Page 50 of The Lost Husband

“Avigal Danek,” the nurse says, questioning which of us is she.

Avigal. I didn’t know her full name and am surprised to know she listed it on the paper.

I sit up and peer at Avi’s back, her body curled into a ball. “Dear, you’re wet. Why didn’t you change into the dry shirt?”

“I’m not changing my clothes,” she says, more aggressively this time.

“I’m afraid I must insist. Staying in wet clothes for too long could lead to hypothermia among many other illnesses.”

“I’ve been wet for days. I would already be hypothermic.”

I don’t know why she’s fighting a change of clothing. Though, I shouldn’t be surprised either since she fights everything in front of her.

The nurse kneels at Avi’s bedside. “Would privacy help?” Natalia whispers.

I don’t hear Avi respond, but the nurse leaves her be and stands upright, straightening her clipboard. “Celina Felsheim.” Natalia looks over at me, trial by elimination with the names.

“Yes, I’m Celina.”

“Do you mind if I check your vitals and ask you a few questions?”

I nod. “Go ahead.”

“Have the three of you been traveling together?” She takes my wrist into her hand.

“Yes. We were prisoners in Auschwitz. We left when the Red Army arrived. We were seeking shelter, but when we chose to keep moving, we came head-to-head with the Soviets detaining German prisoners. Then we were transported here.”

Natalia glances over to Avi again, her back shivering through her damp striped uniform.

“Any injuries along the way?” the nurse continues.

“I had been recovering from dysentery, and a head injury amid liberation.”

Speaking the words out loud—a head injury—gives me pause. A head injury is serious, and I haven’t been able to treat it.

“What caused the injury?” She presses her hands against my ears, gently tugging my head down.

“There was an explosion that tossed me to the ground.”

She finds the bump and parts my short strands away from my scalp to take a closer look. “That’s quite an angry, swollen bruise. Have you experienced any dizziness, nausea, or confusion?”

“All three,” Avi speaks up for me, her tone edging on annoyance. She’s the one who pulled me up from the ground in Auschwitz and convinced me to leave with her. I’m sure she regrets her decision now.

“Have the symptoms improved or worsened since the onset?” the nurse continues.

“They’ve improved,” I tell her.

“Except her confusion,” Avi adds.

“Is that true?” Natalia asks quietly.

“Not that I’m aware of,” I answer stubbornly.

“She thinks her dead Jewish husband is wearing a German uniform and stuck among the German prisoners now. She’s convinced he saved her after she was thrown to the ground following the explosion. That’s why we’re here, because she thought she saw him again, but instead, we were spotted by the Red Army, then questioned as if spies. The other two of us were just seeking shelter and food.”

My jaw tightens around the words threatening to purge in response. She’s making it sound like my grief has twisted my mind into an alternate reality.

I know I have been living with grief, for longer than anyone should have to, but grief did not place Noah in front of me earlier. Grief didn’t put him in a German uniform.