I caressed Brittany's hair, a feeling of utter bafflement dominating my thoughts. Her helpless tears dampened my filthy garment. I just wanted her to stop crying, so I lightly kissed the top of her head. As soon as I had done so, however, I cursed myself for daring to kiss an Aryan. My recklessness will get me killed.

There are no words to describe the puzzlement that conquered my mind. The same questions kept appearing over and over again—what's happening? Who is she? What does she want with me? Why should I trust her?

I kept having this sour feeling in my gut that this was all some sick game. That she was pretending, and that I walked right into her trap. I kept expecting to be ambushed, to be taken outside and mercilessly shot in the head. This was the most horrible, largest scale war since the Great War. This was Nazi Germany. This was Auschwitz. Aryans didn't make friends with gypsies. I shuddered at the disgusting word.

And yet…I wanted to trust her. I wanted this to be real. There was something about her, something that intrigued me and made my insides squirm with excitement. I was so curious to find out more about her.

And if this was real, if this was not all just some game, then why me? What feeling, deep within her, brought on this ultimate trust? What brought on that look of sheer horror when she saw me being beaten by those ruthless soldiers? What brought on these passionate hands that were so desperately clinging to my back?

And how did this all happen so quickly? When she hugged me yesterday, when she held me so close to her while I cried, I faltered. I had just met her a few hours earlier, and yet she acted like we had known each other our whole lives. Like we were long-lost friends, like we cared for each other in our youth and were just finishing what was left undone. It sent me into such a spiral of confusion that I was not able to sleep later that night. I kept wondering if she would come back again. Wondering, and hoping that she would.

Hoping?

Why? Why was I hoping that she would return for me? My instinct would answer the obvious—I wanted to live. I didn't want to die in this rotten slaughterhouse. I yearned so desperately to be free again. But something else told me that this reason was not the answer to my question.

I had this other feeling, but it was so difficult to interpret. It was like there was this flickering light shining on the wall. You want to catch it in your hands so that you could examine it thoroughly and understand the meaning behind every photon. But as soon as you near it, it dashes away from you. So you run and run along that wall, jumping up and down in attempt to catch it, but you can never get close enough. It's like that feeling when something is on the tip of your tongue, but you just can't for the life of you remember what it is. And you tell yourself that you will not relent until you catch the light, until you remember the word, until you comprehend the feeling.

Brittany sniffed from underneath me and slowly lifted up her head. Her eyes were swollen and her cheeks crimson with sorrow. Her crystalline irises glowed in the dim light of the living room as she gazed at me.

Her face was very close to mine, and I became extremely uncomfortable when she didn't take her hands off of my back. She just froze in place, entranced by something that she evidently saw in my face but that was not apparent to me. I gulped anxiously.

At last, she pulled back and returned her hands to her lap, her facial expression somewhat guilty. She gently cleared her throat. "Anna's the light of my life. The one thing that's kept me going. She always made everything better."

I felt my mouth part as a sharp shudder passed through my body. My heart clenched in agony.

Brittany seemed to notice that something was amiss. "Do you have any siblings?"

I lowered my gaze and licked my chapped lips. "I…one. I had one. A little brother."

"What was his name?" she inquired softly.

"Ángel. Because he was an angel." I sighed deeply.

Brittany was quiet for a moment. Then she opened her mouth, slightly hesitated, and tenderly asked, "What happened?"

"He…" I wavered. "He had this disease. I don't know what it was because we never had enough money to get him examined by a doctor. He just…didn't grow. At two, he still looked like a baby. At seven, he had only just grown into a toddler. And at ten, when he…" I trailed off. "He looked like he was around five years old. His body grew unnaturally slowly, but his mind matured normally with his age. He was a ten-year-old trapped in a five-year-old's body. This disease, whatever it was, made him very vulnerable to other diseases, and he…well, one day, he started having this cough. This horrible cough, that sounded like thunder, or like boulders rolling down a hill. And then he began to cough up blood. At first it was just a little bit, but then it became more and more, to the point that I wondered if he even had any left in his body. And then, one day, he just…didn't wake up."

Brittany inched her hand toward mine and lightly grasped onto it. I looked down at her white skin as it melted into my dark caramel. That feeling of complete bewilderment mystified me again.

"Were you close to him?"

"Very. He was my best friend. We may have been six years apart, but he was the one person I could always tell anything to. He was so mature for his age, and sometimes it felt like he was the big sibling. I took care of him physically and he took care of me mentally. We were inseparable." I raised my gaze back up to her. Her mouth was parted and her eyes dazed. I wanted so badly to be inside her mind, to hear the thoughts behind the facial expressions.

"Girls," the cook's voice made us both jump. Brittany ripped her gaze off of me and turned her head to him. "Breakfast is ready." His eyes fell on our hands, which were still clasped together. I quickly broke the hold.

We entered the dining room to find two generous plates that were piled up with scrambled eggs and potatoes placed on the table, accompanied by two full glasses of orange juice. My mouth instantly began to salivate.

I sat across the table from Brittany and looked at her in humble expectation. She nodded at me and I lifted up my knife and fork and began to eat.

It tasted like something from another world. I couldn't remember the last time that I had eggs, or any protein for that matter. I attempted to pace myself, but I wanted to just inhale the food.

I finished my plate very quickly, and my stomach twisted unpleasantly. It wasn't used to receiving this type of food, and definitely not this much of it.

I raised my gaze to Brittany to find that she hadn't touched her plate, and was just lost in thought as her eyes scanned me. I bit my lip uncomfortably.

She gently shoved her plate toward me. "You aren't going to eat?" I found myself saying.

She shook her head without taking her eyes off of me. "I can eat whenever I want. I'd rather have you eat it while you're here."

I blinked incredulously and hesitantly pulled the plate to replace my empty one. As I ate, I kept peeking up at her, only to find her azure eyes boring holes into me.

I couldn't read her expression. Or at least I didn't think that I could. It seemed like…but it couldn't be. How could it be?

I took more time on this plate, my stomach complaining at the irrational amount of food that I was presenting it. But I kept eating nonetheless. I didn't know when the next time that I could indulge in such a meal would be.

I gulped down the orange juice, a little too quickly. Its sourness burned my delicate throat.

Once I was finished, Brittany stood on her legs and I followed. She led me back to the living room, and my gaze fell on the gorgeous grand piano.

"Go ahead," she said softly. I turned to her. Every act of kindness seemed so surreal, so out of place.

She made her way to the couch and looked at me expectantly. I slid onto the leather bench and gently lifted the cover off of the brilliant keys.

I knew what piece I wanted to play, but it was dangerous. I took a big risk playing Beethoven yesterday; it was against the law for the inferior races to play music by German composers.

But Beethoven was my favorite composer. His music moved me in the way no other composer could. There was so much feeling behind it, so much meaning. So much anger and hatred and love and longing.

I twisted my neck to Brittany. "Is it okay if I play Beethoven?" I said just above a hush.

"Of course," she furrowed her brow. "Why wouldn't it be?"

"Well, it's against the law for the inferior races to play music written by German composers."

Brittany looked dumbfounded. She shook her head incredulously. "I just don't understand…" she trailed off. "But, please, play whatever you like."

I flashed her a grateful smile and turned back to the piano. I breathed in deeply and closed my eyes as my fingers rested on the familiar keys.

I began to play the first optimistic notes of Beethoven's Sonata No. 10, Spring. I let myself get carried away by the exquisite feeling, the comforting sound, the painful memories.

I had been taught how to play the piano since I was five and every year since until we moved back to Germany. It was the one thing that my mamá wanted me to be good at. Every time we'd move, she would find a new teacher so that I would continue to learn. One of Ángel's favorite pastimes was to accompany me to my lessons and listen to me play. He said that my playing sounded like the voice of Dios.

Ángel had a peculiar way of thinking. He believed that he was connected to God. That he could communicate with Him, ask Him questions, and retrieve answers. And it was hard not to believe him when you looked at his overwhelming purity.

He wasn't supposed to live past birth. He was born two months earlier than his due date, and we thought that he was a stillborn at first. Then, to our immense relief, he cried when the umbilical cord was cut. It was like he just came to life. Like someone leaned down from heaven and blessed him with a second chance. He was so very small; he had barely developed. He wasn't supposed to live.

But he did. And when he opened his eyes for the first time, we saw an angel. Such immaculacy, such sanctity. So we named him after what he was, an Ángel. My mother would always say that he was "un regalo de Dios." A gift from God. A borrowed angel.

Spring was one of his favorite pieces. He said that it reflected his thoughts, his hopefulness for the future. His pointless and naïve hopefulness.

I swayed my whole body to the piece, so immersed in the notes and in my feelings that tears began to cascade down my cheeks. How was it fair that he died at such a young age when people like Hitler were allowed to grow into adulthood? How was it fair that millions of people were deemed inferior and were taken to be slaughtered like worthless animals in concentration camps? Where was this God that Ángel always spoke of? Was He nonexistent, or was He just turning His head in the opposite direction? Or did He think that we deserved this?

I played the last soft notes of the piece and inhaled deeply as my eyelids slowly retracted. I turned a shy gaze to Brittany.

It seemed like she had also been going through a rough stream of thoughts. Tears glistened on her face, her jaw clenched and her eyes passionate. She looked like she was fighting off an overpowering desire to do something. To do what, though?

Someone cleared her throat behind me. Both Brittany and I apprehensively snapped our heads to find that the maid had been standing there, watching and listening.

"You play beautifully," she smiled warmly at me. I nodded in thanks. "Brittany, darling, your fiancé will be back in around an hour or two."

Brittany blinked hurriedly and gazed at me regretfully. I gently brought down the cover over the keys and lifted myself off of the bench. She led me out of the house, down the hill that was so full of hope, through the gate with the strangely kind young soldier. We didn't speak a word to each other, but there was an intense exchange of feelings as we walked side by side.

When we arrived at the building in which I resided, Brittany uneasily looked around, but there was no one in sight. She grasped my hand and placed a warm kiss on my cheek. Then she turned around and quickly disappeared behind the closest building, leaving me staring in bewilderment after her. She kissed me. She kissed me. I had just gotten a kiss from an Aryan.

I shook my head in confusion and turned to open the heavy door. Inside, the women were all about, quietly conversing with one another. I walked to my bed to find Simka waiting for me.

She had this look of doubtfulness mixed with confusion in her large green eyes and her arms were crossed over her protruding ribcage. I averted my eyes and leaned on the hard edge of the second bed from the top.

"Who is she?" Simka inquired in awed bafflement.

"The Commandant's fiancée."

"And what does she want with you? Because from that look in her eyes, I know that she wasn't really taking you to the First Commandant."

I kept my eyes to the grimy floor. "I don't know."

I saw Simka shrug in my peripheral. She jumped up into her bed and turned to me. I gazed back at her and she flashed me her famous mischievous smile.

Simka was what you could call my best friend at the camp. We watched each other's backs. We made sacrifices for each other and shared our darkest secrets.

"Girls," a middle-aged woman named Tzipporah made a gathering gesture. "We have roll call later today in the evening, so let's light the Shabbat candles right now."

I stood back as all of the Jewish women, Simka included, made their way toward the front of the space. The women who were able to get candles and matches in the black market stood forward. They lit their candles, and all of the women, as a whole, made a circling gesture twice in the air before covering their eyes with their hands.

"Baruch ata Adonai, Eloheinu melech ha'olam, asher keedeshanu be'meetzvotav, ve'tzeevanu lehadlik neir shel Shabbat. Amen."

The Jewish women kept their hands on their faces, and hurried mumbles rose from the crowd. They were praying for their loved and lost ones.

I admired them for their faith. I felt like I had no faith left, in anything. My faith died with my little brother.

After performing our daily tasks and being served extremely watery soup and tiny pieces of stale bread that did nothing to assuage our hunger, we were allowed to return to our residential buildings. I lay in the unpleasantly firm bed alongside the two women who shared it with me, facing the wall. As I drifted off to sleep, Brittany's face slipped into my thoughts, and I lost consciousness with a feeling of yearned-for safety.

And in the morning, when the door to our building opened to reveal her in a long white dress with violet flower print, when she smiled so adoringly and trustingly at me, that's when I finally felt myself inch a little bit closer to the flickering light.

Translations

German

"Arbeit Macht Frei" – Work sets you free, a sign that was presented at the entrance to Auschwitz.

"Frau" – Mrs., a title for married women.

"Fräulein" – Miss, a title for unmarried women.

"Führer" – Leader, a term used to describe Adolf Hitler.

"Gruppenführer" – Major General, rank in the Nazi SS.

"Heil Hitler" – Used as a greeting and a presentation of faith in the Nazi regime and in Adolf Hitler.

"Herr" – Mister, a title for men.

"Mami" – Mommy.

"Mein Kampf" – My Struggle, a book written by Adolf Hitler.

"Oberstgruppenführer" – General, rank in the Nazi SS.

Spanish

"Dios" – God.

"Un regalo de Dios" – A gift from God.

Hebrew

"Baruch ata Adonai, Eloheinu melech ha'olam, asher keedeshanu be'meetzvotav, ve'tzeevanu lehadlik neir shel Shabbat. Amen." – Blessed are You, Lord, our God, King of the universe, who has sanctified us with His commandments and commanded us to light the Shabbat candles. Amen. (In Judaism, women light Shabbat candles on Friday nights, typically eighteen minutes before sunset.)

"Shabbat" – Sabbath, the seventh day of the week.