much he appreciated my quick thinking and said he’d write to Himmler of my ingenuity and bravery in saving one of the Reich’s best workers. The whole camp lauded my efforts, except Nurse Marschall, of course, who remained cold and tight-lipped when the subject came up, jealous a Pole had assisted me.
—
LATER THAT WEEK Halina and I sat finishing up some paperwork, side by side at my desk. By then we barely had to speak; we knew each other’s rhythms and routines so well around the office. Her Blockova had given her permission to stay past lights out, so I knew we would have a chance to visit. That morning I had been to the Bekleidung building, known to all as the booty piles, the Reich’s great assemblage of goods confiscated from Hitler’s conquered nations. These materials—clothing, silver, dishes, and the like—were well sorted, and I quickly found many helpful things, including a warm sweater for Halina and a phonograph with a limited selection of recordings. I had a green badge set it up in my office, cranked it, and played some music with the volume low.
A Bible girl brought us bread and cheese from the officer’s dining hall, more for Halina than me, and I put a record on the phonograph, “Foxtrot from Warsaw.”
“I love this song,” Halina said.
I turned the volume down. No need for the whole Revier to hear me playing a Polish song.
Halina swayed slightly to the music as she addressed her envelopes. “I learned the foxtrot to this song.”
“Can you teach me?” I asked. What was the harm? Everyone at the camp knew this step but me. There had been no time for these things in medical school.
Halina shook her head. “Oh, I don’t think—”
I stood. “I insist.”
Halina rose quite slowly. “Madame Doctor, I’m not the best teacher.”
I smiled. “Hurry, before the song is done.”
She reached one hand to my back and took my hand with the other.
“The hold is up,” Halina said, “like other ballroom dances.”
We took two steps forward and then one to the side in time to the music. Halina had sold herself short. She was an excellent teacher.
“Slow, slow, quick, quick. Do you see?”
It was not a difficult dance. Right away I mastered it. Halina kept me turning about the small office, the two of us perfectly in sync. Soon we both were laughing at how ridiculously well we danced together. I hadn’t laughed like that since coming to the camp.
We stopped, out of breath. I brushed a lock of hair back off Halina’s forehead.
Halina turned, and I felt her stiffen. I turned as well and found Nurse Marschall in the doorway, a supply requisition form in hand. Neither of us had heard the door open.
I tried to catch my breath. “What is it, Marschall?”
Halina lifted the needle from the record.
“I have a supply order,” Marschall said. “I was going to leave it on your desk, but I see you are busy.” Her eyes flashed to Halina. “Plus, you left the apothecary closet open.”
“I’ll take care of it. I am busy, if you don’t mind.”
Nurse Marschall handed me the form and withdrew, but not without sending Halina a penetrating look.
Once Marschall left and shut the door as quietly as she’d opened it, Halina and I looked at each other. Something intangible had been let out of a box, something dangerous, and there was no going back.
“She needs to learn to knock,” I said.
Halina stared at me, her face drained of color. “She seems unhappy, Madame Doctor.”
“The barking dog never bites,” I said with a shrug. “She’s useless.”
If only I’d known the price of underestimating Nurse Marschall.
1941
I gripped the edge of my file cabinet drawer. “What is it, Roger?”
“I just heard, Caroline. They found Paul’s and Rena’s names on an arrest roster.”
Paul arrested?
“Thank you for not telling me in front of Pia.” I kept the tears at bay, but my manila files swam in a blur. “Any word on Rena’s father? He lived with them in Rouen.”
“Not yet. I check the sheets every hour. You know, of course, we’ll do whatever it takes to track them.”
“At least we know they’re alive, right? On what charges were they arrested?”
“Wish I knew. Our London intelligence is spotty. No destinations listed, either. There’s more, C. Three million German troops have begun marching into Russia.”
“What about the nonaggression pact?” Hitler was a lying madman, but every new reversal came as a fresh slap.