Page 23 of The Nanny Outside the Gates

SIXTEEN

GAVRIEL

From the crevices in the roof rafters, I watched Frau Sch?fer bolt out of the house, running in the opposite direction that Officer Sch?fer’s vehicle just came from with only moments in between. It’s too coincidental to believe she happened to disappear before he arrived just by chance…

I place down the wooden panel I was about to secure between two rafters and bolt toward the attic’s stairwell, peeking around the corner.

Halina’s been in Flora’s bedroom with the girls following Frau Sch?fer’s departure.

I could hear their muffled voices through the thin floor, but there’s nothing but silence from them now.

With doors slamming all around the main floor, my pulse quickens, anticipating what he’ll do next. The heavy clomps of his boots grow louder as he returns to the front of the house—to the main stairwell. I hold my breath as he stomps up the first steps of the main stairwell.

Is he looking for Halina? I think of her resolve this morning, telling me she won’t allow them to hurt the children or the baby any more…What did she do?

A knot forms in my stomach, thinking about what will happen when he comes upstairs to find her. Or what will happen if he goes near her?—

My heart beats out of my chest, rage building within me. I won’t let her suffer the same consequence as the last nanny. I’m going to die sooner or later anyway.

Sch?fer’s movements come to a sudden halt, pausing as if he’s heard or seen something.

The floor creaks under his feet, the moment of unease lingering.

I clench my fists by my side, trying to control my ragged breaths while scrutinizing the cause of his irate commotion.

It’s clear he doesn’t always need a reason, but he’s here with another officer.

“Where is she?” he shouts again.

“Can I assist you?” a meek voice murmurs between the shouts.

Sylvia—she shouldn’t be speaking to him.

It doesn’t matter that she’s a kapo or only here to be guarding the female prisoners on the streets.

The prisoners, kapo or not, do not speak to the officer of the house unless they are directly asked a question.

“Bring her to me,” Officer Sch?fer demands as he strikes his fist against the wall, the thud reverberating up to the attic.

“Your wife has gone out,” Sylvia says. Her overpowering confidence and cruelty along our treks to and from Auschwitz in the mornings and evenings are nothing in comparison to the fear quaking through her voice at this moment.

Everyone knows how to be tough until they’re confronted by the person above them.

“I’m not looking for my wife,” he growls. “You know exactly who I’m speaking about.”

I dash down the steps, using the double-sided railing to keep the mass of weight from creaking the wooden boards.

I haven’t moved this fast in longer than I can remember.

A split-second flash of the white and blue striped dress catches my attention as I near Flora’s bedroom across from the attic’s stairwell, spotting Halina clutching the baby against her chest, and the two girls staring up at her as if they’re waiting for her to tell them why they should be afraid of their father downstairs.

I sling myself into the room and lift the door just slightly to avoid a squeak of the hinges as I close us inside. “Are you all right?” I ask.

Halina’s eyes are wide open, her face drained of color, her arms shaking.

“I’m fine,” she whispers, clearly masking the truth. “You didn’t have to come down here.”

I lean in and whisper in her ear, so the children don’t hear me. “You don’t need to be alone here with that man stalking around like a beast.”

“If he finds you here…” she argues under her breath. “Who is he looking for?”

I hold my finger up to my lips, trying to listen for what Sylvia is telling him.

Halina watches my finger, but her gaze doesn’t stop there—it lingers on my lips even after I lower my hand.

My chest tightens, equal parts panic and something far more dangerous.

I lose track of what Sylvia is saying. All I can think about is the bowed curve of Halina’s mouth.

“What is this person’s number?” Sylvia presses, her voice growing in volume, shaking me out of my distraction.

“Number?” Halina whispers. “What does that mean?”

Sylvia answers too quickly, faster than me. “Prisoner 2138X. She was brought here to clean the house. You reported her death several weeks ago.”

I lift my sleeve to remind her of the tattoo, my number. “We’re all numbered. They took away our names.”

“Your name,” Halina repeats, solemnly. “Why would?—”

“Oh yes, her,” Sylvia’s voice spikes, guilt strangling her voice. “That girl’s body was taken away.”

None of us saw the body of that woman. We had no choice but to believe Sylvia’s word.

“No!” Sch?fer barks. “It wasn’t. The commandant handed me a deportation list with her number this morning. And our records didn’t match.”

“That can’t be,” Sylvia says.

“My wife and daughters were just complaining about whining pipes in the walls. That happens in houses, yes?”

“Of course. Yes. It does,” Sylvia replies.

“There’s nothing wrong with my pipes. Is there?” he snaps back.

“I—I—” Sylvia stutters.

Sch?fer charges down the hallway toward the foyer, stopping at a narrow door to his right.

He slashes it open and yanks the string attached to the bulb dangling from the ceiling.

The switch on his flashlight clicks as he descends the uneven cement steps leading to his shallow cellar.

The light at the door only carries so far, from what I’ve seen the one other time the door was open.

“Can I go say hello to my papa?” Marlene asks me, as if I have any say about what happens around here.

“Uh—I don’t think that would be a good idea right now. He’s busy with work and needs to tend to something here,” I whisper.

A hint of desperation glistens across Halina’s eyes, as if wondering what my words truly mean, why nothing makes sense right now.

“You mongrel! Disgusting Jew. Scum feeding off rats in my own house!” The vulgar shouts continue booming through the vents.

“Who is Papa shouting at?” Marlene asks quietly.

My core tightens as a body thrashes against what must be a wall. A weak feminine moan follows.

“Take this prisoner out of the house,” Sch?fer must be commanding the other officer.

“I—I’m not sure. Why don’t we why find something to read,” Halina suggests to Marlene.

“Don’t let them near the window,” I whisper to Halina. “And you, I don’t want you to look outside either. Can you do that for me?”

“Why—” The look in her eyes, the pain, the understanding, the realization of what happens every second of the day inside of Auschwitz, is harder to see in someone else than to feel for myself.

“Please, spare them, and yourself.”

She nods, unsure and grabs my wrist. “You should go back upstairs. I don’t want you to be caught here,” Halina says.

“You’re right. Don’t forget…” I point at the window then leave the room, wishing I could protect them from listening to the sounds of what I know will happen outside in a matter of seconds.

I head back up to the attic, returning to the constructed framed walls, I peer out between the rafters, spotting Bea, the prisoner who was brought here to keep the house clean, just before Halina started.

She wasn’t here long before there was a miscount at an evening line-up.

Sylvia claimed Bea died, and her body had been removed.

Since none of us saw her body, I considered that she may have tried to escape.

I told myself she made it, somehow. It was a slice of hope for the rest of us, I guess.

I didn’t notice any sounds, or know she was hiding in the cellar this whole time. Likely starving and slowly dying. I feel sick.

The sound of a pistol clicking into place strikes a nerve before the shot even comes. I swallow hard and clench my eyes shut as a strangled whine weaves between the rafters. I press my fist to my mouth as the crack of the gunshot shatters between the enclave of trees.

I release my held breath and open my eyes. I can’t let myself feel it…I hardly knew her. I just know she was one of us. And now she’s gone.

“Call for a truck,” Sch?fer shouts to the other officer.

Desperation is the ability to feed off rats or rubbish if she managed to escape to the cans at night.

She would have been better off fleeing in the middle of the night, but she could hardly keep herself upright on her knees to clean the floors here.

She knew her days were coming to an end.

Her skeletal body lies in the grass, her bones like thin branches. Another one of us, dead.

“No, no, don’t go over there!” Halina’s muffled words shout with panic.

A screeching squeal pierces through floors. “There’s a dead Jew on the grass!” Marlene screams.

“Papa killed her,” Isla follows, her words unnaturally calm. “She’s a Jew. She was just a bad mushroom, Marlene. A bad one. Remember? Papa is protecting us. He’s always going to protect us from the bad Jewish mushrooms.”