“Oy gevalt, Izaak, you meshuggener, what have you done?” Hania whispered. Without waiting to hear more, she rushed away, muttering something about finding Protz.

My pathetic hopes went up in flames. My hopes, my plans, my strategies, my rebellion, my freedom. Gone.

Dear God, no one is going to help us.

“We’ll continue the fight ourselves,” I said aloud, keeping my voice as even as possible. “We have willing participants, weapons, and gunpowder all over Birkenau, so I’ll spread the word and—”

“It’s too late, Maria. It’s already a fucking massacre. Security has been increased, and the guards won’t rest until everyone involved is caught. We can’t rebel without getting killed.” Irena swallowed hard, eyes glistening with dread. “And we sure as hell can’t escape.”

* * *

I lost track of how long I stayed outside after Irena departed. I couldn’t make myself return to my block. No one was going to help us.

An angry shout brought me out of my daze, then a club sent me stumbling back to where I belonged. The guard shoved me inside my block, and as I climbed into my bunk a slurred voice greeted me.

“You didn’t keep your promise, Maria.” Hania lay on her back, staring at the ceiling. She lifted her blanket to show me a small empty vodka bottle and shook her head in disapproval. “Remember the last time I organized vodka? You said you wouldn’t let me do it again. But it’s all right, shikse, I forgive you.” She rolled onto her side and gave me a reassuring smile. One eye socket was already discoloring with a bruise, and her lip was split and smeared with dried blood.

“What happened?” I murmured.

Hania’s smile faded, then she touched a finger to her injuries. “I never told Eliasz,” she said softly. “About Protz. Perhaps he knew; at the start of the war, we swore to protect the boys and try to survive for them, no matter what the cost. But I still didn’t tell him. Why force him to bear a burden impossible for him to alleviate? When we found time with one another here, I wanted to discuss our family, our sons, Eliasz playing his violin for them. Not this. Then, one day, my husband was gone, so I told Izaak. I couldn’t bear it alone any longer.”

When she fell silent, I waited. My hands tingled and ached from cold, but not as severely as the ache of every pounding heartbeat while I studied her glassy, dark eyes beneath thick lashes. Often so reticent, now laid bare. These moments were infrequent but always a sign of a significant occurrence. At last she continued.