V Alexander - The Taster

The day was hot and humid. Mosquitoes and biting flies buzzed around my head. The guard became angry and waved her pistol at me as I swatted at the insects. “Do your work,” she screamed. “No bug would find you worthy of a bite.” My exposed neck, arms and legs were covered with red welts by the time we were allowed to stop for lunch. Again, the fare was soup, probably the same we had been served the evening before, with a tiny piece of bread. The tomatoes and asparagus were not going into our stomachs, but into the mouths of our captors. This time I finished my meal.

For four hours in the afternoon, I broke the ground with the hoe. The land was dense, with small rocks. I could dig down no more than three inches before the hole filled in with stones. I told the guard this, but she scoffed and said I was not doing my job. Others before me had completed this work without complaining, she said. She shoved me aside, warning me to get back to digging the furrows.

By five in the afternoon, my back was aching and my arms were like limp strands of noodles. I could barely hold up the hoe. My jacket and skirt were stained with sweat. The bugs continued to flit about my face and neck, biting me into a red pain of aggravation. Finally, those of us who worked the garden were allowed to return to the cabin for a few minutes’ rest before dinner. I collapsed on my bed. Katrina was not in the room.

I’d drifted into an achy sleep when a tap on my shoulder awakened me. The woman I’d attempted to start a conversation with the night before leaned over me. She put a finger to her lips and then whispered in my ear, “You must keep this to yourself, but I have a potion that will stop the bugs from biting. It has camphor in it. It doesn’t smell good, but a few drops spread on your exposed skin will keep them away. You must be itching to death.”

I lifted myself on my elbows and looked at her. “Thank you. It’s been a hard day. A potion is just what I need.”

“Wait a minute.” She trundled off from my bed near the door and went to hers, which was halfway down the room. She reached under her grimy blanket and pulled out a small brown bottle. She returned, took off the cap and placed her fingertip over the opening. She shook it and then spread a few drops from her finger on my neck and arms. The camphor burned into my stung flesh, but after a few minutes the itching subsided under its cooling balm.

“You’re very kind,” I said. “I’m Magda.” I stuck out my hand and she meekly took it in hers.

She smiled. The middle tooth was missing from her lower jaw. “I’m Helen.”

“Why are you here?” I asked.

“I could ask the same of you,” she said.

My eyes focused on her red and yellow badge. “I believe I am a political prisoner, although no one has charged me with such crimes.”

Helen patted her badge as if she was proud of her insignia. “I am a political prisoner as well—and a Jew. That’s why I have two stars. The yellow is for ‘Jew’; the red is for my politics. The Nazis accused me of being a communist.” She laughed. “And they were right.” Her eyes lit up. “I suppose I shouldn’t have told you that. You could use it against me.”

It was my turn to laugh. “Your secret is safe with me.” I was about to ask about her interment at the camp when the guard blew the dinner whistle. We lined up and filed out the door. Tonight, I would be sure to eat. Katrina had arrived back at the camp during my brief nap. Together, with the older woman, we trudged to the mess hall for more soup and bread. This time, the broth had a slice of carrot in it, but the bread was moldy.

When we finished, Katrina and I walked back to the camp with the older woman. I asked Katrina about her day.

“It was hard work,” she said, holding her hands gingerly at her sides. “I smoothed ball bearings all day. You have a quota to meet. If you don’t, you get taken off the line and disciplined.”

“Disciplined?” Helen asked. “The word is ‘beaten.’ That’s what happened to me.” Helen opened her mouth and pointed to the place where her tooth was missing. “I was struck by a guard who was unhappy with the way I scrubbed floors.”

“You clean the cabins?” I asked.

“That’s my job. I’m lucky to have it.”

“I don’t know how long I can last,” Katrina said. “My hands were raw by the end of the day.”

I felt sorry for her, but I wanted her to survive. “Remember your husband,” I said. “Be strong for him.”

When we reached the cabin, Katrina opened her palms and showed us the lacerations on her skin. I doubted she would be able to work the next day. I looked down at my own hands and noticed the watery welts rising from the skin between my thumb and forefinger. They would be painful blisters by morning.

I crawled into my bed while a few of the women sat on the bench and talked. Even with the lights on and the sustained chatter, I had no trouble falling asleep. I also slept through lights-out.

Later that night, through the haze of sleep, I felt a pair of eyes staring at me. I had no watch and there was no clock on the wall, but the time must have been past midnight. I jerked awake, startled by the presence looming over me.

“Don’t be afraid,” a female voice whispered. “Get up.”

I shook the fog from my head and stared into the darkness. The dark form of a woman appeared in the bleak shadows. “Who are you? Where are we going?”

“You’ll find out soon enough,” the woman said. “I could have you removed, but if you come willingly it will be much better.”

I had no doubt about her sincerity, so I crawled from my bed as best I could, my stiff arms and legs aching. I slipped into my shoes when my feet touched the floor.

“Come with me,” the woman commanded. “We can talk outside.” She led me to the door and down the path away from my cabin. After we had walked about fifty meters, she lit an electric torch. A pistol dangled from her left hand. I recognized her as the young, pretty guard who had told me I looked “strong and well fed.” She motioned for me to follow her into the deeper shadows under the trees. When we stopped, she stroked my hair and face. “I am Jenny,” she said. “I can make life easy for you.”

I knew no good could come from her offer. “How?”

She put the torch on the ground and leaned against a tree. The light cast sharp black streaks across her face. A moth flitted around its glow. “You are pretty. You and Katrina, but Katrina is too weak for what I have in mind. You are strong willed and will survive no matter the cost.”

I shuddered as she touched my face and I pushed her hand away.

“You have a choice,” she said. “Why not trade pain for pleasure?”

I was afraid to ask what she wanted.

She pulled a pack of cigarettes from the waistband of her skirt. “Do you smoke?”

I wanted to turn away, run from her questions, but there was nowhere to go. “No.”

She laughed. “Do you have any vices? Drink? Marijuana?” She leaned so close to my face I could see the sparkle in her eyes. “Men?”

“What do you want?”

“The German soldiers need your service.” She laughed again, this time softer with a hint of sadness. “I have given them as much as I can, but they grow tired of the same body. No man will ever admit it, but it’s true. Every man, married or not, looks for more. He cannot be satisfied with one woman.”

“You disgust me,” I said, and then walked away. Glancing back, I saw the pistol rise in my direction.

“Don’t ever walk away from me again unless you are ordered to,” Jenny said. “I will not hesitate to shoot you if you disobey me.”

I turned. “Murderer.”

She lowered her gun. “Believe me, no one will care if you are dead. No one will notice that there’s one less prisoner in the world. If you don’t consent another will take your place—perhaps Katrina after all. I will give you twenty-four hours to make a decision. I will come to you at the same time tomorrow night. I suggest you make the right choice.” She turned off the torch and pointed to my cabin. “Go back to sleep. Tomorrow’s work will be harder than today’s.”