Free Rena's Promise by Heather Dune Macadam, Rena Kornreich Gelissen Page B

morsel just as a stone wrapped with paper lands at my feet. I grab the note and run back in the door before the watchtower guard swings back toward the camp road. Panting inside the doorway, I put the bread in my pocket and crumple the note in my hand before walking nonchalantly pass Elza's room. In the corner upstairs, I unfold his note and read: Destroy this note the moment you read it, in tiny pieces. 12,000 Russian soldiers were here when we came. 5,000 are left, 7,000 have been shot. Your clothes are their uniforms. I am from Warsaw . Shredding the paper into tiny pieces, I return to the lower floor to stand in line for the toilet, where I dispose of the confetti.
Block Ten is now full. I sleep next to strangers who cry in their sleep. We seasoned prisoners of two days eat our bread slowly and sip our tea as the precious rarity it is. We have bowls tied to our waists and spoons in our pockets while the new women argue over these utensils. We seasoned prisoners have seen the new arrivals go up to Elza and ask for a bowl or more food and get slapped. We know to get up in time for roll call; we have already seen the sleepers beaten. We are fast learners.
Outside, I see the man who gave me his bread earlier. He nods. I have organized a scrap of paper and scratched on it, Thank you for your note. Where are they killing the Russians? I try to throw the stone over the wall, but miss. It takes three tries before I am finally

     

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able to arch it past the electric fence, where it lands at his feet. Turning my head, I try to pretend that I am doing nothing, breathing a heavy sigh of relief that no one has seen my poor attempt at communication.
Along Block One there is a new line of well-dressed women who have just gotten off the trains. On the other side of the barrack, a line of newly dehumanized girl-women wearing Russian uniforms exits. My heart begins to beat faster. Narrowing my eyes, I squint against the sun, scanning for a face in the crowd which my heart distinguishes long before my eyes. 4
''Danka!" Her beautiful chestnut-red hair is gone, but they cannot remove her brown doe-like eyes or touch her pretty face. My arms itch to grab her. If I can just touch her I know I will never let her go, but there is nothing I can do because there is a man with a machine gun and a dog standing guard over the new prisoners. My feet hold their ground, forcing me to wait, but I see her and in that instant of recognition I find my reason and will to live.
There is a moment of general confusion while the new girl-women mill about. I take this chance to merge with their ranks.
"Danka!" I grab her frail shoulders. For a moment she looks into my eyes terrified and threatened by this stranger. The stone in my stomach hardensshe does not recognize my face. Then she throws her arms around my neck, sobbing. "Rena!" She falters.
"Fall in! Get moving!" the SS start yelling.
I loop my arm under her shoulders, preventing her from swooning.
"When did you eat last?"
"I can't remember. Oh, Rena, it was horrible. There were so many people on the train. We were sitting on top of one another and someone died who was sitting next to me. It was unbelievable." Her face scares me. There is no focus to her eyes.
4. "March 28 [1942] . . . 798 Jewish women from Brunn [Slovakia] . . . receive Nos. 19992796" (Czech, 150). Danka is numbered 2779.

     

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"How did it happen that you came here?"
"Because you are." Her voice is so naive, so young.
"What do you mean?"
"Our friends were going to hide me on a farm, but I had your letter and I told them I wanted to go work with my sister. You are all I have, Rena."
"Danka, you shouldn't have come. We should have stayed in Slovakia and hidden. This is bad . . . real bad."
"March! Get in line!" The block elders push us into line so they can march the new prisoners into Block Five.
"Follow me." I push her past the others, marching over to Elza. "My sister has just arrived and she is so hungry and