You Are My Sunshine: A Novel Of The Holocaust (All My Love Detrick Companion Novel) (30 page)

“Here
are your spoon and your bowl,” A guard said to Zofia in broken Polish. “If you lose then you won’t get another one.”

When she got to the front
of the line, she saw a huge steel pot filled with soup. One of the prisoners poured the contents of a single ladle into her bowl and gave her a small piece of bread.  Then she sat at a long table beside several other prisoners to eat. The soup was nothing more than water with a small piece of potato, and a bean or two. She was so hungry that when she saw the dead fly at the bottom of her soup, she continued to eat anyway gagging a little. One of the other prisoners noticed Zofia’s expression.

“Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it. There are insects in the soup all the time.”

“I can’t believe that I am so hungry that I don’t care.” Zofia said. “I wonder what I am becoming.”

“You just got here. Wait. It gets worse.” The other woman said. “By the way, my name is
Marsha; my bunk is just a few away from yours. I noticed you when you came in.”

“My name is Z
ofia.”

“Dora said that one
of the guards took you to the Arbeitsführer house. He is new, but already he is a terror.”

“I was taken to his house to help his wife, she is sick and they have a little girl.”

“I have not seen his home and I know nothing of his home life, but he is cruel and quick to administer a beating.”

“Yes, I know. I saw evidence
of that when I first got here. When I was standing in line, he was hitting one of the girls with a club for trying to escape.  Then today when he came home he seemed to be a difficult man, even with his family.”

“So, what can we do?
Nothing, I just try to stay out of his way.”

“What kind
of work do you do?”

“We work in the stone
quarries.”

“That’s hard work for women.”

“Yes, the Nazi’s don’t care. We carry the smaller stones. If one of us dies, then they replace her with another one. The trains keep coming, with more and more prisoners. It is very hard work, heavy work. In the summer it is so hot that I feel as if I will die of heat stroke, then the winter is so cold that we pray for the heat of summer. Still…we try to stay alive, another day.”

“What did you do before you came here?”

“Me? I was very good with numbers. I worked at the bank.”

“A woman who worked at a bank, very impressive.”

“Yes, I suppose.” Marsha laughed; she was a tall girl with soft brown hair and eyes the color of maple syrup. “On the side I kept the books for the local businesses. And you? What did you do?”

“I was a seamstress.”

“I suppose you made lovely gowns.”

“Yes I did.”

“It’s good to remember, and it is not so good.” Marsha sighed. “My heart breaks when I think about the way things used to be, and what has become of us now.”

“I know. You’re right. Sometimes I feel as if my heart is breaking for all that I have lost. Sometimes I want to die too. But it isn’t that easy.”

“No, it’s strange. No matter how harsh things are, the will to live is strong and it forces you to go on.”

“That’s true, but if that were all
of it then I could see giving up. But for me there is more.” There was something about this girl with the amber eyes and sweet smile that made Zofia feel the need to confide in her. “I have a daughter. Somewhere out in the world far away from this terrible place, I have a child.  And as long as my child is living, then I have the need to fight to go on.”

“I never had children
. My husband and I were only married for two months before they arrested him. He was a lawyer and he refused to stop practicing when the Nazi’s took over. Besides, he was far too outspoken against Hitler. At first, I thought that he was arrested because he caused so much trouble. Would you believe that I went to the authorities begging for his release? Do you know what happened? They arrested me too. What a fool I was. I thought they would be fair.” She laughed a harsh laugh, then looked out into the distance and shook her head.

“Get up, let’s go.” One
of the guards said as he walked around gathering the prisoners into a line. “Back to the barracks, Schnell.”

“Do you understand German?” Z
ofia asked as they hurried into the line.

“Some. The longer you’re here
the more you will understand.”

“Quiet, no talking
, March, let’s go.”

Z
ofia lay upon her cot. It smelled musty but she was so tired that within minutes she fell into a deep sleep.

Most days were spent taking care
of Katja and keeping the house clean for the Blau’s.  The longer Zofia worked at the home of the Arbeitsführer the more she became aware of the tension between Manfred and his wife. Christa was ill weak; she grew tired easily, while her mother seemed mentally incompetent. Often the older woman would go off talking to herself as she sat gazing out the picture window. The little girl, Katja, followed Zofia from room to room as she cleaned, sometimes begging to be picked up or played with. Zofia didn’t mind. She loved the gentle innocent child, forgiving her that her father was a monster. Which he proved at the quarries, time and again, so she heard from Marsha.  When Manfred was not at home, Christa offered Zofia food and drink, which she gratefully partook of, splitting what, was given to her, eating half and bring the other back to Marsha who had become a dear friend.

As she worked for the Blau’s, Z
ofia learned to speak some German, and Christa learned to speak some Polish, making communication with Christa easier. But when Zofia and the baby were alone she always spoke in Polish, not realizing that little Katja was learning.

One morning following
roll call, as Zofia waited for the guard to escort her to the home of the Blau’s she heard the voice of the Arbeitsführer. He spoke quickly making his words difficult to understand but his tone was filled with anger. Then she heard a gunshot and moved closer to see what happened. One of the women who she had met briefly, but did not really know personally, lay in a pool of blood at Manfred Blau’s feet. She saw him kick her and then walk in the other direction. The guards forced two prisoners using rifle butts in their ribs to move the body out of the way. Once it was done, the women began their daily march to the quarries. Zofia tried not to look, at the body but she couldn’t help herself. The young woman lay dead, eyes open, with a track of blood leading to a large pool. The dark blood, combined with the terror of what she just saw, made her gag. Zofia could not stop dry heaving even as the guard approached to take her to the Blau’s home.

“Let’s go. Ma
rch, Schnell.”

Why did everything have to be done fast?
Schnell that was the first German word she learned. 

Now she feared Manfred even more. Once she’d seen his cruelty first hand and knew how heartless he could be, her fear
of him grew so strong that she tried to avoid being in his presence.   Some nights he returned late and she was relieved to be gone back to the barracks before he entered the house. But when he came home and she was still there, Zofia noticed him always watching her.  She heard arguments, raised voices, coming from the living room between Manfred and Christa. Although she could not understand everything they said, she heard the yelling and the slaps followed by Christa heart wrenching weeping. Once the weeping began, Manfred walked out, and then went into another room slamming the door.  This same instance occurred at least twice weekly. And always on the following day, Christa would have a black eye or a bruised cheek. Zofia said nothing, but she knew Manfred hit his wife. Once Zofia arrived early in the morning, Manfred was already gone, but Christa sat at the kitchen table, her eyes swollen, and her nose wrapped in white bandages.  Katja played on the floor with a stuffed fabric doll, when the child saw Zofia, her chubby arms reached for her.

“U
p” Katja said in Polish. Zofia lifted the girl.

“Please, take her out
of here…” Christa said in broken Polish and German.

“Yes ma
’am.” Zofia was beginning to establish a good understanding that enabled her to communicate with her German employer.

As Z
ofia swept the floor, Katja, pretended to sweep too toddling around on her short legs. Zofia’s heart grew with love for this little girl who had begun to call her mama. Zofia was afraid that Christa would hear Katja referring to her as mother and become angry, but Christa’s illness seemed to be getting worse and most days she spent in bed.

The grandmother never left her window seat. At night, she slept on the same s
ofa where she sat all day. Before Zofia returned to the barracks she delivered a meal to the older woman then laid out the sheets and blankets for her to sleep. All the while Christa’s mother continued to stare out the window, never acknowledging Zofia standing right beside her.  Once a day Zofia helped her to change her clothes, and sometimes even to bathe. When the fights ensued between Manfred and Christa, the old woman sang softly to herself. Zofia tried to pity her, instead she was a little jealous that Christa’s mother had lost her mind and therefore she knew nothing of the pain all around her.

When Z
ofia left at night, Katja would cry and reach her arms out as if to say, please take me with you. So, Zofia began to feed the child earlier and put her to bed before she left.

Winter was on it
s way. There was no heat or fire in the barracks.

The weather grew colder. Z
ofia shivered in her bunk in with just a thin wool blanket for cover.  Every night when everyone seemed to be asleep, Marsha crept into Zofia’s bed. She brought her blanket and the two girls put the two blankets on top of each other making one thick cover.  Then Zofia gave Marsha the food she brought for her. The two women huddled beside each other to keep warm. They told fairy tales that they remembered from their childhood. Sometimes they sang songs and even giggled over memories. Marsha reminisced about her husband, and her wedding day, telling Zofia about the dress she’d worn and the wonderful meal that had been served. She even told Zofia about the boy she dated and slept with before she’d met her true beshert.

Z
ofia told Marsha about Katja, and how much the child reminded her of Eidel, they both agreed on how kind Christa was to give Zofia the extra food.  But Zofia bit her lower lip, shaking her head in despair when she spoke of Fruma and Gitel, her dear friends, and of Dovid, the gentle boy whose only crime was loving her. Sometimes, Zofia allowed herself the indulgence of tears, her slender body rocking while Marsha held her.

One cold night, after Marsha gobbled the thick cr
ust of bread that Zofia had brought, they lay shivering under their two blankets

“What is he like at home?” Marsha asked one night.

“The Arbeitsführer?”

“
Of course, who else?”

“I don’t know him really, but I hear him fighting with his wife all the time. He beats her.”

“That’s not surprising. He’s very cruel. I think he hates women. I’m terrified of him.”

“I
know so am I?   Once in a while he comes home before I leave to come back to the camp and he looks at me.”

“Looks at you how?”

“I don’t know actually. He looks at me with a strange longing, kind of like he wants to sleep with me.”

“Oh no!
.”

“S
o far he has done nothing that I could say was unacceptable. He leaves me alone. Most of my fear of him is from how I see him treat others. I just hope he never touches me in that way.”

“Yes, so do I. Oh, my friend, what a terrible place this is. We are in constant fear
of everything.”

“I know. The terror is the hardest part.
Often I think it is harder than dying.”

“It’s like dying every day, e
very minute.”

“At least we have each other.”

“Yes, at least we do.” Marsha was silent for a moment. She smoothed Zofia’s hair out of her eyes. “Have you ever thought about what we might be doing if Hitler had never taken over?”

“I try not to. The yearning is too painful. For me the only thing that I allow myself to think about is Eidel. When I leave here, I will go and find my child.”

“And that keeps you going?”

“Yes.”

Ice and snow covered the ground as Zofia walked to the Blau’s home. She’d been fortunate to find a pair of clogs that had been abandoned by a prisoner who died during the night. They were slightly big on her and now as she walked they slid on the ice.  Her uniform although thick cotton did nothing to shield her against the cold.  One morning when Zofia arrived, she found Christa in bed. She knocked softly upon the door.

“Can I bring you anything?” Z
ofia said.

“Some tea, bitte…”

“Yes, ma’am. Would you like some bread and jam with it?”

Christa did not understand. So Z
ofia held an imaginary piece of bread and spread it with an imaginary knife. Then she cocked her head and waited for the answer.