I sobbed for a few precious seconds before I somehow dried my tears and forced myself off the floor. I wasn’t sure how I did it. Maybe because somewhere, deep in my subconscious, I knew my survival depended on it. I fastened Irena’s crucifix around my neck and tucked it underneath my uniform, out of sight. I had a piece of my family through my cigarette-burn scars, a piece of Father Kolbe through his rosary, and now a piece of Irena. Then I got back to work.

The rest of the day passed in a blur. Once it was over, I rushed toward the main gate to wait for Hania. I was so distracted that I almost passed the black skull and crossbones, ordering prisoners to HALT! and STóJ! The warning was painted onto crude wooden planks mounted on a cement pole, and I wanted to ignore it, to dart through the gate and burst into the SS administrative buildings and find Hania, but I wouldn’t. Going beyond the sign was a mistake I knew better than to make.

Prisoners marched past me while I shifted my weight from one foot to the other, but I didn’t have to wait long. When Hania arrived, I gestured for her to follow me. I led the way in search of somewhere private and settled on the alley between Blocks 17 and 18. It was out of the way, but not far from the gate, and I couldn’t keep myself together much longer.

“What is it?” Hania asked once we got there. “Are you hurt? Is Izaak hurt?”

“Irena.” Her name was all I managed before my sobs escaped, the sobs I’d contained all day, and they rendered me unable to speak. I pressed my back to the hard bricks, sank to the ground, and buried my head in my arms until I sensed Hania crouching beside me.

“Shhh, calm down, shikse.” When I lifted my head, she brushed a tear from my cheek. “Tell me what happened.”

“She was here,” I whispered. “Irena was here.”

“Your friend from home?”

I nodded. “Block 11. She was pregnant.” I couldn’t bring myself to continue, but Hania simply shook her head, assuring me there was no need. “You’ve said before that you can get prisoners reassigned,” I went on. “Can you really do it? Please, Hania, I don’t care where I work, but please get me out of Block 11. I can’t do this anymore.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it,” she said, placing a reassuring hand over mine and bringing my frantic pleas to a halt. “I’ll get you out as quickly as I can.”

“Only if all you have to do is translate or trade organized goods. Nothing else,” I whispered, my thoughts on Protz. Despite my desperation, I didn’t want her to get hurt.