V Alexander - The Taster

I walked away slowly, never turning around. If she was going to shoot me, she would have to fire into my back like a coward. The pictures Karl showed me from the Eastern Front. It seems years have gone by since I saw them. Men, women, even children, lined up on top of a ravine. Then shot in the back. The bodies dropped one by one into the pit until it was full. The dirt covered them until there was nothing left, not even tears.

When I was sure I was far away from Jenny, I ran until I reached the cabin door. Out of breath, I grabbed the handle, but I couldn’t pull it open. Every horror of the past two days crashed down upon me and I collapsed, sobbing, on the damp earth, my body and soul cast into the hell of Bromberg-Ost. There was no way out. Whatever God there was in heaven had deserted my country, my family and me.

Jenny was right—the next day’s work was harder than the day before. My muscles ached. My blistered hands throbbed in pain with every swipe of the hoe, as if glass shards were being thrust into my skin. Some relief from the heat came from the dense cloud cover over the camp. The air, however, clung to my skin like a damp washrag. The hours dragged by like days as I was forced to break open the rocky earth in muddy furrows.

I noticed a curious thing at dinner. Katrina and another woman who had been in the cabin were missing. I didn’t dare ask one of the guards what had happened. I got my meal—this evening a brown mush supposedly made of chickpeas, which smelled raw and earthy—and sat next to Helen. Like most of the other inmates, she ate slowly, saying little, her head drooping over her bowl. She looked up at me with barely a hint of recognition when I sat next to her.

“Have you seen Katrina?” I asked after a bite of the sticky mess on my plate.

She shook her head.

I got the sense she didn’t want to speak to me. “Do you know what’s happened to her?”

Helen turned and glared at me. “We don’t speak of such things. It’s forbidden.”

I stopped stirring my mush and let the spoon settle against the side of the bowl. Helen resumed her eating, unwilling to talk. “Let me tell you something,” I whispered. “I know by your silence that something terrible has happened to Katrina. I have no idea what, but if you won’t tell me, I will find out from someone else. We are killing our own people. It must be stopped.”

We sat silent for a while, both of us eating our meager portions. When Helen had finished, she said, “The guards are listening, watching, for any excuse to be rid of us. You haven’t been here long. It’s dangerous to talk.”

“We are surrounded by danger. We must live with it or die. What happened to Katrina?”

Helen sighed. “You are foolish. I will deny that I told you anything.” She pushed her bowl away. “The guards make selections. Gerda, Jenny—they make the decisions about who goes and who stays. Katrina and another woman were sent away to Stutthof this morning. They were not in shape to work. Katrina was complaining about her hands; the other woman had trouble with her legs. She could hardly walk. They won’t be coming back.”

“How do you know?”

Helen looked at me as if I were an idiot, her eyes wide with wonder. “They never come back. Have you heard of the showers at Stutthof?”

I shook my head.

“Hundreds, maybe thousands, are sent to take showers and they never come out.”

“They disappear?”

“Yes, like Katrina. And then the camp smells of burning flesh.”

I thought of the picture Karl showed me of the prisoner pushing a corpse into what looked like a giant oven. The prisoner in the photo looked as dead as the body. The only way I could keep from being overcome by the full horror of this revelation was to think of Karl. The hope, the faint prayer, that existed in my mind of seeing him alive one day was all that kept me from dissolving into tears. I hoped Katrina felt the same way on her way to Stutthof.

We were participating in our own destruction. How could everyone in Germany look the other way? I wondered if those living in the cities or on farms outside the camps could smell the odor of burned flesh. Did they look to the skies as gray flecks of ash rained down upon them? How could they not know what was going on; and, if they did, why didn’t they care? Where were the people who needed to rise up in horror and indignation at what our government was doing?

I walked back to the cabin alone, apart from Helen. I was in no mood for conversation. I took my time getting ready for bed. When I crawled in, I did not fall asleep because I felt an itchy nervousness as if ants were crawling over my skin. I lay awake, imagining the seconds ticking away, as I waited for Jenny.

True to her word, she arrived in the middle of the night. When she touched me, I still had no idea what to do. I thought of Karl and wondered what decision he would want me to make. I recalled our conversation when he told me that I should do everything possible to stay alive. My father would have said the same.

I didn’t speak to her until we were outside, standing in the darkness. “I will go with you.”

“You are wise,” Jenny said.

I smelled liquor on her breath, not strong, but subtle as if she had taken a few nips of vodka. She lit a cigarette and told me to follow her. We walked through the camp to the showers, where she ordered me to undress and bathe. I slipped out of my jacket and skirt, put them on a hook and stepped into the shower. Jenny watched me, smiling as I stripped.

“The Colonel will be pleased… except for the bug bites,” she said, with an arch laugh. “I told him I had a treat in store.”

I started because I immediately thought of the Colonel who had banished me from the Wolf’s Lair. Then I realized he was probably not the same man. There were many colonels in the army. I cringed at what Jenny had in store for me; however, the warm, soapy water running over my body felt good because it had been days since I had been able to wash so thoroughly.

“You will do anything he asks,” she said. “Whatever pleasure he wants, you will give. Don’t speak unless he speaks to you. I will be outside the door, with this… .” She patted her pistol, which was strapped in a holster underneath her arm.

I spent a few extra minutes in the shower until Jenny began to fidget. I turned off the water and she handed me a towel. She stepped back quickly to avoid getting water on her leather shoes. Jenny was dressed in a black skirt, white blouse and sweater. She wore a red scarf around her neck; she looked as if she were going out for the evening. The other guards never wore anything as provocative as Jenny. She looked lovely, her long hair falling in waves, her face beautified with makeup.

When I had finished drying myself, Jenny handed me a salve and powdered makeup to put on my body to cover my bug bites. She then gave me a white robe and told me to put it on. “It’s a short walk. Carry your disgusting clothes until we get there.” She squeezed her nose with two fingers as if to block the smell. Then, she ran her fingers through my hair and caressed my shoulders. “You’re almost presentable now. This way.”

The evening seemed cooler after my shower as the air played over my skin. We didn’t have far to walk until we came to a cabin near the entrance of Bromberg-Ost. From the outside, it looked deserted, as lifeless as a vacant building, but behind the blackout shades I detected the yellow glimmer of candlelight. Jenny stopped in front of the door. “Return here when you’re finished. I’ll be here to take you back. The Colonel is in the back bed—waiting.”

As I pulled on the handle, I reminded myself that I had no choice if I wanted to stay alive. I took a breath and stepped inside. My eyes took a little time to adjust to the light. A few candles cast their flickering shadows across the room. No air stirred, and the room smelled of ammonia and stale sex. This was the camp brothel. There were seven beds in the room, three on each side and one on the back wall. All were empty, aside from the far one. A man sat on the bed. He was naked except for a towel draped around his middle. He motioned for me to come forward. I tightened the belt on my robe.