Someone Named Eva (6 page)

Ruzha stayed next to me as we walked, but neither of us tried to speak. Even though we were together, we were very much apart.

Later that night on my cot, as the lights were turned off and the sound of girls whispering faded, I spoke my name softly to myself:
Milada, Milada, Milada.
I pictured each of my family members, and remembered what my grandmother had said as I traced the bumpy outlines of her pin.

Remember who you are, Milada. Remember where you are from. Always.

E
A
C
H
day began before the sun was up. The strains of what I now knew was the German national anthem would swell into our small room until all fourteen of us were awake and standing by our cots. With hands outstretched in salute to the large picture of Hitler on the wall, we waited to be released by Fräulein Krüger so we could dress and prepare for the day. Freshly cleaned and pressed uniforms were waiting for us each morning, along with new ribbons for our hair. Every day I secretly pinned Babichka's star to my shirt to keep it close, before walking to breakfast with everyone else.

Breakfast was always delicious and nourishing, with real sugar and delicacies such as fresh meat and fruit. Nutrition was important, we would learn in home economics lessons. Proper nutrition helped German bodies, and therefore Germany herself, grow strong. We had plenty of food, more than I had seen in years, and plenty of new clean clothes. All our physical needs were taken care of. Fräulein Krüger and the other Nazi guards and teachers were outwardly friendly, but there was always something sharp and distant about their actions.

Breakfast was followed by lessons and drills and exercises. At first, from morning until night, we studied only the German language. After our first day no adult ever translated again. Instead, gestures and signs were used if needed. We remembered the warning that the punishment for speaking in any language other than the true Aryan language of German would be severe.

During those first few weeks at the center, we spent endless hours practicing the formation and pronunciation of German words. Our language instructor, Fräulein Schmitt, was both animated and deadly serious about her lessons. When she wasn't speaking, she pursed her lips together in a way that reminded me of a bird's beak. Her hair was always pulled back so tightly that it made my head hurt just to look at it.

"Kin-der!" she would bark, cracking our desks in time to the rhythm of the words with the ruler she carried.

"Kin-der!" we repeated, as her little bird eyes darted among us, trying to catch someone mispronouncing the word.

Franziska grasped the German language quickly and easily, and she appeared to enjoy the lessons. The words rolled effortlessly off her tongue as her eyes shone up at Fräulein Schmitt.

She was eager to point out mistakes made by the other girls in their pronunciation of German words. When someone misspoke, her hand would quickly rise high in the air.

"Yes, Franziska," the teacher would call on her, and I would know what was to come.

"Excuse me," she would say, in her beautiful German. "I do not believe that is entirely correct." And she would go on to point out the correct formation of the words or the exact inflection of the German accent.

"Yes, yes, Franziska. You are such a good student!" The teacher would praise her immensely.

And Franziska was always right. She worked hard to master this new language and received constant praise from all the teachers. In this place she was admired and respected by adults for her complete devotion to the rules and her critical eye. Other girls began to notice this favored status. Some even started to sit next to her in an attempt to receive the same special attention.

Unlike Franziska, I had a difficult time mastering the German words and phrases. My mind was muddled, trying to place the new words next to the old ones I had grown up speaking. Nothing, new or old, seemed to fit together anymore.

One night, after a very hard day of language les
sons, I burst into tears of frustration. "I hate this language. I hate German. I hate the Nazis!" I cried softly in the dark from my cot.

"Eva," Franziska said quietly from her own cot. "German is the Aryan language, the true language."

"But..." My words trailed off as I saw the night guard pass by the door on her rounds. I closed my eyes and pretended to sleep, deciding not to finish what I had started to say—that neither of us was Aryan or German.

***

Heidi, the little girl who had arrived with her sister, was struggling even more than I was. One hot day in August, during language lessons, Fräulein Schmitt gave us a ten-minute break away from studies. Everyone was sweaty and tired from the long drills. The windows were open and several fans were on, but only hot air circulated. We were all feeling irritable and short-tempered.

Heidi and her sister, Elsa, were seated at their desks. Across from them sat two girls who bunked near them, Siegrid and Gerde. All four were discussing ways to keep cool. Gerde and Siegrid were arguing that fans did not help when it got too hot. Heidi and Elsa argued that they did.

"The blades of a fan don't cool the air. They just move it around," Gerde said in near-perfect German. Fräulein Schmitt, who had been listening from across the room, smiled.

"Nein. The air moves faster with a fan, and that cools it," Elsa argued. Her German sounded almost as good as Gerde's, and she, too, got a smile from the teacher. Heidi sat at her desk wiggling with impatience and eager to join the conversation with her own thoughts. But when she spoke, she used words I could not understand. Everyone in the room stopped what they were doing and looked at her. Franziska actually stood up from her desk, gaping at Heidi with wide eyes.

Heidi had spoken in Polish.

"Heidi!" Fräulein Schmitt snapped to attention. Her eyes latched onto the small girl like a hawk that had found its prey. No one else in the room moved. Fräulein Schmitt walked purposefully to Heidi, lifted her from the chair by her arm, and, as everyone watched, lifted her skirt and pulled down her underwear. With her ruler she hit Heidi five times on bare skin, a sickening
thrack, thrack
echoing in the room with each strike. When she was done, Fräulein Schmitt pushed the small girl to the floor, then crossed her arms and watched Heidi scramble to get her clothes back on.

That night angry welts appeared on Heidi's skin where the ruler had struck. We were all kept awake by her cries and the sounds of Elsa trying to comfort her.

I grew more and more angry as I listened to Heidi's moans. Who were these people, these Nazis? Why were they trying to make me one of them, with their language and their salutes and their uniforms?

I knew Mama and Papa would come for me eventually. And when they found me, we would all watch Heidi beat Fräulein Schmitt with a ruler, and then we would go home. There would be a big party, and I would make sure to take sugar so we could have a real cake to celebrate the Nazi defeat.

***

As we began to master the German language, our lessons changed to include German history and home economics. Fräulein Krüger made a special appearance to tell us about the League of German Girls, an organization for Nazi girls. There was another group called the Hitler Youth, for Nazi boys. We were still too young to be official members, but the League of German Girls philosophy and activities guided everything we did. It was during this lesson that I finally grew to understand the word "Aryan" and to see why everyone at the center had blond hair and light-colored eyes.

"In this room you will learn of the tragic persecution of Germany after the Great War. You will also learn of the glorious salvation our Führer has brought to Germany," Fräulein Haugen, our history instructor, began on our first afternoon of her lessons. "You will learn how you, as part of the Aryan race, are far superior to others, most especially to Jews, who are no better than the rats that live on the streets."

Aryan. That word was repeated over and over again. Fräulein Haugen explained that certain things about us, such as our blond hair and light-colored eyes, made us part of the Aryan race, a group of people Hitler deemed superior to all other races.

"You will learn how
you,
chosen young Aryan girls, are the German salvation." She walked briskly between our rows of desks, the short heels of her black shoes clicking and punctuating each of her words.

"You are all so very important," she continued, as she reached down and softly touched Franziska's hair. "When you go out into the German world, you will help Hitler usher Germany into greatness once again." Franziska's eyes followed Fräulein Haugen, her head nodding in agreement.

I fingered my own hair, looking at the light-blond strands. "Straw" was what Jaro would call my hair when he was teasing. "Sun-kissed" was how Papa always described it. Either way, it was the color of my hair that had brought me to this place.

One day we came to class to find a movie projector sitting at the front of the room. I had seen very few picture shows in my life, and despite where I was and what I was learning, I was excited to see another.

"This film," Fräulein Haugen said, as she wound the film onto the reel, "will help you better understand your Aryan heritage, and the scourge of the Jews."

My stomach sank with disappointment. I didn't understand why Hitler hated the Jewish people so much. There were no Jews in Lidice, and I knew nothing of their beliefs or traditions. How could one group of people be the cause of so much trouble?

We spent the next hour watching Jews be compared to rats and cartoons of Jews with huge noses. We also saw pictures of the ideal German family, all blond haired and blue eyed, playing happily in the park. The movie was convincing. But because it was the Nazis saying it, I didn't want to believe it.

"Your homework tonight is to read the first two chapters of your racial textbook," Fräulein Haugen said at the end of that day's lessons. "It will help you to better understand the importance of race in Hitler's new world and to fully appreciate the Aryan ideal."

Franziska and Siegrid huddled on Siegrid's cot that evening, poring through the book together. They talked and giggled in places. I tried to concentrate on my book, ignoring the sounds coming from them. Watching them made my heart ache with loneliness for Terezie.

"Can I sit with you?" A voice interrupted my thoughts, and I looked up to find Liesel standing by my cot.

"Yes," I said, surprised. "Of course."

We spent a few minutes reading quietly to ourselves. The first few pages had graphs and charts about nose size and head width and lists of the specific physical standards for the true German ideal. In the pictures I recognized the metal instruments the doctors in the Kladno gym had used on me.

"No!" Liesel said out loud, then looked around to see if anyone besides me had heard her.

"Pardon?" I asked, looking over at her.

"This doesn't make sense to me." Her voice lowered to a whisper. "How can the size of your nose make any difference?"

I stared at her a few seconds before answering. I had been wondering the same thing but thought I was alone in my doubt. "You're right," I said, so quietly that only she could hear. "It makes no sense."

She smiled and continued to read. I smiled too, warmed by the thought that I might have found a friend.

***

"Tell me what you learned from your studies last night," Fräulein Haugen demanded during class the next day. Immediately, many hands went into the air, and we spent the rest of the day discussing Hitler's views on race.

I had never been to school all year long. The late-summer air was hot and sticky and made it difficult to concentrate, especially when all we heard about was Germany, Germany, Germany. Constantly we were told of the glory of Germany, the glory of the Nazi party, the glory of Hitler. Constantly we were told that we were part of the German agenda. I had heard this so many times, it was hard to remember that I wasn't a Nazi, that I didn't want to be the Aryan ideal, that I hated Germany.

Perhaps that was what I had seen change in Franziska. Whereas I worked hard to remember that I was not German, Franziska seemed to embrace what she was learning. She studied even harder than she had in Lidice, and she appeared to accept everything that was told to her without question. It was as if she no longer remembered that she wasn't German.

One day, during lunch, Franziska and Gerde exploded into an argument. Loud shouts from the table brought Fräulein Krüger rushing over.

"What's this, girls? What is the meaning of this? Why these loud words?" A look of genuine concern was on her face. She sat down in an empty chair, pulling Franziska and Gerde into chairs on either side of her.

"Franziska says that my nose is not the right shape!" Gerde began, her lip quivering.

"There
are
certain standards for the Aryan nose," Franziska said with a sniff of authority, looking at Fräulein Krüger for approval.

"Oh, girls!" Fräulein Krüger laughed, putting an arm around each of them. "Franziska, I am glad you are concerned about the purity of our race, and Gerde, you need not worry. We can check."

She left the room and reappeared with the instrument I now understood was used to measure nose size. Carefully, she pressed it against each girl's nose.

"See, Gerde, yours is a bit longer than Franziska's," Fräulein Krüger noted, "but still within the correct limits." Gerde smiled.

"So, really, you are both right, and there is no need to argue. Now, everyone, off to afternoon les
sons." Fräulein Krüger hurried us out of the room with a wave of her hand.

I walked toward our classroom behind Franziska and Gerde, who were chatting happily. Now that Fräulein Krüger had made it clear that Gerde's nose was acceptable, it seemed as if it was all right for Franziska to be friends with her.

"Noses again."

I turned to see Liesel walking next to me. "Pardon me?" I asked, not sure what she was talking about.