Page 74 of The Lost Husband

“It was either that or you—” I stop after her words register within me. “Why can’t they know who you are?”

“I would have rather died than be left in their care,” she says through gritted teeth, not answering my question.

“You weren’t going to make it much longer,” Elias says.

Elias and I exchange a quick look, but it’s nothing more than shared confusion.

“We’re here with you now,” I say.

“But…wh—what did they already do to me?” her voice squeaks, air pinching in her throat. She stares straight ahead, toward the door. Her lips part and tears trickle down her cheeks.

“They started you on a treatment for your infection—whatever was making you sick,” Christoph says.

I hope that’s all they did.

“They don’t take care of Polish people.” Her words are hollow as she continues to stare ahead, then she lifts her hand to the scar on her cheek. “They want things from us. Whatever they can get their hands on.” She groans. “They’re cruel. They pillage, billet, and pillage again. He told me he’d find me again. He told my father, made a deal with him. He owed him. And I was the cost.” Her eyelids grow heavy and despite battling them to stay awake, her exhaustion wins. For the best, I suspect.

“Avi…who was he? What was he looking for?”

“I don’t know. He was a soldier. He tried to take me with him. My sister tried to beat him. It was just the two of us at home. We were all just outside our cottage when a commander shouted for the soldier—told him he was needed at once. The only thingthe soldier said to us was that he would be back for me. He’d find me, no matter where I ended up. My sister promised she wouldn’t let that happen. Now she’s gone.”

“I won’t leave your side, Avi. I won’t let that happen to you. I’m not going anywhere,” I tell her. “I’m sorry we got separated.” She looks at me, her half-lidded eyes so weak. A tear falls.

“I miss her,” she says quietly. “Mama and Papa too.”

“Of course you do,” I tell her, running my fingers through her hair.

I miss my parents just the same. I wonder if they suffered a similar fate to Avi’s. I don’t know if I’ll ever find out. I might have to go on forever wondering what happened to them.

Christoph is over by the window. I’m not sure if he’s listening or avoiding the personal confession from Avi, but it’s dark outside and I’m not sure what he can see. He turns away and makes his way to the door.

“What are you doing? You heard the soldier…” I say.

Christoph doesn’t respond or stop. He opens the door and steps a foot out into the corridor. A sharp-tongue-whistle slashes through the air, immediately resulting in boots thudding toward us.

“I told you to stay there. Inside. Not out here.” The soldier’s voice is familiar. Only because he was the last one to speak to us, but it’s the same man.

“Can you help me with something?” Christoph asks, his voice tempered, confident somehow.

“Are we not helping you enough?” the soldier snaps back.

“Yes, and we are more than grateful that you’re helping our friend,” Christoph says, his words chasing the accusation. “But there’s a man outside wearing a SS uniform. He’s Jewish. He was a prisoner at Auschwitz with them.”

I edge toward the open door, unsure if I should add to what Christoph is trying to do or if a second voice will push the soldier away, or worse.

“Celina, show him your arm,” Christoph says, reaching for me. I push my sleeve up and twist my arm to the side, showing the soldier the inked numbers. “He’s mixed in with the German soldiers. We don’t know why or how, but he’s Jewish. He’s not one of them. He’s never hurt a soul. Your men are beating him.”

The soldier shifts his weight from foot to foot. “I’m a low rank. Those decisions are not mine.”

His explanation is flat, unapologetic, just an automatic response to a question of his limits. His refusal doesn’t imply a sense of rebellion. More like self-defense.

“If I can prove his identification, I can prove this mission of yours is not about mercy, but rather proper procedure.”

“What do you know about procedure?” the soldier utters, narrowing his eyes at Christoph.

“If questions are asked later about how a Jewish prisoner died under Soviet control, it will not end with you.”

Christoph isn’t relying on the Russian’s desire to help us, but rather on his own sense of self defense…