Chapter Twenty-Two Aletta
Chapter Twenty-Two
Aletta
After a month at the camp, Aletta had moments of wondering how she was supposed to put one foot in front of the other, and hours when the gnawing hunger in her stomach was so overwhelming she would have dropped to the ground and eaten grass if she’d seen any.
But the one thing that made her feel anything beyond pain and sadness was the children.
And for that, she knew she had Chloe to thank – Chloe who was the closest person she now had to a friend, who’d made what had happened to her and her mother just a little bit more bearable.
Tonight, in the little time they had before dark, her mother and Chloe were sitting watching as Aletta knelt before a small group of children and traced circles in the dirt.
There were women all around them keeping a lookout, ready to alert her if any of the guards came near, as she had all the youngest children whisper their alphabet in English and take turns tracing it into the dirt.
It wasn’t ideal, but it was better than nothing, and other than when she’d met Harry, she’d never been so grateful for her decision to learn other languages.
‘Well done!’ she praised one little boy, who had bright blue eyes as round as saucers.
‘Miss Aletta,’ said an older girl who already knew her letters. ‘I want to practise my writing.’
‘Then how about we trace the words with our fingers,’ Aletta said. ‘You can draw the words on each other’s backs in your bed when you’re bored, or even draw them in the air during the day.’
There were little nods of encouragement, and Aletta smiled down at them all.
‘If you trace on each other’s backs, perhaps you could take turns and guess what the other is writing?’ she said, grinning when she saw their little faces brighten at the challenge.
She waited for a moment until their chattering had stopped, before clearing her throat and leaning towards them all again.
‘I’d also like everyone to make up a little poem,’ Aletta instructed. ‘At the end of the week, we can all share. I thought it might be fun.’
‘What’s a poem?’ asked another girl.
‘A poem is like a little rhyme,’ Aletta told them. ‘I’d like everyone to think of something happy, something that makes you smile. Like . . .’ She thought for a moment, then smiled. ‘Roses are red, violets are blue, sugar is sweet, and so are you!’
That made them all laugh, and Aletta’s heart felt as if it had been cracked open in a completely different way.
It made her remember why she’d wanted to be a teacher in the first place, why she still wanted to be one.
She hadn’t smiled since the night everything was taken from her, but today, her happiness came naturally, even if it was only for a short time.
But it made her want to feel again, to live.
Even if it was hard not to think of the children she’d left behind, whom she might never teach or see ever again.
‘My tummy is hungry, my tummy is loud,’ one boy said, making the other children giggle. ‘Is that a poem?’
Aletta grinned. ‘I think it’s a very good start,’ she said, before leaning forward and lowering her voice. ‘Speaking of food, I have a very special treat for you all. I have a pocket full of bread pieces.’
Their eyes went so wide with excitement at her words that it almost broke her heart.
‘Do you see all the women keeping guard?’ she asked, watching as they turned to look. ‘All of them saved a piece of bread for you, which means everyone gets a little mouthful more, and maybe next time there will be something else, too.’
Aletta’s own mouth was salivating as she made the children form a little queue, each holding out a hand for her to put a piece of bread into.
In truth, it tasted more like what she imagined lightly baked floor sweepings would, but it was the best they had, and the children’s faces had lit up as if she’d offered them a wrapped gift.
‘Place it on your tongue and chew it slowly, to make it last,’ she told them as they dispersed and went back to their mothers, as her own mother stood and came over to her.
‘You did a lot of good tonight, Aletta.’
She touched her mother’s arm, their gazes meeting. ‘It felt good,’ she said, honestly. ‘It’s the first time I’ve felt alive since . . .’ Aletta didn’t need to say it; they both knew what she was referring to.
‘These children need you as much as you need them,’ her mother said. ‘You’ve given them something to look forward to, and you’ve given their mothers something to believe in.’
Aletta hoped she was right, but she was also worried.
What they were doing wasn’t allowed, and if they were caught .
. . she swallowed and watched them disappear and join their mothers.
She hoped that it would only be she who was punished, and not they, because she’d never forgive herself if anything happened to those innocent, trusting children.
‘If we ever get home, I want to teach again,’ Aletta said, turning to her mother as they walked slowly over to join Chloe. ‘I want to spend the rest of my life making children smile. I’ve never wanted to be a teacher more than I do right now.’
Her mother placed an arm around her and Aletta dropped her head to her shoulder.
‘We all need something to aim for,’ her mother said. ‘That’s the only way we’ll survive this place.’
Aletta turned to her. ‘What are you looking forward to?’ she asked.
‘Being with my daughter and seeing her smile every day. That’s all I need to imagine, Aletta, is you happy and safe, and me watching over you.’
Aletta wished there was more that could bring her mother joy, but before they could talk any longer the guards began to shout and their ?lteste yelled at them to get inside.
So they linked arms, her mother extending a hand to help Chloe to her feet, and they headed inside for another night of being eaten alive by the bed bugs.
But tonight, at least, Aletta had something other than old memories to make her smile.
‘Chloe, I hope you didn’t mind me suggesting poetry tonight,’ she said. ‘It’s just that ever since I heard you were a poet . . .’
‘I haven’t been a poet in a very long time, Aletta,’ Chloe said. ‘But it’s fine. So long as the children are smiling, that’s all that matters to me.’
As they stood up the next day after her little class was finished, Aletta shuffled even closer to her mother and Chloe.
They were all huddled together, bracing themselves against the icy cold wind, which had made teaching almost impossible as the children couldn’t stop their teeth from chattering.
At one point she’d wondered if some of their teeth might actually fall clean from their jaws while she’d sat with them on the ground, tucked up so close that their shoulders touched.
‘Chloe, what will we do if the rumours are true? If they move us to the Siemens factory and we can’t stay here?’ Aletta asked. ‘How will we continue to teach them?’
Chloe sighed. ‘I don’t know. Perhaps they’ll let some of the children come with us? At least the older ones who are close to working age?’
‘Surely they won’t expect women to leave their children here without them.’ But even as Chloe said the words, she knew that there was no limit to the cruelty of those who’d imprisoned them. Of course they would do that.
‘Then we find someone to continue our work, and we teach the ones we can,’ Chloe said, wrapping her arms around herself as the cold wind bit at their exposed arms and hands.
‘Maybe some of the other women arriving are teachers? Maybe your work will make others offer to help? And there are always Sundays.’
‘I suppose I could leave a lesson plan for each week,’ she said, thinking it through. ‘Or perhaps small homework tasks, something that follows on from their Sunday lesson? Something the other women can do with them?’
One of the Czech prisoners came up to Aletta then, making her jump when she touched her arm.
They largely kept to themselves, a tight-knit group of women who’d been in the camp since the very beginning, and Aletta barely saw them talk to anyone else.
But today, this woman’s eyes were bright as she gripped Aletta’s arm.
She spoke English, but her thick accent made it difficult for Aletta to understand her.
‘Karolina,’ the woman said, tapping her chest.
‘Aletta,’ she replied with a small smile as she shivered, envying Karolina’s thick, padded coat. When she glanced down, she saw that she also wore thick wool socks and leather boots.
‘You go to the Bekleidungskammer and ask for Anna,’ she said, pressing her fingers even more tightly into Aletta’s arm. ‘You are cold, but she will look after you.’
Aletta knew what that word meant; it was the stockroom, where all the confiscated clothes were taken and sorted through.
‘The Czech women work in there, they have the best jobs,’ Chloe whispered. ‘She doesn’t want you to be cold. They’re the ones making sure the children have extra clothes where they can.’
The woman kept staring into her eyes, repeating what she’d already said as if Aletta hadn’t heard it.
‘You want to give me warm clothes?’ Aletta asked.
Karolina nodded. ‘Yes, yes. You stay warm. Keep helping children, we need you here. And you, the writer,’ she said, pointing to Chloe. ‘You get more clothes too.’
Aletta nodded and thanked her, turning to Chloe who was shaking now in her thin dress, her eyes suddenly looking more alive as she nodded her thanks, too.
‘Perhaps we will survive this place after all,’ Chloe said through her shivers. ‘If we can stay warm, if they’ll help us to find some clothes without being caught . . .’
‘Will those clothes have been taken from prisoners?’ Aletta shuddered, thinking that they could have been taken from women who’d been sent straight to their death. ‘Will other women in the camp recognise their belongings if I suddenly appear in them?’