we were being shuffled around.”

Otto seems to have a challenging time finding his voice and clasps a hand around his throat. He can’t possibly be in a state of denial. These camps that hold Jewish people don’t have a reputation of giving them simple jobs, a place to sleep, and enough food to survive. It’s the opposite, and worse. Much worse.

“What does this research truly entail, Otto?”

“I’m not sure. I mean—I think we may be…I just—” Otto averts his gaze to the popcorn plaster on the ceiling. “There are papers we have to sign tomorrow before any further information will be given.”

“What will I be signing? What will I be agreeing to?” I ask. I’m not sure whether he knows and would rather not say or is in the dark like me, but he’s been there. He should know how they operate.

“I don’t know.”

It doesn’t matter. Knowing Danner is there, I can’t sit here and do nothing. I’m not sure what I’ll be able to do but anything will be better than remaining ignorant to the truth of what’s happening behind those gates.

When Danner was forced to leave us four years ago to go to Poland, we had no way of helping him. I can’t let him down again. I won’t.