Free I Will Plant You a Lilac Tree by Laura Hillman Page A

Blockälteste , for permission to let me share the top bunkwith her. “Quick,” she told me afterward, “let’s get your things before she changes her mind.
    â€œA top bunk is safer,” she said. “Well, we do get wet when it rains, but an angry night patrol has a harder time reaching up here.”
    I would have followed Fella anywhere, so happy was I to have found a friend. Holding my muddy shoes in one hand and my tin cup in the other, I climbed to the top bunk. Now I was finally able to do something about my sore hands. Ripping a strip of cloth off the hem of my dress, I fashioned a bandage of sorts.
    The second day started out the same as the first. But then, at midmorning, Commandant Feix arrived at the workplace. He beat the guard with his riding whip, accusing him of being too lenient with the prisoners. According to Feix, we didn’t work fast enough.
    Life in this camp was strange. The torment of hard work, constant hunger, and limited sanitary conditions did nothing to deter entrepreneurs. Prisoners who still had contact with people onthe outside were able to trade valuables for food or to bribe guards to let them have easier work.
    Most of the trading was done in the main lane that went from one end of the camp to the other. It even had a name: Lagerstrasse.
    Fella took me along one evening to show me how it was done. She knew lots of people and stopped many of them to find out where goods could be had. From others she inquired how the war was going, always clinging to the hope that it would soon be over.
    Soon I, too, made it a practice to walk up and down Lagerstrasse each night, no matter how weary I was. I had no valuables to trade, but the walk was not intended for that. I was looking for Mama and Selly. I had already looked in all the women’s barracks, and there was little chance I would find Mama. But I was hopeful about finding Selly. Then too the image of the man in the Polish army uniform, the one I had seen that first day, stayed with me. I thought about him often, hoping to see himagain. Maybe he’d be walking along Lagerstrasse.
    Fella and I became quite close. We told each other everything. I trusted her enough to cry in her arms over what had been done to me by that swine Schlesinger. We worried about each other. Seeing what a hard time I had walking in the wooden shoes given me, Fella led me to one of the women’s barracks.
    â€œI need a pair of shoes for my friend here,” she said to a woman named Bronca.
    Bronca looked at my feet to approximate their size and assured Fella it was as good as done. “Come back in a few days,” she said. “It will cost you a week’s portion of bread.”
    I looked on in amazement. “Where will we get the bread?” I asked.
    â€œLeave everything to me,” Fella said.
    â€¢Â Â Â â€¢Â Â Â â€¢
    Our overseer, a Ukrainian Kapo , selected forty workers for what he called a “special project.” Fella and I were among the forty. He led us into the forest, and the deeper we went the morefearful I became. It was no secret that Feix, our commandant, routinely shot people in the forest.
    Alarmed at what was in store for us, Fella had the courage to ask the Kapo , “Sir, what kind of job are you taking us to? Why are we going so deep into the forest?”
    He roared with laughter. “Don’t worry, Feix isn’t going to shoot you yet. He’ll expect more work out of you first.”
    When we arrived at the thickest part of the forest, we stopped. The Ukrainian turned us over to another Kapo and left. Men and women worked side by side here. Men shoveled earth into ditches, while women used rakes to smooth the surface.
    The new Kapo was not Ukrainian and he was friendly. “We know what happened here,” he said in a hushed voice. “It’s unbearable to have to do this, yet we have no choice but to do as we are told. I’ll try to be as