They were taken by the guards and hadn’t come back.
I slipped away the next morning, after the block leader left for the washroom. I ran to Piri’s barrack and knocked on the door. No one answered, so I swung the door open and stepped inside. A stove was burning in the corner of the room, a pot of coffee bubbling on the flame. I closed my eyes for a moment and inhaled, the smell tugging me back to our kitchen in Debrecen.
There were beds with straw pallets, blankets, and sheets, and at the foot of each bed, there was a small washbasin and soap. Farther along the wall was a podium cluttered with music stands and a wooden table buried under sheet music. I didn’t stop to look at the music; I walked straight to the piano.
I’d never played a Bechstein before. I ran my fingers over the keys, and the music reached out to me like an old friend. I flirted with Schubert and waltzed with Chopin. By the time I was halfway through Clara Schumann’s Second Scherzo, I was lost to the music. It seeped into the corners of the barrack and slipped under the sheets. The bunks blurred at the edges and the bars on the windows disappeared as the melody wrapped its arms around me and carried me away.
I didn’t hear the door open. I didn’t know I had an audience until a cymbal skimmed past the piano and clattered to the floor. I looked up from the keys. The conductor of the women’s orchestra was standing at the door. Behind her was Piri.
“Who the hell are you?” The conductor reached for a bar of soap and flung it at my head. I ducked for cover behind the piano’s sloping lid. “Get away from that piano!”
I slid from the seat and crouched on the floor.
“Frau Schroeder, if I may.” Piri stepped forward and faced the conductor. “This is Hanna Mendel, one of my students from Debrecen.”
I stood up and faced the conductor. My hands were shaking.
“She’s a talented pianist and —” Piri was pale.
“I don’t recall asking you to find me a musician.” The conductor took a step toward Piri. “Did I?”
“No, Frau Schroeder, but I thought —”
The conductor slammed the piano lid shut.
“I have no need for her.” She brought her face close to Piri’s. “And if she isn’t out of here by the time I sit down, I’ll call for the guards.”
I got back to the barrack just as the women were leaving for the quarry. I slipped into line behind my mother.
“I’m joining the Birkenau Women’s Orchestra,” I whispered in her ear. I needed to see her smile.
“That’s wonderful, darling. You’ll get to practice. You must keep practicing.” My mother smiled, but her eyes were sad.
“Of course, Anyu.” I took her hand in mine. It was tiny as a child’s. She opened her mouth to speak, but a terrible sound ripped through the barrack, a deep rumbling, then a low growl. The floor shook, and our plank beds with it, and through the cracks in the barrack walls, we saw the sky turn red.
My mother turned to face me. “Maybe you’ll play a little Clara Schumann for me when you get out of here.” Her eyes searched mine. “Hanna,” she said, “don’t ever give up.”
I thought she was talking about the piano, but the way she looked at me made me think she was talking about something entirely different.
“A10562! A10563!” Lili and Agi Markovits stepped forward. “You’re excused from today’s selection. You’re to meet Herr Mengele at the infirmary.”
Agi smiled. Herr Mengele had promised he would call for them, and the twins had since found out that the man they had called the conductor was an SS captain and a doctor. In Birkenau, they’d learned, it was all about who you knew.
“A10573!” I stepped forward. “You’re wanted in block 11.”
A guard opened the door and ushered me into a shower block. I’d showered twice since coming to the camp, but never in a room with shower cubicles and towels. A woman at the far end of the room stepped out of a cubicle, her hair dripping. She pulled a
I slipped away the next morning, after the block leader left for the washroom. I ran to Piri’s barrack and knocked on the door. No one answered, so I swung the door open and stepped inside. A stove was burning in the corner of the room, a pot of coffee bubbling on the flame. I closed my eyes for a moment and inhaled, the smell tugging me back to our kitchen in Debrecen.
There were beds with straw pallets, blankets, and sheets, and at the foot of each bed, there was a small washbasin and soap. Farther along the wall was a podium cluttered with music stands and a wooden table buried under sheet music. I didn’t stop to look at the music; I walked straight to the piano.
I’d never played a Bechstein before. I ran my fingers over the keys, and the music reached out to me like an old friend. I flirted with Schubert and waltzed with Chopin. By the time I was halfway through Clara Schumann’s Second Scherzo, I was lost to the music. It seeped into the corners of the barrack and slipped under the sheets. The bunks blurred at the edges and the bars on the windows disappeared as the melody wrapped its arms around me and carried me away.
I didn’t hear the door open. I didn’t know I had an audience until a cymbal skimmed past the piano and clattered to the floor. I looked up from the keys. The conductor of the women’s orchestra was standing at the door. Behind her was Piri.
“Who the hell are you?” The conductor reached for a bar of soap and flung it at my head. I ducked for cover behind the piano’s sloping lid. “Get away from that piano!”
I slid from the seat and crouched on the floor.
“Frau Schroeder, if I may.” Piri stepped forward and faced the conductor. “This is Hanna Mendel, one of my students from Debrecen.”
I stood up and faced the conductor. My hands were shaking.
“She’s a talented pianist and —” Piri was pale.
“I don’t recall asking you to find me a musician.” The conductor took a step toward Piri. “Did I?”
“No, Frau Schroeder, but I thought —”
The conductor slammed the piano lid shut.
“I have no need for her.” She brought her face close to Piri’s. “And if she isn’t out of here by the time I sit down, I’ll call for the guards.”
I got back to the barrack just as the women were leaving for the quarry. I slipped into line behind my mother.
“I’m joining the Birkenau Women’s Orchestra,” I whispered in her ear. I needed to see her smile.
“That’s wonderful, darling. You’ll get to practice. You must keep practicing.” My mother smiled, but her eyes were sad.
“Of course, Anyu.” I took her hand in mine. It was tiny as a child’s. She opened her mouth to speak, but a terrible sound ripped through the barrack, a deep rumbling, then a low growl. The floor shook, and our plank beds with it, and through the cracks in the barrack walls, we saw the sky turn red.
My mother turned to face me. “Maybe you’ll play a little Clara Schumann for me when you get out of here.” Her eyes searched mine. “Hanna,” she said, “don’t ever give up.”
I thought she was talking about the piano, but the way she looked at me made me think she was talking about something entirely different.
“A10562! A10563!” Lili and Agi Markovits stepped forward. “You’re excused from today’s selection. You’re to meet Herr Mengele at the infirmary.”
Agi smiled. Herr Mengele had promised he would call for them, and the twins had since found out that the man they had called the conductor was an SS captain and a doctor. In Birkenau, they’d learned, it was all about who you knew.
“A10573!” I stepped forward. “You’re wanted in block 11.”
A guard opened the door and ushered me into a shower block. I’d showered twice since coming to the camp, but never in a room with shower cubicles and towels. A woman at the far end of the room stepped out of a cubicle, her hair dripping. She pulled a
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