Page 27 of The Nanny Outside the Gates

TWENTY

GAVRIEL

Every crunch against thicket, or the snaps of frail twigs, adds tension to the tight muscles in my neck as we near the dark gates of Birkenau.

Damp dirt sticks to the soles of my borrowed boots and sweat continues to trickle down the back of my spine even in the night.

The closer we get, the thicker the air becomes—a rotten stench, mixed with lingering smoke, and aridity from a looming rainstorm.

The sun was out most of the day, but at night—that’s when the sky cries the most.

If I’ve learned anything in the four months I’ve been a prisoner here, it’s that everything can change in a split second without warning or reason.

Just the same as there is no reason for being assigned laboring work beyond the gates, versus work on the inside.

I have a skill, but so do many others here. I just happened to be noticed.

Before Officer Sch?fer conscripted me to work at his house, I saw members of the SS as evil, emotionless, and hollow.

I wondered if their hatred for Jewish people has been something they truly feel in their hearts, or if they’re too afraid to oppose the dictatorship above them.

I wanted to believe that when they went home to their wives and families at night, they became a different person—someone with a heart and emotions, perhaps.

I dreamed that one day, they would come to a point where they realize they don’t want to be these monsters.

But I now think German people only believe what they’re told and witness, and all they know of are their victories.

There is no truth to be found in propaganda, and until they see through the smog, they’ll continue thinking they are the heroes, and the rest of the world are the monsters.

“It doesn’t sound like you’re even breathing,” Adam whispers, dropping his hand on my shoulder as we walk toward our barrack, led by the guard called to escort us back to the prison.

We don’t know where the kapos went. Oskar or Sylvia—they could be back tomorrow, or we might never see them again.

I have no attachment to them, but they are protected prisoners and if they’re no longer protected, it means the rest of us are in even more danger than ever before.

“I have a lot on my mind,” I reply quietly.

“What were you trying to tell me earlier when we were lining up in front of the Sch?fers’ house? You said you did something today…”

“I can’t tell you yet.” I imagine an officer or guard is somewhere in the nearby vicinity, and with the growing darkness, I can’t take the chance of saying something I’ll regret.

Adam takes in a deep breath and releases the air from his nose, slowly. “Well, now I’ll be wondering.”

As we turn down the long row of blocks to make our way down to the center where ours is located, the crowds of others spill out onto the carved interconnected paths, returning to their barracks from the direction of Roll Call Square.

“I knew it,” Rueben says. “We weren’t at roll call, so we won’t be eating tonight.”

“Hey!” the guard shouts, turning around and stopping us sharp in our steps. No one has said a word since we left the Sch?fers’ house, including the guard. “Is there a problem?”

No one responds. No one ever will. Neither a guard nor an officer’s broad question is ever answered unless we’re looking for further consequences.

I had already assumed we would miss roll call and our evening meal would be withheld.

We’re being punished for Bea’s decision even though she’s already been murdered.

A whistle blows from behind us, grabbing the guard’s attention. “Move!” he demands, pointing us toward our barrack, but stays back, answering to the whistle, I assume.

Once out of hearing range, the words spill out of my mouth to Adam.

“You know, Sch?fer…he beats his wife, and she’s with child.

He wasn’t at all concerned for his daughters witnessing Bea’s murder today.

Maybe he didn’t know the children were home with Halina because they were upstairs and remaining quiet through his tirade in the house, but he didn’t bother to check if they were home before putting a bullet through a young woman’s head outside their window. ”

Adam pauses and stares straight ahead, not blinking, maybe digesting my statement. Maybe thinking about his mother and sister.

“He isn’t a man. He’s a wild animal. What form of decency could you expect from him?” Adam asks. “All we can do is mind our own business and be grateful we’re worthy of work, right?”

Are we worthy of work? Or just temporary help?

I’m not certain what he was yelling at his wife about while we were being questioned about Bea outside, before being escorted back here for the night.

Though his question to the other officer about whether his wife had done something similar, and talking about something that was locked, has me wondering if he knew someone had been in his office.

The door was unlocked and so was the drawer with the pistol.

If that’s what he was referring to, someone else must have unlocked it first. He might have been referring to something separate and my guilt is eating away at me, but regardless of what he’s angry about, he needs someone to blame.

Halina is the only other person in that house at night besides his wife.

My anger and rage pulled me into that man’s office, and while I don’t regret taking his weapon, I should have thought the plan through more first. I don’t want Halina being blamed for anything I might have done, or even for something I didn’t do.

His wife appears to be his sole target, but that’s not enough to convince myself he won’t go after Halina tonight.

Moments after we step inside the barrack, Benson grabs me by the back of my shirt, Adam, and Rueben too.

Benson grabs my hand and shoves his balled-up fist against my palm, crumbling something dry and gritty into my palm.

Bread, maybe. It has an oily scent, something that reminds me of Mama’s cooking.

That world—one that no longer exists for me.

My throat tightens at the thought of sitting down at the table to enjoy one of Mama’s long-prepared meals after a hard day’s work.

I’m grateful to Benson for just the brief memory.

He does it twice more for the others, giving Rueben and Adam a portion of the food too. Maybe he figured we’d all be paying a consequence for Bea tonight and he took the risk of swiping some food from the kitchen he works in.

“What is that?” a man shouts from the bunks. “Give it here!” The man clambers out of his narrow bed opening and catapults himself into Adam, swatting at him to give up what’s in his hand. I thrust myself between the two of them and grab the man by his bony wrist.

“Take mine and be quiet before you get us all in trouble,” I hiss at him, slapping my smashed crumbs into his hand.

The man’s eyes well up and all tension subsides. He falls to his knees and licks the crumbs from his hand. Hunger is pain. Pain is part of life, and if I’m living, so be it—I’ll go hungry.

I keep walking down between the row of bunks, not wanting to see guilt in Adam’s eyes, or Rueben’s, or Benson’s.

A hand grips my shoulder, interrupting my sluggish strides.

I turn to face him, finding a boy, maybe sixteen or seventeen.

His shaved head, big ears, and rigid nose strike me as familiar.

I study him for a moment, wondering why—how I would know him—where from. “You’re a good person. It’s hard to tell if there are many left in the world,” he says.

He looks like my youngest brother. Not him, but close—same wide-set eyes and narrow chin. He’s almost grown into his face, but his innocence is shredding away page by page each day.

“It’s a choice we all make. I’m sure you make the right choices everyday too.”

I didn’t make the right choice today, but I wouldn’t say it made me a bad person. Maybe I shouldn’t give advice that I can’t follow myself.

I crawl into my bunk, and shimmy onto my side, the straw from the thin and warped mattress poking me in too many places.

The sour stench of sweat, musk, and mildew strike me as they do every night when I rest my head.

As if it’s a new smell. It’s just worse than it was yesterday.

I close my eyes, trying to drown out the sounds of coughing and moaning, and insects chirping near my ear, by envisioning Halina…

such a beautiful sight, pure, innocent. Her eyes still cling to hope, but only because she hasn’t seen the worst of what’s around her.

What if Sch?fer blames her for everything no one confessed to? What if he already has? What if…Halina is paying for what I did?

The thought of her disappearing from that house punches at my gut. It’s selfish, I know. I don’t want her stuck there, but she won’t be released to go back to where she came from. As long as she’s inside those walls, at least I can keep watch. And keep her close.