The Room on Rue Amélie(91)

He frowned, and for a moment, she was sure she had overstepped her bounds. But after a pause, he shook his head. “I manage just enough breakdowns in the assembly line that I slow the production of weapons. It’s not much, Ruby, but it’s something. We all must do what we can, don’t you think? It is the only way good has a chance of winning in the end.”



BY MID-AUGUST, RUBY HAD HEARD that prisoners who could no longer pull their weight were being killed immediately, their bodies cremated in enormous furnaces that sent cruel clouds of black smoke belching into the sky. The smell of burning flesh lingered in the air.

Ruby was nearly eight months pregnant, but she didn’t look that way. Her belly was half the size it had been during her first pregnancy. She was only five or six weeks away from being full-term, and yet if she stood just the right way, the cotton of her loose dress skimmed the air, keeping her secret safe. The guards at the factory were distracted much of the time anyhow, and they didn’t seem to be as focused on abusing the prisoners as the guards inside the camp had been.

Death no longer lurked around the corner quite as hungrily as it had when Ruby had worked inside the main camp. But at the same time, falling ill would land a prisoner back inside the gates, and if you remained in the hospital block for too long, the rumor was that you were sent directly to your death. That’s what had happened to Denise, a young, quiet French girl who worked several stations down from Ruby on the assembly line. One day, she’d been coughing; the next, she was gone. It had taken a week before word came back that she’d been diagnosed with rheumatic fever and condemned to die. The factory workers had held a secret moment of silence for her on Tuesday, and by the end of that day, Ruby was horrified to realize that she, too, had a nagging tickle in her throat.

“I think I might be getting ill,” she said to Nadia that night as they settled down to sleep. Her throat was raw and scratchy, and she could feel herself beginning to perspire.

Nadia put a cool hand on her forehead. “Ruby, you’re burning up.”

“Fever?”

Nadia nodded, her expression grave.

Ruby struggled upright. “But I can’t be sick. My illness could hurt the baby.”

Nadia frowned. “I am more concerned about what will happen if they bring you to the hospital block. They certainly won’t miss your pregnancy this time.” She was silent for a moment. “You must tell Herr Hartmann.”

“What?”

“You must tell him,” Nadia said more insistently. “He has helped you before, Ruby. He will not let you die.”

“But what can he do?” Ruby was crying now. She’d been strong for such a long time, but she was suddenly so tired. She felt the heat of her fever surge within her.

“I don’t know. But I think it is your only chance.”

The next morning, Ruby felt even worse. Her face was hot, and the world seemed to be spinning. Before she left the barracks, she put her hands on her belly and whispered a prayer. “I don’t know if you can hear me, God, but please, save my baby.” She bit back tears, splashed water on her face, and headed out to roll call, praying that the guards wouldn’t notice her illness.

Fortunately, they didn’t, but that meant only a brief reprieve. Ruby could tell, as the morning wore on, that she was getting worse. Her hands shook as she tried to piece together electrical parts, and she could feel sweat dripping from her brow. Her mouth was dry, so dry, and she thought that if she dared close her eyes, she might never open them again.

“You must go to Herr Hartmann now,” Nadia whispered as midday approached. “You have no choice, Ruby. The guards will notice your condition very soon if you do not.”

“It is my only option?” Ruby asked.

Nadia nodded. “I think so, yes.”

And so Ruby rose shakily after the next time the guard walked by, and she made her way toward the back corner of the building, where she’d seen Herr Hartmann heading a few minutes earlier. It was a struggle to walk straight without leaning into the wall. She had to concentrate hard so that the floor in front of her didn’t reach up to drag her down. By some miracle, she found Herr Hartmann alone, going over several pages of notes with a furrowed brow. He looked up when she approached. “Ruby!” he said, smiling. But his expression quickly turned as she stumbled forward. “My God,” he said, reaching out a hand to steady her. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m ill,” she whispered.

“Yes, that much is clear. The guards haven’t noticed yet?”

“No. But I’m afraid I might not have much time.”

He was still holding her arm. “And what will happen? They will send you to the hospital block?”

She took a deep breath, which made her cough. It was time to tell him the truth. “Herr Hartmann, I am pregnant.”

He glanced at her belly and then up at her face again, a deep well of sympathy in his eyes. “Yes, I know.”

“You do?”

“I could see it the day I hired you, Ruby. How far along are you?”

She coughed again. “Nearly eight months.”

His eyes widened. “I thought perhaps four or five.”

She shook her head. “We are starving, Herr Hartmann. It’s a miracle my baby is still alive.”

“A miracle indeed.” He studied her. “And if you go to the hospital block and they realize you’re pregnant . . . ?”