Chapter 2

"I'm not a Nazi and I don't want to be,"

The words are ringing in my ears as I stare through the fence at this strange girl. A girl who has not fled from this deathly place as I would. A girl who has just expressed a wish not to be a Nazi. Foolish of her. Once I even heard Mutti say she wished we were like the others. Not Jewish is what she meant.

From the moment those words escape her lips the tension between us disappears. I cannot help but believe she is genuine. Hard-core Nazis do not deny what they are, they celebrate it. And more than anything in this place, I need an escape; I need to pretend I am somewhere else; I need to talk to someone who isn't on the brink of death, who isn't like me. That is vital. Except I don't really get an escape because we end up sitting crossed-legged in the dirt on either side of the fence, telling our life stories. I am listening as she tells me about her about father and mother and grandfather and grandmother and Herr Liszt and Kurt Kotler and especially her little brother, Bruno. This strikes a chord with me. She's not the only girl to have lost a brother. But I can't help but think who her father is, and what he has done. She should be my enemy, yet through the mere coincidence of having lost a brother I do not hate her and she does not hate me.

"Your turn," she says when she's finished.

I am about to say something when I hear a shout and I freeze. I'm not supposed to be over here. I feel the fear rise up inside, a familiar feeling to which I am accustomed, but not one that I relish. I jump up suddenly and scurry backwards, to Gretel's surprise, mumble some excuse and tell her to scarper before someone sees.

"Be here tomorrow!" She calls but I pretend not to hear. Because then I am running, almost tripping over my own feet, to be with the others, so I am not noticed, so I do not stand out. Because in this place to be noticed is a death sentence. This may be hell but I have not given up on life. Not yet anyway.

It's dangerous and don't I know it, but the next day I return to that same spot along the fence just as Gretel told me to. Except she's not there. I look around, suddenly desperate that I didn't imagine our whole conversation. I'm not going mad am I? Sanity is perhaps the one thing they have not taken from me and it's something I'd like to cling on to. My eyes bore into the green undergrowth and I'm half hoping she is going to jump out. She doesn't and I figure there's no point waiting, it's too dangerous. I turn around, and breathe out slowly; forcing myself to place one weak leg in front of the other when in reality I don't want to go anywhere. My mind is drifting; for some unknown reason the ache of hunger that constantly pains my stomach is more prominent at the moment. If meeting that girl was real yesterday, why in god's name didn't I ask for food? I guess it was too much of a surprise. I'm dawdling when a sudden shout attracts my attention. For a moment I think it is one of them and I brace myself, automatically, before I realise it comes from behind me.

She's there. Gretel. That strange girl with the dark blonde locks and pale blue eyes, who by rights should be polishing the buttons on her Hitler Youth uniform or something of that nature. Except she's here, waiting by the fence, for me.

"You're here?" she says cautiously. "Anna?"

At first I think she is being cautious, and then it hits me that she isn't sure whether I am the same person as yesterday; she can't recognise me. That hurts, that it is hard to distinguish us, but then again that is exactly what they want. I nod, suppressing the ghost of my emotions, something I have become accustomed to. It is vital that aside from not being noticed, you do not react; you do not show fear.

Like yesterday we sit on the floor; her on a grassy bank and myself on the dry earth that my bare toes brush against every day.

"Do you have food?" The words tumble out my mouth before I can stop them and I'm afraid for a moment that she's going to walk away at my rudeness. But she doesn't, instead she reaches into the small satchel she carries and brings out a small roll. The fence hums with that deadly current and I blurt out a warning as her unsteady hand passes the roll through the fence. Thankfully nothing happens and I grab the roll eagerly, taking a large mouthful before I remember to savour the taste and save some for later. It's still warm after coming out the oven. I can't remember the last time I tasted something so delicious.

"Thank you," I murmur. There's a pause and I realise Gretel is looking at me expectantly. I suddenly realise I know why.

"Now," She says and I can predict her next sentence easily. "I want to hear your story,"

I almost object, but then I realise that I want to tell her my story, I want somebody to hear, even though it doesn't feel like much of a story. So I begin. I haven't been speaking to her for very long, but the words stream easily out my mouth; my entire life laid out for this stranger to pick at and prod. Of course she doesn't; her face creases and frowns and she nods and murmurs and the weird thing is she is actually listening. Listening, as tell her my name is, or was, Anna Maria Goldstein and that I was born in Berlin on 24th June 1931, making me exactly 1 month older than her.

She is listening as I tell her about life in Berlin when I was little. I cannot not remember a time when I wasn't called "Jew girl" but most of the anti-Semitism passed right over my head. Despite everything, my early years are filled with somewhat fond memories; Mutti, Papi, Freddy, Will and I playing in the park…

"Freddy and Will?" Gretel says suddenly. "Are they your brothers?"

I glance up and stop inspecting the dirt. "Yes," I murmur. I keep wishing they were here now. Especially Will. Three years older than me he is. Was, I mean. But I push him to the back of my mind. Just like Gretel, thinking of my innocent brother always makes me want to cry. Not that I can cry at all anymore. I just get angry instead. It seems to be the only emotion I am capable of in this place.

But I continue with my story anyway, thinking that if just one person knows what happened then perhaps my life won't have been so pointless and that if something happens tomorrow at least someone will know my story and remember me.

Gretel is listening as I tell her how Freddy, one year my junior, climbed a tree in the park and got stuck on his sixth birthday and Papi had to climb up after him to fetch him down like a little cat. It was only a few months later in the November of that year that at the tender age of eight I first got a taste of what was to come. The night of the 9th November. I remember the noise, and the orange light creeping round the curtains as if the flames that engulfed the synagogue opposite were lapping at the window. They broke into the house that night, the Storm troopers, Wrecked the shop below, stole god knows what and had the whole family standing in the front room, up and dressed and terrified as they smashed our belongings in front of us. That was Kristallnacht. Mutti and Papi tried to get Visas to leave the country after that, but war was declared before they got the chance and we were stuck, trapped in Germany when the war began. It is easy now, in hindsight, to say that in the first year or so of war we weren't that badly off. Of course at the time it was simply awful and by god did we resent it. But Papi was always an optimist, always thought things couldn't get any worse, so we always thought we had something to complain about. Not publically of course, we weren't that stupid, but we weren't allowed to go to school and that always left plenty of time for moaning.

Gretel is listening as I tell her of the first deportations in the October of 1941. I know some people went into hiding, but it happened so quickly and Papi, ever the optimist, almost believed the propaganda. "Relocation in the east" whoever heard of something so ridiculous? We'd heard the rumours but we never believed them. Things always got exaggerated by word of mouth, Papi said, and we were foolish to listen to such things. They were just scare mongering, said Mutti. She always backed up Papi. But we were all fools, of course, to think it couldn't get any worse. The rumours were true. In fact just this once, the rumours weren't even an exaggeration of the truth. The truth, as it turned out, was quite a bit worse.

Gretel is listening as I try to tell her about the train journey. God, I can barely begin to describe the train journey. Actually it wasn't a train journey; it was a cattle car journey. I had to lift Freddy up onto the carriage. He was a month shy of his tenth birthday, and despite being only a year and a bit younger, was small for his age and quite a bit shorter than me. He disappeared into the carriage and I couldn't see anybody and I thought I was going to be crushed by the mass of people behind me. I was so scared. I cannot tell you how scared I was. I was crying. And then hands were pulling me up, hands were digging into my underarms and I was falling forwards and suddenly Will was holding me and hugging me and Papi and Mutti and Freddy were there. Mutti said we were lucky because the five of us were still together, but I could see her faith crumbling. Even Papi was silent amidst the screams as the doors slammed shut. I could see it in his eyes, somehow he just knew. I didn't know what, or how, but he knew. We spent probably 10 hours on the train. I don't know; it felt much longer. We couldn't sit down and we barely had any food. There was a bucket in the corner for a toilet. I couldn't bring myself to use it, even though I was bursting by the time we arrived.

Gretel is listening as I tell her about how we were lucky that we were one of the first trains to arrive in Lodz, or Litzmannstadt as it had been renamed. The ghetto wasn't big enough for the new arrivals from Berlin and we had no idea at first that they'd shot a load of innocent people at our expense. It wouldn't be long until they figured it would be more sensible to shoot those on the trains. Like I said; we were lucky. My best friend Heidi would have ended up on a later train, yet she never arrived in Lodz, I'm not stupid; I know why. We weren't lucky however in several other areas. The vast majority of the ghetto spoke Polish or Yiddish. We spoke German. You can see the problems there. But we managed, somehow, just about. We faded, we grew thinner, but we managed. Even that though wasn't enough. Freddy was always struggling; always needed more food. He had a better grasp of Yiddish than any of us, I think a friend of his had Polish Jewish ancestry, and he often joined the Polish children in climbing through the sewers to the other side and bartering for food. But even this wasn't enough; he was always the most ill, he always made us eat the food before him. That was Freddy; always so generous. But it was for reason that during our first selection in the ghetto, they picked Freddy. Little, innocent, naïve Freddy. Of course Will tried to stop them. Will always tried to protect us, even though Papi said that was his job. Papi always said you shouldn't stand up to them, you should just keep your head down and try to survive even if they made you do the most humiliating tasks like scrubbing the streets with a toothbrush. Will was never any good at following instructions. But they never liked people standing up to them. Like so many before him Will fell victim to a soldier's bullet. I almost fell apart after that. Everything just seemed so pointless. But then Papi took me aside and made me promise I was going to fight. I couldn't say no; not to Papi. But we only survived a few more selections before they eventually picked on us.

Gretel is listening as I tell her about the camps. First Auschwitz, then here. I tell her everything, absolutely everything. Getting separated when we first arrived. Freddy was already ill; he got sent to the left when the rest of us got sent to the right. It was only later that I learnt what that meant. But then Papi was separated from us too and it was just me and Mutti and…. They took everything then. Even down to our identities, our hair. Everything just got taken away. I lost track of the days; they just drifted past and I got thinner and thinner and dirtier and dirtier. I had no idea about the war, until that is, they started moving us to different camps. That's how I ended up here. Back in Germany; what should have been back home. Except it wasn't, not for me. I have lost all feeling of being German. It was yesterday when it happened, when it felt like we had been here forever and I went to wake Mutti up at dawn like always. She'd been having coughing fits at the beginning of week, but I hadn't thought anything of it; we were all coughing. But yesterday morning she wasn't coughing when I tried to wake her. But yesterday morning, she didn't wake up…

That's why I drifted over to the fence when I should have been working. I just wanted to get away. To escape. Not in the way you probably think, I never considered actually escaping from here. What would I do? Where would I go? But I came so close to touching the fence. I could never quite bring myself to do it but I came close. Instead I just stared at the trees beyond, and at the sky and the clouds above, wishing, wishing so much that I was just like them; nonchalant, and drifting peacefully without a care in the world. Unnoticed, untouched... and then I saw a girl dawdling along the fence, curiosity burning in her eyes. Seeing her, that's when I realised I couldn't give up. Like what Papi said to me, so long ago now; "If anything happens to me, meine Kinde, you mustn't give up. You must fight, promise me this," I had promised hadn't I? I will not give up; I have a promise to keep.

I look up, finally and my eyes bore in Gretel's. Her face is white, her mouth hanging open in silent horror. A solitary tear slips gracefully down her cheek.

"Is it really that bad?" She says hoarsely, glancing at the distant huts behind me. I nod, no point disguising the truth. She mouth moves silently before she repeats the words in a louder voice. "I'm sorry,"

"It's not your fault," I say wearily.

"Vater…." She moans and it occurs to me that I am speaking to the daughter of Commandant of Auschwitz. No wonder she looks so shell-shocked.

"If you stay there, you will die?" She says in the same small voice.

I don't want to answer that. Indeed, I probably shall but my own determination to survive refuses to accept that. I live for the second and never ever think about tomorrow. So I merely shrug in response and this she understands.

"You said you had nowhere to go if you escaped? No one to help you."

I nod; my tired brain not seeing the obvious. I can't envisage where this conversation is going; my face merely creases into a frown. "Was?" I murmur. What?

"Vater was wrong," Gretel says. "Wrong about everything. Germany is not about this; Bruno knew that. I have to do something, something to make it right, anything. Verstehst du das?"

Do you understand that? Her words echo in my head as it hits me. The reality of what she is saying. I barely register the true meaning of these words before Gretel says something that I am sure she will regret.

"You have someone now. Someone on the outside. Someone who can help you." Her face hardens as she looks me straight in the eye. "Me."