Chapter 23

Ravensbrück, April 1943

‘Come here, Hanne, I have something to tell you.’

She hadn’t seen the Norwegian girl from her hut for a couple of weeks and was surprised to bump into her near the camp infirmary. When Hanne had arrived at Ravensbrück two months earlier, Marit had been a big help, showing her around and telling her who to befriend and, far more importantly, who to avoid. They’d been drawn together by a more or less common language. Marit, though, was a few years younger than Hanne and seemed to treat life – even life in a concentration camp – as one big adventure.

The fact that she’d disappeared two weeks ago was just one of those things that happened all the time in Ravensbrück: you’d meet someone, become friendly – even reliant on each other – and then they’d be gone. Some were moved to another camp, or elsewhere in the vast complex; others were taken to be murdered or to become the subject of medical experiments.

Marit appeared to have put on weight, and her skin didn’t have the sallow pallor of the other inmates. Hanne could have sworn there was a trace of make-up around her eyes, along with a faint smear of red on her lips, and her hair looked as if it had been washed.

‘Marit, you look almost well – what on earth has happened to you?’

‘You won’t believe it, Hanne, and if you do, I suspect you won’t approve.’ She giggled like a schoolgirl telling a friend about a boy who’d asked her out.

‘Unless you’ve become a Nazi, I can’t think of anything I could disapprove of.’

‘I’m not so sure. I’m working in one of those houses by the SS barracks.’ Marit looked down, embarrassed.

Hanne grabbed her by the forearm. ‘You mean the brothel?’

‘Not so loud, Hanne! I’m only telling you because I trust you. They told me it was a choice between working there and going to a labour camp in the east. And they promised me that if I work there for six months, they’ll set me free – I’ll be able to go home to Oslo!’

‘And you believe them?’

Marit shrugged. ‘Why not? Apparently a couple of French women were allowed back to France last month. Anyway, it’s not like I’ve become a prostitute or anything. I don’t get paid, so I can’t be a prostitute!’

‘You look well on it, Marit.’