The Family Behind the Walls

33. Dalia

THIRTY-THREE

DALIA

OCTOBER 7TH, 1944 – O?WI?CIM, POLAND

To know something most others don’t know is a heavy weight I don’t want to carry around. Fourteen months after arriving here at the gates of hell, today is the planned day for the uprising and whether the SS have been tipped off or not, no one knows. Or at least, I don’t know.

With the gong alarming everyone into movement just as it does every morning, I watch and wait for our kapo to follow the first group out to the latrines. Then I scoot out from between the wooden bunks and make my way down a few rows to one of the other women. She’s had an infected wound on her arm for over a week and refused to tell anyone. I noticed yesterday morning as we were washing up before roll call. The last thing any of us want is to end up in an infirmary. The odds of walking back out are far too slim.

As she shuffles her coat and metal bowl into a pile on her bed, I grab hold of her arm to inspect the infection, which has grown much worse in just a day. I glance around to make sure the kapo hasn’t returned and reach into the satchel dangling from my neck, hidden beneath my smock, for a small bottle of antiseptic I stole from the infirmary. It might not be enough, but it could help. “This is going to sting. You might want to hold your breath to keep quiet,” I tell her.

“What is that?”

“Antiseptic.”

Before she can get out another word, I twist the top off the brown bottle and pour it over the wound. It bubbles and foams, causing her to clench her eyes and grasp the edge of the wooden bed frame. I release her arm, placing it down gently and secure the bottle and exchange it for the thin wrap of bandaging and a safety pin I brought with me too. I wrap the wound and pull her sleeve down to cover the evidence. “Try your best to keep your arm clean for now.”

“Thank you,” she utters with a quivering chin.

“Of course,” I say, offering her the same forced smile I give every patient who thanks me on a daily basis. I wish I could convince myself they are grateful for something that will keep them safe but nothing I do is ever enough for that.

Across the row on the other side of tiered bunks is a younger girl who’s been here as long as I have, if not longer. She’s been suffering from a severely sprained ankle all week and she’s terrified of being dragged away to the infirmary, which won’t do much for her with how emaciated she is. “Give me your hand, sweetheart,” I tell her. She struggles to pull it out from beneath the weight of her body. She hasn’t moved yet as she should have. I put an aspirin tablet in her hand and then a rolled-up bandage. “Try to support your ankle with this wrap so you can make it through the day.”

She clutches the aspirin and bandage and pulls them back beneath her chest.

So many women here are coughing, horrible coughs that will most definitely end up in their lungs. And there isn’t anything I can do to help them. We have next to nothing to treat the patients in the infirmary as it is.

I rush outside to the line at the latrine and wait. Every common human necessity requires a wait.

An hour passes before I’m making my way between the rows of blocks in Birkenau toward the gated area between here and the main Auschwitz camp. The walk on the other side is the longer portion of our trek, the more tiresome one.

The lines we walk in shrink each day, or seem to, especially after watching someone weak fall from either tripping, slipping, or giving up. If they don’t hop back up to their feet within seconds…

I stop short, waiting for the woman who was walking two spots ahead of me, hoping she pulls herself off the thick, muddy ground. Each second feels like an hour as we wait and watch. But she doesn’t move. Too many seconds have passed.

I close my eyes and wait for the blow, the rifle emitting its bullet that becomes lodged in the back of her head.

There is nowhere else to walk to avoid the poor woman’s body, forcing us each to step over her as if she’s nothing more than a puddle.

I say a silent prayer, as I do for each lifeless body I cross and try to push the thought out of my mind as I continue focusing on the path to the infirmary.

There appear to be fewer SS guards standing around today and I don’t know if that’s an indication of whether they sense something is about to happen.

On my path to my assigned ward, Ina spots me from around a corner and yanks me to the side. “Did you see anything?” she whispers.

I didn’t want to risk peering down toward the crematoriums this morning. No one wants to think about what’s happening down there so there’s no reason to look.

“No, I didn’t notice anything.”

“There were SS officers within the gates last night. We saw them through the block window. They’re never here at night. Do you think they know?”

I don’t know anything more than she does, but I’m terrified of who can hear us whispering through the thin walls. I hold my finger up to my lips, my brows furrowing with disapproval.

“Shh,” I hush.

“I know. I know. I’m just?—”

“It’s apparent,” I tell her, glancing around, hoping no one is within an earshot.

“We won’t even know what’s happening until it’s over. We’re too far away.”

I’m unsure if she realizes we’re safer being farther away from an impending uprising. I can only imagine what will ensue.

“All we can do is wait,” I tell her.

My mind has been occupied much of the day to the point where I can hardly recall one small conversation I’ve exchanged with the patients in the recovery unit.

I wonder how many of them will manage to get out of the gates, if any. Their plan is to blow up at least one of the crematoriums in Birkenau, not only as an act of revolt, but a distraction to allow for escape, and to hinder the process of killing prisoners at the rate they’ve been doing so.

“Yes, you’re right. I don’t know who came to remove the gunpowder from the downstairs storage unit, but I checked just a bit ago, and it’s gone. I hope it was taken by the right people,” Ina says, clutching her hand against her chest. “God help us all. Listen, no matter what happens today—there is no such thing as giving up. You will find a way out of here and locate your family. Where there’s hope, anything is possible. Your hope is mine now. Remember that, always, my dear friend.”

“Our friendship means more to me than I can ever put into words. I’m grateful for you, Ina.”

She glances around, making sure no one is looking in our direction, embraces me quickly then scampers off around the corner. It amazes me how someone who has nothing can still give so much of themselves to others.

The daylight hours come and go in a blur until the other women of Birkenau and I are directed back to our blocks, still without a clue as to what happened today, if anything at all.

The moment we enter the gates of Birkenau, dust and smoke fill the air, much more than usual. There’s shouting from the SS and scrambling prisoners, but it doesn’t tell us a story. We just know something is different. I’m quick to return to my block, hoping one of the women who sleep beside me might have insight on what’s happened today. But the kapo responsible for our block closes herself in with us, pressing her back against the door as she struggles to take in deep breaths.

“I don’t know what’s about to happen here but two of the crematoriums have been blown up. There was an uprising earlier and it lasted hours. Some have escaped but they’re being hunted as we speak. Others are being gathered for?—”

A series of gunshots fire in the distance.

The kapo, whose name we might never know despite having been by her side for over a year, is showing a weakness I haven’t seen since our first encounter when she reminded me of Jordanna, her innocent, young view of life. Now, she’s weathered and worn to the bone despite the upper hand of authority. She might be questioning if kapos will be held responsible for not having a better awareness of what’s been happening around the camp. Maybe she’s trying to show us she’s more like us than she’s pretended to be.

She covers her hand over her mouth. “The SS are executing prisoners. Many of them. Whoever they think might have had a role in the uprising.”

The blood drains from my face first, then the rest of my body. A cold chill sweeps across my neck and I take steps backward toward my slight spot within the wooden bunks.

If they interrogate any member of the resistance, will they talk? Will they name names or numbers to keep themselves alive?

I swallow the lump in my throat and take a few deep breaths before straightening the wool blanket over my straw filled mattress.

“If any of you had anything to do with the uprising, turn yourselves in at once. Don’t risk the lives of the others in this block. If you were brave enough to take part in this, you’ll be brave enough to walk away alone.”

I can’t blame her for what she’s saying. She’s as terrified as the rest of us, but not nearly as scared as I am. I won’t say a word. I won’t leave this block, and I will deny knowing anything that might have happened today. Those are the rules of the resistance. No one talks.

“The explosions were loud. So many people were shot between the crematoriums,” someone whispers from behind me. “I wonder if anyone who escaped will make it far enough away from here?”

“Silence, at once,” the kapo shouts. “Do you not understand the seriousness of those people’s actions today?” More rounds of ammo fire from a place too close to where we are. “Do you not hear that? Those are lives being taken all at once just as they do to those they send into the showers. We’re all going to die!”

Kapos are usually naturally reserved as they’re privileged with knowing they won’t be sent to their death unless breaking a law of some sort. If they follow their rules, they remain as is. I could say something to try and calm her down but by being calm myself, I might appear suspicious. Plus, no kapo wants to appear inferior to any of us and despite the edge of kindness I once saw in her, she’s as cold and hollow inside as the rest of them are now.

Maybe the SS are going from block to block and emptying their rounds. If no one is left to blame, they can rest with satisfaction that they’re still the ones who have final say regarding who lives and who dies.

A fist pounds against the door as it thrashes open, the kapo shoved to the side. Three SS guards stand in the shadow of the outside light posts, rifles in hand, one in front, two in the back, staring down the center of our block.