Chapter 39 Rosalie
THIRTY-NINE
ROSALIE
AUSCHWITZ I
The prisoners stamped with a G keep moving, one after another, but I still can’t take a full breath. I hold the pile of ledgers against my chest, my fingers pattering against the back cover, waiting to hear the next block number.
Everything inside of me is hollow as I stare through the endless clouds of smoke wafting from scattered burn pits.
Every inhale is full of soot and terror.
My heels stick to the ice-covered dirt. Sensations of sharp nails shoot through my soles.
I can’t remember the last time I’ve taken a step forward or back.
Minutes aren’t passing—they’re dangling in the air, refusing to comply.
Then I see the look in Stefan’s eyes again—his plea for me to do something, or not to do anything, in the brief seconds of chaos.
More importantly, I hope he knows I’m not choosing to stand here beside an officer, but that I am doing everything in my power to keep him alive.
We have nothing but our minds left to fight with.
“Rosy, I need you—I—I need your help,” Mama screams through broken words.
Bloody sheets.
Pain in her eyes.
A plea for me to do something.
Frozen.
Stefan was scared. He was hopeful seeing my face. He needed me.
And I sent him away with only a bit of hope that it was the right thing to do. If it wasn’t…I altered his fate.
I changed his marking from KB to G on the log.
I marked him as “fit to march.”
Because of me, they pulled him out of the infirmary line and pushed him into the evacuation line. If I left him KB, he would have been amid the evidence they’re destroying, ensuring nothing is left behind when the SS flee the Soviets.
Muffled words strike my ears, but I’m not sure what was said. If they were talking to me.
I wobble from side to side, fast then slow. Is it me or the world spinning? My chest won’t constrict, won’t take in air. Won’t let it out. But I’m still alive. Stuck in a moment of warped time, seconds stretching, minutes, out of reach.
A slap zings across my face, reeling all sensations at once: fire and ice.
A hand around my arm pulls me, drags me along, forcing me to trip along ditches and through gates.
The wind splashes my face like cold water as Weyman yanks me into the administration building where shouts ring out, papers shuffle, typewriters clatter.
Then…slam.
My back hits a wall, my head bounces back and forth.
The pale green walls of Weyman’s office close in around me with a suffocating stench of tobacco and sweat. His beady eyes pierce through mine, puncturing my soul.
“Go ahead and cry now.” Weyman’s voice cuts through the air like a blade. “But don’t stand there like a damn corpse. You’re the one who did this. I told you; you’d be the one to kill him.”
Each word—a dagger plunging into my heart again. My muscles cramp, pinch, shrink, and tighten.
My face burns.
A momentary glance was all there was before I watched the back of Stefan’s shaven head disappear through the dark gates. That image…it keeps flashing through my head with each blink.
“Did you see that look in his eyes. He knew. He knew it was your decision to send him to his death.”
Tears purge. I can’t stop them, but I don’t want him to see me cry. I convulse as the last of my strength wilts from my body. Short breaths are all I can manage.
It’s precisely what he wants.
A thin smile unfurls across his lips, cutting beneath the dark slash of his narrow mustache. The cunning sight cracks something within me. My heart thunders as sweat forms along the nape of my neck.
A wretched sound—a screaming caw of an enraged crow—the hymn of murder.
It came from me.
I lunge toward Weyman, thrashing my fists into his chest and chin, his medals slicing my knuckles, buttons clattering against bone.
“I didn’t kill him. I haven’t hurt a soul.” I’ve saved as many people here as I could, sparing them death during selections. I had to save them because of him, and all the other members of the Reich.
Weyman wraps his arms around me tightly, keeping me from moving a muscle.
“I understand everything you’re feeling.
You’ve had no choice—like me. We see life the same—just two lost souls, forced to follow orders.
The war will end soon, and we can go on to live a decent life together.
I’ll provide for you like…he…couldn’t. This is for the best and you’ll thank me someday.
I promise you that.” His grip shifts to my arms, shoving me back just enough for him to lower his head—his mouth a blink from mine.
I wrench free, his nails dragging across my hands. “You…you tried to kill him. You’ve killed countless innocent people trapped in this death pit you call Auschwitz. And you did so without a single muscle twitch.”
“Oh, Rosalie, you’re making me sound like the villain here. But you see…I’m not,” he says, his voice calm, agile, and utterly crazed.
“No. You won’t convince me or anyone of your sainthood.
You’ve put a claim on me as if I belong to you—as if I agreed to be by your side.
I should be mad enough to believe the words you speak?
Never. All you’ve ever done is make me your prey—someone you torment to match the pain you carry because Lotte betrayed you. I’m not yours and never will be.”
“I can give you whatever you wish for in life. You’d be foolish to deny such an offer.”
He’s foolish to believe he has a future at all.
“You’re nothing but a coward hiding behind a uniform—one that labels you a murderer.
A torturer. A man who laughs at the weak and savors every moment good people suffer.
Anyone can kill another being. It doesn’t make you strong, fit, or better than the rest. It makes you worthless—it makes everything you’ve ever accomplished in your sad, pathetic life, simply… worthless.”
Weyman clasps his hands, thumbs twirling. “Like I said, you held the pencil. You changed his fate. You chose death.” His smile twists, astute and wry.
I shake my head. “I love him. I tried to save him.”
“There’s no such thing as love in Auschwitz. All it did was get him killed.”
I steady my shivering hands at my side, fighting to compose myself.
“No. It was you.” I swallow the acidic burn in my throat.
“You must think you hold all the power because it looked like I followed your every command.” I shake my head, jaw locked.
“Just like your wife. You thought she’d stay loyal to you simply because she made you a promise.
But you never had her loyalty. And you never had power over me.
Every thought you feed yourself is more delusional than the last.”
“Delusion,” he says with abrupt laughter. “You should be familiar with that frame of mind. If it weren’t for me, you’d be dead too. Ash like all the others. But I kept you alive…therefore, you should be in debt to me.”
“Who will thank you once you can’t hide behind your uniform?
Who will stand with you when this is over?
Who will tell you you’re going to be all right when you wake up from a vivid dream of people crying out for help, reaching for you with their bare hands, pleading for mercy as gas slowly suffocates them.
They’ll be staring at you long after they’ve died, wondering how someone could be so inhumane.
A child who hasn’t had a chance to live.
A little girl, Hilde’s age, coughing from the gas as it steals her last breath.
That’s all you’ll see whenever you close your eyes.
And God will make sure you endure many, many more nights of sleep before he takes you out of your misery. ”
Silence. A cold stare. A nail to his head. Bile brews in my stomach ready to burst through, but I can’t falter. I can’t stand down. There’s nothing left to do but stare evil in the eye and wait.
Wait for him to retaliate.
Kill me.
Spit on me.
Throw more work at me.
I won’t do another thing.
“Get out of my office. Remove yourself from this region. Don’t let me ever catch sight of you again.
” He’s not liberating me. He’s disposing of me.
Still, something within his expression comes apart.
His eyes soften, just slightly. Just enough to fray a thread.
I shake my head. “Not until you tell me where Block Twenty-One was sent.”
“They’re all dead. Haven’t you heard a word I’ve said?” There’s no bite to his response, just an air of defeat.
I clutch my winding key necklace, pressing my fist to my chest. “Where were they sent?” I repeat, ignoring his words, telling myself they’re lies.
Nothing he’s said is true.
He swats at his desk, yanks open a drawer, and pulls out a folded map. A sinister laugh escapes him as he throws it at my chest. “Fine. Go. Find his remains, half-buried in the snow somewhere between here and Gliwice.” He drops down into his leather chair and throws his weight back.
The paper crinkles in my fist as I grip it against my chest, stepping backward until I hit the door frame.
He’s offering me hope as bait before casting me into a sea full of piranhas.
I’m sure that’s what this is. Someone will be waiting for me outside the building.
At a checkpoint. At the mouth of the forest. They’ll let me think I’ve gotten close to finding Stefan, dead or alive, then they’ll end me.
There’s no other way than to try.
Outside, the wind whistles and whines, flurries of snow torpedo through the sunless sky and it’s all bare.
All I see. No guards. No officers. No one standing at the gate or near the rail tracks.
I take out the map and trace my finger along the marked route.
I know this could be leading me in the opposite direction to where Stefan was sent, but I believe in my heart Weyman would want me to find him dead.
Despite what may come, I’ll go forth with what remains of my strength and hope, knowing, at the very least, I’m no longer Weyman’s possession.
Through nearby villages on the outskirts of Auschwitz, between tall brick buildings, factories, and barren farmland, I continue toward the woods. The map flutters like a small bird’s wings. My coat acts as a sail, pushing against my every step.
They left hours ago. I’m only one person. Traveling without food or water or warmth.
“Stefan, hold on,” I whisper into the wind, praying it takes my words to him.
Night falls, fast and hard, carrying a deadly bite of cold I might not survive. This map might lead me to my death, but I would rather die searching for him than let time slip away without him.