SARAH
“Please, God, no! Please, no!” Sarah covered her ears and closed her eyes, rocking her head from side to side, crying the words. What had she done? It wasn’t possible. What kind of a mother would do that? Had she lost her mind? She hadn’t stopped to think about it properly. She’d seen the man looking in horror at them, and knew he wasn’t part of it, but neither was he a prisoner. He was a railroad worker. A decent man, she could tell. Otherwise she would never have given her baby up. No, she would never have given him to just anyone. She’d looked into his eyes and she’d known he was a kind man. David would understand. She’d had no choice. Now she had to look for David. They’d been separated in Drancy, and she hadn’t been able to find him when they’d crowded onto the buses, nor at the station. She had to tell him. He would be grateful that his son wasn’t in this cattle truck.
The train shunted forward. Someone elbowed her in the ribs. The screaming went up a notch. “Fermez vos gueules! Shut up!” someone shouted. “It’s too late now!”
Too late now. She’d done it. He was gone. Her arms empty, she was nothing more than a hollow body. Numb. She would make herself numb. Her numbness would shield her. The shell of her body was on the cattle wagon, but her heart and soul would always be with Samuel. And she would find her way back to him, she promised herself.
“Sarah, is it you?” A hand tugged at her sleeve.
Reluctantly she turned around to see a familiar face she couldn’t quite place.
“It’s me, Madeleine. From school.”
“Madeleine Goldman.” As she spoke the woman’s name, she was dragged out of her daze, back into the present.
Madeleine grabbed her hand, tears in her eyes. “Where are they taking us?”
“I don’t know.”
“They already took my husband.” Madeleine reached out for Sarah’s other hand, gripping her tightly. “I hope they take us to the same place.” She looked into Sarah’s eyes. “Thank God we don’t have children.”
Sarah’s heart stopped beating, unspoken words forming hard clusters in her throat. How could she say such a thing? How would she know?
She pulled her hand away from Madeleine’s grip, her heart shrinking into a tight ball. She couldn’t breathe. Her throat seized up. Then the breath came back in a gust. She let out a sob, then another, painfully, as if they were being wrenched from her womb. Madeleine wrapped her arms around her and held her.
For hours they stood clasped together as the train shunted along the tracks. Madeleine talked on and on, about the war, the disappearances of family and friends, where they might be heading. But all Sarah could think about was Samuel. Where was he now? Had he been fed? Was he crying for her? Her own fear, her hunger, her burning thirst meant nothing to her. She could and would endure. But Samuel—so small, so innocent. The thought of him suffering cut into her heart.
A woman near them moaned softly while her young son clung to her skirt. One man prayed, some cried, and some were silent. People had begun to relieve themselves in the bucket in the corner of the wagon, and it was already slopping over, barely soaked up by the straw. The smell of urine, shit, and stale sweat clung to the back of Sarah’s throat. She buried her head in Madeleine’s shoulder, desperate to go to the toilet herself but unable to in front of everyone.
“When will they let us out?” Madeleine whispered in her ear.
There was only enough room for a few people to sit, and after many long hours Sarah’s head was spinning and her knees felt like they were seizing up. Then someone nudged her. “Your turn to sit down.” Realizing there was a rotation—ten people could sit at a time—she lowered herself slowly to the floor, carefully folding her stiff limbs. Her breasts were hard and painful, and she took the opportunity to massage them, making milk ooze out. Samuel’s milk. She scrunched her eyes shut, refusing to let the tears spill, silently begging God for someone else to be feeding her son now.
When she opened her eyes again, she noticed Madeleine staring at the damp patches on her linen blouse. They were just about visible in the dim light of the windowless cattle truck.
“I’m so sorry.” Madeleine’s voice trembled. “You have a baby?”
Sarah was grateful that she’d used the present tense. It gave her hope. She spoke slowly, deliberately, each word painful. “Samuel. He’s one month old.”
Madeleine squeezed her hand.
“I gave him to someone. To keep him safe.”
“You did the right thing. Can you imagine trying to feed a baby here? We’re dehydrated ourselves.”
“I have to get word to my husband, David. He’s somewhere here.”
“We’ll write him a message and give it to one of the men to pass on.” Madeleine paused. “They won’t let men and women be together, will they?”
Sarah shook her head, knowing that they would be separated.
“They’ll give men different work,” Madeleine continued. “It will be harder for them.” She paused. “We’ll probably be in the kitchens. It will likely be a huge work camp, maybe a mine.”
Sarah nodded.
Out of her breast pocket, Madeleine produced a pad of paper and a pen. “Write small, so it can be hidden easily. You never know.”
But they did know. They knew they were heading somewhere terrible, that they would be treated cruelly, that they might even die there. They knew, but still they hung on to that thin thread of hope.
Sarah wrote in tiny, careful letters: Our son is safe. I gave him to a French railroad worker. I know he will look after him. Stay alive so we can find him again. Your loving wife. No names. It was safer that way. Folding the paper into a small square, she put it in her trouser pocket until she’d worked out which man she could entrust it to.
The truck had grown quiet, the moaning and crying and unanswered questions having all died away. Their mouths dry and their stomachs empty, the prisoners had shut down. Madeleine and Sarah huddled together. A young girl, her teeth chattering, drew closer to them, and without a word Madeleine reached out an arm, taking her into their fold. “What’s your name?”
“Cecile,” the girl whispered.
“Where’s your mother?”
“She was taken last year.”
Sarah’s heart lurched, seeing this motherless child. She clutched Cecile’s hand. “We’ll look after you.”
Whenever the train stopped, they shouted out, begging for water, but nothing was given to them. Finally, on the second day, they were given tepid water to drink and they heard Polish voices. As the train pulled out again, they gazed out through the holes in the planks at a flat, bleak landscape.
On the third night, the train stopped and did not move again. The prisoners waited in silence, terrified, starving, and exhausted. Then the doors were yanked back.
“Schnell! Schnell! You filthy animals! Get out!”
They scrambled out of the wagon, clutching one another for support. Floodlights came on, blinding them. Dogs snarled, baring teeth like daggers, straining on their leashes to get at the prisoners. The SS held truncheons and whips, and among them were some women, in long black capes with hoods, and tall black leather boots.
“Men to the left! Women to the right!”
Sarah gripped her message tightly, looking for someone to pass it to. She picked the nearest man, shoving it into his fist. “Please, give this to David Laffitte.”
“Ranks of five! Now!” A truncheon landed on the head of a woman next to Sarah. Instinctively, Sarah reached for her, holding her up before she could slip to the ground.
Exhausted, rigid with fear, and stiff from three days cramped in a cattle truck, they moved into lines of five, one behind the other. Sarah scanned the group of men, searching for David, but she couldn’t see him.
“Schnell! Schnell!” A shot rang out and the thud of a body landing on the ground resonated through Sarah’s head. She couldn’t look. She clung to Madeleine and Cecile, the three of them bonded now by this madness.
“Hey, how old are you?” The man pointing a stick at Cecile was an inmate, wearing striped trousers and jacket.
“Thirteen,” she answered.
“No you’re not! You’re eighteen.”
“But I’m thirteen!”
“You’ll die if you’re thirteen.” In a quieter voice he added, “Just say you’re eighteen.” He moved on down the line.
Another inmate took his place, screaming at them, “Didn’t you know? In 1944, you didn’t know! Why have you come here? You should have killed yourselves rather than come here.” He pointed to clouds of black smoke against a sky only a shade lighter. “That’s where you’ll end up. The crematorium.”
Madeleine turned around and vomited. Sarah suddenly understood where the terrible smell was coming from. Now she had no doubt in her mind. She had done the right thing when she gave her son up.
They had arrived in hell itself.