At the mention of my family, the tears returned, so I shook my head to hide them. It wasn’t a lie, exactly.

“Well, following arrest, my brothers and I were separated. I didn’t arrive with anyone, either, so we’re alike in that sense, you and I. Shall we be friends?”

He wouldn’t have offered to be my friend if he’d known my family was dead, lying in a truck in this very camp. Dead because I got us captured. I should have punished myself by refusing him, but his offer of friendship was all I had, the only chance to take my mind away from my sins.

I didn’t trust my voice, so all I did was nod once.

His small smile was so warm, so empathetic. “That’s settled, then. Friends.”

Chapter 6

Auschwitz, 30 May 1941

IT WAS BARELY after midnight following an entire day in Block 18, and I’d spent my time dwelling on my new existence. Prisoner 16671, orphaned and alone except for a kind priest who didn’t know anything about me or what I’d brought upon my family.

Steady breaths and light snores pierced the eerie silence. I hadn’t slept at all. I’d stayed on a lice-infested straw pallet on the floor, staring into the darkness, clinging to the tiny pawn from my father. When we’d settled down for the night, the two men crammed on either side of me had assured me I had no reason to fear them, but no amount of reassurance made me feel safe.

How could anyone sleep after the horrors we’d gone through? We’d had various panics and outbursts since arriving in our block, but now it was quiet. Maybe the others had accepted our situation or were too exhausted to care, or maybe they hadn’t seen their own family amid a pile of bodies.

I closed my eyes, because it was just as dark with them open. Even if I’d wanted to sleep, I couldn’t. The horrific day filled my head, though I tried to think of happy, carefree memories of life before the war. I could almost smell the tantalizing aroma of fresh bread in the oven while my family and I gathered in the living room to listen to our favorite radio programs and play board games, but I couldn’t cling to it long.

The memories faded, replaced by a chessboard, familiar and calming, a respite from the atrocities plaguing me. The pieces were black and red, and I closed my fingers around a red pawn’s slender neck. My grip slipped, the paint fresh and wet. I studied the bright scarlet filling the grooves of my fingertips while a metallic odor hit my nostrils. Blood.