The days that followed felt unreal. My body ached, my head throbbed, and I was hungry and thirsty at every hour of the day. Before the sun had even risen over the hills, the doors to the barracks burst open, and we were instructed to go stand in the cold, in rows, and wait. We were all forced to stand in individual lines in the open space in the middle of the camp. We were woken from our restless sleep every morning, and rushed to then promptly do nothing but shiver and wait. Eventually, one of the guards would appear and begin a speech that would remind us that we had brought this pain upon ourselves. They said that what they were providing us with was much more than we deserved, and that one complaint from anyone would result in instant execution. To demonstrate that they would not hesitate to kill each and every one of us, they would pick someone from the group at random, make them kneel, and swiftly shoot them in the back of the head. My first week in Aussichtslos made me think that perhaps I would like to volunteer to be the next person chosen.
My mother had seemed to be in some kind of trance since arriving at Aussichtslos. She seemed hollow, yet every night I heard her cry as quietly as she could manage. I remember feeling helpless to comfort her. I wasn't even able to comfort myself, let alone someone else. I wanted to talk to her. I wanted to ask so many questions, but words felt impossible, and none of it seemed to matter anyway.
Although it felt like a much of our time was spent aimlessly waiting for something to happen, it also felt as though we never stopped moving. None of the work we did accomplished anything. It wasn't as though the guards explained what exactly we were working on either. My job for the first month was to wheel a large wheelbarrow full of rocks from one end of the camp to the other. The wheelbarrow weighed more than I could carry. Occasionally two of us were assigned to the job, not to make the work easier, but more efficient. My mother worked in one of the offices, I wasn't sure what she did and the only time I saw her was late at night and early in the morning.
The air was freezing, and when the snow came, it made the work we were doing feel impossible. Our clothes were worn thin, and eventually would get so wet from snow that we might as well have been naked. I saw many of the women take clothing off the dead. Despite the grim nature of this act, it was highly logical because the guards would burn the clothes otherwise, and there was no use in wasting covering out of propriety. Hypothermia came quick and took many lives before the SS had a chance. The barracks weren't exactly warm and filled with rats, and sickness hung in the air creating a putrid smell.
The fence that separated the men from the women didn't look too far from where all the women worked. But getting anywhere near it would result in getting killed. There was a long path that ran in-between the fences that guards would walk up and down like caged lions prepared to pounce. Every woman who had been brought to the camp with their sons or husbands would try to find a familiar face when gazing out at the men's side of the camp. The fence made it difficult, but it didn't stop the women from trying.
At night, as I lay in my rat and flea-infested cot next to my mother, I prayed to God and pleaded for mercy and peace. Some nights I felt a bit of comfort wash over me, which I was thankful for, but it lasted as long as a small breath of air, then the pain returned. I would often hear some of the women praying out loud in their beds as they cried themselves to sleep. I listened and prayed along with them in my mind, but sometimes I felt it was a waste of breath. I wondered if even God wouldn't want to get anywhere near that place. I had never given God much thought until I was put in Aussichtslos, then suddenly, I felt desperate enough to rely on an entity I was not convinced was there. It was hard to believe that God really cared about us when I watched people drag the bodies of children and infants into freshly dug graves their parents had made. Why would God allow this type of pain to happen? Why would he let innocent children die? These were questions that ran through my head day in and day out, questions I was afraid to ask, and answers I wasn't ready to hear.
I shared my bed with vermin and rats, that crawled everywhere while I slept. The smell of human feces filled the air, and the smell of rotting corpses that were just feet from the barracks made me nauseous. Sleep was nearly impossible, and although both my body and mind were exhausted, I was rarely able to sleep. It was a life without hope, every day was worse, and nothing seemed to improve.
I didn't see my father for the first month of being in the camp. I heard his name spoken throughout the camp, but it was just whispers here and there from guards and prisoners. I heard he had a house on the edge of the camp on the men's side, but other than a few rumors and whispers, I didn't see him. I wasn't sure if I was glad I didn't see him, or angry that he was too cowardly to face us. I distinctly remember the first time I saw him: it was in the morning line up.
When winter came, the morning line-ups also became roll call. They wanted to keep track of how many people died in the night or the day previous. They introduced him as the Commandant of Aussichtslos; he stood tall and proud, looking at us like one would look at a stray animal. My mother gripped my hand tightly at the sight of him, her eyes changed from empty to vengeful. I could feel her pulse speed up while gripping her hand tightly in mine. We were perfectly placed in the middle of the group, he scanned the group carefully, and when he saw us, he paused, but for only a moment. He looked us over and then whispered something in the ear of the guard next to him and continued on. That night, I remember turning to my mother and finally asking the question that I had tried so desperately to understand.
"Mamma?" I whispered to her quietly, so not too attracted attention, it was vital no one knew who we were.
My mother stirred a bit and opened her eyes to look at me, "Hmm?" She answered tiredly.
"Do you blame me?" I asked simply, fighting back the tears as I struggled to fight the lump that seemed permanently stuck in my throat.
My mother's eyes went large, and she placed her hand on the side of my cold cheek, "No, my darling." She shook her head, clearly trying to find the right words, "If anyone is to blame it is me." I clasped her hand tightly in mine.
"Mamma, what happened?" I asked, needing to understand where my guilt and her guilt collided. She squeezed her eyes shut, taking a deep breath and coughing a bit.
"I was helping Rose, too, I suppose, indirectly." She spoke softly so no one else could hear, "When you're father would take me to social events, Mr. Siegfried and I…shared information."
"What kind of information?" I asked, suddenly absorbed in what my mother was saying.
She hesitated, "Your father was and has always been a careful man when it comes to valuable information. But I have always known his weaknesses, and I used those to my advantage." She said it as though the guilt were eating her from the inside out. "Your father knew where the cattle cars carrying all the Jews were going, when they would leave, and even when specific raids on homes and companies would take place."
"I don't understand," I said in complete disbelief.
"Rose focused on distraction, Mr. Siegfried focused on transportation, and I focused on getting all the information I could get on where the Nazis were taking the Jews." My mother sounded like a marine giving away precious military intelligence. Her voice was stern, unapologetic, and to the point, but within it, I heard the fear that had followed. I heard the betrayal she had committed, and the deceit that never came natural to her character. "Mr. Abbott provided the military positioning of everything, and together we created something that…seemed impossible to destroy." My mother coughed, the freezing air had taken a toll on her lungs. "But then you got involved," She sighed.
"How did you find out?" I asked.
She shook her head "I didn't really, I suspected. I knew John was helping his father, but I never knew to what extent. I didn't want to ask you…in case I was wrong. Even though what your father did to Mr. Becker was unforgivable…" She stopped herself.
"You believed my loyalties still laid with him," I said with deep shame.
"I couldn't risk it, Beth," She said, clearly longing for a different truth to be spoken.
Her words hurt me like a gunshot to the belly. I lay back down next to her and listened to her uneven breathing. She clasped onto my hands as tightly as she could, and seemed to be trying to figure out what to say next.
"Your father believed I was having an affair," She said with a bitter chuckle, "He believed I was having an affair with Mr. Siegfried. That's why he started to investigate, and that's why we're here." My mother covered her eyes with both hands to stop what she knew would be hysterical sobs.
There was a long silence between us. We listened to the gentle whispers of those around us, the snores, and heavy breathing that filled the barracks. I wondered what the right thing to say was, I wasn't sure there was such a thing.
"That's why he shot Mr. Siegfried," I said, allowing myself to think out loud a bit.
"More reasons than that, I'm sure, but I assume that was one of the bigger issues." She added solemnly.
I turned on my side to face her, "I'm sorry I didn't tell you what I was doing."
"No, I'm sorry I didn't trust you enough to explain sooner what was happening. I'm so sorry," She was fighting away her tears with all her strength, "I'm sorry for this life I have brought you in to. My precious girl, I am so sorry." She wrapped me up in her arms, and we both cried quietly together until we could fight off sleep no longer.
I can't explain or understand the passage of time in Aussichtslos, days felt like decades, minutes felt like eternity, and rest felt non-existent. Time began to blur quickly, and eventually, keeping track of time didn't seem to make much sense considering there wasn't to be an end on the horizon. Counting how many days went by was like counting down the minutes till the stool you're standing on gets pushed out from under you and your neck breaks.
Eventually, I was given the job to sort through the clothing of the dead. My job was to make sure all the prisoner's belongings had been handed over to the Nazis. It was terrible when I would come across a small coat of a child that I knew didn't deserve to die. I found wedding rings hidden in secret pockets, notes written on scraps of paper addressed to God, or loved ones they knew would never receive them.
Seeing the mountains of shoes collected was like drowning in an endless sea of lives lost that would never again be recovered.
While I sorted through the clothes, I would see my father walking through the camp, inspecting all that was happening. He tried his best to avoid eye contact with me, but on occasion, he glanced over at me and hold my gaze for a long moment. There were a few times I thought I saw remorse, possibly even guilt displayed on his face, but it was quickly removed by hatred and cold-heartedness. I didn't understand his rage for the Jews. I couldn't understand how all these Nazi men and women could so blindly follow orders without second-guessing any of their actions, didn't any of them wonder why these types of commands would ever be given? Did they ever know any Jews when they were young? I would never understand why they followed, so without question or doubt, but it came to a point where I couldn't keep asking myself so many questions. I knew I would never understand, and that wracking my mind with such things would drive me completely mad.
In Aussichtslos, I never knew what the next day would bring, every day was full of uncertainty and fear. I never knew if tomorrow or the next day would be my last. Every day I wondered if that would be the day some guard would decide he didn't like the way I looked, put a gun to my head and tell me to beg for my life and then, even once I did, would pull the trigger anyway. The guards would occasionally open fire randomly from the tall towers on each corner of the camp. One could be working hard, following orders, trying to stay invisible, and the next thing you know, you are being shot in the back of the head for no reason. We began to barely notice these types of events anymore, it no longer seemed to register in any part of our minds, it was just another dead person that needed to be removed so that they didn't get in the way of the living.
After several months of being at Aussichtslos, my mother got sick. She had first gotten sick on the train, but her illness had progressed with time. She couldn't handle all the sickness that lingered in the air. She tried every day to pretend she was okay so that they wouldn't decide to get rid of her without the hassle of her slowing everyone else down. My mother had always been a small woman, but after being starved at Aussichtslos for months, I could count every single one of her ribs. The life that once burned so brightly within her vanished without a trace, and in its place, a lifeless ghost emerged.
I remember the morning I lost my mother, it is one of those days that has been permanently tattooed on my heart and mind forever. The sun had not yet risen, and I heard the sound of my mother struggling for breath and coughing so hard her whole body shook. She moaned quietly beside me, and I awoke when her breathing became low and irregular. I woke up with a feeling of hopelessness that hung in the air like poison. I placed my hand on her chest and focused on her breath. Small clouds of cold air would rise from her mouth due to the extreme cold, which only made her weaker.
"Mamma?" I tried feeling for her pulse, and even that seemed irregular. She looked up at me, obviously fighting to keep her eyes open even for just a moment.
"Beth," She wheezed, fighting for every breath she took.
"Don't leave me, mamma, please don't leave me," I whispered as I held her close, feeling frantic, wishing to call someone for help but knowing we were alone.
She looked up at me and struggled with her words, "I'm…sorry," she gasped.
I shook my head, "No, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Mamma, do you hear me? Please don't die," I tried to make her live with my desperation.
My mother gulped and tried to speak, "Live," She wheezed. My mother tried to smile, but she didn't seem to have enough strength. She slowly pointed at me and said, "Live."
I watched as the life of my mother slowly drained from her body, and, for the first time in my life, I was utterly alone. When the sun rose, I watched the Nazis grab my mother's lifeless body and drag her outside as they stripped away all of her dignity and threw her body onto a pile of other bodies that had recently perished as well. I did nothing but stand there numb and dead inside. I was completely and utterly alone.
I remember wondering why I even tried to stay alive, what did I have to live for? Who would care if I lived or died?
'John would care,' I suddenly thought to myself. John would miss me if I died, and yet that simply wasn't enough for me to want to continue living. If I were to die, John would mourn for me but then continue to live. He would marry someone and continue to live life with the dim memory of his first love. A tear slid down my cheek, and I lowered my head, not caring if I were to suddenly get shot in the back for getting in the way of others. All of a sudden, I heard Mr. Becker's voice in my head. He was telling me if I gave up living, then I wasn't as strong as he thought I was. I heard him tell me that I needed to live because that was the last request of my mother. I wondered if I was completely losing my mind for really hearing his voice in my head, but I didn't care if it made me crazy because it brought me a small sense of peace. During that time, I would have done anything to have a moment of peace, even if it meant going completely insane.