Anne Frank and Me (23 page)

Their column clomped along. Escape was impossible. Not only were they weak with hunger, but ranks of heavily armed SS guarded them, weapons at the ready.

“What's happening?” Liz-Bette asked. “Where are we going?”

“I think we're being admitted to a camp. Hold my hand. Don't let go.” As the ranks pressed forward, Nicole could see a uniformed Nazi at the end of the platform, a shorter SS man by his side, bullwhip in hand. As each woman approached, the taller man would make a quick appraisal, point right or left with his chin; the SS man indicated the direction with his whip.

Nicole watched carefully. An elderly woman was sent to the left, then a girl younger than Liz-Bette. A woman who looked to be in her thirties was sent to the right. Suddenly, Liz-Bette pointed. “Look, Nicole, it's your friend from the train.”

Up ahead, Anne and a girl who looked like her—her sister? —approached the two Germans. They were sent to the right. Nicole leaned toward Liz-Bette. “Liz-Bette, listen to me. No matter what happens, we must go to the right. Do you understand?”

“Why?”

“Just do it!”

The column pressed forward. Nicole was four rows away from the end of the platform. Right, left, left, left, left, right, left, left, right, left.

Nicole was next. She stepped forward and stood before the Nazis, grasping Liz-Bette's hand until the last instant. The taller one regarded her. Time stopped. Right, his chin jerked.

“Nicole?” Liz-Bette called anxiously.

“I'll be right here,” Nicole called, backing toward the right. “I swear it. I can still see you. As long as I can see you, we are still together.” Liz-Bette stood before the Nazi's diffident scrutiny.

Please, Nicole prayed. Dear God, please.

Liz-Bette coughed, a deep, hacking cough. The Nazi's chin jerked left.

“No!” Nicole screamed.
“Nein!”

“Let her go,” a prisoner in a striped uniform told Nicole. “She's bound for the ovens. Save your own skin.” But Nicole ran back to the tall man who had made the selection.

“Please,” she begged in French, pointing at Liz-Bette. “She can come to the right with me. She can!” He did not look at her. So she turned to the shorter SS man. “Please. Let her come to me. Or let me be with my sister.”

He chuckled and pointed to the left with his bullwhip.
“Du? Lentz?”

“Lentz,”
Nicole echoed, nodding furiously.
“Ja. Lentz.”

“Jawohl, Lentz, Jude!”
the SS man mock-saluted her.
“Jawohl, Jude, Heil Hitler!”
He pointed left again as all around him on the platform his fellow Germans laughed uproariously. Nicole ran to Liz-Bette and hugged her.

“You didn't leave me.”

“No. Didn't I promise?”

The two columns were now separated by a rank of SS—Nicole saw Anne in the other column, not twenty feet away. A woman had her arms around Anne's older sister, who was sobbing. Anne stood alone.

“Anne?” Nicole called. “Anne!”

Anne turned. “Nicole?” Her eyes seemed to overwhelm her pale face. “Nicole, I'm scared. I am so scared.” Nicole wished that she could offer Anne the same strength that Anne had offered her on the train. But she didn't have Anne's faith; she wasn't strong enough or brave enough to—

“Anne?”

“Yes, Nicole?”

“Anne, listen to me. It's important!” One of the SS men glared at her, but she didn't care. “I lied before. I do know what happens to you!”

“You do?” Anne's eyes grew wide.

“Yes,” Nicole insisted. “You become a famous writer. And you break a million hearts.”

Anne wrapped her arms around herself, as though they were Nicole's arms. “Thank you,” she said simply. That was when Nicole and Liz-Bette's column began to move forward.
It seemed the only word on the planet was
Schnell.

“Schnell, Schnell!”
the SS ordered, swinging their truncheons to make the women run.

“I'm too tired to run,” Liz-Bette panted.

“You can do it,” Nicole coaxed.

“Schnell, Juden, Schnell!” The
women ran through a gate toward the building with the big smokestack. The vile smell was overpowering. The ground sloped downward and an entrance to its interior opened before them. With more shouts, the SS forced the women into an underground room.

Nicole held fast to Liz-Bette as prisoners in uniform shouted directions to them. “You will have a shower and be deloused! Leave your clothes in a pile for later!”

Nicole felt weak. She looked around—the walls were covered with signs, most making reference to LAUS. She knew enough German to understand that was the word for lice.

It was a delousing procedure. David was wrong. She was sure of it.

“It is a shower,” she told Liz-Bette firmly. “Disinfecting. It will take away your itching. That will be wonderful.”

“Hurry, hurry!” the uniformed prisoners shouted. “Into the shower room. Take off everything!” Nicole and Liz-Bette stripped naked as the girls and women around them did the same. Most used their hands to try to cover themselves

Liz-Bette crossed her arms over her nonexistent breasts. “I'm embarrassed, Nicole,” she whimpered.

“Pretend you have on a beautiful ball gown, Scar-lett,” Nicole told her. “The blue one that matches your eyes.”

“Into the shower! Hurry, hurry!”

“Your gown is very lovely, but it could use a good washing.” She took Liz-Bette's hand as they were herded through a doorway into the shower room, and looked around as her eyes adjusted to the murky light. Showerheads. Yes. A dozen. No, fourteen. Spaced out on the walls. She went limp with relief. “You see the spigots, Liz-Bette? It is going to be grand to be clean.”

More people were pressed into the room. It was getting dangerously crowded. How could all these people be deloused at the same time? The crush forced them toward the rear wall. There were panicked shouts as naked men were pushed into the room. The heavy door clanged shut.

“I want my maman!” Liz-Bette howled. “I want my maman!”

“Stop it, stop it, stop it!” Nicole screamed. She clapped her hands over her ears and squeezed her eyes shut. It was too much to ask—she could not be strong. She wanted to lose her mind, tear her hair out, to beg someone, anyone, for her life.

“I'm sorry, Nicole,” Liz-Bette said. “I'm sorry that I was sick. You should have gone with Anne.”

It had come to this: Her twelve-year-old sister blamed herself instead of the ones who were guilty. That, Nicole would not allow her to do. She met her sister's panicky gaze with steady eyes.

“Listen to me, Liz-Bette,” Nicole said, bending close to her sister's ear. “You are not responsible.
They
are responsible. I am here because I chose to be. Do you hear me?”

Liz-Bette nodded.

“I will give you Papa's Shabbos blessing. It will be my voice and my heart, but his, too. And others, everyone who ever loved you. Do you understand?”

Liz-Bette nodded again. Something like marbles clattered through the ceiling and fell to the floor. People howled in fear, pushing wildly, coughing. Nicole gently placed her hands on her sister's head.
“Yiverechecha Adonai viyismerecha,”
Nicole prayed. “May God bless you and keep you.
Yaer Adonai panav elecha viyichunecha.
May God's countenance shine upon you and illuminate you.
Esai Adonai panav elecha vasham lecha shalom.
May God turn His countenance to you and bring you peace.”

People shrieked and tore at their throats, choking. Nicole and Liz-Bette began to choke, too. But Nicole forced herself to keep talking to her sister. “God is watching us, Liz-Bette.
Shema Yisroel, Adonai Elohenu, Adonai Echad; Shema Yisroel—
”

In the tiniest voice, Liz-Bette joined her.
“Adonai Elohenu, Adonai Echad.”

Now, bodies were falling to the floor.
“Shema Yisroel, Adonai Elohenu, Adonai Echad.
Hear 0 Israel, the Lord is Our God, the Lord is One.
Shema Yisroel, Adonai Elohenu, Adonai Echad.”

“I love you, Liz-Bette,” Nicole whispered.

Then, there was only silence.

thirty-six

The blaring high-pitched whine of sirens. A terrible pounding inside her head. Raw, rhythmic waves of pain. Nicole clamped her hands over her eyes and moaned. It was as if her mind were swimming through muck, coming up from another place. Who she was and where she was, and what had happened, returned to her slowly, like faces materializing on a developing photograph.

“Nicole? Nicole?” Someone was calling to her from very far away. “Nicole? Nicole?”

The voice came closer, far too loud, reverberating like exploding bombs, punctuated by an insistent
whup-whup, whup-whup.

“Nicole, can you hear me?”
Whup-whup, whup-whup.

“I hear you,” Nicole mumbled through parched lips. She recognized that voice, didn't she? Yes, she did. Ms. Zooms, her English teacher.

“Nicole?” Ms. Zooms repeated. “I couldn't understand you. What did you say?”

Nicole licked her lips and forced her mouth to form distinct words. “Stop. Calling. My. Name.” She tried to get her bearings. She was lying on her back. On something hard. “Am I alive?”

“Yes. Very much alive.” Ms. Zooms' normally bombastic voice was surprisingly soothing.

Whup-whup
,
whup-whup.
What was that noise?

“What's her name? Can she open her eyes?”

“Can you open your eyes, Nicole?” Ms. Zooms asked. “There's a paramedic here.”

Nicole shook her head, which sent waves of pain coursing through her body.

“Too much sensory input, too fast,” she heard the paramedic explain. “It's not uncommon after something like this.”

What was he talking about? What had happened? A breeze tickled Nicole's face. She smelled burning leaves.

I must be outside. But how did I get out here?

“Where am I?” Nicole managed.

“Outside the state museum,” the paramedic replied. “Your vitals are fine. We called your mom, and she's meeting you at Memorial.”

“Memorial what?”

“Memorial Hospital. The doctors need to check you out. Think you could open those peepers now, nice and slow?”

Her eyelids felt leaden. She covered them with her hand, then forced them open, squinting between her fingers into the too-bright morning sun. Her view was partly blocked by a red-haired man with a stethoscope around his neck.

“Welcome back, Nicole. I'm Sam. How many fingers do you see?” He held up two.

“More than one, less than three.”

He grinned and turned to Ms. Zooms. “Other than having the mother of all headaches for a while, it looks like she'll live. We'll take her to Memorial just to be on the safe side. Don't let her move around too much.”

“I'll see to that, thank you,” Ms. Zooms agreed, as Sam hurried toward a man with a walkie-talkie. Nicole craned her neck carefully, looking around.

She was on a bench in the plaza. There were scores of police, heavily armed SWAT teams running to and fro, and many ambulances. Overhead, she counted two—no, three—helicopters. That accounted for the annoying
whup-whups.
But what was happening? She felt off-kilter, caught in someone else's skin. Suddenly, something essential deep inside of her shifted, an earthquake of the self, pieces falling not out of place but rather into it. And she remembered.