That night no food was served.
One a.m. Darkness.
“Raus! Raus!”
“Funf zu funf!”
They lined up in the snow. Smoldering bonfires dotting the darkness with pinpoints of light. A blizzard stirring up around their heads. Grey paper confetti mingling with flakes of snow.
The Germans tried to count them one more time and gave up. Five by five became anything by anything. This was no Appell for the sake of it. The sense of urgency was almost palpable. A whisper, woman to woman.
“The Russians are coming, the Russians are coming.”
And Magda whispered back to her, “Not soon enough they’re not.”
They passed under the arch, the motto high above them, Arbeit Macht Frei. Just another German lie.
Fifty yards on, an open staff car stopped them.
Von Schönbeck, got out, wrapped against the winter in his jackboots and his field-grey greatcoat with its fur collar. He walked straight up to Méret. She was wearing every scrap of clothing she could find, her head swathed in a piece of torn blanket. She was surprised he knew her.
He took off his greatcoat and held it out to her.
She did not move.
“Take it.”
She did not move.
“Take it!”
“Méret, for Christ’s sake. Take it before he shoots us,” Magda said.
“Take it,” von Schönbeck said once more, “You might well survive.”
She took it from him without a word. She put her arms in the sleeves, buttoned it, turned up the collar, felt the fur on the back of her neck, looked down at her feet to see the coat trailing in the snow, looked up at von Schönbeck but he had gone.