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THIRTY-FOUR

ELLA

July 1943

It’s been nearly two years since I arrived at Auschwitz and was assigned to work in the administration office, and yet we’ve only managed to successfully locate one name through our searches in our logs.

We all are desperate to find loved ones who might be here.

The five of us who are responsible for the prisoner intake logs have attempted another round of searches for any name we previously tried to find, only to come to an end, empty-handed again.

We still try to tell ourselves there’s a chance the people we’re looking for truly aren’t here, but of course, we’ve proven that theory wrong in the past.

Because…

Luka is here. I saw him.

It was a few weeks ago now, but I saw him—clear as anything I’ve ever seen.

It was Luka, without a doubt.

Yet his name is not in our registers.

We’ve all checked multiple times—it doesn’t make any sense.

I can’t sleep, despite my exhaustion.

It’s impossible to rest my mind, knowing he’s here somewhere just out of reach.

All I can do is continue searching for him in any possible way.

Even to just know what barrack he lives in, would be something.

“Ella,” Tatiana whispers my name.

Her voice pulls me out of a trance I didn’t realize I was drifting within.

I give a small shake of my head to refocus, glance toward the door to check for guards then back at Tatiana.

“You haven’t logged a name in over five minutes.”

I squeeze my eyes shut for a brief second.

“I know. I keep losing focus, trying to think up a way to find Luka.”

Tatiana shifts her gaze to the door, checking for a guard as I did.

“What more can you do without asking for trouble?” she asks, despondence lacing each word.

“You know…I’ve been thinking…” Tatiana’s eyes dart back and forth between me and the door.

“There are so many people being admitted every day, some might just slip through the cracks and never be registered. That might be why we aren’t finding names.” I think she’s trying to tell me there’s no way to find him unless by happenstance again.

The thud of boots warns us to put our heads down and be doing what we’re assigned.

A guard steps into the doorway, scans the room for a long thirty seconds then continues down the corridor.

“I’m sure you must already realize that those who are sent directly to the showers never go through the process of registration,” one of the new typist girls says quietly.

She doesn’t know anything about my situation, but she’s speaking the facts.

“I’m aware,” I tell her.

Every name we enter is accompanied with a number and an assigned barrack.

Those who never receive a number wouldn’t end up on a list. But I’ve seen Luka walking through the camp in a uniform.

He wasn’t one of those people.

“I’ve heard they send over five thousand people a day to the shower rooms,” she adds.

“Imagine how many more people you would be logging if that weren’t true.”

Over five thousand people a day?

That can’t be right.

We all know the truth of what happens in the showers.

But I didn’t know how many people were being sent each day.

With an entire world still living outside these gates, how can no one know what is happening here?

How many people need to disappear before someone takes notice?

The monotony of the day is abruptly interrupted when a succession of whistles, shouts, and gunshots whip through the air outside the administration building.

All of us women jump in our seats.

I clutch my chest, searching among us as if someone here might know what’s happening outside.

Two guards race past the opening to our office toward the exit of the building.

Tatiana stands from her seat and rushes for the door and eases her head out just enough to look at what’s happening.

The main door opens and closes several times before she turns around.

“All the guards just ran outside,” she whispers.

“We should know what’s happening out there.” Tatiana rushes out the door without a second thought.

There won’t be much time before they return, I’m sure.

I stand from my desk, too, and rush out into the corridor, but I don’t see Tatiana anywhere.

I’m not sure where she went.

And I need this moment for a different reason.

I scurry down to office four and step inside, finding Elsie standing to the side of the window they’re lucky enough to have in this office.

I weave through the maze of filing cabinets until I make it to her side.

“I need your help. I’ll give you whatever it is you want in return, four rations, six, eight… I’ll do anything.”

“Someone else just tried to escape,” she says, her words drifting from her mouth like a fog as she continues to stare without blinking.

“The SS just killed a dozen people for one person’s decision.”

I swallow hard, hearing the risks and threats.

I can see them flashing in my head.

“That’s awful,” I reply.

“What are you doing here?” she hisses, eyes refocusing.

“I told you if I had a note from him to give you, I would, and we could make bartering arrangements then.”

“Have you seen him, the singer?”

“Yes. He’s with the officers many nights where I’m delivering messages. I gave him your note.”

He hasn’t been sent to the showers.

I haven’t heard him in the last few nights, but it’s been raining heavily, likely drowning out any hope of sound.

“You’re sure he received it?”

“I’m almost certain,” she says, focusing her eyes out the window.

“What do you mean by almost ?”

“I couldn’t make a formal showing of handing him the note. I did what I had to do to put it within his reach. I’m sure he received it.”

“Have you seen him again since?”

She continues staring outside, her jaw grinding back and forth.

“I’m not sure. The nights blur together here. It’s possible. The delivery of messages between high-end officers is incredibly nerve-wracking.”

“Was there someone singing when you delivered a message last?” I want to shake this girl by the shoulders.

My question isn’t difficult.

“I can’t remember if it was before or after I delivered the note to him. I’m sorry. There are some high-level officials coming into town next week and I’m quite sure I’ll be relaying messages between buildings then.”

I can’t be at the mercy of this woman’s tired mind.

“I will give you a week’s worth of rations if you agree to help me once more.”

“You plan to starve yourself for one more favor?” she asks.

“I would give up everything…”

“What is this favor?” she asks, her tone uneasy.

Blood pumps viciously through my veins after Elsie agreed to my barter, but as I return to my desk, listening to the shouting and disorder continue outside, I notice Tatiana hasn’t come back.

“Do you think she left the building?” one of the other women asks.

I shrug. I don’t think Tatiana would go as far as leaving the building to find out what was happening outside.

Would she?

I bounce my knee for hours, staring back and forth between the door, clock, and the log I’m writing in, wondering why Tatiana still hasn’t returned.

The guards came back hours ago, but haven’t said a word about her vacant desk.

By six o’clock, the reality sinks in…

Tatiana must have gotten caught somewhere she shouldn’t have been.

My heart cracks. She can’t just not come back.

I don’t know if I can do this without her.