I grinned. “Chess tomorrow, but only if you’ve learned to defend your king.”

After responding in Czech, Hania walked to the door and disappeared. I gathered the chess pieces and savored the comforting embrace of gratitude. With her help, my odds of getting Fritzsch transferred had improved considerably.

I was settling into my bunk when someone called my prisoner number. The häftling handed me a small slip of paper and left before I could ask for an explanation.

To the girl who told me to leave her alone,

I realize I’m disrespecting your wishes, but I haven’t seen you in a while, so I wanted to make sure you were all right. If you’d write back and let me know, I promise to respect your wishes from this day forward. My family owns the bakery in town, so give your note to a prisoner who works there, and he’ll pass it to me. I don’t know if this message will reach you, but if it does and you don’t respond, that’s rude, and you should be ashamed of yourself.

Respectfully,

Mateusz Kolczyk

P.S. I’m really sorry about your black eye.

Well, the stupid boy wasn’t so stupid. I could give him a chance. The odds of seeing him again weren’t likely, but smuggling letters to a civilian seemed far less risky than speaking to one, and the idea of another friendship held a surprising appeal. I rummaged through some organized goods I’d gotten from Hania until I found a piece of paper and a pencil to craft my response.

Dear Mateusz,

I’m fine, but my labor assignment changed, which is why you haven’t seen me. I’ve been employed on camp grounds for some time now, so I’m afraid our paths won’t cross in the future. As for my black eye, it’s long since healed. All is forgiven.

Your friend,

Maria Florkowska

P.S. It’s rude to disrespect a girl’s wishes, and you should be ashamed of yourself.

Chapter 15

Auschwitz, 14 August 1941

YOU CAN DO better than that, Maria. Ofenchajm.”

“Ofenchajm.” Laughter interfered with my attempts to insert additional phlegm into my pronunciation, which was the only way I could think to make it sound right.

“Ofenchajm,” Hania said, more forcefully this time. Still laughing, I mimicked her, and she sighed. “You sound more like a Gentile every time. Do I want to hear the Shema?”

“If I can’t say your surname properly, do you think I can say an entire prayer in Hebrew?” I asked, grinning as I moved my knight along the chessboard we’d drawn on the filthy floor. “Your turn. How much do you remember?”