I looked outside again. Something was not right. Don’t be paranoid, I thought as I sorted the money and ran through my mental list:
Candy price cards set? Check.
Cashbox sorted? Check.
Now that our movie audience was mostly German, I needed to be extra organized, for my boss would hear a terrible ticking off of complaints about my smallest slipup.
Zuzanna came into the booth and shut the door behind her.
“Kasia, why are you so white?”
“Did you see a brownshirt out there?”
She tossed her bag in the corner. “That’s a fine hello. I’ve been in the country doctoring the sick in exchange for the eggs for your breakfast, dear sister.”
I pulled the shade aside, and there he was. He had moved on to speak with a young woman in line.
“I think he followed me. From Z’s. Leave. Now.” I turned to Pietrik. “You and Luiza too. If they find you here with me, they’ll take us all.”
Zuzanna laughed. “Last time I heard, there was no law saying Z’s is off-limits. Though there’s a law about everything else these days…”
I checked the line outside again. The woman nodded and raised a finger in the direction of the ticket booth door. My whole body went cold.
“He’s asking them about me,” I said, a giant drain sucking me down. “They’re telling him I’m here.”
My heart contracted with what I saw next: Matka, at the far end of the line, shouldering her way through the crowd toward us, basket in hand.
Zuzanna pulled the shade from my hand. “Keep looking guilty and you will be in trouble.”
I could barely breathe.
Don’t come, Matka. Turn back now, before it’s too late.
1940
Fritz was late picking me up at Fürstenberg Station, a fine way for me to start my first day as a camp doctor at Ravensbrück. Would he recognize me? This was doubtful. At university, he’d always had some pretty nursing student on his arm.
The compact train station was built in the Bavarian style, and I had ample time to admire it, left standing on the platform for five minutes. Would I receive important assignments? Make good friends? It was warm for fall, and my wool dress irritated my skin. I couldn’t wait to slip into a lighter dress and a cool, smooth lab coat.
Fritz finally came along in a Kübelwagen-82, top down, a green bathtub for four, the Ravensbrück utility vehicle. He stopped, one arm slung over the passenger seatback.
“You’re late,” I said. “I meet the commandant at quarter past ten.”
He came to the platform and took my bag. “No handshake, Herta? I’ve gone a whole year without seeing you.”
He remembered me.
I stole a glance at him as we drove. He still had the good looks every female at the university had noted. Tall, with well-behaved black hair and Prussian blue eyes. Refined features that reflected his aristocratic parentage. He looked tired, though, especially around the eyes. How stressful could it be to work at a women’s reeducation camp?
The wind in my short hair felt good as we set off down Fritz-Reuter-Strasse, through the small town of Fürstenberg, where sod-roofed cottages flanked the street. Very old Germany. Like a scene from a Black Forest box.
“Sometimes Himmler stays here in Fürstenberg when he’s in town, which is often. He sold the Reich the land on which they built Ravensbrück, you know. Made a fortune. Can you see the camp over there across Lake Schwedt? It’s brand-new— Are you crying, Herta?”
“Just the wind in my eyes,” I said, though he was perceptive. It was hard not to become emotional driving through Fürstenberg, for I’d visited a similar town with my parents as a child, for fishing. This was the essence of Germany, so beautiful and unspoiled. What we were fighting for.
“What time is it, Fritz?” I said, drying my eyes. Just what I needed, the commandant pegging me as a crier. “I can’t be late.”
Fritz accelerated and raised his voice over the engine. “Koegel is not a bad sort. He owned a souvenir shop in Munich before this.”
A dust cloud followed the Kübelwagen as we raced down the road, along the lake toward camp. As we rounded the bend, I looked back across the lake and admired the distant silhouette of the town of Fürstenberg where we’d just come from, with its tall church spire.
“You’ll have your pick of the doctors here,” Fritz said. “Dr. Rosenthal loves blondes.”
“I am not blond,” I said, though I was happy he thought so. My mood improved riding with Fritz,