A Feather on the Water(20)

He went over to the door and opened it, stepping back to allow her inside. Martha tried not to gag as she counted the cubicles—just six for the 145 occupants of the blockhouse. They were screened from each other by shoulder-height walls of plywood. The water pump separated the cubicles from a concrete gully that appeared to be the men’s urinal.

“Are all the houses like this?” she asked, as she came out, shutting the door behind her.

He nodded. “Some are for men only. Some for women. One is for children with no mother or father.”

“How many children like that?”

“Thirty. Forty.” He shook his head. “Really, I don’t know.”

“Who takes care of them?”

For a moment he didn’t answer. She heard him clear his throat. Then he said: “The ones who . . .” He hesitated. “They have lost a child.” His eyes seemed to change color—from the clear blue of a summer sky to the burning blue at the heart of a flame.

Martha remembered what Father Josef had said the previous evening, He lives in the same blockhouse as me: number fifteen. That would be for single men if a priest lived there. She wondered if, like so many others in the camp, her new translator had been separated from his family and longed for news of them.

“Come,” he said. “I will take you to another place.”



Delphine arrived at the office as Kitty was speaking on the phone.

“Danke sch?n,” Kitty said, replacing the receiver.

“Who was that?” Delphine plonked down in the chair on the other side of the desk.

“The Red Cross woman in Munich. She said they update the information on DPs in all the camps in the occupied territories once a month. They have motorcycle couriers who drop off the lists. We should get one by the end of next week.”

“That’s good,” Delphine said. Kitty thought how tired she looked. She’d volunteered to sleep in the same room as Bo?ena and the baby last night, while Kitty and Martha had spent the night in the cabin next door.

“Would you like some coffee? I think it’s still warm.” Kitty went over to the filing cabinets, on top of which a pot sat, swathed in a cloth to keep in the heat. Next to it were three tin mugs and a brown paper bag containing sugar.

“How did the transfer go?” Kitty asked, as she placed the mug in front of Delphine.

“Okay,” Delphine replied. “Father Josef helped. He borrowed an army jeep. Wolf helped, too—he’s the young boy I told you about: the one who wants to be a doctor. He looked after the babies while the mothers settled into the cabin. There are three of them now, including Bo?ena.” She took a sip of coffee. “Father Josef’s going to christen the other two babies this afternoon.”

“In the chapel?”

Delphine nodded. “He said he’d do it at lunchtime when no one was likely to notice them going over there.”

“It’s a beautiful little place,” Kitty said, “considering it’s made of trees cut from the forest.”

“Is it?” Delphine’s eyebrows arched. “He wanted to know if we’d be coming to the service on Sunday. I didn’t like to tell him that I haven’t been to Mass since . . . well, it’s been more than a year, I think.”

“Oh?” Kitty took in a breath. “Actually, my family don’t go to church.”

Why can’t you just say it? Her mother’s voice hissed inside her head. Are you ashamed of being Jewish?

Before Delphine could make any comment, Kitty told her what Sergeant Lewis had said about the priest being a prisoner in Dachau.

“He didn’t mention that.” Delphine cradled the tin mug in both hands, looking down at what was left of the coffee. The name of the prison camp seemed to have made her shrink back into herself, like a snail when salt is thrown into its path. Kitty was reminded of the moment on the journey from France when she’d asked Delphine if she’d ever visited Germany, and the moonlight had caught tears in the nurse’s eyes. Now, as then, Kitty felt paralyzed—incapable of reaching out for fear of exposing what she’d kept inside for so long.

A knock made them both look up.

“Someone wanting a pass?” Delphine said.

Kitty glanced at the clock on the wall. “They’re not supposed to come in the afternoon.” She went to open the door. Standing in the rain was a girl about her age, her blond hair plastered to her head. When Kitty stood aside to let her in, the girl shook herself like a wet dog. She put her hand in the pocket of her coat and pulled out a folded piece of paper, which she thrust at Kitty.

“Musz? wyj?? z obozu.” I need to go out of the camp. Her voice was high pitched, agitated.

Kitty unfolded the paper. It bore the insignia of the United States Third Army, Tank Battalion. A scribbled note in English read: “Dear Jadzia, Frank has been shipped out stateside. He asked me to pass on his best regards.” The message was simply signed “Jimmy.”

“Musz? znale?? Franka.” The woman looked from Kitty to Delphine, as if she expected the older one to take charge of the situation.

“What is it? What does she say?”

“She wants to go and find an American soldier.” Kitty frowned. “Sounds like it’s her boyfriend, and he’s gone.”

In the exchange that followed, the woman became visibly distressed.