The question hovers between us while I watch him. My beliefs aren’t wrong; they can’t be wrong. After a moment, Fritzsch moves his rook.

“Most women wept and begged for their lives and their children’s, but not your mother. She was calm and diplomatic, concerned only about the children. Not herself, not her invalid of a husband, not you—in fact, she didn’t mention a third child at all. Just the little ones. It was strange, seeing a woman remain so collected while preparing for death. I knew the calm wouldn’t last. In the end, they’re all the same.”

There it is, the confession I’ve sought all these years, stated in such a simple, matter-of-fact manner that it leaves me speechless. Fritzsch examines the captured black queen, then waves it toward me, as if urging me to make my move, but I can’t think of chess. I can picture the scene all too well, can imagine Fritzsch toying with my mother as easily as he toys with these chess pieces. He would have let her attempt to reason with him while he waited for her to dissolve into the desperation and fear he craves. And when she did, he refused her.

“Why?” It’s all I can manage to say.

“Why would I spare two useless children? I had the same question. That’s why I didn’t.”

He waits, perhaps giving me time to consider the words, perhaps expecting a response, I don’t know. I can’t do anything but stare at him.

“Or are you asking why I executed them myself? Because when I met you on the arrival platform, you had that little chess piece, so I decided to make use of you, but you were in such a panic about where your family had gone. I thought I’d help you find them.”

As I comprehend the implications behind his words, I stare into my lap, where I don’t see the skirt I’m wearing—I see the one with blue and gray stripes. And on the chessboard, I don’t see raindrops. I see glaring streaks of setting sunlight, feel the humid breeze carrying his words to my ears.

I hope you managed to find them.

The images fade, but nothing feels different. I remain in the roll-call square, playing chess against Fritzsch, alone, his eyes confirming every suspicion.

“You knew who they were all along.” I don’t wonder this time, because he’s already erased all doubt. But I need to hear him say it.

Fritzsch takes a pawn and presses it between his thumb and index finger. He twists it slowly, deliberately, before releasing it and letting it clatter against the table. “Didn’t I tell you I knew everything that went on in this camp?”