“My father. We need to know if he’s all right. I know there was a transport out of here last night. Was he on it? Is there any way you can find out? His name is Fernand Friwald. He’s a watchmaker and he repairs watches, too — old valuable antique watches. He could be useful. He could work in a munitions factory. There is one near here. He does delicate, fine work.”
The words began to pour from her mouth. The woman reached forward and placed her hand softly on Lilo’s arm. She shook her head. It was at that moment that Lilo noticed the blood on the woman’s uniform. A single large stain and then a few smaller ones. Lilo could not drag her eyes from the bloodstains. “Did you hurt yourself?” The woman looked confused. Then she saw what Lilo was looking at.
“Oh, that — no.” But her bottom lip began to tremble. “Look, a name doesn’t really help. I never go into the men’s section, anyhow. The best thing you can do is stand near the fence on the east side of Block 16. That’s where the men are permitted some exercise. You might catch a glimpse of him there.”
For two days, every chance they got, Lilo and her mother would go to the fence to scan the throngs of men milling about in a containment yard. On the third day, a boy called out. He was on the other side of the fence when Lilo had gone on her work break from assembling the tracks of barbed wire.
“So whatcha looking for?” He spoke German but with a Roma accent.
“What’s it to you?” Lilo was immediately suspicious. No one had ever spoken to her, let alone made eye contact with her, when she stood at the fence. Almost immediately after arriving at Buchenwald, she had noticed that none of the prisoners made eye contact. It was as if they were each in their own private hell. No trespassing allowed.
“No big deal. Hey, only trying to help.” He spoke the fast, slangy jargon of the street. He raised his hands in mock defense. But he kept his eyes on her. She noticed that his eyes actually weren’t really black but the darkest blue. She had never seen eyes that color.
“I’m looking for my father. I just thought I might catch a glimpse of him.”
“So maybe I can help you.”
“How?”
“Look, I’ve been around.”
“Around? Around this yard?”
“My third camp in four years. I know how these places work.” He puffed out his narrow chest as if he were wearing badges, like a decorated general in an army, an army of concentration-camp prisoners. “You want extra food, I can organize it. You want —”
“I want my father,” Lilo said, cutting him off.
“So what’s his name?”
“Fernand Friwald. He’s bald and maybe just under six feet tall. He has a bruise on his forehead from where the SS hit him when they picked him up. My mother and I are so worried that he was shipped out in that last transport.”
“Okay, okay. I’ll check into it. What’s your name?”
“Lilian — Lilo. Call me Lilo. And yours?”
“Django. Meet me here later on your next work break. I might even be able to organize some bread for you.”
“Bread?”
“Yes. Look, just be here, all right?”
“I will.” He began to walk away. “Hey, Django,” she called. There was a note of desperation in her voice. He turned around. “He’s a watchmaker, and . . . and we were hoping that they might let him work in the munitions factory.”
“That would be very smart of them to do that, but who says Nazis are smart? But I’ll find out.” Lilo cocked her head to one side and studied him. Where did he get this uncanny confidence? And if he didn’t know something, would he ever admit it? She doubted that he would. He was shorter than she was, thin as a rail, and looked as if he might blow away like a dry leaf in the slightest wind.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“How do you do what you do?”
“What do you mean?”
“Get bread, get information — all that.”
“Hey, did you see the sign on the iron gates?”
Lilo nodded and whispered the words, “Jedem das Seine.”
“Yeah. ‘To each his own,’ or ‘One gets what one deserves.’”
Lilo now realized that was what had irritated her when her mother tried to make sense out of the situation. It was as if she had been thinking they deserved this somehow.
“So what about your father? Did you find out anything?” Bluma asked when Lilo returned to the table in the barbed-wire assembly room, where they both twisted the barbs onto the lengths of wire. Lilo stared at her mother’s hands.
“You cut your finger, your thumb.”
“These pliers are lousy. I think they give them to us especially so we’ll cut ourselves.” Lilo kept staring at her mother’s hands. Was it possible that two weeks before, those same hands had been making lace? It was as if their entire previous life had been some sort of chimera, a complete fantasy.
“Did you find out anything?”
“Not really.”
Her mother looked up. “What do you mean ‘not really’?”
“Shush, here comes the matron. We can’t be caught talking.”
Once the matron was well past, Lilo continued. “I met a kid. He seems pretty smart. He says he’s going to look for him.” She heard her mother catch her breath. Then she reached over with her hand and stroked Lilo’s head.
“Thank God.”
“Nothing’s certain, Mama. Maybe he’ll find nothing. But I told him what Papa looked like.”
“And that he’s a watchmaker? Did you tell him that he could be useful in the munitions factory in the next town? A lot of them work there, I think. And I hear they get fed well, too.”
“Yes, Mama, I told him, and he says he’ll bring me some bread.”
“You’re kidding.”
“No. He said he could ‘organize’ it.”
“Who is this boy?”
“Django.”
“You mean like the musician Django Reinhardt?”
“Not old enough, but maybe he’s related or something. He’s Roma.”
“Roma, Schmoma — who cares, if he can find out about your father?”
Lilo looked at her mother and smiled. “Yes, Mama. Roma, Schmoma, what does it matter?”
Django shoved the piece of bread through the wire fence. But he did not meet her eyes. Lilo felt a dread swim up in her. Was this bread supposed to soften what was to come next?
He began to speak, still without looking at her. “I found him.”
“You did! How is he?”
“He’s . . . he’s okay.” He lifted his eyes slowly. “He’s leaving tonight on a transport.”
“Where? What for?”
“I don’t know. I couldn’t find out much. I think it’s going east.”
“East?” East was bad. East was where there were rumors of new camps. Camps that were not simply camps of concentration but extermination. It was said that they would need laborers to complete the camps.
“But that’s not right. He can’t be going there. What do they need with a fine watchmaker? They need my father at Krupps, Siemens. I’m telling you, he can do the finest work. He understands gears, escapement wheels. He could make those electrical switches. Siemens makes millions of those.” Lilo babbled on as she threaded her fingers through the barbed wire.
“I know, I know,” Django said softly. He wove this own fingers through and touched her knuckles.
“To each his own — the sign on the gate says it. This is Papa’s own. He can do it.”
Django just shook his head wearily. “Tonight at midnight, go around to the back of the barracks. You know where the rabbit hutches are?”
“Yes.”
“They are using that drive to load up the transports. Be there at midnight. You might see him.”
“All right.” She opened her mouth to say something more.
“Don’t thank me,” he said.
A few minutes before midnight, Lilo and her mother made their way from their barracks as if they were going to the
latrines. Behind the latrines, they cut toward the rabbit hutches. There were twenty or more of the small structures that perched on short stilts so the rabbit droppings could fall out to the ground and easily be swept up. She heard small grinding noises.
“What’s that?” she whispered to her mother.
Her mother tapped her teeth. “They grind them.”
But there were also other sounds — soft cooings and then the occasional thumps. What do they talk about? Lilo wondered. Would it be preferable to be a rabbit, numb to any danger, any threat? Yes, they wound up in Nazi stews, but they never knew anything different until the moment their throats were slashed. They had probably been raised in captivity, had no memory of scampering through a meadow, all blowy with the scents of spring. If there was no memory, there could be no fear.
“Look!” her mother said.
Lilo’s thoughts about rabbits were quickly replaced by the scene at the fence. Half a dozen women were huddled against the barbed wire — not just huddled, but embracing it. Lilo and Bluma joined them. They saw two parked transport buses. Then there were the sharp cries of the Lageralteste, the senior prisoner, and his chief Kapo. “Line up — ranks of five.” It was the same formation as for roll call. Then the Kapo, one of the inmates who aided the Nazi commanders in exchange for certain privileges, began calling out numbers. And the men answered. There were perhaps sixty men in all, and when they were one-third of the way through the rolls, in the midst of the scores of prisoners answering “Hier,” they both heard one that made their hearts leap. “Look right there!” cried Lilo. It was Fernand Friwald. Like a shadow, he stood at the near edge of one of the lines. But the shadow had turned toward where they stood and shouted, “Hier!” The shadow had spoken, exclaiming that he was here to his wife and daughter.
“It’s him!” Bluma whispered hoarsely.
Then the ranks of men began boarding the two buses and the shadow that was Fernand Friwald was swallowed into the dark hulk. The engines started. The gleaming swastikas emblazoned on the sides flashed in the moonlight.
Many of the women began to cry, but not Bluma Friwald. Her face was carved into a grim expression. As she clutched Lilo’s hand, they made their way back to the barracks through the mewling, thumping, softly gnashing rabbits in their hutches.
Lilo looked up. It was a starry night. She saw a recognizable autumn constellation. Orion. It had been in Piber, far from the city lights, where she had first seen this constellation. Her father had taught her how to recognize so many. The swan and the dolphin and the little horse, which seemed like a guardian constellation special for Piber. And now on this night there was Orion, the blind huntsman, who stumbled across the night sky. But the stars smeared in the night as she began to weep. There was certainly no God in Buchenwald, and if there was one in heaven, she thought he was as blind as the huntsman.
The next morning, their work detail was changed. Both Lilo and her mother were to report to the garden to dig for the winter root vegetables. This was supposedly a good detail. One could sneak carrots and potatoes and eat them raw. They had not been digging long when someone dropped onto the ground on her knees between them.
Lilo turned, expecting another inmate, but it was Good Matron.
“Listen to me. Don’t say a word.” She turned to Bluma. “A selection for the procedure is scheduled.”
“Procedure?” Bluma asked. Lilo touched the O on her arm. Her mother had the same letter. There had been some discussion in the women’s barracks about the meaning of the various letters that had been inked on their forearms. It was a code of some sort. It had been rumored that the letters might indicate a medical procedure. But no one could quite figure it out. Now Lilo knew immediately what Good Matron was talking about.
“What are you talking about?” Bluma asked.
The Good Matron now took Bluma’s arm and tapped the O. Lilo was astounded by her own blindness, her sheer stupidity. How had they never figured this out? How had they believed that such medical experimentation was said only to be done at Ravensbruck?
“Sterilization.”
“I’m too old anyhow to have babies,” Bluma said.
“They don’t think that way, and your daughter isn’t.”
“They wouldn’t!” Bluma’s face froze into a mask of horror as she stared at the O on Lilo’s forearm.
“They will. Today at noon, there is a selection. You might escape, but your daughter won’t.”
“B-b-but only at Ravensbruck. Not here,” Lilo protested.
“They do all sorts of medical experimentation here. Why do you think they finally brought women in?” Good Matron replied.
“It can’t be!”
“It will be. Believe me. I can’t help you both, but I can help you.” She looked at Lilo. “This detail ends in another hour. Meet me at the pig barn. It’s right over there.”
An hour later, Lilo was buried beneath a mountain of pig feces, and now she realized that although there was no God, there was this woman whom she had named Good Matron. Lilo knew she could no longer look to heaven but it would be on earth in a heap of pig shit that she found a divine spark of what used to be called humanity.
From the smelly camouflage, she could hear the voice of the camp commandant, Karl-Otto Koch, in the square as he proceeded with the selection. She could picture him walking with his two leashed dogs and most likely his red-haired wife, Ilse, at his side. There were terrible rumors about this woman and the things she did to prisoners — rumors about skin taken from dead prisoners to make lamp shades. Lilo swore she could hear the click of the woman’s high heels walking across the pavement. The loudspeaker squeaked and hissed, temporarily drowning out the growls and barks of the dogs as the commandant began to speak.
“Listen to me, inmates. Today we shall be selecting two dozen of you to become medical pioneers. This will be your service to humanity, and those who volunteer quickly will be eligible for early release.”
Don’t believe them, Good Matron had warned. Those who resisted would be forced. Furthermore, Good Matron had warned that the dogs Commandant Koch walked with were specially trained to attack recalcitrant inmates.
Lilo was to stay buried until Good Matron came by whistling the melody of “The Watch on the Rhine,” a favorite patriotic tune of the Nazis. But it had to be that song and not what had become known as the “Buchenwaldlied,” the official camp song that was blasted through the loudspeakers every morning and evening. She could hear the commandant’s voice extolling the marvelous wonders of the Reich’s scientific endeavors. “You are to be a part of history!” He went on for what seemed like forever.
And then Lilo heard the voice of the commandant’s wife, Ilse Koch. High and shrill, it seared the air. “Ladies — if I might call you Gypsy scum ladies — you still, we assume, have breasts. You still have genitals. . . .” Lilo pressed her fingers in her ears. She would stuff pig shit in her ears to block this woman’s voice. But how will I hear the song? I must hear the song. So she took away her hands and waited. The shrill voice called out names: “Brenna Wilfmore, Alana Kranz, Elsa Reinhardt, Bluma Friwald.” Every muscle in her seized. It was as if an electrical current had sizzled through her body. On and on it went. And then very clearly she heard the sound at last of Good Matron whistling the tune, and she came out from the pile of pig shit.
“What’s this?” Lilo asked as she peered into what looked like a bucket of bloody guts that Good Matron had brought.
“Pig guts. Slather it between your legs.”
“What?”
“Don’t ask questions. Just do it. And here’s a wet towel to wipe off the pig shit.” Lilo started to speak. “Don’t ask questions!” Good Matron hissed.
“It wasn’t a question,” Lilo said softly. “I . . . I just . . . I know you risked a lot. I don’t want anything to happen to you — that’s all.”
“Just — just go ahead and do what I said.” Good Matron’s voice was breaking. She turned away.
When Lilo had finish
ed, Good Matron sighed. “It might work. Just pretend you are bleeding for the next couple of days. Use your mother’s cloths in your panties. She’ll have enough blood for the two of you.”
When Lilo returned to the barracks, the sight of her mother was so shocking that she felt her own legs start to give way. “Oh, Mama!” She could barely look. Her mother was crumpled up on the lice-ridden cot, too weak to speak. What seemed to Lilo like a puddle of blood pooled beneath her mother. Some of the blood had penetrated the cot and dripped onto the floor.
Two weeks later, Bluma was still bleeding when Good Matron came to them with news. “You’re being transferred. Stand up and look healthy.”
“Why? So they can have more fun killing us?” Bluma asked.
“You’re not going that far east. Not an extermination camp. Maxglan.”
“Where’s that?” Lilo asked.
“Austria, near Salzburg.”
Again the buses came at midnight, but this time it was both men and women being loaded. Lilo caught sight of the boy Django. He gave her a thumbs-up as he spotted her across the yard, then half a minute later fell into a line with Lilo and her mother.
“Never miss a chance to travel with the ladies,” he said, winking.
“What a card!” Bluma muttered.
“Mama, don’t be that way. This is the boy who told me about Papa.”
And now for the first time since Fernand had left, Bluma’s eyes filled with tears. She turned to Django and embraced him.
“Thank you! Thank you.” Her words were like gasps, and she seemed to be clinging to Django for dear life. Lilo watched her mother embrace him and felt an overwhelming sense of embarrassment. Of course her mother was grateful to him, but this seemed a bit excessive. There was the sharp blast of a whistle, the sign that they were to begin boarding the buses.
On the bus, Lilo and Django squashed into one seat so that her mother could have more room to almost lie down in the other seat.
He was a talker, this Django, and a joker as well. But he had an old man’s face, Lilo thought.
“So, Sinti girl, you’re not going to make a smelly bear joke, are you? You know, Romas and their dancing bears.”