Chapter 23 Rosalie
TWENTY-THREE
ROSALIE
SS RESIDENTIAL ZONE, AUSCHWITZ PERIMETER
“We don’t need your assistance at Auschwitz today,” Weyman said.
“Tend to my children at home until further notice.” He first said this to me three weeks ago, the morning after I admitted Stefan to the infirmary barrack.
He added brashly, “Your preferential treatment toward a certain prisoner has been notated in the guard’s weekly report. ”
The way his lips twitched at the corner of his mouth told me he knew exactly which prisoner he meant. Those weren’t words he’d read from a report. They were the same ones he’d thrown at me after I tended to Stefan in the isolation barrack.
I should be grateful for the break of working at Auschwitz—not having to take part in the demise of innocent people, but not when I’m forced to leave half my heart behind those gates. I can’t watch over him from this miserable house.
Weyman has made it clear that regardless of not requiring my presence, he expects me to be ready and waiting at five in the morning, by the door, just in case.
My heart races and pounds, leaving me breathless every single day while I wait for his decision.
I’ve never felt terror scream inside of me like this, forcing me to plead for the lesser of evils at the same time.
But I’m desperate to know Stefan is all right.
This is a game for Weyman. He knows more than he says. The sinister smile on his face every morning makes me think he knows exactly what he’s doing—toying with me.
Weyman’s boots thump down the stairwell as I wait by the front door, the lamp light catching his shadow as he steps toward me.
“We don’t need you today,” he says with a grin. “But tomorrow, we’ll need your expert assistance in the infirmary barracks at the main Auschwitz camp.”
Something that resembles relief fills my body, knowing I can look for Stefan tomorrow, make sure he’s still in one piece. Or I could find that I’ve lost him forever. In either case, I can’t stay in this house one more day, wondering.
“Why are you doing this to me? Forcing me to take part in something I would never agree with?” The words spill out on their own accord. I wish I could take them all back and shove them down my throat, maybe even choke on them.
He studies me for a long moment with a deciphering look in his eyes as if he’s trying to figure out where I will be more miserable.
“Why am I doing this to you?” he says, slipping his uniformed coat over his shoulders.
With a show of looking around the open foyer then up the elegant stairwell, his brows furrow.
“The only thing I’ve done is offer you proper shelter here.
Surely, you don’t see something so terribly wrong with this house? ”
He understands my question. This house could be a mansion made of gold with every amenity a person could desire, and I would still despise every part of it. “I’m not referring to your home.”
He plucks the buttons of his coat into the woven holes and snickers.
“Ah, you mean your work,” he says, fastening the top button on his coat.
“As mentioned, your indiscretion—hospitable bedside manner in the infirmary block was notated by a guard on duty, then reported to me. I’ve made it clear that you are to do what you’re told, and nothing else. ”
“I’ve been doing as I’m told.” And then some. “If by bedside manner, you mean I have a heart and show compassion, then yes, I do. It’s typical behavior for people who work within the medical field. Or…it was before—”
“Before…exactly,” he says. “Now our doctors understand that compassion is wasted on the defective. They work to prevent imperfection before birth, to strengthen our race. That’s the only reality before us.
” He yanks on the bottom of his coat and straightens his shoulders.
“So, you understand your mistake, and it’s time to go back and try again. ”
He’s reeling me in after taking the bait, which means there’s nothing more to ask than, “Why are you sending me back there? What do I have to try again?”
He chuckles, frustration evident from his tongue in cheek expression. I’ve said too much.
“Let me make one thing clear to you…” Weyman steps in closer.
The wall behind me grows taller, curling over me.
The stench of rotten cigar tar travels from his breath to my face.
“As an officer of the Reich, I hold a magnifying glass over German-occupied land. To you, the people here look like small pesky ants—scattering in every direction, desperate for food. Desperate for a way out.” He clears his throat and mine tightens in a choke.
“But to me…and others alike…we see the whole picture. We know exactly where to hold the glass, how to tilt it just so, until the sun’s reflection catches—and everything beneath it burns.
Having heart and compassion for the unworthy can only be eradicated in one way. Numbness.”
Leaving me more fragile than a thin sheet of a glass, he steps away, opens the front door and leaves.
A slight gust of wind filled with the reek of sweat and ash pilfers me as the door slams shut.
When the shock dissipates, I tiptoe along the main floor, around the corner and into the storage closet large enough to fit one small straw-filled mattress for me.
In the dark, I sit, unable to block out the intrusive thoughts of what Stefan might have gone through, is still going through, or what worse will find him as I sit here helplessly watching spoiled children all day.
“Oh, what a lovely day,” Lotte sings down the stairwell. Her voice makes my skin crawl. No one is that happy, especially while living on the outskirts of Auschwitz. It’s a sin. They’re a sin. All of them. “Why are you just standing around, Rosalie?”
I’m slipping a coat onto Hilde, one arm at a time. Not quite doing nothing. “We’re going to the park before it’s time to pick up Claude and Greta from school.” Surely, she can see the baby carriage in front of her with Tilly wrapped in a blanket.
“The park?” she questions.
“You yourself just said it’s a lovely day, Frau Weyman. Some fresh air would be nice after a long winter for Hilde.”
“Of course,” she says, turning her attention to her beloved golden framed mirror in the corridor. “I have some errands to run. I’ll be home before dinner.”
Red lipstick, a dress that could be worn at a casual evening event, and heels. Can’t forget the pearls, too. I find it hard to believe one person can have as many errands as she does weekly. Her husband should take that magnifying glass of his and point it at his wife.
Outside, Celina, the nanny still enslaved to the SS house across the street, is waiting beyond the weeping willow tree at the edge of the front lawn.
We haven’t seen much of each other as of late and haven’t had the opportunity to converse openly since the night she graciously snuck me a pastry and a small loaf of bread while the officers were at a gala.
With me being occupied at Auschwitz alongside Weyman, and the rainy weather we’ve had these last few weeks, we’ve only shared walks to and from school with little ears listening to our every word.
We made tentative plans yesterday to take advantage of the nice weather and bring the younger children to the park, so long as Weyman didn’t demand my service this morning.
“Are you feeling any better?” she asks, concern lacing her soulful eyes.
She doesn’t know the extent of what has been making me feel ill. “No, not quite, but thank you for asking.”
“Of course,” she says, resetting her focus on the road ahead. The silence between us feels like a pot of simmering water, the questions about to boil over the top.
Even through our friendship, we both know one of us could disappear without a moment’s notice.
And worse, it’s not hard to forget we’re both prisoners of a different sense here.
Not like the tortured people in Auschwitz but held against our will.
We have no choice but to worry about ourselves and part of that is watching what happens to others in similar positions.
She knows I’ve been in Auschwitz, but I haven’t been able to say why.
Just as we reach a bench along the side of the park, Hilde and Celina’s two youngest make a run for the swings, leaving us with just Tilly who isn’t old enough to repeat what she hears yet.
“I’m terrified to know what you’ve been doing,” Celina says, wasting no time as we both take a seat on the bench. “I know it’s been a few weeks, but you haven’t looked right. Have you been sleeping? Did something happen to you there?”
I release a sigh and slouch my lower back into the curve of the bench. “It’s true, I haven’t been able to sleep much.” My statement sounds stilted like there’s more to say but the rest lodges in my throat.
“What happened in the prison camp?”
I press against my fabric covered necklace, pinning it to my chest.
“It’s Stefan. I can’t say for sure, but I’m quite certain Weyman knows we’re connected, and he’s punishing me for it. Weyman is…a sick man—he’s made suggestive comments and has gotten too close too many times.”
“Rosalie,” Celina says, interrupting, her voice quiet. “You don’t mean…Weyman hasn’t taken liberties with you, has he?”
My fingertips tap against the handle of the stroller. Tears burn the backs of my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall. “He hasn’t forced anything,” I say, “but he’s come close enough that I know what he wants. It’s been obvious. Even Lotte noticed.”
Celina wraps her hand around her throat and exhales a heavy sigh. “Dear God.”
“To make matters worse, I was caught trying to help Stefan—once by Weyman, and once by an infirmary guard. I want to believe they haven’t made a mark against Stefan for being the target of my attention, but I’d be foolish to think they’d focus only on my indiscretion, especially since Weyman’s jealousy only makes him more dangerous. ”
“Oh, dear…” Celina says, her cheeks flush, eyes wide as she turns to look at me.
“And then there’s this doctor,” I continue, my voice pinching. “He was watching me one morning—closely—and Weyman noticed. At first, I thought he hated the man because he looked furious that the doctor found me…‘fascinating.’ But soon after, when the doctor requested my help, Weyman agreed.”
“Slow down. What doctor are you talking about?” Celina presses.
I close my eyes and clench my fists. “I don’t—I don’t know who this doctor is, but he seems to have more authority than Weyman. I thought that could have been the reason Weyman agreed—he had no choice.”
Celina takes my shaking hand into hers. “You’re shaking.”
“I…when I saw Weyman and the doctor together outside of the medical barracks, it looked like they were long-lost pals, more than comrades.” A cry burns my throat and strains my words. “I don’t want to believe they’re working together. But the timing…the way they looked at each other.”
Celina presses her fingers to her lips, her stare cold. “So, you think they’re plotting against you? I want to believe they must have far more to worry about than you…”
“Maybe I’m wrong. God, I want to be wrong.
” My breath hitches in my throat, my chest tightening.
“But if the two of them are helping each other and Weyman suspects I care for Stefan, he would gladly hand him over to the doctor who seeks beings with scientific anomalies to experiment on. Most of them end up dying. They would both get what they want. And Weyman must think if no one is occupying my attention, I’ll see him in a different light. ”
“Experiments? The doctor…” Celina’s words jumble, trying to understand what no person should have to. She clutches her hand around her throat, mirroring the way my throat always feels now.
“I’ve seen the most unbearable sights in the infirmary block.”
“Are there a lot of sick—”
“Dismemberments, amputations, and electrocutions. He uses twins…” Tears purge from my eyes.
“Anyone who has uncommon genetics is of interest. And since Stefan was born with epilepsy, I don’t know what this doctor wants with him.
It’s likely already done.” My voice breaks, words fall flat into short breaths.
“I’ve thought I was going to lose him so many times now, and I have this terrifying thought that if they are keeping him alive…
it’s to make me watch the rest of whatever may happen to him. ”
“What?” Celina gasps. “Why?”
I shrug. “What other reason is there for me to be in the same place at the same time as Stefan?”
Celina’s pause and furrowing brows confirm my fears. “I know there are a lot of prisoners…” is all she says.
“Weyman told me I’ll be returning to Auschwitz tomorrow. If by any chance Stefan’s still alive, I must do something. I have to fall into Weyman’s trap and pray it’s only a self-sacrifice.”
“Rosalie, if you’re right, and he does have an inclination about the two of you, he’ll destroy both of you without hesitation.
I know you believe you are supposed to save Stefan, but it might be impossible.
And that is such a thing.” Celina lowers her hand to my knee.
“I understand what it feels like to give up on all means of common sense for the one you love, but we can’t forget what Officer Schafer next door did to the nannies he brought into his house before Halina arrived.
Halina was lucky she managed to get away.
If she hadn’t run, she’d be dead by now too.
I’m sure of it. These officers all think and operate the same way.
If they don’t like you—don’t trust you—they get rid of you, but usually only after they torture you first.”
Her words hit me hard and all I can do is stare off into the short distance toward the children on the swings, listening to the groan and moan of rusty chains.
I mustn’t allow the impossible to keep me from doing the only thing it takes to save the person I love.