فصل 98

emilia

I stared at a jar of cotton balls on the metal table. Small white clouds trapped in glass. I wanted to lift the lid and let them fly away with my secrets.

I was still alive. Why?

The doctor cleaned and examined the baby while Joana tended to me.

“You did very well, Emilia,” she said, softly wiping the hair from my eyes.

I stared into the bright ceiling lights until my eyes hurt. Everything hurt. My strength dissolved into exhaustion.

Wasn’t a person supposed to feel better after telling the truth? Perhaps there was no peace because Joana hadn’t understood or hadn’t heard me. Was it enough to admit the lie to yourself and the heavens, or did you have to tell someone who listened?

For months I had done so well. Most days I actually believed my own story. Yes, August Kleist existed. He visited the farm for a while during my stay. He carried wood for me, climbed the ladder so I didn’t have to, shared his plums, and defended me in front of his mother. He did it all because he was a kind person. But I didn’t exist for him the way he existed for me. He left before it happened.

It was a windless day in May when the Russians arrived at the farm. The air hung still and their boots echoed on the stones as they approached. Mr. Kleist had broken his own arm to avoid recruitment into the people’s army. He claimed it was an accident, but I had peeked at his preparations in the barn. He was home in a sling the day the Russians arrived.

Mrs. Kleist and her daughter, Else, came outside as the soldiers approached. Mrs. Kleist quickly told Else to go inside. But Else didn’t move. Her feet seemed attached to the ground. I had been picking mushrooms in the forest and was hauling my baskets to the cold cellar. I hid behind a large tree.

Mrs. Kleist carried the ax in the family, but I could see from my hiding place that her nerves were unsteady. Mr. Kleist talked too much when the Russians arrived. It annoyed them. They wanted food, vodka, wristwatches. And Else.

“Urri, urri, yes,” said Mrs. Kleist. “Martin, give them your watch. Immediately.”

A soldier took a step toward Else. Mr. Kleist began to whimper but his wife stepped in quickly to negotiate.

“No! This one krank, krank.” She was telling the soldiers that Else was diseased. “We have one who is much prettier.”

My blood thickened. My skin stung. No. She wouldn’t.

“Emilia!” she yelled for me. She spotted my basket peeking out from behind the tree and commanded me forward.

“You see? So pretty. Very, very pretty. Take her instead.”

The soldiers looked at me with their dead faces.

A trail of mushrooms spilled behind me as they dragged me to the cold cellar.

• • •

Joana carried the tiny swaddled baby over to my cot, cooing and kissing her head.

The doctor approached as well. “She’s quite small, but seems healthy. Have you chosen a name yet?”

A name? I shook my head.

“Ah, you understood! You do understand a bit of German. Wonderful. Well, you can think about a name. Good work, Joana.” The doctor left the room.

I was so tired. I closed my eyes and waited for the sound of Death’s key in the lock.