Krysia asks gently.
“Yes, a great deal,” I reply, forcing the vision of Jacob from my mind. I cannot afford to get caught up in memories right now; I have to stay focused on starting work Monday, on being Anna. “Krysia…” I pause before asking the question I have wondered about since the night of the dinner party. “What is Sachsenhausen?”
She hesitates, knitting needles suspended in midair. “Why do you ask?”
“Ludwig said that the Kommandant used to oversee Sachenhausen?”
Krysia frowns, biting the inside of her cheek. “Sachsenhausen is a Nazi prison, darling. It is a labor camp in Germany, near Munich.”
My stomach drops. “For Jews?”
She shakes her head. “No, no! It is for political prisoners and criminals.” Though I want to feel relieved, something in her emphatic response tells me she is not being altogether truthful. She sets down her knitting again and pats my hand. “Don’t worry. Richwalder likes you. He will not be unkind.”
“All right,” I say, though her words are far from reassuring.
“Goodness!” She looks at the grandfather clock. It is nearly ten-thirty. “I had not realized the time. You should get some sleep. We need to get an early start tomorrow, and you’ll need your strength.”
For tomorrow, and everything that lies beyond, I add silently. I take another sip of my still-too-hot coffee and stand. I pause in the doorway. Krysia has picked up the knitting again, her hands making the small, quick circles over and over. “Good night,” she says, without looking up. I do not ask if she is coming to bed. Even on a normal night, Krysia stays up late and sleeps little. She reminds me of Jacob in that way—he would stay up until all hours of the night and I would often find him asleep over a book or article he was working on in the study the next morning. But at least Jacob would sleep well into the next day when he could to compensate for his late hours. Krysia, I know, will be up before dawn, doing chores and preparing us for the day that lies ahead. I worry that caring for Lukasz and me may be too much for her. And now, with our foray into church the next morning and my starting work for Richwalder the day after, she has more on her mind than ever.
That night I sleep restlessly, dreaming that I am on a street I do not recognize in the darkness. In the distance, I hear voices and laughter and I rub my eyes, trying to find the source. Fifteen meters down the road, I see a group of young people wearing some sort of uniform, joking and talking as they go. One voice, a familiar baritone, stands out above the others. “Jacob!” I cry. I start to run, trying to catch him, but my feet slide out from under me on the slick, wet pavement. I stand quickly and begin running again. At last I reach the group. “Jacob,” I repeat breathlessly. He does not hear me but continues talking to a woman I do not recognize. I cannot understand what he is saying. Desperately, I try to reach out and touch him, but I am brushed aside by the crowd as it moves forward and I fall once more. When I look up again, they are gone, and I am alone on my knees in the cold, wet street.
I awake with a start. “Jacob?” I call aloud. I blink several times. I am still in my bedroom, of course. It was only a dream. Nevertheless, I peer into the darkness for several seconds as though Jacob might have actually been there. Jacob, I think, the dream playing over and over in my head. I miss him so. And I am always chasing, but never reaching him in my dreams. What if he really is so preoccupied with his work that he has forgotten me? What if he’s found another girl? What if…I cannot finish the most horrible thought of all, that something may happen to him and I may not see him again. I press my face into my pillow, soaking it with the wetness of my tears.
The next morning, Krysia knocks on my door at seven. I rise and dress quickly. Downstairs, Krysia already has Lukasz washed and fed. Seeing the
“Yes, a great deal,” I reply, forcing the vision of Jacob from my mind. I cannot afford to get caught up in memories right now; I have to stay focused on starting work Monday, on being Anna. “Krysia…” I pause before asking the question I have wondered about since the night of the dinner party. “What is Sachsenhausen?”
She hesitates, knitting needles suspended in midair. “Why do you ask?”
“Ludwig said that the Kommandant used to oversee Sachenhausen?”
Krysia frowns, biting the inside of her cheek. “Sachsenhausen is a Nazi prison, darling. It is a labor camp in Germany, near Munich.”
My stomach drops. “For Jews?”
She shakes her head. “No, no! It is for political prisoners and criminals.” Though I want to feel relieved, something in her emphatic response tells me she is not being altogether truthful. She sets down her knitting again and pats my hand. “Don’t worry. Richwalder likes you. He will not be unkind.”
“All right,” I say, though her words are far from reassuring.
“Goodness!” She looks at the grandfather clock. It is nearly ten-thirty. “I had not realized the time. You should get some sleep. We need to get an early start tomorrow, and you’ll need your strength.”
For tomorrow, and everything that lies beyond, I add silently. I take another sip of my still-too-hot coffee and stand. I pause in the doorway. Krysia has picked up the knitting again, her hands making the small, quick circles over and over. “Good night,” she says, without looking up. I do not ask if she is coming to bed. Even on a normal night, Krysia stays up late and sleeps little. She reminds me of Jacob in that way—he would stay up until all hours of the night and I would often find him asleep over a book or article he was working on in the study the next morning. But at least Jacob would sleep well into the next day when he could to compensate for his late hours. Krysia, I know, will be up before dawn, doing chores and preparing us for the day that lies ahead. I worry that caring for Lukasz and me may be too much for her. And now, with our foray into church the next morning and my starting work for Richwalder the day after, she has more on her mind than ever.
That night I sleep restlessly, dreaming that I am on a street I do not recognize in the darkness. In the distance, I hear voices and laughter and I rub my eyes, trying to find the source. Fifteen meters down the road, I see a group of young people wearing some sort of uniform, joking and talking as they go. One voice, a familiar baritone, stands out above the others. “Jacob!” I cry. I start to run, trying to catch him, but my feet slide out from under me on the slick, wet pavement. I stand quickly and begin running again. At last I reach the group. “Jacob,” I repeat breathlessly. He does not hear me but continues talking to a woman I do not recognize. I cannot understand what he is saying. Desperately, I try to reach out and touch him, but I am brushed aside by the crowd as it moves forward and I fall once more. When I look up again, they are gone, and I am alone on my knees in the cold, wet street.
I awake with a start. “Jacob?” I call aloud. I blink several times. I am still in my bedroom, of course. It was only a dream. Nevertheless, I peer into the darkness for several seconds as though Jacob might have actually been there. Jacob, I think, the dream playing over and over in my head. I miss him so. And I am always chasing, but never reaching him in my dreams. What if he really is so preoccupied with his work that he has forgotten me? What if he’s found another girl? What if…I cannot finish the most horrible thought of all, that something may happen to him and I may not see him again. I press my face into my pillow, soaking it with the wetness of my tears.
The next morning, Krysia knocks on my door at seven. I rise and dress quickly. Downstairs, Krysia already has Lukasz washed and fed. Seeing the
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