Kanada by Eva Wiseman Page B

as I closed my eyes and waited for his kiss. The kiss did not come, and my eyes flew open. Tamas had disappeared. A tiger stood in his place. I stared into its yellow eyes and smelled its foul breath as it bared its fangs. I tried to run. I was breathing raggedly and was covered with sweat when the morning sirens woke me up.

Monday, September 18, 1944
    I lost track of time. I did not know the day of the week or even which month we were enduring. Agi, Eva, and I found comfort from one another's physical presence. We talked of trivialities. We never talked about Sari, naked and terrified, led out of the barracks at gunpoint, or of the other lost ones. But their ghostly presence was always there. The days had become shorter and cooler, so I knew that fall must have arrived. The three of us were sitting in a corner of the block futilely trying to warm ourselves up with lukewarm coffee. Eva was unusually quiet.
    “Eva? What's wrong?” asked Agi.
    “Other than spending Rosh Hashanah in Auschwitz? What a way to mark the New Year!”
    “How do you remember the date?” asked Agi.
    “I count the days. It's Monday, September 18. When my papa was taken away, the last thing he told me was to mark the holy days.”
    “Think of all the lovely food we'd eat the honey cake and raisins and soup with noodles. We won't be feasting this year,” said Agi.
    “And we won't be going to synagogue with our families,” Eva added softly. “I would give anything to hear my papa's voice. He prayed so beautifully. I wish …” A single tear trailed down her cheek.
    “Stop it, you two! It's useless to talk about what we don't have! At least we're together. The war can't last forever.” I tried to infuse my words with a hope I did not feel. “‘Who shall live and who shall die’ the answer's not in God's hands these days.”
    “You're right, Jutka,” said Agi.
    “My papa would be so disappointed in me if he knew that I didn't mark today,” whispered Eva.
    “There is nothing we can do,” I told her.
    “Yes there is!” Eva dragged herself to her feet and began to pray aloud. The Kapo rushed up to her.
    “Silence!” she shouted. “Silence, or you'll pay for it!”
    “No, Eva, no!” I cried.
    “Eva, please,” Agi pleaded. “Stop it!”
    Eva ignored us. She turned her back on the Kapo and prayed.
    When Agi saw that there was no stopping her, she stood up and added her voice to the recitation: “‘Remember us forlife, O King Who desires life, and inscribe us in the Book of Life, for Your sake, O Living God.’”
    I couldn't help it. My legs seemed to have a will of their own. I stood too and clasped Eva's hand. Around us other Häftlings joined in, until all the women in the block were on their feet, hands linked as they chanted the words:
    “‘On Rosh Hashanah will be inscribed and on Yom Kippur will be sealed how many will pass from the earth, and how many will be created; who will live and who will die; who will die at his predestined time and who before his time …’”
    Our voices rose: “‘But repentance, prayer and charity remove the evil of the decree!’”
    The Kapo marched up to Eva. “You'll regret you did this!” she screamed, spraying spittle into her face.
    Eva stared back defiantly, without uttering a single word.
    The doors slammed loudly shut behind the Kapo as she bolted out of the block. A few minutes later, she returned with two armed SS guards. Then there was a flash of fire, followed by thunder. Eva crumpled to the floor. We didn't even have time to say good-bye.
    Two Häftlings dragged Eva's body away. Agi and I, wrapped in each other's arms, cried and cried, our tears intermingling, until we had no more tears left.
    “First Sari and now Eva! I can't go on.”
    Agi clasped my hands in hers. “You have to, Jutka! Eva was so brave. She never forgot, not even for a moment, whoshe was. We must honor her memory by staying alive. I am going to fast on Yom Kippur because that's what she would have