“I’m fine. What about my sisters? Do you know what happened to them?”
Tears meandered down her cheeks, and a choked sob croaked from the base of her throat. She gave a shaky nod, but it took a few seconds for her to be able to speak.
“Blanka was carrying her son when she went through selection. The SS doctor told her to give him to your mother, but Blanka refused, so he sent them all to the gas chambers. She would have lived if she’d agreed."
I would have expected nothing else from Blanka. She had suffered three miscarriages before finally giving birth to Gabor, her only son. He was three years old, a beautiful, intelligent child with soulful eyes and a mischievous smile. Blanka was a devoted mother, the sort of mother who would die before parting with her son.
"Sofia was already showing,” Gisella went on. "Her pregnancy doomed her.” She wiped her eyes, but the tears kept coming.
"What about Sarlota and Julia?” I asked.
"Julia lied about her age. Said she was sixteen. But you know what she looked like."
I did. Julia was slight and short. She was often mistaken for twelve instead of her real age, which was fourteen.
"She was also sent to the gas chambers,” Gisella said.
"And..." I had to clear my throat. “And Sarlota?"
"Sarlota made it through selection. She and I were in the same block. She got sick our second week here. I don’t know with what. She went to the hospital and never came back.”
Gisella did not need to tell me what this meant.
"I’m so sorry, Adam," she said.
I didn't answer straightaway. Nor did I weep, though my eyes were lakes of salt.
I just stood there as a gaping hollowness in my center threatened to suck me into its nothingness.
They were all gone. My wife, my daughters. My mother, my sisters. My father too, though he had died naturally years before.
I was the only one left. A single remnant of a loving family. A family of laughter and joy, of kisses and warmth, of friendship and support and loyalty. All gone. All dead. I wanted to scream and rave, to bust something to pieces with my fists. Instead, I kept quiet. I dug my nails into my palms and focused on the stinging pain they brought me, so I would not be drowned by the larger, suffocating pain of my loss.
There was only me now. And I would soon be dead too. And then there would be no trace of my family left. It would be as though none of us had ever existed.
I could not let this happen. I owed it to my parents and sisters, to my wife and daughters. I had to survive, so at least a memory of them would remain.
I let out a low breath and dried my eyes. “How long have you worked in Kanada, Gisella?”
"About six weeks,” she said.
"Ever met a Dutch boy named Franz?"
Gisella nodded solemnly. "He’s no longer here. He’s dead."
"How do you know?"
"From a friend of Franz. A man named Ludwig."
"Why would he tell you about Franz?”
"He didn’t," she said. “He told a friend of mine."
31
I stared at Gisella. "What friend?”
"A girl I work with. Her name is Aliz
I sucked in a breath. "Why would Aliz care what happened to Franz?"
“Because they were sweethearts. Before Franz was taken to work for the Lageral-teste of the men’s camp."
So Ludwig had lied to me. He’d told me Franz did not have a romantic relationship with any female prisoner. But he’d had such a relationship with Aliz, the pretty girl whom I’d seen Ludwig kiss just yesterday. The girl Ludwig was clearly in love with. Which gave Ludwig a powerful motive to murder Franz, a motive he’d lied to hide from me.
"What is it, Adam?” Gisella asked. "Why are you interested in Franz?"
"Because Franz was murdered by another prisoner,” I said. "I'm trying to find out who did it.”
Gisella covered her mouth. "No."
"You know what I did before the war, don’t you?"
"Yes, you were a—’’
"Don’t say it. Not to anyone. It will cause me great trouble if anyone knew, understand?"
She nodded. “Yes, I understand.”
"Now what I need you to do is bring Aliz to me. Tell her what I’m doing and that I need to talk to her, but do it so no one else hears. Can you do that for me, Gisella?"
She said that she could and told me to wait there. I did, my brain humming with fragmentary thoughts that now locked together like puzzle pieces, forming a picture.
Ludwig. That wily, treasonous, lying bastard. He had killed Franz. And his motive was as old as the world: a woman.
Or in this case, a girl. A girl who was now walking hesitantly toward me, checking behind her that no one was following. A girl who now stood before me, obviously agitated, her breathing quick, fingers laced before her.
Gisella was at her side. "This is Adam, Aliz. I've known him for years. You can trust him."
Aliz's green eyes glittered wetly, like a pond canopied by foliage. This close, she looked even prettier than yesterday. I could well understand Ludwig’s infatuation.
"Gisella told me Franz was murdered," she said in Hungarian. Her voice was soft and quivering. “Is this true?”
"Yes. I’m sorry. I understand you and he were close."
She smiled a sad smile. “We loved each other. I still do. I—" she paused to collect herself. “He gave me hope for the future. Even though we were both young, we knew we wanted to be together forever.”
I could tell that she meant it, and that she believed Franz had meant it too. I doubted neither of them.
"I’m trying to find out who killed Franz. I promise you he'll pay dearly for what he did."
"Why? Why do you care about Franz? Did you know him?”
"No," I said, and hesitated before telling her the truth. “The Lageralteste ordered me to discover who murdered Franz.”
Her eyes flashed, and her full mouth tightened. “You’re working for that man?"
"I don’t have much choice in the matter. If I fail, I’ll be the one to pay dearly."
Aliz nodded understanding, but her fury did not abate, merely redirected its focus. "That man took Franz away from me. He’s an animal. A cruel beast. Do you know what he did to Franz?"
"Yes,” I said softly. "I do."
"It’s worse than death, that’s what I think. It's better that Franz is dead. At least he no longer has to endure that.”
She broke into quiet sobs, and Gisella rubbed her back. I could feel Aliz's pain, but I also knew that we didn’t have much time. Lunch break would soon be over, and who knew if I’d get the chance to speak to Aliz again.
"I know this is difficult, Aliz, but I need to ask you some questions. Can you answer some for me?"
She nodded, wiped her cheeks, and looked steadily at me. She was a strong girl. Tough to begin with, probably, and made tougher by her time in Auschwitz. Franz had likely been the same. I imagined the love they’d shared was beautiful.
"How did the Lageralteste know about Franz to begin with?" I asked.
"It happened three weeks ago. He just showed up here in Kanada. A horrifying, beastly man. He stomped around like he owned everything he saw. Franz was in one of the warehouses, and the Lageralteste walked straight there. It was the only warehouse he went into. He was there a few minutes and then he came out again. The smile on his face... it made my skin crawl."
Aliz shut her eyes and took a deep breath before continuing.
"Once the Lageralteste had gone, Franz came to see me. I’d never seen him so pale, so grim, so scared. He told me about the Lageralteste, what he did to his boys. He said that in the men’s camp, he always made sure to hide whenever the Lageralteste or one of his underlings was around, and that Ludwig was the one who dealt with them and gave them food and alcohol from the luggage. Franz was terrified because of how the Lageralteste had looked at him. How he’d leered at him. The next day Franz was gone. He never came back to Kanada. The Lageralteste had taken him."