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THIRTY-THREE

LUKA

Two weeks later, another gathering in the Commandant’s Headquarters means another reason to walk the length of the camp, with an opportunity to spot Ella again.

There is no single way for me to locate her otherwise.

I’ve looked at every person who has passed by me since I saw her.

I know it was her. I’m sure of it.

Yet, without a list of those trapped here, and the replacement of peoples’ names for numbers, finding anyone seems impossible.

A violinist and cellist have been assigned to join Franc and me tonight for our evening performance.

In any other place, time, and world, it would be an honor to play alongside these gentlemen.

But here, it’s an act of disgrace, one I will never forgive myself for.

I should have chosen death before entertaining murderers.

I could still choose death, but I’m afraid to die.

I’m just a coward.

Franc lines up the music for the evening.

“Did you get any further with your search since I saw you earlier in the week?” he asks, words forming without him moving his lips.

“No, I don’t know anyone with access to prisoner logs and I haven’t seen her.” Hearing my words out loud makes me question whether I ever saw her at all.

I dream of her every night, and exhaustion overwhelms me so greatly that I should be able to slip into a dream even with my eyes open.

“Sorry, my friend,” Franc utters before sharing the lineup of music with us before placing the stack on the stand attached to the piano.

The guests are just arriving, which is our cue to begin.

However, a female kapo rushes through the breezeway past us, and into the growing crowd.

The way her eyes dart in every direction hints at a time sensitive delivery.

I’ve seen this woman here before, never without a paper or envelope in her hand.

She seems to be a courier of some sort, delivering messages from officers in one administration building to officers in another.

Just another privileged prisoner surviving by proving a form of loyalty to the SS.

There are so many kapos here, I can’t fathom what could make them betray their own people.

They’re still hungry and exposed to every terrifying disease that sweeps through the barracks.

Maybe there’s something I don’t know—something I could never trade my soul for.

They’ve learned to hate their own kind.

It’s the same as the Jewish Ghetto Police in Warsaw, like the one who killed Apollo.

They’re somehow much worse here—I don’t trust any one of them.

The kapo finds her target, hands the officer a memo, pivots, and heads back this way.

She glares at me as if we know each other, but we don’t.

The three or four times I’ve seen her, we’ve never made eye contact.

Why now?

The kapo shifts her gaze almost immediately as she passes us.

Still trying to decipher the reason for the cold stare, I notice a square folded note fall from her clenched fist. It wasn’t an accident.

She would have retrieved it, but instead, continues toward the back exit.

I scan the surroundings ensuring no one is looking in this direction.

I lunge for the note and curl it into my fist.

“What is that?” Peter, the violinist asks.

I shrug. “The kapo dropped it on her way out.”

“She’ll come after you once she realizes it’s gone. You should leave it on the floor.” Peter worries more than anyone I’ve met here.

We all worry, but his personality matches the vibrato he plays so beautifully.

He’s constantly unsteady and fearful of every breath he takes.

It makes me wonder how he’s able to keep the bow moving so smoothly across his strings.

“I should look at it first,” I say.

“Are you out of your mind? It could be confidential,” Peter hisses, his eyes bulging from their sunken sockets.

Franc shakes his head and locks his stare on the notes in front of him.

I run my free hand down the side of my pants to dry the sweat and quickly unfold the note.

My gaze settles on the top line, and I forget to breathe.

I clutch my hand to my neck as I read:

15 th of May 1943

Luka, is that you?

I’ve told myself it’s impossible, but I know it’s not.

If I had a wish, it would be to find out that I only heard someone who sounds like you.

Then I’d know you aren’t here in this horrible place, but hopefully somewhere safer.

I blink for a long a moment, trying to reconcile what month it is.

A flash of a bulletin runs through mind, a warning I saw hanging on a post earlier.

It’s the middle of June and just a week ago, I spotted Ella.

She must have known I was here before we passed each other.

How is that…

I hear you almost nightly, or whenever the weather will comply with carrying the sound of your voice.

If it’s you, I must know.

I must know you’re all right.

I’m doing as well as I can manage, caught a lucky break with being assigned to clerical work.

I’ve seen what unlucky means, and I wouldn’t wish it upon anyone.

Luka, if you’re here, I need to find you—I will do anything, even if it’s the last thing I do.

I think about you day and night, feeling like a trapped mouse, searching for a way out of an enclosed maze of walls, knowing there is no way out—and I’ve yet to find a way to you.

I love you so much it hurts every single bone in my body as I pray to the heavens above to set us free from this torture and misery.

I still dream about a future with you, a house on a farm, stargazing to the sound of your beautiful songs.

The image is so vivid in my mind when I fall asleep at night.

If only it were possible to escape through our dreams, be together, and never return to this reality.

If it’s safe and you can hand a note back to the messenger who dropped this note for you, she will bring one back to me.

I’m sure you’re worn and living in a state of starvation, struggling to move each day, but your voice breathes life into me, something to hold on to.

Forever my love,

E

Hot tears burn the backs of my eyes and my chest quakes.

The thoughts in my head are telling me to race out that back door and run, shouting her name until I have her attention.

The room spins around me, the chandeliers rattling, crystals clashing.

“Ready?” Franc says, reaching for my arm that has fallen by my side.

“On three.”

“No, I’m not?—”

“What do you mean? We must begin now. We’ll all be in trouble if we don’t.”

I turn and glance at the back door, my heart caught in my throat…