Page 90 of The Lost Husband

When I return for the next filled wagon, a blast of heat hits me in the face. I lift my arm over my eyes, staring ahead toward a metal door along the brick building with the tall chimney. It’s open. A glow of flames wavers from within, and ash swooshes outside with a guard who needs a cigarette break.

That’s where every dead body goes. Do they even kill all the people with gas first? Or do some go directly into the crematorium?

I blink and visualize a guard shoving an innocent person into the flames. A cold sweat and a wave of dizziness come over me, and I stumble to the side just as I’m reaching for the next wagon.

“Grab the handles and lean your weight on them,” Elsa says, coming up from behind me. “Don’t let them see you trip.”

“Thank you,” I whisper.

“I’ll walk with you. Let’s go.”

I put my dizziness and fears behind me and stare at the laundry building, focusing only on that so I make it back inside without falling over.

I can’t look at the fire again. I won’t be able to convince myself that they aren’t pushing living people into those ovens.

THIRTY-SEVEN

CURRENT DAY

Gliwice, Poland

Christoph’s chest doesn’t rise again.

I wait for it and count, one…two…

Nothing.

“Christoph…” His name catches in my throat. He hasn’t moved. I reach for his wrist, already knowing what I’ll find.

Nothing. No pulse.

No breath. No struggle.

My chest caves in on itself and my vision blurs. This can’t be happening.

I pull my hand away, gasping for air as I turn back to Noah. His condition isn’t much better and if I don’t get him out of this cold and help him, he’s going to die too.

The Soviets finally stop their arguing. One approaches me and I panic, thinking about the documents we needed to prove Noah’s innocence. I lunge for Christoph’s body and reach into his pockets, searching for the papers. His left coat pocket. That’s where they are. My hands are trembling as I retrieve them andhand them to the soldier. “These are the documents, proving my husband is a Jewish man, not a German soldier.”

The soldier takes them from me, and I notice a matching tremble in his hand. He glances down at Noah then back at the papers and grinds his jaw. I study the soldier’s face, realizing he’s the one who brought us to Avi’s room a week ago. He was the one standing there when the lieutenant made the deal with Christoph that he return with the papers within a week. And he didn’t.

The soldier shouts something in Russian to the other soldier, the one who shot Christoph, and he rushes toward us.

“You need to leave,” he tells me. “Go back to the other building. Keep him there until we’re gone,” the soldier holding his papers says.

He looks over at his comrade and mutters, “Take him to the infirmary room with the others while I discard the rest. We need to leave at once.” He isn’t speaking in Russian. Yiddish, so I understand. But why? They just killed one of us with no reason.

The soldier hands me the papers while the other one swiftly moves in and lifts Noah up. “What about—” I look down at Christoph’s lifeless body.

“A casualty of this war. It shouldn’t have happened, but it did,” the soldier tells me. He says this as if I should understand that mistakes happen. Mistakes that take innocent lives. That’s all that’s been happening for years.

I gather the pile of clothes and blankets I collected, knowing I’ll need them to help Noah, but before I stand, I touch my fingers to my lips and then to Christoph’s forehead. “Thank you for protecting me—us. Always. You didn’t deserve this.” My voice cracks. “I’m so sorry, Christoph. I’m so sorry.”

And for the second time, I leave a man I loved behind. Shot down. Alone.

* * *

Avi and Elias were in the middle of a rowdy conversation before the murdering soldier turned the corner toward the infirmary, with me following.