I want to tell you all that this fic is based on a true story. I read an article that was so inspiring that I felt I needed to share it. Please, let me know how you liked it.
Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight.
"So, you want to hear about my time at Auschwitz?" My grandmother asked, with a faraway look in her eyes.
"Only if you will, Nana." I answered, while hoping that she finally would be willing.
I chose to do a documentary on the Holocaust for my class project. I wanted to do it so I could record my grandmother's hardship. Her health was lessening and I knew that time was running out for her to finally verbalize her story.
I had already contacted and interviewed three other survivors. My grandmother, Isabella Marie Black, was the last on my list.
After a moment's pause she finally agreed, "I suppose it's about time I told someone." She sighed, "I should warn you," she started.
"I know, I know. I have already done some interviews, Nana. It was horrific." I grabbed her wrinkly hand and looked into her eyes, "Only share what you want…what you can."
"Yes the dealings there were horrific." She agreed. "But, I am going to tell you something less dreadful than what you could find in your textbooks."
Less dreadful? I thought. Great, she has finally lost it. What is she talking about?
She smiled at my puzzlement, "I am going to tell you a love story."
"A love story in Auschwitz?" I asked, disbelieving.
"Yes, darling, a love story."
Five minutes later, my Nana is sitting on her couch comfortably with her tea in her slightly trembling fingers. I finished setting up the camera and sat down. "Okay, Nana. Whenever you are ready." I hearten.
She took a deep breath and began.
"We were hiding in a closet when the SS soldiers came for the roundup."
Bella's POV
Poland, 1942
I was only seventeen when I entered the gate at Auschwitz. It was cold and in the middle of winter. However, the cold was nothing compared to the fear, the utter terror, which seemed as much a part of me as my blood or tears.
The fear was a tangible trepidation.
It was at the gates that I last saw my father. They had divided the men and women in separate lines but before his departure to the 'men's only' line, my father handed me the diamond he had pulled from my grandmother's wedding ring on the bus. He told me to swallow it and that it was to help me get to America when I left the camp. He had watched as I put the diamond in my mouth hesitantly. "Isabella, I know it will be filthy to keep doing this, but it is worth it. It is all you have left." He whispered, miserably.
Of course, he was right. The Nazi's had seized all of our possessions. We had nothing- No home, no money, and no hope. It was not as if we could keep our belongings in the camp anyway.
My father looked into my eyes but did not speak but he did not need to. I knew what was going through his mind because I was thinking the same thing. I love you and goodbye.
We were smart people. We knew this was the end. There was no 'a door closes and a window opens' at Auschwitz.
There was no path out. It was a one-way road to imminent death.
My father pulled me into a final hug that lasted until a brawny soldier came by yelling for men to get into the other line, a brief kiss on the cheek and he was gone.
My mother died within the first month we were there. The few times I was lucky enough to have seen her were in passing, and they usually were tearful reunions.
Her long, gorgeous dark hair cut off just as mine was. She had lost so much weight in that short amount of time. Her feet were bloodied and I wondered what kind of manual labor they had her doing. She looked ghastly and weak.
When I stopped seeing her altogether, I assumed that she had gone to the gas chamber. I had sickened myself with my content thoughts of her liberating death but I continued to remind myself that it was better she be dead than under the same horrifying conditions any longer. I refused to think of any pain she may have gone through.
I had seen an execution at the Wall of Death (as I discovered it was named for the executions it held) the day I had arrived. It was of a woman, who could have been beautiful, maybe, before her imprisonment. Nevertheless, her time at the camp showed through her gaunt appearance, her facial bones stuck out in a way that sent a shudder through my body. Her eyes were so full of despair that on instinct I raised a hand out towards even though I knew she was too far away for my reach. I had wanted to comfort this woman in any way that I could. The way she hunched over holding her stomach caught my attention almost immediately. Through her shaky hands, I saw something that stopped my own heart.
The woman was pregnant.
One…
Before my mind could even process what I had just noticed the first shot rang out. I watched as her head thrashed back and she sprawled against the concrete wall by the force of the bullet. Time slowed as my mind tried to process what was happening; everything happening much too fast. The hand I had held out now gripped around my own stomach, as I watched a mist of blood spray out from her wound, unable to take my eyes off the horrendous sight in front of me.
Then I could feel her pain in my own heart.
Two….
Three…
The shots jolted my entire body and echoed in my ears, overlapping each other, as new sounds of the soldiers broke through. The SS soldiers used her as an example yelling out to the new prisoners that this is what happens when you do not follow the rules. I wondered what rule she had broken to warrant an execution so vile.
To execute a pregnant woman.
It was the first time I had witnessed a death. It was a brutal and gory murder. I had seen a hundred deaths since then but that particular death always makes an appearance in my nightmares. Maybe it is because it was the first death I had ever witnessed or maybe it was because she was pregnant. On the other hand, maybe, and the most likely, was because her death signified a setting in which I had no control over.
I realized then that the little knot of fear that had formed in my stomach would never go away. My life was at the mercy of these soldiers. Moreover, that my life, like every other prisoner in Auschwitz, was insignificant to these soldiers. To these….men.
We were disposable, waste, vermin. They enjoyed instilling fear and most importantly, they enjoyed dictating the lives of the prisoners, enjoying their role as God and there was not one thing any of us could do about it but hope and pray that the outside world would come to help.
I had never felt so alone.
I did not think that life could get any worse for me. So imagine my surprise when a blond soldier cornered me in the kitchen I had been placed to work at. He told me I needed to come with him, that he had special orders for me. Little did I know that he was taking me down to Block 24 to the place nicknamed "the whorehouse".
Internally I was screaming. I knew what was about to happen and that had me fearful. Up until that point, I had been lucky to not be violated. I did not want to go in there; it housed German whores and "honored" Aryan prisoners. I had heard rumors that soldiers took up relationships with some prisoners but the women were more than likely killed when the relationship was over. I had also heard that the favorites were offered food because the soldiers wanted to keep them "in good shape".
Never did I think I would lose my innocence to a man I had never met; a man I despised for what he was- a Nazi. I tried hard not to cry but tears stung my eyes anyway. I let them fall but stayed as silent as I could. There was not another option besides my own demise and as much as I wanted that reprieve, I was too scared of death.
The soldier was a broad shouldered, slightly attractive man. He spoke reassuring words to me and actually did give me food. It was a small piece of bread and cheese but it was more than I had had in the past few weeks. At first, I wanted to throw it back at him and scream, "how dare you!" but I took it because my stomach growled at the sight of it and I figured that if he was going to take my virginity I was going to take his bread. No matter how tainted I viewed it.
Even though he was gentle, he left scars on me that have left me damaged from the inside out. I was only grateful that he let me return to my bunk to continue my duties in the kitchen- thankful- that my new duty was not to stay in Block 24 like most women taken there.
The rapes continued with James, and with other soldiers, but at least with James he gave me food. I was perversely grateful.
I was there for a year before I transferred to work in the grain room, weaving bags. It was there that I had met Edward Masen. For weeks, we worked in silence, neither of us able to bring ourselves to approach each other.
He was a beautiful man. His eyes were so green; I continually reminded myself to stop staring at him. His head was shaved, but he always rubbed his hand on the top of it. I decided he must have had a good head of hair before the camp. I imagined it to be a copper tone, which was wild and unruly from his hands constantly running through it.
I snuck glances at him frequently and when he would catch me, he would smile. I would blush and busy myself. I caught him staring at me plenty but he never looked away when I noticed. He made me feel again.
I wondered if he had been just as infatuated with me as I was with him. I was too shy to speak, and he was too much of a gentleman to advance on me. Even though we did not speak, the grain room was where I found my solace. It was a room away from the frightful events going on outside of the walls.
I felt different, safe, with Edward close by. With him near, the world seemed wonderful, hopes were still alive, futures were waiting, and I would forget I was in an extermination camp.
It was as if we knew each other without ever speaking.
One day James interrupted the security of the grain room. He came in to get me and as he led me away from the room that had held so much comfort for me, I glanced at Edward who had his jaw clenched and his fists in a knot. He was visibly shaking; I could tell he knew what James came for. However, he could not help me without killing us both so he stood there, trembling in anger and regret.
I gave Edward a look to try to convey my feelings to him even though I did not know what they were because they were muddled with fear for him and me. I wanted him to know that I was fine. That my emotional being had hardened to the sexual abuse long ago; I had promised myself no more tears, but Edward seeing me led away as if I were a whore, had my eyes filling with humiliation.
I did not want him to see me as tainted goods. I wanted his view of me to be pure, to think that this was not happening to me-that I was different from the other women at the camp.
I could see the internal battle Edward was having with himself. He was looking directly in to my eyes as if saying, "Forgive me for not protecting you." I tried to transmit back, "It is not your fault. I will be okay." He seemed to nod in understanding and that was when I saw the tear glide down his own cheek before he turned around and braced his hands on the stall.
When I returned to work not long after, I avoided looking at Edward. I did not want to see the knowledge and remorse in his eyes. I knew he would not treat me any way negative but I somehow felt as if I had let him down. Edward tried to sidetrack me by finally talking to me and starting up a conversation about his childhood. He told me his embarrassing stories of adolescence and detailed descriptions of pranks that he would pull on fellow classmates. I still did not speak or look at him but he was not derailed. I wondered if his idle chatter was as much for him as it was for me.
By the end of the day, I found myself laughing for the first time in a year. The action felt foreign and regardless of my encounter with James, there was a peaceful feeling that blanketed me.
More days passed and eventually we were sharing our fears and dreams and speaking of 'what ifs'.
"What is your favorite song, baby doll?" He asked one day when I was quiet.
"Do I Love You?"I said after a small moment.
He smirked, leaned in, and whispered, "I don't know. Do you?"
"Umm...It's the name of the song, Edward." I corrected, embarrassed.
"I see." He narrowed his eyes, "You will love me soon enough, baby doll." His smirk grew wider as he grabbed my hands. He pulled me close to him and started dancing and singing something better than the song I had chosen.
I've got you under my skin
I've got you deep in the heart of me
So deep in my heart, that you're really a part of me
I've got you under my skin
I realized then that I was in love Edward Masen.
"Isabella, when we get out of here, I'm going to marry you." He promised. I tucked my head in the crook of his neck and murmured, "I am imagining that we are already married. That we are in our home, dancing after dinner in front of the fire." I reached up and kissed his cheek. As I backed away, his arms pulled me back against his chest. He held me tight for a few minutes before pulling back and looking into my eyes. "Yes, it was a good meal you cooked." He said playing along.
I smiled, remembering all the times I had watched my parents dancing in front of the night fire. We danced for a while before he stopped again and kissed me.
It was the best kiss of my life.
That kiss held so much meaning, so much love. It held my hopes, dreams and expectations of the life that I should have. The life that was never going to be.
He wrapped a piece of string around my ring finger and looked deep into my eyes, "I love you."
I cried at the romance of the afternoon.
I cried because this was as good as it was going to get for us.
I cried because it was okay that my life is now wrapped into this small room with this man that could turn our location into something so grand that we did not focus on the thousands of lives that were lost within feet of us daily.
I cried because the love of my life was going to die here too.
"I love you, too." I whispered.
"Let me show you how it is supposed to be. Let me show you as your husband."
He did not have to tell me what he meant. I knew he was speaking of sex. We never spoke of the incident with James but I could see in his eyes how bad he felt for not being able to protect me. I shifted closer to him wanting the same as him.
I looked into his eyes trying to convey my approval of what he was silently asking.
And there in the grain room, we found solace together while weaving our hearts and bodies as one.
A few months later Edward had informed me he planned for us to escape together. I panicked at how serious he was. There were too many risks.
"It is now or never." He pleaded with me.
"We will be killed." I had cried.
"We are dead anyway, Baby doll. No one leaves here. The smoke over there proves that," he pointed in the direction of the crematorium.
I cried harder, I could not bear the thought of him being killed. It was the most frightening judgment I have ever had to make.
He pulled me into his grasp and his body slightly shook from his own tears. "At least, if we try, we have a chance to live free. I cannot handle worrying any longer. We have to take this chance."
He showed me the slip of paper he had found. A blank 'leave form'.
"I have a pencil, I will fill in your name," he continued to explain the plan.
The next morning, Edward would collect the SS uniform from his friend in the laundry, and he would meet me at a small building not far from the gate. He would pretend to be a soldier.
It was the most frightening and restless night's sleep I had ever had. The worry was excruciating. What if our plan failed?
My heart was pounding as Edward led me to the front gate, where a soldier sat guarding. My heart had never raced so fast, if we were caught, we would be shot on the spot. I prayed that the soldier did not know the man whose uniform Edward was wearing.
The man was eyeing both of us and I thought the man knew. He held his hand out and Edward gave him a slip of paper. He analyzed the paper for quite a while.
"I am supposed to take this prisoner to the Police Station across town for questioning." He said, his voice showing no sign of deceit. "They think she has information."
The soldier eyed us both again and I thought we were both dead. I could see in his eyes that he knew. I could see him deliberating the choice he had to make. I hoped the guard was a good man.
And then he nodded for us to go through.
The entire walk away from the gate I was waiting for the fatal shot. I was waiting for the soldier to run for backup and follow us. It was not until we were far enough away that I realized that we had made it. We had escaped. We were alive.
Edward and I had plans to make it to New York and start over in America. I had my diamond that my father had given me, I had kept my promise, no matter how disgusting it was to keep swallowing the diamond, and it was worth it.
Edward had family not far from where we were, and since he was a Polish prisoner, not guilty of the political crimes he was accused of, he could blend in easily. However, being the Jewish girl that I was, I had to stay hidden so we found an abandoned farm only a night away from his family's estate. He needed to go and get money and he wanted to check on his mother and let her know that he was alive. That he survived imprisonment.
I hated that we would be separated for a few days but I had to hide. Neither one of us was willing to risk the chance of being caught. The plan was for me to stay in the barn, hidden, for two days. If he did not return, I was to find my way to New York as carefully as I could.
We made love before he left, with many tears, and many declarations of love. It was the most joyous night I had ever lived. I had survived. We had survived.
I waited for two days for him to return.
He did not.
I was devastated knowing he had been caught and killed. My entire passage to the boats, I knew they were looking for me. Part of me wanted to give up and let them find me so they could kill me. I did not want to live without Edward but I knew he had risked, and gave, his life for me so that I could live. What kept me going was this fact- he saved my life.
I met some people along the way that fed me and gave me new clothing. They pretended I was their niece and took me to the boat set for America. I was lucky to have met them. They saved my life, too.
I gave the diamond as payment for my voyage.
"I met your grandfather on that boat and he helped me search for my family. When we did not find them, he asked me to marry him and I agreed. I loved your grandfather very much but he was not the love of my life. I never told him about Edward." She looked at me, "Your real grandfather."
"What?" I asked.
"I got pregnant despite how malnourished I was at the time. I realized it a month into my marriage. When your father came only four months later, perfectly healthy, I knew Jacob was not the father. I was happy to have something of Edward. I see him in your father and in you." She looked at me. "Didn't you ever wonder where you got the green eyes?"
No, I had not. "No because Daddy has green eyes."
"Oh, well, yes. He would." She chuckled.
I did not know what to say about this new information. My grandfather had died years ago and I hated thinking there was no blood relation. I had loved him dearly.
"Now you know, honey." Nana said relieved. "It's good to have finally said it. Will you be showing this to your father? I would think it best to not. He may get upset."
Yeah….he was going to be upset.
"No I think I will leave that for you tell him personally." I grabbed her hand, "Nana, it's such an amazing story. Really, miraculous."
"Yes. I should have done more in my life to have spoken out about his bravery. I should have contacted his family. Done something for him." She began to cry.
"He does not sound like a man that needed to be acknowledged for what he did. He did it for love, Nana."
"I know. It is just that he was a hero. They should be able to be proud of him for what he did for me." She wept.
I hated my grandmother to be so upset so I tried to help.
"Nana, would you mind if I researched if he has any surviving family? Maybe a cousin or something? I am sure they would love to hear of him." I asked.
"That would be wonderful." She agreed.
"Hi, I am looking for a K. Masen?"
It was the last Masen name on my list and so far, no one had heard of a relative named Edward Masen from Poland.
"Umm…This is Kathy." A woman answered.
"Hi, my name is Sara and I am doing a documentary type project about the Holocaust and I am actually looking for the family of a man named Edward Masen. He was killed during that time."
There was silence.
"I was just wondering if this was a relative of his or not." I prodded.
"Yes," Kathy spoke hesitantly. "I'm his granddaughter."
"Granddaughter?" I asked.
"Yes."
"There must be two different Edward Masens. This man did not have any children." I informed, bummed that I had hit another dead end.
"Oh, my grandpa doesn't have any kids. Well, not biologically." She laughed. "After he escaped Auschwitz…"
"He escaped Auschwitz? How?" I asked.
"His story is amazing. He dressed up like a soldier and escorted him and another prisoner out." She paused for a second, "Do you want his number? He could tell it better than I could."
"He's still alive?" I asked, dumbfounded.
"Yeah, my mom always said the man had nine lives. He's been through a lot but his ticker keeps ticking." She laughed.
"Oh my God." I said, in shock, and I nearly dropped the phone.
"Are you alright, hon?" Kathy asked.
"Yes, it's just that…It's just…the person he saved was my grandmother. Is my grandmother."
"Oh my God! Isabella is your grandmother. And she's alive?"
Kathy was hysterical. I could hear her joyous tears over the phone.
"He searched for her here in New York, you know, all the way through the fifties! You see, she was gone by the time he showed up at the farm. Oh my God, I have heard this story so many times…this is just crazy! He thought that maybe she had been taken and killed but he said he could feel her alive deep down. He went to New York in hopes of finding her but when he got here it took weeks before he got on good enough footing to search her out. But, there was no Isabella Marie Swan anywhere. None of the safe houses had her and he searched hard."
The woman was still rambling when I spoke.
"That's because she thought Edward was dead and married my," should I say grandfather? "Grandfather a month after arriving in New York."
"This is crazy." She finally said. "We should probably set up some sort of meeting or something. My grandfather is still in love with that woman."
"My grandmother is in love with him, too."
"This is…epic." Kathy said before getting off the phone.
I had my real grandfather's phone number and address. Kathy had my nana's. So, now, it was time to go and tell nana that the love of her life was still alive and that he lived only thirty minutes away from her.
Where he had been for nearly sixty years.
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