“Stand up as straight as you can, Son. Don’t let them win. I need you with me,” Papa whispered. “Help me with my son. Please.”
His father kept whispering but Heinz couldn’t hear every word. The pain was too strong to focus on anything else. He tried taking a deep breath but that only made it worse. His side ached. Gingerly he tried to move his hand over it but his father pushed it aside.
“Don’t draw attention to your injuries. Just stand straight. It won’t take long and then you can lie down again. I’ll get you more water.”
The promise of water did it. He could barely tolerate the pain but his thirst was worse. He stayed standing, rocking slightly in his shoes but he couldn’t fall down, as there were too many bodies packed around him. He heard someone behind him whispering a prayer. You could almost taste the fear in the room. He opened his eyes, as the door screeched open, the sound of metal grating against metal sending shivers through him. His gaze traveled up from the boots, recognizing the SA uniforms and the hate in the men’s eyes. The same type of men who’d come to his home and hit Mrs. Bernstein. What had happened to her and the children? Tomas? Was he in this room? He wanted to call out but sensed he shouldn’t.
5
An officer read out their names. Everyone had to answer. Those that didn’t were pulled or carried from the crowd to the top of the room beside the uniformed men. Heinz missed his name but a poke from his Papa made him answer.
Those who hadn’t answered were carted from the cell before the doors clanged shut loudly, behind the uniforms.
Papa and his friends helped him to lay back on the floor, his head on Papa’s lap. Papa kept his promise and gave him a small drink. Heinz found his voice.
“Where are they taking those men? To the hospital?”
“To the morgue,” came the reply but Heinz didn’t see who’d answered. He gazed into his father’s eyes and read the answer right there. No wonder his papa had pushed him to stand. He tried to smile, to remove the worry from his father’s eyes but the effort proved too much. He felt himself falling into the welcoming darkness.
The next few days continued in much the same way. The men clamored for food and water. They were given something resembling watery soup and black, hard bread. There was never enough for everyone and riots broke out when the food arrived. Papa stayed with Heinz but he still got his portion of food. The other inmates, possibly realizing the benefit of having a doctor in their midst, made sure of it.
They’d been incarcerated for about a week when the rumors started; they were going to be moved to somewhere called Dachau. Heinz had never heard of it before but judging by the reaction of the men it wasn’t a holiday camp.
“Why don’t they just let us go home? We haven’t done anything wrong.”
Over and over the men repeated the same questions but to no avail. A couple of men were released, those who could prove they had fought in the First World War and had been decorated for bravery. Papa could have gone but he refused to leave Heinz behind and, Heinz certainly wasn’t up for release.
“Is it true? Did you hit one of those Nazis?” men whispered, as they passed over food to his Papa. Heinz didn’t want to talk about it. It had been stupid, although if it happened again, he didn’t think he would be able to stand back while someone beat up a woman. But now, he was stuck in here and what was worse, so was his Papa. Papa could be at home now if it weren’t for him and his temper. Rachel Bernstein had been right; his temper had gotten him into trouble.
6
The next morning the routine changed. The door screeched open, the metal noise vibrating through the crowd who shrank back as if by putting distance between them and the uniforms, they would be safer. Instead of taking people out, the Nazis pushed a crowd of men into the room, more and more until there was no room for anyone to lie down, only to stand. The door clanged shut behind them. Only then did the questions start.
“Where had the new arrivals been? What was happening on the outside? Was anyone going to rescue them? Where were they going?”
On and on with the questions but Heinz didn’t pay any attention to the answers. His whole being was consumed with trying to deal with the pain. His father had fashioned a splint from a belt and some pieces of wood from an old box. He said his leg would heal quickly. Papa hadn’t met his eyes when he spoke but Heinz didn’t question him. He didn’t care about anything other than the pain and was grateful to pass out once more.
Sometime later, after the new people arrived, he woke up to see Mr. Bernstein and his sons.
“I thought they were bringing us to a camp not another detention center.” Mr. Bernstein looked around. “My boy, I heard what you did for my wife. Thank you. Was she alright when you saw her last? What of my girls?”
“Rachel, Ruth. Fine,” Heinz gasped, as he tried to form a sentence. “Mrs. Bernstein, very brave. Think okay.”
He didn’t know what had happened once he passed out but he hoped he’d told the truth. He could still see the man hitting Mrs. Bernstein, his whole face twisted up with hate.
“Have you heard anything about the women? Have they been taken?” Papa whispered to Mr. Bernstein.
“No, I don’t think so. Nobody saw women being taken away. But other things happened. Things I don’t want to discuss.”
Heinz had no idea what the man was talking about but Papa paled even more if that was even possible.
