Chapter 2.

While sitting at the kitchen table peeling potatoes for dinner, Helena remembered what had happened last night.

Her fingers were moving automatically, grabbing the small potatoes one by one, peeling their skin off with the knife carefully, then dropping them into the bowl, filled with fresh water. She didn't have to pay attention on her work and she had the opportunity to think.

Last night Herr Kommandant had had a cheerful party with his few friends and their temporary girlfriends. They weren't celebrating anything special, they just wanted to enjoy a great dinner and a little conversation about different kinds of topics while the Polish prostitutes were smoking and giggling on the balcony, turning their back on the depressing site of the camp. It was already dark outside, only a dozen searchlights kept on sweeping the ground, looking for violators of the curfew.

After the men had enough of talking about the war and other serious things, the two little companies united again. They could eat Helena's delicious roast turkey (that had been sent by Herr Schindler the previous evening) garnished with rice and salad, they could drink Hungarian wine and following that they were surprised by kremówka, traditional Polish pies, filled with whipped cream, buttercream and vanilla custard cream.

Even Herr Kommandant was completely astonished, because he had no idea that dessert had also been on the menu. Helena had found the thought of surprising him as a challenge and Herr Schindler had been so helpful to provide the rare ingredients from the black market. She had got up at four o'clock and spent the whole morning preparing the pies in order to keep the secret from Herr Kommandant. She was proud of herself and she enjoyed the sincere joy and surprise on Amon's face, accompanied by a little lovely smile. Even though it didn't last long and it proved to be a scarce incident, at least he seemed to be human for a minute.

By the time all the guests had left, it was about half past eleven. Helena cleared the huge table in the dining room, changed the table cloth and washed the coffee cups and saucers while Amon and Oskar were smoking and chatting on the balcony. After putting the kitchen and the dining room into perfect order, she rushed to her basement room. She had a long, busy day, she was dead tired and all she wanted was to sleep. She washed herself quickly because all those household jobs and running between the kitchen and the dining room, filled with hungry and thirsty guests, all the evening had made her sweat all over her skinny body.

She was standing naked next to the wash basin, reaching for the towel when she heard quick footsteps on the staircase leading to the basement, her recent home. Someone was coming down in a hurry and she knew very well who was that.

There were only two people who lived in that house. Herr Kommandant and his maid, Helena.

Lisiek Pfefferberg, a thirteen-year-old shy boy, who looked after Goeth's horses in the stable, and Mila Dresner, a sad-eyed, half-Polish, half-German woman in her late fifties, who helped cleaning the house, lived in the concentration camp and they were allowed to stay in the villa only when their help was needed. There were days when Helena didn't meet Mila, and Lisiek spent most of his time around the horses.

Helena had just time to put on her cotton slip and panties when Amon Goeth reached the bottom of the staircase, with his shiny black boots creaking on the stone floor. He had left his uniform coat upstairs, and now he was wearing only a white shirt, with the top three buttons unbuttoned, and his black uniform trousers.

She was standing there, completely unable to move, like a frightened rabbit in front of the headlights. Her body was so tense, slightly shaking from fear and nervousness, that it hurt and she was annoyed as well when she felt her pieces of clothes glued to her wet skin exposing her curves to the cruel, searching blue eyes.

Herr Kommandant looked around in the cold basement chamber where about thirty bottles of wine, huge bags of vegetables, wood and coal were kept besides discarded pieces of furniture. The little windowpane was darkened by coal dust.

His eyes fixed Helena immediately as soon as he noticed her.

- So this is where you come to hide from me. – he allowed a little smile on his face even though no one could see it as Helena was watching the floor rigidly. Amon couldn't be disturbed by silence, so he continued calmly. - I came to tell you that you really are a wonderful cook, and a well-trained servant. I mean it. If you need a reference after the war, I'd be happy to give you one.

Helena didn't dare to reply – she believed that she would be unable to utter a sound. Her throat was so dry and her lips felt glued together. She needed a few gulps of water but what she needed even more was being left alone.

- It must get lonely down here, listening to everyone upstairs having such a good time. Does it? You can answer.

Amon was walking closer to her, not taking his eyes off her face. His voice sounded almost friendly, as if he had tried to make friends with her, but his eyes were shining just a little less colder than most of the times.

Helena remained silent, her fear kept on growing inside her stomach. She was painfully aware of her body and the cold air around her. Her feet were freezing on the stone floor and she wished she hadn't taken off her shoes. But now she couldn't worry about the lack of clothes. She knew well what a wrong answer could cause: punishment or instant death and she was sure that she could never satisfy Herr Kommandant and his always changing mood.

- But what is the right answer? That's what you're thinking. – Amon chuckled a little as if he found the one-sided conversation amusing. - What does he want to hear?

At that moment he stopped in front of Helena and he was standing motionlessly. He could see the water drops sliding along her neck, avoiding her chest, and she was watching his boots trembling and waiting for his next sentence that could bring anything: something good but more possibly something bad. For a long moment there was a long silence between them, Helena even forgot to breathe.

- The truth, Helena, is always the right answer. – Amon answered his own question on a deep voice.

He didn't move, he was just exploring her slim body with his hungry eyes. He had no exact intentions what to do with her now, he simply wanted to talk to her or at least to get a few words from her. Since he first met her, Helena said almost nothing to him, except greeting him in the morning and wishing him good night before going to bed. She replied to his commands only with a nod and she always avoided eye contact with him.

- Yes, you're right. – Amon continued the non-existing conversation that made sense only in his head. - Sometimes we're both lonely. Yes. I mean, I would like, so much, to reach out and touch you in your loneliness.

For these last words, Helena felt as if someone had been trying to strangle her, pressing the air out of her lungs by a cruel grip. She started to shiver more and she was close to tears. She didn't want him to touch her, not even mentally, but especially not in a physical way. She was disgusted by his presence near her, she often felt sick when they were in the same room. It was pure fear and anxiety, such a terror that she had never experienced before. She felt the smell of death when he approached her.

- What would that be like, I wonder? I mean, what would be wrong with that? – Amon was biting his bottom lip and began circling around Helena. He felt the scent of soap on her and something else: the smell of fear. He enjoyed knowing that she was scared of him terribly. He enjoyed his power while watching her trembling. - I realize that you're not a person in the strictest sense of the word. Maybe you're right about that too. You know, maybe what's wrong isn't – it's not us – it's this...

Helena was sensing how the fear was freezing her whole body. The coldness of the room had nothing to do with it. His words and his way of pronouncing those rude words, they created fear. She knew that Amon would be about to explode very soon and she could do nothing against it. No matter how much he talked or how he talked: the end was almost always the same. He became angry and he knew only one method to get rid of his disappointment, anger and dissatisfaction.

- No, you... you make a good point. You make a very good point... – Amon seemed to try to convince himself, talking slowly, kind of meditating. - When they compare you to vermin, rodents, lice, I just... – Amon stopped now and leant closer to Helena, staring at her with his searching, hungry eyes.

Their faces were so close that she could feel his warm breath burning her face and it made her stomach dance wilder. She could see his handsome facial features clearly even without looking at him. She had watched him so many times when he wasn't paying attention on her, when he was reading his papers, writing a report, talking to other people, riding his horse or walking in the house or in the camp. How cruel it is, she thought, to give a horrible monster such a physical beauty.

She prayed that she would not vomit, especially when she saw that Amon lifted up his hand. She was sure that he would slap her immediately and she was totally surprised when instead of hitting her, he touched her hair so tenderly that she could have never imagined he was able to.

His touch made her stomach turn up and she wanted to run away at once. She had to escape and disappear. But where could she run? He would shoot her at the next moment. She didn't have to look at his waist to check his holster, because she knew that he was always carrying a pistol with himself. No one would care if I died now, she thought, no one would notice, except Herr Schindler. But he is not here to save me, she added bitterly, and I couldn't expect him to save me. This is my monster, she thought with an unpleasant taste on her tongue, and I must fight him alone.

- Is this the face of a rat? Are these the eyes of a rat? Hath not a Jew eyes?

Amon was caressing her face now, very slowly and tenderly, like a lover, as if he had wanted to enjoy every second. His rude words contradicted his delicate touches and the gentle tone of his voice. Those long fingers were brushing her skin so softly that Helena was scared more and more every second. She was terrified of his brutality, but she was much more terrified of his unknown tenderness. She had no idea what was going on. Was it a nasty game on her, before beating her half-dead? Was it something new he wanted to try on her?

- I feel for you, Helena.

Amon was whispering it like a lover's confession when his fingertips reached her left breast and his palm covered it softly. Helena hated to feel that her nipple got hardened and her breathing became faster. He mustn't think that I am enjoying it, she thought desperately, I wish he would stop it now, or he should beat me up instead, even that would be better.

Amon lowered his head, his face was approaching hers, watching her more intensively. Desire was burning in his bright eyes and he felt the excitement and the longing to take her into his arms, to taste her lips and her soft skin. His breath on her flushed cheek and neck was getting hotter and quicker, and Helena was terrified of the idea that probably he was going to kiss her. At that very image her nausea became so strong now that she pressed her teeth tight, hoping that he wouldn't notice it and take it as a sign of disgust or resistance (as it actually was).

Suddenly Amon lifted his head and stepped one back. His face was like a lifeless mask again, his eyes became dead and empty.

- No, I don't think so. – now his voice was icy cold and cruel, filled with hatred and disgust. - You're a Jewish bitch. You nearly talked me into it, didn't you? Didn't you? – he shouted the last two words and the next moment he slapped her face so hard that she fell against the wall.

The beating started again. She couldn't defend herself, she couldn't cry or whimper, she could do nothing, just praying for his cruelness to stop and for herself to survive. Amon was slapping, beating and kicking her as hard as he could, using his full physical power, until he was panting for breath wildly and she was nothing but a pitiful pile of nothing on the floor, shaking and bleeding. Sometimes she was already unconscious by the end of his attack, freed from the unbearable horror called life, but not that night.

Amon turned around, breathing heavily, still shaking with anger, steaming with perspiration all over his shirt, and finally left her. He ran upstairs and threw himself on his bed – sometimes he had rough sex with his actual girlfriend, who was waiting in his bedroom.

Helena was watching him leave behind her wet eyelashes. She felt such a huge hatred for him that scared her. She had never felt this way for anyone before. She wished she could kill him and the thought made her feel more than uncomfortable and sick.