Chapter 20: Edith

I had lost who I was in the camp. My 18th birthday came and went without a thought, and time went on. I no longer had a sense of who I was or what I wanted to become. When I grew older, I always looked back on those days as the ones which caused me to work the hardest to never go back. I never want to be as hard-hearted and broken as I was while I lived in Aussichtslos. I never wanted to feel as empty as I had, and I never wanted to be so shut off as I had allowed myself to become. I was just a shell of the girl I had once known. The walls I built had their purpose, but the more deadened I became, the more lost I felt. I knew John would never have wanted me to become so shut off, but it was the only way I knew how to deal with the pain.

I hardly flinched when people were shot in front of me. I barely noticed when new arrivals of people were brought to the camp, and I didn't really care. I hated everything, but I knew if I let every bad thing that happened affect me, I would crumble completely. I had already started feeling myself become cold to the small amount of good that still lived in the camp. Many women would pray together in the quietness of the night because it gave them hope, but everything that had once given me such hope was gone. I had no reason to believe God wouldn't abandon me. I became disassociated from myself, and I questioned every little thing. I began to blame God for everything that was happening to me. I blamed him for killing my family, I hated him for taking John away from me, and I accused Him of not making my father a better man. I felt myself grow in anger, and I felt utterly alone. I wanted to be angry, I wanted to dwell on all that I had lost, I wanted to be mad at God, and I didn't want anyone to try to stop me.

Months passed, and with every passing day, I grew increasingly angrier. I no longer prayed with the small group of women, and none of them asked me why. I stopped speaking, and I stayed as isolated as I could. I wanted to be the only one who understood the meaning of pain. All the women that surrounded me knew what grief looked like, everyone in Aussichtslos knew the definition of pain, in fact, many of the women had suffered more than I had. Despite this truth, I felt like I had some unique claim to it, like I had a different type of pain, as though being betrayed by my father gave me some entitlement to a pain none of the others could understand. I became extremely reckless in those days. I stole pieces of silver from my father's home, even though stealing silver did me no good. I was testing my father's limits, and I didn't try to hide it. One day I simply took a knife out of one of his draws in his kitchen. When one of his guards found it, he beat me till I blacked out. I was furious upon realizing he hadn't managed to kill me. My father hid me in the medical ward, where no one was staying at the time. It was more like a shed where soldiers would remain if they were sick and useless to my father. I was kept there until my broken ribs healed. My father knew I was testing him and was furious that he was once again losing control over me. I believe he thought that once John was good and dead, I would stop resisting him and simply curl up and submit. Death no longer seemed like a looming threat, just an eventual destination, my actions didn't matter anymore.

The week I was kept in the medical ward, the fever began to take hold of my mind. One night, I remember waking up to the sound of humming. I couldn't sit up, so I just listened. It sounded like Mr. Becker humming along to the sound of the radio as he worked. I closed my eyes and listened carefully to the sound of ticking clocks, and the distant noise of cars passing just outside the shop. My heart ached with the familiar memory, and then suddenly, a shot rang through the air, and I was no longer allowed to stay there in the shop. I heard screams outsides, two more gunshots rang out, and the screams ceased. My heart once again lay on the floor completely shattered like all of Mr. Becker's clocks.

I dreamed of John every night. I could see his face and hear his voice as vividly as if he were standing before me. I often wondered where his body lay, had Rolf been close when John died? If Rolf had gotten him out sooner, would John have had more of a chance to live? Could I have done more? Through the torrent of questions, I heard a voice, distant but distinct.

"There was nothing you could have done," the voice said soothingly.

"John?" I whispered into the night air, my breath was like a ghost hovering in the air.

"You couldn't save me," the voice said again.

I tried to sit up, but when I tried a torrent of white-hot pain shot through my whole body, causing me to lie back down. "John?" I cried out in agony.

"You are not alone, you will never be alone," The voice echoed through the air above me.

"I'm already alone," I sobbed.

Suddenly a guard appeared with his gun out, and his eyes blinking as though he had fallen asleep. "Who are you talking to?" The guard demanded, scanning the room.

I looked around the room and saw no one but the guard. "Ghosts," I sighed.

"Lunatic," The guard muttered to himself as he walked out of the room.

Once my fever broke, I was once again thrown back into the flea riddled barracks that were now nearly falling apart due to the elements. They were clearly never built to withstand summer or winter seasons. The camp was undergoing some rebuilding, which required the help of everyone in the camp. Aussichtslos was growing small in its population. The train arrived less frequently and with less and less people. I wondered if Hitler had run out of people to imprison. I was sure he would find more people if he ever did run out

One day the train came in with new arrivals, but I no longer paid any attention to the selection process that happened once the people stepped off the train. I remember finding it strange that the agony I had once felt so strongly for the new prisoners was almost completely gone. I hated it, but hating it wouldn't bring peace, and it certainly wouldn't save the people stepping off the train, but a woman stepped off the train that day who would change the way I lived. She would always be a reminder to me in later years of what it means to be truly strong.

Days after the train had dropped off more people at Aussichtslos, they settled as best as they could into the vermin-infested barracks. Some of the women did their best to explain ways of surviving the camp to the new people, especially the very young ones. Two young sisters slept below me in the stacked cots, and every night I would fall asleep to the sound of the younger one crying and the older one trying to stay calm and speak quietly to the younger. I pitied them, but was too selfish to care. After a while, I started noticing that one of the newer women was helping some of the weaker, more frail women get through their nights. She would sing quietly to some of the children, and tell stories to the smaller girls and smile and make jokes with some of the older women. She looked about the same age, my mother would have been if she had lived, and looked strong and as healthy as one could be in Aussichtslos. She appeared to have a peace about her like nothing that was happening around her could genuinely harm her. She worked hard and had as much loss as the rest, but she didn't seem to let any of it get to her in the same way a lot of the others did. Many women called her an angel of mercy, and would go to her for strength. She amazed me, but I was too blinded by my anger to speak to her. A few times, she would catch me watching her and smile kindly, but I just looked away and thought of reasons not to like or trust her.

One night, as I was lying in my bunk trying to ignore the bugs and the filth that surrounded me, one of the women walked over to me. My cot was the very bottom one. It was really just the floor, but it had wood sidings. She sat down on the ground next to me and said nothing, she just sat there humming to herself.

I looked up at her and wondered what on earth she was doing, but she didn't seem to care that I was glaring at her, she just smiled at me and said, "I'm Edith."

I gave her a blank stare, hoping she understood that I had no desire to speak to her, or anyone for that matter.

"I don't think we have met. What is your name?" She asked as though we were just two people meeting at a social gathering.

"Beth," I muttered, hoping this satisfied her want of a conversation with me.

"That's a beautiful name, though not very German," She remarked with a smile.

"Astute observation," I said, giving her a cold blank stare of disinterest.

"Still very pretty," She continued, seeming entirely unaffected by my taciturnity.

"What do you want?" I asked harshly, just wanting her to leave me alone.

"I've heard some interesting stories about you," She said plainly.

"Have you?" I asked, trying not to sound too curious.

"Yes, fascinating ones. Apparently, you have some interesting connections to this place." She was no longer smiling.

"Connections?" I asked suspiciously.

"Apparently, your husband is an SS man," She said casually.

I looked at her with confusion, "Excuse me?"

"Some say you are married to one of the guards that were stationed here," She said, eyeing me playfully.

I chuckled bitterly and laid back down. "I'm not married," I said shortly, feeling a sudden pang as John suddenly entered my mind.

"I didn't think so," She said with a soft smile.

"Why are you telling me this?" I asked.

"I thought I would meet the mysterious person that watches me from her bunk but says nothing," She answered.

"Well, now you have, you can go now," I said, staring up at the ceiling again.

"You aren't Jewish," She went on as though she didn't hear my last comment.

I sat up, surprised by the comment, "No," I admitted.

"Gipsy?" She asked.

"No."

"Russian?"

"No," I answered with frustration.

"Then, why are you here?" She asked bluntly.

I looked at her, astounded at her nosiness, "That is none of your concern."

"I apologize. I must admit that my own curiosity is the driving force behind my inquiry," She smiled.

"Curiosity killed the cat," I responded angrily; however, Edith remained unmoved by my harsh responses.

"I am trying to know you, Beth," She said.

I gritted my teeth in aggravation, "I helped hide Jews," I answered.

"Interesting. So you were caught?" She asked, seeming unsurprised by my answer.

"Yes," I replied.

"I was caught too," She said very calmly, "I wish I knew who turned me in."

"Why were you turned in?" I asked.

"I am a Jew. I was hiding in my friend's basement," She answered matter-of-factly.

"I'm sorry," I said, sounding uninterested.

"No, you aren't," She replied offhandedly.

I looked at her with the most indignant look I could manage.

"I've been watching you, Beth. I may not know you, and I'm sure you have reasons for closing yourself off from everything. I can't blame you for doing it, it seems to be the only way to survive this place. But you need to realize that you are not the only one suffering, and you don't have to suffer alone," She said frankly.

"You can't understand my pain," I responded defensively.

"I didn't know there were special brands of pain that only you can experience. Let me guess: you feel alone, betrayed, hurt, and lost. Everyone in this place feels the same as you do," She said.

I started to feel my anger bubbling up to the surface, "You don't know me. Don't assume you understand all types of pain and especially mine!" I exclaimed, sitting up.

"Your father turned you and your mother in, didn't he?" She asked.

I looked at her with shock, "How...how, did you know?" Many pairs of eyes were watching me after my outburst.

"Word spreads quickly in a place like this. I heard two guards speaking about it while I was working in the yards a few days ago," She answered gently.

"He did more than turn me in, he killed my mother and everyone I ever cared about. He commands this whole camp!" I exclaimed.

The whole barracks went completely silent. All eyes were on me, and I soon realized that the stories and rumors they had been told about me had just been confirmed. They all seemed shocked and horrified, but Edith stepped forward, gave me a firm embrace.

"You are still not alone," She said soothingly.

I pushed her away.

"No one understands what I go through every single day, knowing my father is the reason you all are here, knowing it is because of him you all suffer. You can't understand that kind of guilt," I exclaimed, and tears began to well in my eyes.

"He is only a cog in the SS machine. You are not responsible for your father's actions. Sitting in self-pity will only make you weaker. You can only do good in this life while you are still alive. Your loved ones wouldn't want you to lose all concern for others because you've drowned yourself in anger and guilt. We are all struggling to survive, but you have already given up," Edith accused.

"I have lost everything," I said weakly.

"My husband was shot in front of my eyes. I woke up to the sound of the SS killing my children while they slept. I hoped that I died with my whole family that day, but then I realized I couldn't let them die in vain. So, although I am a prisoner here, I am also a mother and a friend. You still have your life, and you still have choices to make with it." She said with a smile.

Edith looked at me as though the words she had just spoken weren't earth-shattering. There she stood, a woman in torn clothes and a shaved head, bleeding hands and feet with no family to speak of, looking down at a broken, angry child with a level of grace that I had never seen or thought possible. We had both lost everything, and yet she showed me what my choices were in that moment, and I realized that I had a decision to make. I was either going to stand up and live to the best of my ability, or crumble under the weight of my grief. I made a choice that day, I was going to keep fighting, even if it meant losing even more than I already had.

"Okay," I replied softly.

My decision allowed me to see clearly for a while. My childish behavior had been having an effect on everyone around me. My father's cruelty grew with every action I took against him. I was in a position of power that I hadn't realized until I spoke with Edith. The loss of John had clouded my mind entirely, and I had become so focused on testing my father's limits, that I had failed to see how his anger was being taken out on everyone in Aussichtslos. Edith's strength caused me to break a few of my walls down, but many were still standing tall and true.

Edith became a dear friend to me in the coming weeks, and would help me find my faith in God and hope that one day I would be free. She told me the story of her family and how she had dealt with pain. I told her all about John and Mr. Becker, and I even tried to explain a little about my father, but I couldn't talk much about him. The pain of his betrayal was still too much for me to handle, and then I told her about Rolf. She seemed surprised by the kindness Rolf had shown me, and we prayed for his safety. I had no clue as to where my father had taken Rolf. As far as I knew, he was dead, so I didn't know exactly what to say in regards to him. Edith had questions that I had no answers to. I didn't know why Rolf did what he did, I didn't understand why he cared. I didn't realize what he had done to get John out of Aussichtslos. All I knew was that he and John were gone, but because of Edith, I no longer felt alone.