Black Cross

“You’ve sung your song long enough, little bird. The shoemaker knows what must be done. Sit down and hold your tongue.”

The other women nodded in agreement. Jonas wondered if it was his father’s promise of self-sacrifice that had silenced them, or merely the fact that he’d volunteered to lift from their shoulders the responsibility of choosing.

“Here is my decision,” Avram said. “Places in the E-Block will be given to Jewish women and children. No one outside this block will be told anything.”

There was a sudden buzz of conversation, but it died quickly.

“Any woman among you who has a child will be given a place. If you have a child, please raise your hand.”

Fifteen women raised their hands from the floor.

“Keep your hands raised. How many of those left are thirty years old or younger?”

Eight more women raised their hands.

“That’s twenty-five adults,” said Avram, “including Rachel Jansen and the Sephardic woman who sleeps in the children’s block. How many women left are between thirty-one years and forty?”

Fourteen women raised their hands.

Avram counted silently. “That’s thirty-nine. There is room for only thirty-five adults. Please keep your hands raised.”

“For God’s sake,” snapped a woman with her hand in the air. “Do four extra matter so much?”

“Four extra could kill everyone,” Jonas said. “Depending on how long you must stay inside to survive. I was told to allow only twenty-five adults. I’m stretching it as it is.”

Avram looked at the women who had not raised their hands. Some of them were staring at the floor, others weeping openly. The old woman who had spoken about the lifeboat tried to comfort them.

Jonas blinked as he saw a hand drop. A woman who looked to be in her late twenties stood up where the hand had been. “I will stay here,” she said.

“But you are young,” protested an older woman. “You will have children someday. You deserve a place.”

The volunteer looked at the floor and shook her head. “I will never have children. I was sterilized at Auschwitz. The other girls died, and I was sent here. I don’t know why. It doesn’t matter. I will stay.”

“God bless you,” said the old woman.

“That’s thirty-eight,” Avram said stoically.

Two more hands dropped. “I lost my children long ago,” said a voice. “And my husband in the last selection.”

“The same,” said the other woman. “I don’t think it matters much where we are anyway. I’ve been under bombs before. If one bomb fell on the E-Block it would kill everyone inside. I will take my chances here.”

Stern felt a stab of guilt because of his lie, but there was no help for it. He glanced toward the rear of the block. No sign of Rachel Jansen. He was about to call her name when a bald woman jumped up and pointed at someone seated on the floor.

“She’s lying! She’s forty-two. How can you do it, Shoshana?”

The woman being pointed at kept her hand rigidly in the air. “I’m thirty-nine,” she said.

The accuser shook her head violently. “I know her from Lublin! She’s forty-two!”

The accused woman stood up, her face working in terror. “Yes, I’m forty-two! Is that so old? Why shouldn’t I have a chance to live? Look at my hips! I can still bear children!”

She turned around in place in an almost lewd exhibition of her surviving sexual charms. Jonas saw that some of the other women who had been excluded were becoming upset. He stepped forward, ready to restrain the overwrought woman.

“If you want to keep living so badly, go in my place.”

Another woman had stood up. She was emaciated and nearly bald, with skin like parchment, but certainly not older than thirty. “I lived in Warsaw,” she said. “There is no one left in my family. Take my place.”

“No!” protested several women. “You deserve your place!”

The young woman raised her hands, palms up, in a haunting gesture of resignation. “Please,” she said. “I am so tired.”

Jonas stepped in front of his father. “Hands down,” he said. “It is decided.” He called to the back of the barracks: “Frau Jansen, it is time.”

“How will we reach the E-Block without the Germans seeing us?” asked a young woman.

“I plan to short out the electricity just before the attack. You only have to cross fifteen meters of open ground to reach the alley. Each woman must take at least one child to the E-Block, some two. Once inside, do whatever you must to fit everyone in. The ceiling is low, but you can hold the small children on your shoulders.”

“What about the sentry they posted at our gate? We can’t get out that way, and many of the children can’t climb the fence.”

“I’m going to kill the sentry,” Jonas said. “My father will put on his uniform and stand in his place until it is time for you to move. I suggest you begin moving them at ten minutes until eight. Use your own judgment. But no matter what happens, the E-Block door must be sealed shut before eight.”

“How will we get out?” asked a worried voice from the floor. “There is no door handle inside the E- Block.”

“I will leave my machine gun. One of you will have to shoot out a window. It’s the only way.”

“How long do we wait?”

“Two hours, if you can stand it. There should be two hours of air, plus a small oxygen bottle as a reserve. After that, you must get away from here quickly. Take a truck and try to reach the Polish border. There are partisans there in the forest.”

Jonas’s chest felt suddenly hollow. Rachel Jansen was walking toward him like a specter out of the darkness. She held a small bundle in her arms, wrapped in one of the prison blankets. When she reached him, she immediately handed it over. There were tears on her face.

“Take care of her, Herr Stern,” she said. “She won’t make any trouble for you.”

Jonas pulled back the blanket. He saw the raven-haired head of Hannah Jansen. The little girl was fast asleep. He passed the child back to Rachel. “Just a little longer,” he said. “I have something to do before I go.”

He handed the silenced Schmeisser to his father and drew the SS dagger from the black sheath at his belt. Its gleaming nine-inch blade was engraved with the motto, My Honor Is Loyalty. He closed his hand around the Nazi eagle on the black haft of the dagger and held it up before his father’s face.

“Let’s go.”

“I need your assistance, Rottenfuhrer.”

The sentry standing at the block gate turned and peered through the darkness at Jonas Stern, who stood just inside the wire fence.

“Jawohl, Standartenfuhrer.” The sentry opened the gate, stepped inside, and closed it behind him.

Jonas led him toward the Jewish Women’s Block. “I need to remove one of the Jews for further questioning, Rottenfuhrer. Some of her friends may try to stop me.”

“Allow me, Standartenfuhrer!” The sentry shouldered his way in front of Stern and marched up the steps.

Stern stayed close behind him. The moment the guard passed through the barracks door, Jonas clapped his left hand around the man’s forehead, jerked back his neck and dragged the double-edged dagger across his throat with his right hand. There was no cry, only a rush of air and warm blood. Stern held onto the head long enough to guide the body down to the barracks floor, then sheathed his knife and darted out of the block to stand at the gate while his father put on the sentry’s clothes.

Within seconds the women stripped the dead corporal of clothes, boots, and weapons and gave all to Avram, who immediately put them on and went out to change places with his son.

Jonas opened the gate for Avram to pass out, then slipped back inside and stood just behind his father.

“Father, I beg you,” he whispered. “Please come out with me. Get away from this place.”