31. Emilie

THIRTY-ONE

Dachau, Germany

I walk across the wooden floors of the hospital block on my toes, trying to silence the heaviness of my heels as I make my way to the room at the end of the hallway. I glance behind me, making sure I’m still alone and slip into the dim-lit room, closing myself inside. Dietrich knows I’m collecting vital data, but I’d rather no one knows how long I spend in this room.

“Emi.” A man’s voice croaks, still weak. A smile presses into his frail cheeks and his eyes flutter open wide.

“How are you feeling?” I whisper.

“I’m okay,” he says, air punctuating his words.

I pull a wax paper wrapped sandwich out of my pocket. “Eat this,” I tell him.

He struggles to push himself up onto his elbows, so I help him, noticing how easy it is to maneuver his declining weight.

Danner unwraps the sandwich as if it’s a mirage that may disappear if he doesn’t move fast enough. I take the wax paper from him and fold it up to place back in my pocket, and he shoves the sandwich into his mouth. Watching him eat following his long bout of starvation, my chest caves in as if boulders are toppling down on top of me. He’s hardly taking a breath between bites. This is the fourth day I’ve been able to give him larger portions of food. I was scared he might get sick the first couple of days, so I’ve been slowly increasing the portion size. I’m just not sure how much longer I’ll be able to keep him here. It’s not under my control.

“This is the most delicious sandwich I’ve ever had,” he says, his mouth full.

“You said that yesterday,” I whisper along with a soft laugh.

“They just keep getting better.”

“So are you,” I tell him.

He takes the last mouthful and chews for a long minute before swallowing the last of the bread. I wish I had something more to give him, but it would be too much for his stomach. He rests back into the thin mattress covered table and sighs. “Thank you. Thank you, a million times.”

“Please, don’t…” I knew he would be thankful regardless, but I don’t deserve gratitude.

“I’m alive because of you,” he says.

He’s recovering because of my assistance, which means he won’t be kept here once he’s well enough to leave. “I’m going to find a way to help the others too. I’m going to do everything I can. I swear to you.”

“You’re an angel, Emi,” he says.

“Let me jot down your vitals,” I say, pulling a small kit out of a nearby drawer. I’ve been keeping track of his temperature, blood pressure, and heart rate. It’s the data Dietrich needs to compile his final report.

The numbers I add to my notes aren’t exact. They’re lower than they truly are as I try to drag out the upward trajectory of his recovery period.

“Everything looks good,” I tell him. “They don’t need to know that just yet though, okay?”

Danner nods in understanding as I drop my notepad into my pocket. He reaches for my hand, still struggling to lift his arms. I wish I could get him up onto his feet and help him walk around, but rehabilitation isn’t a part of the procedures done in this asylum of a hospital. I give him my hand and he pulls it down against his chest, his bones protruding sharply against my palm, his heart beating tersely against his flesh and my mine. “A rare honeybee,” he says. “How lucky am I to know you?”

“I’m the lucky one, Danner. It’s me.”