That night, in our bunk, when Hania and I were bundled under our blankets, I rested my head in her lap and produced the bottle of vodka I’d organized after my interrogation. I took a sip and let the heat build in every corner of my mouth before swallowing and passing it to Hania, who accepted it without a word.

When the bottle was empty, warmth tingled through my body while the room gently swayed. I was no longer so concerned that Ebner would come for me or that this interrogation would yield similar results to my last. Hania’s hand rested on my head, but she was quiet. Somehow I’d ended up drinking more than she did. Maybe I’d have a headache in the morning. How could a tiny bottle of clear liquid give me a headache? The absurd notion made me giggle.

“Hania?”

“Hm?”

“Will you tell me a story?”

She chuckled and sat up as far as the space would allow. “A bedtime story for the girl turning eighteen next month?”

I grinned. “Precisely, Bubbe.”

“Oy, I’m afraid I haven’t told a bedtime story in a long time, Maria.”

“Don’t worry, I haven’t heard one in a long time. Will you tell it in French?”

“You want a story you won’t understand?” She laughed, but she knew how much I enjoyed listening to her speak the language. After I nodded, Hania traced her finger over a small cut on my cheek and spoke in a murmur. “Il était une fois . . .”

I closed my eyes while her lilt wrapped me in the finest French silks and filled my stomach with the most delectable pastries, perhaps a croissant, macaron, and mille-feuille from a quaint bakery in the French countryside. Hania’s voice was one I could have listened to all the time without tiring of it, no matter the language, but her French captivated me. It was as delicate and beautiful as she was. I didn’t know what the story was about, but as it lulled me to sleep I heard a familiar Yiddish word amid the French. Shikse.

Chapter 29

Birkenau, 17 January 1945

CHECKMATE AGAIN.”

Hania exhaled and massaged her temple. “You’ve won four games in a row.”

“Because you’re a bit slow today, Bubbe.” I giggled when she reprimanded me in Yiddish. “Rematch?”

“So you can continue gloating?”

“I’ll only gloat a little this time, I promise.”

We huddled near the small stove, desperate for the bit of warmth it provided. I started setting up the chess pieces, but Hania climbed to our bunk, so I collected them and joined her. We lay close together and watched a few prisoners trudge through the deep snow, their noses red and lips blue. A mixture of snow and freezing rain descended from the sky and pummeled the unfortunate women, urging them along until they disappeared into another block.