A/N: For those of you who don't know, Naya has a tattoo on her wrist that spells the Hebrew word "אהבה," pronounced "ahava," which means "love." I thought that it would be kind of neat to incorporate that a little into the chapter and into Santana's life, although not as a tattoo. Anyway, enjoy! :)
When Simka was taken to Auschwitz, she was torn away from her lover, a young man by the name of Amir. She had told me stories of her memories of him almost every night before we'd go to sleep. She'd describe her days with him when they were adolescents, how they grew up in the same town of Germany and suffered the same hatred and belittling because of their Jewish faith. She told me how they used to sneak out into the orchards during the night and walk, hand in hand, between the fruitful trees. He'd pick apples and oranges and peaches off of those trees, and they'd take shelter under the leaves and eat them until they were either stuffed or fell asleep in each other's arms. Whenever she spoke of him, her face lit up and her green eyes shone with childlike enthusiasm. He wasn't just her lover. He was the love of her life.
Simka mainly spoke Yiddish and German, but she also knew some Hebrew, of course, as did many of the Jews in Europe. There was a phrase that her mother would always recite, and Simka herself said it many times during our days at the camp. "Le'ahava amitit ein tachlif," Hebrew for "True love is irreplaceable." She'd repeat it again and again, especially when times were difficult. She always told me how one day I'd find my true love, and that I'd know how veritable that phrase was.
The thing that amazed me the most about Simka was that she never lost hope, as so many others did, including me. She was always optimistic, no matter what. Amir, her lover, was also taken to Auschwitz, and they were separated during their arrival at the camp. He was taken to Birkenau and she to the main camp, and she never heard from him again. She had no way of knowing if he was killed, or if he was still alive and thinking of her. Just the uncertainty would've driven anyone else to madness. But not Simka.
What made her so different from everybody else was her unpredictable nature. When I spoke to her for the first time, I was sure that she was sarcastic and pessimistic. She was, in fact, sarcastic, but not pessimistic at all, which was a very odd and intriguing combination. She reminded me of a novel that my mother had read to me when I was young, called Pollyanna. Pollyanna was a little girl who had lost both of her parents and was sent to live with her rather stern aunt, but she was nevertheless optimistic about absolutely everything. She had a game that her father taught to her called "The Glad Game," where she would attempt and succeed at finding the brighter side of every situation, even if it was well hidden in the misery. Simka wasn't exactly like this, but every night, she'd fall asleep with a smile on her face and great hope for tomorrow. She'd joke, "Tomorrow, the British will come," "Tomorrow, the Americans will save us," "Tomorrow, the Nazis will surrender." They were jokes, but I knew that at the bottom of her heart, she had hope for those events to take place. She had the hope that all of us had lost a few days after we arrived at the camp.
"True love is irreplaceable," she'd mumble to herself, with the tiniest of smiles spread on her lips. To her, this phrase was her way to express her hope that she'd one day be reunited with Amir. And she believed with all her heart that she would.
And now? Now she really would be reunited with the love of her life, just like she had always known she would. In heaven.
Now more than ever, I knew how true that phrase was. Brittany was lying on top of me, her face hidden in my neck and her fingers playing with my hair. We were occupying the backseat of an old, clattering automobile that was taking us from Kraków to Opole, where we would be spending the night at a safe house. Rolf was sitting in the front seat, a hat on his head so that he'd be less recognizable, and we were told to lie down in the back so that we wouldn't be seen. We had new identities now, but we preferred not to be asked for our papers in the first place, and especially not by Nazi soldiers, who would surely know our true identities. We didn't know if photos of us had also been distributed to the general public, and we decided not to risk it by showing ourselves too much.
The mental wound caused by Simka's death was not forgotten, nor was it healed. No matter how many times I was told that it wasn't my fault, that she jumped in front of the gun, and that I couldn't control her actions, I always blamed myself for the way she met her end. Simka—kind, loving, giving Simka—who knew that I had finally found my irreplaceable true love, ended her life so that I'd have another chance with mine. As infinitely grateful as I was for her actions, I would never be able to forgive myself for what happened that day.
Simka's life was not the only one on my conscience. I remembered all too well how that monster put two bullets into Ora and Chaim's heads as if they were rabid dogs that had to be rid of. I remembered how Ora and I woke up in utter panic when we heard heavy boots coming down the basement stairs, how our door was flung open and he stood there with the most terrifying facial expression that I had ever seen in my life. How he ordered Chaim and Ora to follow him as he pushed me up the stairs and out the front door. I remembered praying that Ora and Chaim wouldn't obey his commands, that they'd run out the back door and escape, but for some reason that will never be known to me, they followed. Perhaps they knew that even if they did escape, they had very little chance of remaining hidden. Who would hide two Jews under the callous reign of the Third Reich? They wouldn't have had a Nazi soldier's help as we did. Maybe they knew that they would die either way, and preferred to be over with it.
He never loosened his grip on me. He ordered Ora and Chaim to kneel behind his car, and with his free hand, aimed his gun at them. I remembered how silent they were the entire time. No protests, no begging. They simply followed his orders and kneeled on the ground, tears rolling down their faces, but completely mute. Their eyes were still open when he shot them.
He grasped my hair in an unyielding fist and began to pull me down the hill. When I tripped and fell to the ground, he didn't stop, simply continued to drag me through the dirt by my hair. He never said a word.
The entire time, I was praying for Brittany to stay oblivious to that morning's events, at least until after I was killed. I faced the fact that Hans was going to lose me as his mother, but I was not willing for him to lose both of his mothers. Brittany had to stay alive, no matter how much it hurt her to be without me. I wasn't sure that, when faced with my death, she would think rationally and of Hans. It was imperative that she would, for his sake. He was our child, and we couldn't let him grow up to be like his horrendous father.
When we arrived at the camp, the prisoners were already rallied up at one of the larger squares. Herr Eberhardt must have given orders to his soldiers beforehand. He dragged me until we were at the center of the mass of people, and began his abhorrent speech.
When Brittany revealed herself, it felt like the entire world dropped on my head, and when she jumped on me to shield me from his gun, I wanted to scream at her and kick her away, anything so that she wouldn't be killed. But Brittany, being Brittany, would give her life to protect mine, just as I would give mine to protect hers. True love is irreplaceable.
How many more people died that day because I had been selfish enough to hide in the First Commandant's own home? How many more people were killed because we fooled him once again and escaped? How many more people were slaughtered because I had fallen in love with the enemy's wife?
Too many, I feared. Herr Eberhardt would have to have killed thousands of prisoners for it to make a difference to him. He must've known that his time as First Commandant had come to an end, and murdered as many prisoners as he could in the little time that he had left. He had to leave his mark.
I tightened my arms around Brittany, and I could feel her smile into my neck. She raised herself up on her hands, glanced at the front seat to see that nobody was looking, and sneaked a little kiss on my lips before lowering herself and burying her face in my neck again. I smiled affectionately. As much as it hurt that so many people died because of our love, this love was worth more to me than anything else in the world. Anything else except for Hans.
I had lost track of time, but when we finally arrived at Opole, it was already dark. We were dropped off at a house on the outskirts of the city, and Rolf quickly thanked the man who risked his life by driving us before beckoning us to come after him into the house.
The old Polish couple who owned the house were two of the kindest, sweetest people I had ever met. They introduced themselves as Feliks and Halina, and when we entered their home, we smelled the delicious aroma of the dinner that they had cooked especially for us. It seemed that their house was a regular safe house for escapees, and my heart warmed immediately when they told us the number of people who had stayed with them. Fifty-three, including us. Fifty-three lives that they had saved.
After they had served us our food and joined us at the table, they began to tell us about the city of Opole and their memories of happier days.
"It used to be such a beautiful place, Opole," Halina recalled, a heavy Polish accent evident in her words. "When we were young," she smiled at her husband, who clutched her hand and squeezed warmly. I felt my heart skip a couple beats. What I wouldn't give to grow old like this with Brittany. The most fortunate people in the world were those who had found their true love and grew old with them, just as Feliks and Halina did. I glanced at Brittany and found her gazing back at me, and I knew that she was thinking the exact same thing. Our lips lifted into loving smiles simultaneously.
What if it was possible? What if it actually happened? What if we rescued Hans, came out alive, escaped from Europe, and lived happily ever after like we always wished we would? What if we were able to watch him grow into a handsome, gentle, kindhearted man? What if we had grandchildren?
Halina spoke again, and I was brought back to reality. Reality, where those wishes had such little chance of being granted. "Now," she shook her head miserably, "now all you see are Nazis and weapons and violence. First the Great War, and now this. The Germans will never stop."
We chewed in silence for a few minutes, pondering the weight of her words. The Germans certainly did seem unstoppable at this point, and it didn't look like anyone was coming to our rescue, although Great Britain, the Soviet Union, and the United States had already declared war on them. But if the Germans had been defeated once before, was there a chance of it happening again?
"It's nice to see a young couple in love, especially in times like these," Halina said, and I looked up at her, only to blush deeply when I found her eyes jumping between Brittany and I. I heard Brittany clear her throat, and turned to see that her cheeks were crimson as well. Halina smiled sweetly. "We had been told who you were and why you were escaping before you were brought here. And we are not disapproving. Love is love, after all, isn't it?" she turned to Feliks, who nodded with a gentle smile and squeezed her hand once more.
I smiled hesitantly. It still felt so foreign when people were not hateful of our lifestyle. I had never heard of or met a person who had homosexual feelings until I realized that I was such a person. Being tolerant of homosexuality was one thing—declaring your approval of it as Halina and Feliks had just done was completely different, and something only a handful of people would have done in such times as these. I thought about Ora, who had also acted like this. Maybe acceptance came with age for some people. People who had known what it was like to really be in love.
Halina gave us some clothes to change into for the night, and after Brittany and I had washed ourselves, separately, we were led to the bedroom that we were to sleep in. Brittany climbed into bed, and I closed the door and turned off the light before slipping under the blankets beside her. She rolled into me and hugged me with one arm, and I leaned my head on hers and closed my eyes.
I was still awake when she began to sob. I knew why she was crying, and I wanted to cry just as badly because of it, but I held back my tears. Brittany needed me to be strong for her. But being separated from Hans was really starting to be too much to handle.
She sobbed for a few minutes, and I just held her as closely as possible and stroked my hand down her back soothingly. After she had calmed a bit, I felt her warm lips on my neck, trailing tender kisses up to my jaw until she reached my lips. She kissed me passionately, her soft tongue slipping in and out of my mouth and her right hand delicately grasping my hair. I was a little surprised when I felt her left hand on my sex. I hadn't given any thought to intercourse since everything fell apart and Herr Eberhardt found out about us. I thought that maybe Brittany needed to feel that she still had me even though she didn't have Hans, and this was her way to prove it to herself. This was her way of finding comfort.
She let her fingers wander lightly up and down my sex, over the nightgown that I was wearing, and it wasn't long before I broke our kiss and clamped my thighs together, breathing heavily. Brittany, whose face was still soaked with tears, gently pried them apart again and let her hands glide down my body until they were clutching the nightdress and slowly pulling it over my head, leaving me in nothing but undergarments. She pulled her own nightgown over her head and climbed on top of me, kissing down my neck and to the crevice between my breasts. Her mouth finally landed on one of my nipples, and she slipped it into her mouth, her warm tongue passing over it in slow, tender strokes, completely unhurried and utterly loving. Her left hand returned to my sex, but this time slithered under my undergarments to cup me directly, not rubbing but just letting her hand immerse in the dampness. I closed my eyes and threaded my fingers through her hair.
She moaned quietly into my breast and began to gently rock back and forth, rubbing the heel of her hand on my clitoris and using my thigh to relieve her own tension. I sneaked a hand between us, slipped it beneath her undergarments, and began to slowly rub two fingers on her clitoris. She continued to suck on my nipple, affectionately, almost yearningly, making a silent, indisputable claim that she'll always be mine and I'll always be hers. For a brief moment, I remembered Simka again, and the phrase that she'd always recite, and I knew that the meaning of that phrase had never been more real than it was now, with Brittany lying on top of me and kissing my breast as if it was the last thing she'd ever do.
Her rocking quickened a bit, which caused our hands to rub against each other more forcefully. With my free hand, I delicately pressed on her chin until she released my nipple from her mouth, and guided her up to meet my lips. Her eyes, still somewhat swollen from the crying, were ardent and cherishing as she leaned down to catch my lips in hers. She sighed softly into my mouth, and I knew that, like me, she was trying her best to remain quiet. There were other people in the house, and while they were all approving of our love, we did not want to be caught in the act.
We continued to kiss even as Brittany's rocking turned desperate and wild, trapping each other's moans in our mouths and breathing heavily in unison. Brittany's free hand was tangled in my hair, and my free hand on her hip to urge her to sway faster. We were both whimpering by now, which was the only alternative to emitting loud moans. After a few more rolls of Brittany's hips, I hit my climax, breaking our kiss and breathing heavily to the side, but making sure to keep my fingers held tightly to her clitoris. She reached her orgasm shortly thereafter, convulsing gently and letting out the tiniest of gasps before relaxing her muscles and collapsing on top of me.
We lay motionless for a couple of minutes, our breathing gradually returning to normal and our hearts slowing to their regular tranquil tempos. Brittany kissed my neck softly, and lingered on it for a few moments before she whispered, "Thank you."
I wrapped my arms around her, so tightly that we almost molded into one, and I thought about how I never wanted to let go of the girl who had turned my world from somber grays to vivid colors.
I was torn from my dreams when I heard a soft knock on the door. By the pale light that was shining in through the bedroom window, I could tell that it was only early morning. After a few more blinks and a yawn, I was fully awake and realized that both Brittany and I were still nude. Her left arm was stretched across my chest, and her left leg straddled both of mine protectively. She looked so peaceful, and I was just about to wonder how long we'd be able to remain in this position when a second knock sounded on the door.
"Just a minute," I called quietly, and gently pried Brittany off of me. She mumbled a few incoherent words and buried her face in the pillow as I pulled the blankets over her, tucking them around her and making sure that her bare body would not be seen. I quickly slipped on the forgotten nightgown and made my way to the door.
When I opened it, I found that it was Rolf who was knocking. "Our ride is here," he explained as his eyes shifted to a sleeping Brittany. "Could you wake her, please?"
I nodded curtly, and closed the door when he turned away. I quietly walked to the bed and leaned over Brittany, placing a tender kiss on her cheek. "Britt?"
She licked her lips briefly and slowly opened her eyes. I let her recover from her sleep for a few more seconds before saying, "Our ride is here, Britt. We need to be ready in a few minutes."
She nodded and sat up, rubbing her eyes. We were ready after about five minutes, and entered the living room with our few belongings in hand. Feliks and Halina both hugged us warmly and asked us to be safe. It was sad to leave them behind—they felt like the grandparents that I never had. Rolf, Brittany, and I thanked them from the bottom of our hearts for all of their kind help and for risking their lives for us and many others, which they responded to with sweet, bashful smiles and the assurances that they'd continue to risk their lives because that's what was right to do in their opinions. With heavy hearts, we said our last goodbyes and left the house.
The man who was driving us was just as kind as Feliks and Halina, and offered us blankets in case we were cold in the backseat. We took them gratefully and entered the automobile, lying down the way we were in the previous car ride, with Brittany on top of me and her face buried in my neck, and the warm blankets on top of us.
This man was supposed to take us from Opole to Liegnitz, a city well within the annexed territories of Nazi Germany that was about halfway from Kraków to Berlin. Brittany and I made sure we were comfortable enough for the long ride ahead.
We began to slow down after about an hour until we finally came to a halt. Brittany and I turned our puzzled gazes to the front seat, and saw that Rolf was turned to us, his eyes worried. "We'll need to hide you in the trunk," he said apologetically. "There's a blockade ahead, and Nazi soldiers are checking the automobiles. We cannot risk it."
We quickly slipped out of the backseat and walked around the car to the trunk, which the man who was driving us held open. It was small—too small for us to lie side by side, so Brittany climbed in first and I after her, facing her. Rolf pulled the blankets out of the backseat and tucked them around us, making sure that we were entirely hidden, and then both he and the man put all of their belongings on top of us to make sure we were fully concealed. After a few seconds they closed the trunk, and Brittany and I were trapped in complete darkness.
It was a little hard to breathe, but not anything unmanageable for the short time that we were to be in there. For a brief second, I remembered the darkness in the gas chambers after the doors had been closed and how they began to let the Zyklon B trickle down on us, but I quickly pushed the thought away and breathed in the intoxicating scent of Brittany's hair, reminding myself that I was with her and very far from Auschwitz.
The automobile slowed to a stop once again, and Brittany and I held our breaths when we heard the stern voices of some Nazi soldiers speaking to our driver. With a great amount of panic, we heard them walking around the car and to the trunk. I prayed to God that they wouldn't find us, that Ora and Chaim and Simka's deaths were not in vain. The same words passed through my mind over and over again, as if Simka was there to say them—true love is irreplaceable, true love is irreplaceable, true love is irreplaceable.
The trunk creaked open, and warm sunlight washed the blankets that were concealing us.