Rachel lifted her shovel once more, her muscles screaming in protest and her heart filling with envy at the other woman’s escape from this living hell. She ignored the pain, emptied the shovel into the mine car and picked up another load.
Her agony didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. Her mind seemed to be filled with cotton balls and the viscosity of her thoughts wouldn’t allow her to imagine anything beyond her current surroundings. Shovel up. Unload. Down. Fill. Up. Unload. Down. Fill. Up…
Working back to back with another woman, she never once paused. Her throat was rougher than a grater, and what wouldn’t she have given for a glass of water? Alas, there’d be no water until dinner time, and even the alluring snow tantalizing her to bend down and grab a handful on her march to the camp was off limits. Verboten. Bend down and die. Stop working and die. Continue working and die another day.
At night, Rachel lay down on the bunk and closed her eyes, wishing death might claim her in her sleep and save her from another miserable day in the mines. The agony both from sore muscles and bones clashed with a different type of pain coming from inside her body. It was more than just the ubiquitous hunger, and felt as if her very organs were not cooperating anymore. Together they created an explosion reaching every single cell in her body, causing her heart to stutter, red stars to appear in front of her fluttering eyes and her mind to go numb.
A few days later, she snapped. As the mine car rolled along the tracks, Rachel suddenly stretched her back, threw down her shovel and launched herself in front of the railcar.
“What are you doing?” the woman working next to her asked, jerking Rachel back.
“I’m done.”
“So, what? You’re going to let the railcar run over you? That’s completely idiotic.”
“Why, because I want to take control back of when I die and how?”
“No, I understand that, but there are changes happening. The war is in its last throes. I can feel it.”
“I can’t,” Rachel said, trying to shake off the other woman’s arm as she took a step forward. But the opportunity had passed; the car was already in front of her.
Rachel felt like crying but no tears would come. The SS wouldn’t let her live, and this woman wouldn’t let her die. She didn’t want to subsist any longer in this twilight zone between life and death. But with the railcar passed by and an SS guard approaching, what choice did she have but to pick up her shovel and go back to work?
“We have to survive,” the other woman said. “Hold on, dear, because it won’t take much longer.”
Rachel nodded with fatalism, since all her willpower had been used up in her failed suicide attempt.
23
Mindel and Laszlo were standing in line for the orphans’ barracks bread ration when Laura came along.
“Hey, Mindel, hey, Laszlo. Have you heard there’s another transport going to Switzerland real soon?” she said, coming over. But seeing Mindel’s oversized shoes, she glared at her. “Where did you get these from?”
“Why? Mother Brinkmann gave them to me, because my own were getting too small.”
“You…little thief…you…vulture…body-stripper…you…!” Laura heaved with emotions and Mindel couldn’t make any sense of her words. “Give me the shoes, right now! They belong to Augusta!” Laura screamed, attracting the attention of the adults, and unfortunately of the SS guards, who strode toward them, menacing with their truncheons.
It took Laszlo only a second to take a decision and he whisper-yelled, “Run. Fast.”
Losing their place in the line was an awful thing, because it meant risking that all the rations were distributed before they reached the end, and then they’d get scolded by Mother Brinkmann. But on the other hand, being beaten by the guards was an even worse prospect.
The three children took off and Mindel arrived breathless behind the latrines, where they sought cover. Because of the horrible stink, the SS wouldn’t follow them there.
When Laura recovered her breath, she raved at Mindel, “Take those shoes off.”
“Now, wait a minute. I’m sure Mother Brinkmann paid for them. Maybe we should ask Augusta?” Laszlo defended her.
“You can’t! She’s dead!”
“Dead?” Mindel yelled, looking in horror at the shoes that suddenly felt like millstones around her feet, dragging her into the mass grave where Augusta waited for them. Desperate to get rid of these cursed things, she bent down to undo the laces.
“What are you doing?” Laszlo asked.
“I don’t want them. Not if Laura’s friend died…”
“Don’t be stupid,” he said harshly. “That’s how it works in the camp. Augusta can’t use them any longer and if you take them off, you’ll be walking around barefoot in the snow.”
Mindel stopped what she was doing and considered the impact of returning the shoes. Mother Brinkmann’s warning echoed in her head and she whispered, “I don’t want my feet to freeze and fall off.”
Laura had forgotten about her outrage and conceded generously, “You can have them. Augusta would want it. She always liked you.”
Mindel had noticed for a while now that even her best friends had become increasingly irritable and lashed out at anyone with no reason at all. She shrugged it off as a thing that happened when children grew up. Graciously, she extended her hand to Laura. “Friends again?”
“Friends again.” Laura shook her hand and trotted off.
Mindel and Laszlo returned to the food line where they were lucky enough to receive the last two loaves of bread. On the walk back to their barracks, Laszlo tried to persuade Mindel to sneak with him onto the transport to Switzerland, but she wouldn’t be swayed. Instead she begged him to stay, but to no avail.
At
