"Milada. That is a pretty name."
"I say it to myself every night. So I won't forget."
We sat together for a while, just watching the eerie face of Hitler wavering in the shadows.
"I have something I want to show you," I said. Unbuttoning my coat, I reached beneath my nightdress skirt and unclasped Babichka's star pin. Carefully, I pulled it out and pressed it into her hand. "The night I was taken from my home, my grand mother gave this to me. She said to remember. Remember, always."
Liesel looked at the pin, then back at me. "You are lucky to have something from home. I have nothing. I wasn't allowed to bring anything."
"I have tried to keep my promise to remember."
She handed the pin back to me.
"Katarzyna?" I asked.
She smiled. "Yes, Milada."
"Let's make another promise. When we are here, in this church, let's use our real names."
"Yes, Milada," she answered, grasping my hand.
"Good, then, Katarzyna." I smiled back at her, squeezing her hand in mine.
"My name is Milada. Milada!" I said it so loudly that the sound bounced off the church walls in an echo. She laughed.
"Katarzyna!" she yelled, letting the name roll down the pews.
We sat for a long time in the church, looking at Hitler's face and the faint glow of the candles. Even with the cold, I felt warmed by the knowledge that I had a friend. I wasn't alone after all.
Six
Summer 1943–Winter 1944: Puschkau, Poland
AT the same time that I was finding a friend in Liesel, Franziska was growing close to Siegrid. The two became inseparable. They sat together in every class and at every meal. They made a special request to have their cots in the sleeping room moved next to each other. And they would whisper late into the night back and forth in flawless German.
Both continued to excel at German history and language lessons. Both were model German citizens: eager, smart, always prepared, and quick to criticize anyone who faltered in the slightest way, either in lessons or in her allegiance to the Nazis.
Fräulein Krüger and the other instructors pointed them out as examples of young German women who "have the best handwriting" or "truly understand the German philosophy" or "will become fine German mothers someday."
Everyone else seemed either jealous of them or irritated by the constant praise they received. But we were all too afraid of what Fräulein Krüger or the other adults would do if we openly defied or challenged either girl.
Franziska was the teachers' favorite because she so completely embraced the Nazi philosophy of the adults around her. And she not only knew she had this power, she also knew how to use it.
One day, during a lesson, Franziska was reciting a passage from a German poem. We had all worked hard the night before in the sleeping room, reading the assigned lines back and forth to one another, trying to memorize them. Franziska, of course, had memorized the poem quickly and seemingly effortlessly, while the rest of us had struggled.
I wasn't surprised when Fräulein Schmitt called on Franziska to recite the first part of the poem. She delivered it perfectly, and Fräulein Schmitt lavished praise on her.
"Now, Franziska, you may pick a partner to recite the second half with you, in unison."
There was no hesitation from Franziska. "I would like to recite with Gerde."
Gerde's face reddened. We all knew she had struggled most of all to memorize the poem.
"All right, Gerde," Fräulein Schmitt said. "You and Franziska may begin."
It was painful to listen as Gerde attempted to keep up with Franziska's pace and confidence. Franziska kept having to stop so that Gerde could check her book for a forgotten line. When they finished, Gerde's eyes were filled with tears.
"Franziska, that was beautiful," Fräulein Schmitt said, clapping her hands together. "You are always so excellent with your studies. And Gerde, I don't think I need to tell you how poor your performance was. To be a proper German girl, you must study as hard as Franziska does, even if it means less sleep at night. Tonight you will not go to bed with the other girls. Instead, you will sit with the night guard in this classroom until you have learned to recite this poem as well as Franziska."
Everyone studied harder the next time we had a poem to memorize. All of us were willing to forgo sleep because we were so afraid Franziska would use her power to humiliate us.
***
I was glad that I had Liesel. We continued to make periodic visits to the church at night. One of us would stay awake and then awaken the other after everyone else was sleeping soundly. Together we would sneak out into the night to look up at the stars and sit in the small church and talk. These visits were what kept hope alive and made the center bearable throughout that second year.
Inside the church we created our own place with our own rules. We called each other by our real names and talked about things from before. I told Katarzyna about my family, about Jaro and Anechka and Mama and Papa and Babichka. I let her hold Babichka's pin, and I described how Babichka had taught me to sew and bake. I told her about Terezie and the things we had done together and the birthday party we had planned but never had. Our time together felt comfortable and real, like the moments I had spent with Terezie. And I began to consider Katarzyna, like Terezie, a best friend.
"I have three older sisters and an older brother," she said one night, after I had told her about Jaroslav being so nice to me at my birthday party. "Father was killed fighting the Nazis when I was still little, and my brother hates them because of that. And yet here I am, one of them."
"But you're not a Nazi," I told her. "Not really."
"I know. But sometimes it is hard to remember." We sat in the dark for a few minutes before she continued.
"They came for me, you know. The Nazis. They just walked up to the door, came in, and took me with them. I guess that's why I don't really believe that Mother willingly gave me to them. I'll never forget the way she cried and screamed as they pulled me from her."
I nodded, and she continued.
"They were wearing brown uniforms, and on the bus they told me that mama could no longer afford me and had given me to them freely. I don't think that's true. I was the youngest in the family and didn't eat much. But sometimes, in here, it's hard to know the truth...."
Her voice trailed off, and I squeezed her hand.
***
As the winter turned to spring, our friendship became easy and familiar, something certain in a place filled with so much uncertainty. I had nearly outgrown another woolen skirt by then, and my boots barely fit. My hair hung far below my shoulders, and my stockings had become so tight that they had to be replaced for a third time.
One morning I awoke to the strains of the German national anthem mixed with the sound of birds chattering, announcing that spring might have finally arrived. The birds' song made me feel light-hearted and happy, ready for the warmth of spring.
When Fräulein Krüger came to inspect us that morning, she wore a formal jacket instead of her regular shirt and dress scarf. We stood at attention as usual while she walked up and down the narrow aisle, smiling and nodding her approval. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Franziska's gaze following her eagerly, as if Fräulein Krüger was a movie star.
I thought of the real movie stars Terezie and I used to discuss together. We were sure they were not only beautiful but kind and generous as well. Our dream was that one would come to Lidice someday and whisk us away in an expensive car for a fancy meal in Prague. How different from this Fräulein Krüger was.
She did look beautiful that morning. Her hair was tightly gathered in a silky gold bun at the back of her head. This accentuated her eyes, which were a dark shade of blue that reminded me of the color of the sky right before a thunderstorm. And like thunderclouds, I knew, they hid something ugly just beneath their surface, waiting for its chance to be free.
"You look good this morning, my girls!" Her voice was unusually cheerful
, making me even more suspicious of her intentions. "And today, young women of Germany, you will take your first trip into the town of Puschkau."
The room filled with a stunned silence as Fräulein Krüger continued walking up and down the aisle. She patted a head here and touched a cheek there, then released us from our salute and left the room, humming.
No one spoke as we watched her leave. Together we walked the short distance to the dining room, and still no one spoke. Liesel and I exchanged nervous glances but said nothing.
I hadn't thought of Heidi in a long time, but images of her last day filled my mind. I could still hear the sound of Fräulein Krüger's belt on Elsa's skin before she too had gone. Were we really going to town? Or were we being sent away, as they had been?
Sensing our unease, Fräulein Krüger joined us for breakfast and sat at the head of the long dining table. "Girls, girls. This will be fun. A way to show off your beauty. And besides, we have a surprise for you." I looked down at my oatmeal, trying to make my throat swallow. I had come to hate surprises during the past two years.
Milada, Milada, Milada, I said to myself, letting the syllables dance in my head in time to my chewing.
After breakfast, Fräulein Krüger led us back to the sleeping room instead of taking us to home economics lessons. I noticed, with a sense of dread, that the door was closed. I glanced at Liesel and saw by the expression on her face that she was also frightened. What surprise lay behind that door?
Fräulein Krüger gathered us closely around her in a small circle and opened the door with a flourish. "I have something special for you." With a wide smile she swept her arm toward the cots. "When in town, you should look like the beautiful German girls you are. Please change, and then we can depart."
On each of our cots lay a brand-new, neatly pressed formal uniform, the fabric looking crisp and inviting. At the foot of each cot was a pair of shiny patent leather shoes, so new that I thought I could actually smell them from the door.
Tears came unexpectedly. It had been so long since I had been given a gift. All the fear drained from me, making my knees weak. We were really going to town.
I watched Liesel take her skirt and hold it up against her legs to check the length. She smiled at me, turning the skirt around, then holding it against her legs again.
"Look. It's perfect!" she said.
Everyone's tension disappeared, and the room filled with excited cries as we pulled on our new clothes. My shirt fit as if it had been made just for me. The fabric was thick and rich and obviously expensive. There was a red kerchief for my neck, with a new Nazi clasp that was similar to the ones for our daily uniforms. Carefully, I took Grandmother's star and pinned it underneath the skirt.
Liesel stood next to me, twirling in her skirt. "Did you look yet? In the pocket? See what they have given us?"
I put my hand in my pocket and gasped as my fingers closed around a small object. I pulled it out to see a coin, a bronze-colored German mark, with the Nazi eagle and swastika stamped on one side. A whole mark, one for each of us, in the pocket of each skirt.
Fräulein Krüger appeared at the door again, a genuine smile of pleasure on her face. "The marks, young women, are for you to spend in whatever way you wish. We will stop at a special candy stand during our trip into town."
Never had I had so much money to spend on my own. Never. And I couldn't remember the last time I had visited a candy stand, let alone been allowed to buy a sweet. Twirling in my own skirt, I closed my eyes and let the smile stay on my face.
***
The day was sunny and warm as we made our way to the bus. As I walked, I realized it would be the first time I had been away from the center in nearly two years. What would the world outside look like? Would it have changed, or would it look the same?
Small patches of leftover snow lay melting on the ground, and the mountains in the distance were outlined in a hazy light blue that matched Liesel's eyes. Birds were singing gloriously in the few trees that dotted the center. Franziska and Siegrid babbled excitedly all the way to the bus, and Liesel caught up to me, putting her hand in mine. She had tied a new ribbon in her hair, and the sun caught the color of her eyes, making them even brighter than usual. Everything about the whole world felt right and good at that moment.
The Polish foothills moved past us through the bus window as we drove to town. I had a fleeting memory of the last time I had traveled this route two years before, but I pushed it aside. I wanted to enjoy the freedom of being gone from the center for as long as possible without reliving dark memories.
The world outside looked beautiful and clean, as if there was no war, no center, no need to remember who you were. I pressed my forehead against the cool window and watched the scenery pass until we entered the town of Puschkau.
The buildings were different from any I had seen before. They were close together and looked sad and dark. They stood huddled next to one another, as if they too needed to protect themselves against Hitler and his occupation.
Despite the buildings, I felt lighthearted and happy, almost joyful. We were allowed to wander in and among the shops, and Liesel and I walked together, giggling and talking. I kept my mark safely in my pocket, unwilling to spend it on anything but chocolate. I was happy just to be outside and free, like the birds chattering in the trees.
Our last stop was a group visit to the small candy stand near the bus. All of us met and walked together, a group of blond German girls strolling down the street without a care.
"Sweets. I can hardly wait!" Liesel whispered to me as we walked side by side. Her eyes were shining.
"Sweets," I repeated, my mouth watering at the thought, my mind trying to remember the rich taste of chocolate candy.
At the stand I chose a small piece of chocolate with a little rose carved on top. I put it in my mouth and closed my eyes, letting it melt without biting it, to make the taste linger as long as possible.
When I opened my eyes, I saw an old, bent woman standing across the street, looking in my direction.
"Grandmother," I whispered.
For a moment I was sure it was my grandmother, standing across the street in Poland, waiting for me to go to her. Suddenly, the only thing that mattered was having her wrap me in her ragged black shawl so I could feel her and smell her and listen to her tell me that everything was going to be all right. My whole body ached with longing, and I reached a hand out to her.
But as I moved toward her, she screamed at me in words I couldn't understand. Her eyes were clouded with hate—black and smoky, like hot coals from a fire. She shouted at me again, loud and hoarse, opening her toothless mouth. "Nazista!" she screamed in Polish. Then in broken German: "Nazi! Evil child!" In a moment, she had crossed the street and was standing so close to me that I could smell her earthy sweat and feel the heat of her words.
"No," I said, wanting her to know I wasn't a Nazi. I looked down at my clothes, suddenly feeling ashamed. "No," I repeated, shaking my head. I wanted to rip my uniform off. She didn't understand. I wasn't a Nazi.
Slowly she pursed her lips together, then spat at me and watched with satisfaction as the spit rolled down my cheek and onto the sidewalk. She smiled, eyes still burning, and straightened her back, making herself as tall as she could.
"No," I said again, wiping the spit from my face. "I..." I reached out to touch her, but suddenly Fräulein Krüger was between us, with a billy club in her hand that she lifted over her head and brought down hard on the woman. Again and again Fräulein Krüger struck her—on her head, her arms, her back—until the old woman lay on the ground. Her screams, loud at first, lessened with each blow, until they finally stopped altogether, and I heard only the sound of Fräulein Krüger's stick on the woman's body. For days afterward I would awake in the middle of the night to the sounds of the old woman's screams mixed with the dull thump of Fräulein Krüger's club.
With brisk efficiency Fräulein Krüger hurried us all toward the bus. I turned one last time to see the woman slo
wly lifting herself from the ground. The snow around her was blotched with red. The streets were empty.
"Nasty old woman." Franziska appeared beside me in the aisle of the bus, patting my shoulder. "Nasty, nasty woman."
Clucking sympathetically, Fräulein Krüger took out a handkerchief and wiped the side of my face where the old woman had spit. Liesel stood on my other side, patting my back.
"It's nothing to worry over, Eva. She was a crazy old woman," Gerde said as we walked down the aisle.
"She got what she deserved," Siegrid agreed. "Everything is as it should be."
I sat down, surrounded by the murmurs of the girls, and the bus started with a lurch. I felt shaky and cold all over.
"Eva, are you all right?" Franziska chose a seat next to me, suddenly my good friend.
"That woman. That old woman. She thought I was a Nazi," I whispered.
"You are a Nazi," Franziska replied.
I looked at her. I saw her long hair held loosely in a braid and noticed her strong cheekbones. Fräulein Krüger had praised Franziska once for the structure of her face. "A perfect Nazi face," she had said.
"But ... no...,"I began.
"No, Eva. Stop." Franziska covered my hand with her own. "We are all safe."
I turned toward the window and wished I could get back the feeling I'd had on the drive into town. But all that happiness was gone, replaced by the harshness of where I was and whom I was with.
"She looked like my grandmother," I whispered softly, watching the trees and foothills as we drove back to the center.
Something in me changed after that. I felt as though I slipped a little farther away from everyone around me, even Liesel. Our daytime routine remained the same—lessons, Hitler, and Germany, Germany, Germany—and Liesel and I kept up our nighttime visits, but something was different.
I continued to keep my promise, Milada, Milada, Milada, and I continued to listen and wait and hope. But there seemed to be a gap between me and the rest of the world, and I didn't know how to cross it.