22. Emilie

TWENTY-TWO

Dachau, Germany

The next morning, the heavens above bear witness to me sliding into the passenger seat of the car, knowing we’re returning to a prison camp. There isn’t a right decision to be made. All I can do is pray I find a way to help the innocent. I’ll need to mask every emotion, each sawing pain in the pit of my stomach and the hiccups in my racing heart. No one can know I have ulterior motives. I have never considered being untruthful, unfaithful, or disloyal to someone I love, but now I’m forced to question whether Otto is capable of betrayal when it comes to his family.

“Are you feeling better this morning?” Otto asks, placing his hand on my knee.

I exhale sharply through my nose, still unable to fill my lungs. “I’m not sure I’ll ever feel better.”

He sighs and nods in agreement. “I didn’t sleep well. Hopefully, I didn’t keep you up,” he says. “My mind was racing much of the night, worrying about you—us, and this job.”

“You’re right to do so,” I tell him, hating to be so pointed. Otto has said there are two sides to this war, but there aren’t, and we can’t walk by as if innocent people aren’t being terrorized through a dictator’s orders. It’s Hitler against the world. We are all on one side except for him.

“Emi, if—” he begins to speak but clears his throat as if something is stuck.

“Yes?”

His hands tighten around the steering wheel, the plastic scrapes against the inside of his palms. “If you see Danner again today, I need to know you won’t interact with him. It will be a violation of the agreement.”

“What agreement are you referring to?”

“One that you will be asked to sign today about the research.”

I twist my head, staring at his pale profile, his veins bulging in his neck, and the tremble moving through him. “Did you acknowledge Danner yesterday after I left?” I ask rather than respond to his statement.

“I couldn’t, because I signed the agreement back in February.”

“You signed an agreement stating you wouldn’t be caught communicating with a man you’ve been friends with most of your life?”

“I agreed not to fraternize with the inmates, Emilie.”

“With the prisoners, you mean?” I lash back.

“Yes, you’re right.”

“Otto, you’re a brilliant man. So please, do tell me the definition of a prisoner before you continue to act so confused as to why Danner is here.”

Otto clears his throat and straightens his shoulders. “Good God, Emilie, I didn’t mean…”

“What is the definition of a prisoner, Otto?” I repeat, staring at the side of his face as he continues to drive. My pulse is racing, my blood boiling, and my face is on fire. I promised myself I wouldn’t do this because it wouldn’t help anything, but it’s impossible to act like this is all okay.

“I don’t know, Emi, a person who is entrapped as a form of punishment?”

“What did Danner do to deserve this form of punishment?” I ask, holding my stare over him. He needs to admit it out loud—to hear himself speak the unthinkable words.

I watch Otto’s Adam’s apple bob up and down against the taut skin of his neck. “Because,” he says, his word hitching in his throat. His eyes water as he covers his hand over his mouth.

“Because he was born Jewish, remember?” I say.

No response. Only more bobbing of his Adam’s apple.

We’re about to pull into the exterior entrance to the Dachau prison and Otto presses on the brakes. “Are you going to sign the agreement, or not? I would rather you not go inside again if you don’t plan to adhere to their requirements.”

I’m not sure if Otto will feel more concerned if I agree or disagree at this moment. “You said if I don’t return, there will be consequences. Did you not?”

“Yes, and not ones my father or uncle will be able to control, I’m afraid.”

“So do I have a choice?”

Despite my desire to help Danner, walking back in there, knowing what I know, will forever change me. I’m already a different person to the one I was before yesterday. It will only become worse. Maybe I should run. What if that’s the only way to keep everyone safe?

“No, Emilie. No. We can’t turn back. You’ve already seen what’s behind the gates. By not returning, you and I will be in more danger than we’ve ever been in. I assure you.”

“I won’t say I agree. If I don’t have a choice, then do what you must and I’ll do what I’m told. But I don’t agree.”

My chin quivers and I stare out my window, desperately avoiding the reflection of my tear-filled eyes. This is how everyone takes part in a revolt. This is why our country is turning on itself. I’ve fallen victim to the trap just like many others.

“Okay then,” he says, parking the car and opening the door.

I slide across the seat to follow him and brace myself for another haunting walk through the barren block leading to the sick bay.

“What is that?” Otto asks, pointing to a notepad I’m clutching tightly to my chest.

“My notes on hypothermia.” I continue to walk alongside him even though he seems to be stumbling over his feet.

“We have books here.”

“I have books written before 1933 at home. They’re more reliable.”

“Shh, Emilie, you can’t speak like that here. Someone could hear you.”

I squeeze my notebook tighter against my chest and scan the surrounding walls, expecting to find peepholes, proving we’re being watched and listened to. Otto’s breath shudders as he holds his hand against my back and ushers me forward toward the same hallway we walked through yesterday.

Upon entering the main area filled with prisoners, the sight is now familiar, except for a few new faces in addition to those who were here yesterday. Danner is back in the same spot too. How long has he been here? I’m not sure if they made him sleep here last night. Where else would he sleep?I bite the inside of my cheek as my temples throb. I can’t cry. Someone could see. I swallow hard and try to take in a mouthful of air to hold on to.

As we walk past Danner, Otto keeps his head up and eyes set forward, ignoring Danner’s existence as if he’s an uninteresting portrait collecting dust on the wall. The behavior enrages me, but I bite my tongue as I peer at Danner through the corner of my eye, giving him a subtle glance just so he knows I’m acknowledging his presence. Of course, he may assume I’ve been brainwashed overnight to think along the same wavelength as Otto, but I would like to think Danner knows me well enough to know I wouldn’t collapse under pressure so easily.

We pass Dietrich in the final hallway that leads to the lab we were in yesterday.

“Good morning. Welcome back, Frau Berger. A pleasure to have you here. I’ve left the paperwork on the table for you to review and sign. Once you’re through, you can leave it on my desk in the office across the hall,” he says, speaking to me as if we only met for the first time yesterday. He stops short in his steps and points to what must be his office. “Ah, one more thing.” He pivots his stance to walk in the direction we’re heading, leading us to the lab.I glance over at Otto, curious about his expression. I find him unusually pale and jittery as we enter the lab, finding three unfamiliar uniformed men. “The commander in chief has enlisted three servicemen to assist. These men have helped with previous assignments and will be of great help to you.”

They aren’t doctors either.

“Heil Hitler,” Dietrich greets them with a salute.

“Heil Hitler,” Otto follows, peering at me to hint that I do the same.

“Heil Hitler,” the servicemen say.

I utter the same words while biting my cheek.

Hearing Hitler’s name grows older with each passing day.

I spot the papers on the table and plan to sign them without reading through the gibberish because I don’t quite care what is written. I’ll imagine the worst. I continue to clutch my notebook against my chest and allow my handbag to slide off my shoulder so I can take that in my hand too. With the pen resting on top of the papers, I lean forward, feeling all pairs of eyes in the room staring at me as if there’s an alternative to what I’m about to do. I scan each paper, sliding the tip of the pen under each line, reading every other word on how my agreement is legally binding and prosecutable if falsified or objectified. With my initials scripted along the bottom line I place the papers back in an even stack and set the pen on top.

“I’ll bring that to Dr. Dietrich’s desk,” one of the uniformed men offers.

“Thank you. I’m looking forward to the outcome of your work, Frau Berger,” Dietrich says, disappearing from the doorway of the lab.

“Emilie, we discussed the idea of beginning our research with our test subjects to determine our baseline data including body temperatures prior to immersion in varying degrees of water,” Otto says. “All of our test subjects are in fair health without medical complications or history of medication conditions.”

We should have discussed this at home so he wouldn’t have been embarrassed by my response to his plan.

“Do they all have records of heart rate, weight, age, and rectal temperatures?”

Another one of the airmen slides a folder over to Otto as if to help him with the vital stats he should know.

Otto takes the folder and thumbs through the pages, searching for the data that must be hidden in the pile.

“We don’t have time for this,” the third airman says. “We’re filling the submersion tubs, as discussed.”

“Submersion tubs?” I repeat. “There’s much to be done before testing contrasting temperatures.”

“They’re right. We don’t have time,” Otto says.

“Yes, we do. It only takes a second.” I take the folder from his hand and thumb through the pages, finding no records of heart rate, age, weight, or body temperature for any of the subjects. We’re talking about living, breathing people who chose this option over execution. “Without baseline knowledge, we won’t have?—”

“Okay then,” Otto interrupts. “Fill the submersion tubs to 34°C/93°F. We should be gauging the rate of change for body temperature when immersed into water about five percent colder than average body temperature.”

The last of the airmen to leave the room nods at me with an agreeable gesture and continues into the adjoining lab where I assume the tubs are located. By starting at 34°C/93°F, a temperature warmer than a pool or summer ocean water, I’ll be able to measure the gradual change of heart rate and body temperature without causing hypothermia. If we move at incremental rates, I’ll know when to stop before endangering anyone’s health. If they are looking to me to educate them on this process, they shouldn’t expect a quicker way of getting these results.

“They aren’t going to give you the leisure of time,” Otto says, taking the folder back from my hands. “They’re going to think you aren’t moving quick enough if it takes too long, and they’ll take matters into their own hands.”

He’s speaking so quietly, it’s hard to hear every word of what he’s saying, but it’s the first time in the last three days I’ve felt like we’re on a semi-common side on this.I won’t hurt those men out there, and I won’t let Dietrich or the selected servicemen do it either.

“What water temperature will cause hypothermia within minutes?” he asks.

I lower the notebook I’ve been squeezing in my hand and glance at my notes, reading that 5°C/44°F will cause hypothermia within a few minutes. We can’t brush up against that number.

“16°C /60°F.”

Otto glances at my notebook but I pull it back to my chest. “Okay,” he says.

“Prisoner number: 13415 and 13286, come forward,” someone shouts. “Go down the hall to room twelve, strip out of your clothes then report to room ten.”

The sound of scuffling feet moving down the hall grows louder as they pass by the lab, then quieter again as they continue down the hall. I take a guess that they’re preparing our first two test subjects before we’ve had a chance to even fill up the tubs and regulate the temperatures against a thermometer.

“The second submersion tub needs to be set just slightly over the patient’s original body temperature, so we don’t scald anyone when switching them over.”

“Okay, okay, don’t worry. We’ll check the temperatures before going any further,” Otto says.

“Do you understand what happens to a freezing body when it is overheated within minutes?” I don’t know if he grasps the importance of what I’m saying and I’m scared he’s going to think I’m being overly cautious and do something reckless to appease these people.

“Of course, I do. I took similar classes as you, didn’t I?”

Neither of us spent enough time in our medical classes to learn about this subject matter. My knowledge is from personal research using the books I have at home, which is why I know more than Otto. Why I’ve been asked to help. “So, you know it causes arrhythmia, stroke, cardiac arrest, and/or death?”

“Yes, I know all of that,” he says, clearing his throat with a clear expression of unease.

“You, over here,” a guard shouts in the hallway. “Do you have any current medical concerns we should be aware of?” They are close enough for me to hear every word so must be in the corridor.

“No, Herr. I don’t have any current medical concerns that I’m aware of. I’ve always been quite healthy. I have volunteered to be here,” he says.

His voice—it’s Danner. Of all the prisoners, volunteers, or whoever is waiting here to take part in this horrific test, why does he have to be the first on the list?

“That’s Danner. Did you hear his voice? Do you remember his voice, Otto? Our friend? The boy you used to play ball with as a child, and then ran track with as you got older. You helped each other with school subjects that you struggled with. He was always there for you, and you were there for him. What about now? How do we go about helping him now?”

“Emilie, enough!” Otto snaps. “Maybe it’s best if you go home again so I can take things from here. Just tell me you have a headache and I’ll send you back to the house. Go on.”

“No. I won’t leave Danner alone with you here.”