I giggled, but I didn’t miss the sad detachment behind her amused smirk. “I was talking about what you’ve been meaning to ask him. Did you do it? Is he going to let you see Izaak?”

“Yes, I asked, and he agreed. Before escorting me back to Birkenau, Protz took me to speak with him. We only had a few minutes, and Izaak hates that he’s in the main camp and we’re here, but otherwise, he’s fine.”

“Thank goodness. Next time, tell Izaak I miss him.”

She flashed a small smile. “I will, shikse.”

Even though she had to go through Protz, seeing her brother seemed to have given Hania a much-needed boost of reassurance. A hopeful light had reignited in her eyes, outshining a bit of the worry that had been more present of late. Despite the improvement in her demeanor, I detected a new uncertainty, so I waited for her to voice it.

“Maria, if I keep asking Protz to let me see Izaak, that’s the only deal he’ll make. He won’t let me see Izaak and give me necessities in the same exchange.”

Of course Protz had inserted a caveat into the arrangement. That schmuck. Hania had given up exploiting other prisoners for goods, but Protz remained her primary supplier. Losing him would be a heavy blow, and I wasn’t sure we could afford it. Still, as Hania waited in hopeful silence, I knew my answer to her unspoken request.

“Protz is your connection to Izaak. You don’t need my permission to choose your brother.”

“I didn’t want to let you or the resistance down,” she said, though she didn’t hide her relief. “I know how much it’ll affect our resources.”

“You and Izaak need each other, Bubbe. Besides, you’re the best translator in the whole camp, so we can find plenty of exchanges for you to make up Protz’s loss,” I replied with a teasing grin, though it didn’t eliminate the knot in my stomach.

I knew better than to suggest finding another connection to Izaak and breaking off the arrangement with Protz. She would insist that decision was not hers to make, claim she was fine. But some evenings I found her lying in our bunk with a small, empty vodka bottle, usually pilfered from the SS barracks. Night was a safe haven for secrets lurking in the depths. They arose without fear until exposure to morning light forced a retreat. Once they were reburied, Hania awoke with no recollections of voicing them, so I concealed them within my own depths. Her emphatic curses, fragile whispers, eventually condensed into the simple truth: I had to stay alive for my boys. But I never imagined it would go on this long.

“Do you want to play chess?”