Anyone who thinks of homosexual love is our enemy. Heinrich Himmler, 14 May 1928 ------ The line of vehicles heading for Dachau resembled nothing so much as some sort of strange wagon train. Ambulances, troop vehicles filled with Red Cross nurses, and army jeeps all in single file slowly made their way along the rough unpaved roads. From her seat near the middle of one of the ambulances Sarah silently looked around her, noting that one could tell those who'd been at the camp the previous day from those who were going there for the first time rather quickly. There was a melancholy gravity to those who, like her, were among the first to arrive at the recently liberated camp. Sarah didn't even have to look very far to see the difference. Sitting next to her at the window seat was an older nurse with slightly graying hair who was solemnly reading a small Gideon's Bible, while on the other side of the aisle from Sarah sat two younger nurses conversing lightheartedly, the blonde one showing the brunette how she could take a puff on her cigarette, blow the smoke from her mouth, breathe it back in through her nostrils, then release it out her mouth once again just like Marlene Dietrich in the movies. It was not surprising that there would be an influx of new faces. Indeed, the medical nightmare facing Dachau's liberators necessitated the mobilizing of as many doctors and nurses as the various M.A.S.H. units had to offer. What was surprising, and disturbingly so, was the stench that was once again beginning to fill the air. Surprising, because the caravan of ambulances and supplies were still several miles away from the nearest of Dachau's satellite camps. As Sarah wondered about it, a noise outside the ambulance grabbed her attention. She looked out the window, past the nurse with the Gideon's Bible, and saw a large group of American soldiers and MPs headed in the opposite direction, heading away from Dachau. One or two of the soldiers actually wore full gas masks while most tied scarves and handkerchiefs over their noses and mouths. As Sarah continued to look out, she saw more soldiers acting as escorts to a gray-haired old farmer who was being made to lead a horse and buggy loaded up with stacks of dead bodies. Behind them came a much larger wagon, also carting away corpses. Black flies and maggots swarmed the dead, and as a third wagon came into view the blonde and the brunette across from Sarah came over to look out the window with her and her neighbor. While the brunette's eyes began to water, someone from outside the ambulance began knocking on the swinging door. The driver opened the door, and Sarah recognized the face of Major Sanmartino. "Folks," he called over the murmuring of the doctors and nurses, "I'm Major Sanmartino with the 45th. I apologize for the delays, but this morning has brought a few changes to Dachau." He proceeded to explain that something of a changing of the guard had taken place. The E Company of the 40th Combat Engineers, which had been providing support for the 45th Thunderbird, were now in charge of the concentration camp and its surrounding satellite camps, including the women's camp. "Since most of the citizens of Dachau have refused to believe that the conditions at the camp were as bad as they've been told," Major Sanmartino said with almost a half-smirk, "We've declared martial law. The citizens themselves are to help with the rounding up of the dead, and those farmers," he said, motioning outside as yet another cart heavily laden with decomposing bodies, "Are being made to cart the dead through the main public square and streets themselves on their way to a cemetery in Waldfriedhof." Just then, there was a dull thump outside. Those in the ambulance watched as one of the wagon stopped and its driver, along with an M.P., went around the side of the wagon facing away from them for something. A few seconds later, a body that had fallen out of the cart was unceremoniously tossed back on, and the driver returned to the reigns of the cart as the M.P. once more followed close behind. Clearing his throat to once more get everyone's attention, Major Sanmartino continued, "Anyways, one of the farm wagons broke its axle, which is why your convoy has had to stop. Some of our boys are trying to help fix the damned thing, and hopefully you'll all be moving just as soon as..." he was interrupted by the sound of a loud horn being blown near the front of the convoy, followed by the noise of several engines rumbling back to life at once. "Speak of the devil," he said, "Well, this is where I get off," and with that he headed for the door. "Major Martini," Sarah called out. Sanmartino turned, surprised to see the strange nurse from yesterday making her way down the narrow aisle to reach him. "Major Martini, remember... Remember that inmate I asked you and your men about?" "Yes Lieutenant," he said, shifting uncomfortably from one foot to the other as she stared hopefully at him. "I... I'm sorry," he sighed. Quickly looking away from her crest-fallen face, the major left the ambulance to rejoin his men as Sarah slowly made her way back to her seat. And so it went, with one group heading towards the camp while the other group headed in the opposite direction. Soon, the first of the satellite camps was reached, and some of the vehicles left the convoy. Several more left upon reaching the main concentration camp, before Sarah's ambulance brought her and the others back to the women's camp. The first day back in the women's camp was quite chaotic for Sarah, who found herself trying to keep out of the way of the 40th Combat Engineers and the civilians being made to load the bodies into farm wagons as she wound her way past the makeshift hospital tents that had been erected since yesterday and back to the main medical facility. Once there, she was kept busy until after dusk acting as both nurse and interpreter, a task she found both physically and psychologically exhausting. Once more upon leaving she asked if anyone had seen the inmate with the pink triangle in her Star of David, and once more left the camp bitterly disappointed. The next day, news arrived at the camp that on the previous day, April the thirtieth, Adolph Hitler had committed suicide. When the news was made known to the survivors of the camp, some of the women wept, while others looked rather smug about the news. Most of the former inmates though were too weak and out of it to even show interest in the fact. Sarah, while happy that the despot was gone, found her happiness tampered by the fact that she had yet to find the girl with the beautiful grey eyes she'd seen on her first day there. And with all the women still dying even after the liberation, she had no idea if she was even still alive or not. On the third day, as Sarah was wiping down an examination table, a nurse with thick-rimmed glasses strode in, her jet black hair pulled back into a bun and a befuddled look on her face. "Lieutenant," she asked half-hopefully, "Do you speak Polish?" Sarah shook her head, "Sorry, only Yiddish" she said, adding, "Isn't Corporal Rymut here today?" The other nurse shook her head, "No, he had to rejoin his unit. And all the other Pole translators have already been spoken for by other doctors. Captain Stevens needs someone now." Sarah furrowed her brow in thought as the other nurse looked on. "Helena," she finally said, "does the P.A. system in this camp still work?" Outside the medical building, idling next to the line of women waiting to be looked at, Gilda and Anja were sharing a bit of salt-water taffy. "You know," Anja said, "If I were a few years younger, it would be me the G.I.s threw their chocolates and toffee at instead of you." Gilda smiled good naturedly at the teasing, and was about to respond, when suddenly the camp speaker nearest them crackled as it was turned on. The sound of someone blowing into the speaker to test it could be heard, before a woman's voice speaking in Yiddish came over the system. "Shalom, if anyone who can hear me speaks Polish, will you please come to the front of the line." "Gilda?" Anja asked, noting the look of concentration in the younger woman's face as she had listened to the message, "What was it, what did they say?" "They need someone who can speak Polish," she said as she turned back to Anja, "I'll be back." And with that, Gilda turned and slowly shuffled to the front of the line, earning several displeased looks from the other women waiting to get in. At the door, she made herself known to one of the nurses through hand gestures, pointing first at the camp speaker then at her open mouth. The nurse said something in English as she gently guided the frail young woman into the overly-crowded waiting room, motioning for her to wait next to a tall grandfather clock as she left the room. Alone, staring at the second hand as it slowly traveled around the clock face, Gilda's mind began to wander... ------ She stood before the clock in the study nervously, watching the pendulum swing back and forth behind the glass frame of the large grandfather clock. As the seconds slowly ticked by, she began to wonder if asking Rabbi Kamoinka for this meeting was a good idea after all. Shamayim Kamoinka had been her town's Rabbi, as well as a family friend to her parents, for as long as she could remember. Normally she looked forward to seeing him, either in the synagogue on Sabbath or on the streets on his way perhapse to a bris. His whiskers were quite white now, and reached down to his collar bone, and truth be told he had something of a belly, not so much of one that one would call him a glutton, but certainly he looked to be comfortably well-fed. She usually loved to see his jovial face around her house, to take in his grandfatherly smile as he'd sit and accept tea from her mom. He was the smartest man she knew, even smarter than her father. He was also the most well-respected man in the small Jewish community she belonged to, which was both why she was here, and why she was so anxious about seeing him. At last, the sound of someone opening the door to the small room in the back of the synagogue brought Gilda around. She turned and made herself smile pleasantly at Rabbi Kamoinka as he walked into the room, a Hebrew newspaper tucked under his arm. "Shalom, Rabbi." "Shalom, little Gilda," he said, motioning to a nearby black chair next to a potted plant. "Please, be seated." Gilda nodded, then went and promptly sat down. The rabbi pulled an old, well-worn pipe from his jacket pocket. "Now then," he said pleasantly as he reached into a second pocket and pulled out a half-empty bag of tobacco, "What did you need to see me about?" Gilda looked down to see that her palms were sweating. Trying her best to wipe them off on her skirt discreetly, she took a deep breath and began, "Rabbi Kamoinka, my... My father, he's been talking to Mr. Rotem the butcher, about his son Bez. And, they're discussing arranging a marriage between me and Bez." "I see," the rabbi said, his eyes twinkling as he looked ready to congratulate the young girl, "And let me guess, you wish to ask me to perform the ceremony, yes? Well, normally it's the husband to be who arranges such things, but..." "N... No," Gilda interrupted, "That's not it. I wish you to please talk my father and Mr. Rotem out of it." Rabbi Kamoinka was taken aback. "Talk them out of it?" he asked incredulously, "But why?" "Rabbi, are... are we quite alone?" Gilda suddenly asked as she now looked once more around the study. There was a desk near the window overlooking the flower garden outside that was covered with papers, journals and assorted knick-knacks such as a magnifying glass, a pair of scissors, and a pen lying next to a closed bottle of ink. Behind the desk was a large wall library filled with books, some looking quite old, and some with quite ornate covers, their Hebrew titles gilded in faded gold across the spines. Rabbi Kamoinka lit his pipe, took a puff or two on it, all the time looking curiously upon young Gilda Grozheim, "My child, we are never alone. There is always one above us," he said as he pointed upward. Gilda smiled back out of courtesy as she nervously pushed her glasses back up the bridge of her nose, "Yes, of course Rabbi. What I meant was..." "I knew what you meant," he said as he drew the pipe back from his lips, "There is no one around to eavesdrop in on our conversation. Now what seems to be the trouble Gilda? Why don't you wish to marry Bez?" Gilda Grozheim swallowed hard under her rabbi's gaze. A hundred different answers presented themselves to her; Bez' face looked too narrow, like it was being pressed between the sliding doors of a bus. Whenever he saw her with her mother or father come into his father's butcher shop he always seemed to leer at her uncomfortably. He had the smell of a butcher about him, that sort of nauseating coppery stench that made Gilda thankful when they left Mr. Rotem's shop. In the end though, her thoughts kept coming back to the same thing, the same truth she knew she could never tell Rabbi Kamoinka. Bez Rotem was a boy, and she knew she could never love him. After several seconds of silence, the rabbi gave a sigh. "Gilda," he said in a paternal tone as he once more brought the pipe to his lips, "You're no longer a child anymore. You'll be eighteen soon, and out of school. I've watched you growing up, seen how you love your sports, your walks in the woods, your independence." At that, he narrowed his gaze as he weighed his words most carefully, "Gilda, you're a young woman now. It's time for you to ‘be fruitful and multiply,' as Hashem has ordained for you and all young people. It's time to become a momma yourself, to give up the woods and the streams and raise up a family." Gilda felt herself dying inside at Rabbi Kamoinka's words. "B... But," she muttered miserably, "I don't love him. I don't love Bez Rotem." At that, her rabbi began to chuckle. "Is that all this is about?" he asked good naturedly, "Why Gilda my child, don't worry about that. You'll learn to love him," he said with a wink. A short time later, Gilda left. As a warm summer breeze blew through the town, she crossed her arms and headed for the woods on the outskirts of her village. Finding a familiar, well-worn trail through the tall grasses, she took it and let it lead her up a hill that overlooked her town. There were two appointments she had made for today, and she'd just kept one of them. She frowned. Her visit with the rabbi had been disastrous, and she now knew that there was no longer any possibility of escaping an engagement. She began to prepare herself for what must now come next, what she knew would be an awful scene. "We... We can't do this anymore," she whispered to herself as she tried to find the right words to use, "We shouldn't be together. It's unnatural, it's a perversion. Girls are meant to be with boys, to run a home and raise children and..." she stopped, biting her lip as her eyes began to water. "No," she whispered, reaching a hand up to wipe at her eyes, "I can't cry, I won't cry," she muttered, the last part coming out almost as a hiss. Taking a deep breath, she continued once more on the winding path up the hill. "You see, I... I'm to marry Bev, the butcher's son. I..." she stopped once more, a sob escaping from her as she covered her mouth and shook. Once more she was compelled to stop, to calm down and wipe the tears away before continuing. This time, she decided to just wait until she saw her and then explain. She didn't have long to wait. In no time at all, too soon it seemed in fact, she was there, at their spot. Alka looked over at her and smiled as she patted a spot of grass covered by a blanket next to her, the younger girl's blonde locks braided into twin pony tails than hung down both sides of the back of her head and reached to the bottom of her shoulders. For the second time that day, Gilda made herself smile as she went and sat next to her. They sat together under the maple tree up on the hill, the view providing them a lovely panorama of the ducks swimming in the small pond below in the valley and their school further out near the post office across from the synagogue. The shade of the maple as well as the birch and the many ferns surrounding them on the hill protected them from the heat of the summer's day as Alka leaned over and lay her head on the tomboy's shoulder. Closing her eyes, the blonde smiled happily as Gilda put her arm around her and held her closely, almost protectively. "Gilda," Alka whispered as she snuggled closer, "Why are you late? Is anything wrong?" She'd wanted to end it; she knew she should, and she knew why. But now, with Alka sitting here beneath the maple next to her, her breath tickling against her neck as she held her close, Gilda knew she couldn't. She'd once thought Alka simply cute, a pretty little plaything for her to enjoy. Somehow, that was no longer true. Alka was still pretty to Gilda, but now she was something more to her as well, something precious and sweet. "No, nothing at all," she said, cursing herself for her weakness and cowardice as she brought her lips to Alka's. She would lose her, she knew, once the engagement was made public. She would marry and have children and be miserable for it. But here and now, on top of this hill overlooking her village, she still had her Alka. ------ Gilda was brought back to the present by the sound of someone gasping in surprise. Turning to her right, she involuntarily smiled at the nurse now entering the waiting room. "Aniol," she whispered as the nurse slowly came towards her. Sarah couldn't believe her eyes; she'd begun to wonder if she'd ever find the girl again. "H... Hello again," she said in Yiddish. "Hello," Gilda said back, adding, "I heard over the system that you needed someone who speaks Polish?" Sarah could hardly believe her good fortune, "Yes, we need someone who can translate Polish to me so I can translate it into English for the doctor. We'll probably be together most of the day, if that's alright," she said, bushing at how the last part probably sounded. Gilda nodded. "Yes, of course," she said happily. Her angel was back, and wanted to know if she'd like to spend the day with her? Such a foolish question! Translate Polish or skin potatoes, it mattered little enough to Gilda as long as she once more was able to look at the beautiful nurse before her. She took a few weak, shaky steps towards her. Sarah, seeing the young woman's difficulty, immediately went to her and offered her arm. The other woman placed her hand in the crook of Sarah's arm for support, and both women began making their way through the crowded room to the doctor's office. "By the way," she said as she reached the door, "I never got your name last time." "It's Gilda, Gilda Grozheim. Your's?" "Sarah Shore," the nurse answered as she opened the door and led Gilda in. ------ -End Notes- Sorry about the ridiculously long wait between chapters. Let's just say life's been incredibly hectic the past few months. Hopefully there won't be nearly as long a wait for the next chapter (crosses fingers). -Vocabulary- -Yiddish Words- Anoil- angel
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