“Never?”
“No.”
“How old are you?” Shayndel asked.
“I am seventeen. No, it’s October, so I am eighteen. I think perhaps it will never happen to me.”
“Don’t worry. I was nearly sixteen when I got mine. Someone told me that it goes away when you don’t eat right. With enough good food, we’ll all get back to normal and have all the babies we want—I know you said you don’t want any, but still …”
Leonie shrugged and smiled, as though it didn’t matter. She could never tell Shayndel about the abortion that might have left her barren—or the doctor’s disdain, or the way she could practical
ly taste the steel of his probes and scalpel as they entered her, or the blood pooling on the floor beneath the kitchen table. If she confessed to even one detail of her disgrace, all the hard work of restraint and containment might come crashing down and she would never be able to regain her balance. Worse still, Shayndel would hate her.
“But I have to ask you about something,” Shayndel said, in a hushed, urgent tone.
“Anything,” Leonie said, pushing her hair off her forehead and resuming control of herself and her secrets.
“Tedi says that you think Lotte, the German girl, is SS. But why didn’t you tell me yourself?”
“I’m sorry,” said Leonie, “I wasn’t sure and then I was afraid you’d think I was crazy. When she was in the shower, I saw what I thought was an SS tattoo on the inside of her upper arm. It might have been a bruise or a birthmark and the whole thing seems so impossible.”
“You’re perfectly sane, but that woman is a raving lunatic,” said Shayndel, who knew that whatever Lotte’s story might be, she posed a threat to the success of their escape. “We have to get her out of the barrack.”
“No one will argue with you about that,” said Leonie.
“I wanted to tell you how proud I was of you, standing up to Uri like that. And now I find out that you weren’t feeling well, yet you were so strong, so powerful. I suppose you had to learn that sort of thing in the war.” She looked over at her shyly. “It must have been terrible what you went through.”
“Some days were worse than others,” said Shayndel, remembering the worst day of all. They had underestimated the band of German deserters who had taken refuge in their forest. Wolfe and Malka had been cut off from the rest of their unit and were outflanked, outrun, and shot down like deer in a hunting party.
Leonie kept still as pain and loss played across her friend’s face.
“You don’t think ‘terrible’ when you’re in the middle of it,” Shayndel continued. “You don’t think much at all. We tried to kill Nazis and collaborators. We blew up some bridges. We helped some people escape. We tried to stay alive.”
“Staying alive is no small thing when you consider how many died.”
“You think surviving is a victory?” said Shayndel. “Merely surviving?”
“I don’t know,” Leonie said, her eyes growing large with tears.
“I’m sorry.”
“No, forgive me.” Leonie wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand. “But maybe it’s better not to think about it too much.”
“Maybe not,” said Shayndel. But just then, Shmuley’s surname floated into her mind, like a kind of peace offering from the past. It was Besser. Shmuley Besser. She would not forget it again.
IV The Breakout
Through the Fence
It was nearly an hour after the end of dinner, but the dining hall was still full. People lingered as if they were sitting at a café, leaning on their elbows, passing cigarettes back and forth. Someone pulled out a deck of cards, adding a quiet shuffle and slap to the steady drone of conversation. Maybe it’s the coffee keeping them here, Shayndel thought. It’s rare that we have coffee in the evening.
In the whole room, only Nathan was on the move, going from table to table, making a big show of turning chairs backward, kicking a leg over them, and sitting like a cowboy in an American western. He made it look casual, but Shayndel knew that he was checking in with the men he’d chosen as leaders, who sat up, stiff and tall, while he leaned in to deliver last-minute instructions. She noticed that the two other female barrack captains were not in the room, and bit her lips to keep from ordering everyone else to clear out and get ready for bed. Her arms and legs felt itchy and tight, as though she were about to burst out of her skin.
Finally, she could not sit for another moment and started gathering the last of the cups. Backing out through the door into the kitchen, she was struck by the faces in the room. From where Shayndel was standing, all of the girls were lovely; Zorah as well as Leonie. Even Francek looked handsome. Her mother used to say that every bride was beautiful, and Shayndel had offered up chinless Luba Finkelstein as proof that she was wrong. But Mama said no, even Luba was a pretty bride. Tonight she understood.
Nathan followed her into the kitchen and got right down to business. “A few minutes after one o’clock, we’ll send someone to your barrack,” he said. “Then it’s up to you. Each of your lieutenants should take charge of five girls: get them up, dressed, and ready to leave as quickly as possible. No one is to carry anything. No baggage, nothing. We have to move fast. Our guys will be in the camp by then and they will guide you out.
“One more thing,” he said, opening a cabinet under the sink. He handed her an old pillowcase, lumpy and bound with a great deal of twine.