Free The Wrong Boy by Suzy Zail Page A

a key from her pocket and unlocked the door. Inside the locker was a pair of shoes, a pale pink linen dress with a yellow star fastened at the chest, a white chiffon scarf, a cardigan, underwear, a slip, stockings and a bra. I pulled out the clothes and shoved my worn shoes and clothing bag into the locker.
    “When you undress tonight, leave your clothes over there for washing.” The guard pointed to a trough on the opposite wall. “You’ll find a set of clean clothes in your locker tomorrow. And don’t even think about trying to keep them. The clothes are only to be worn for Captain Jager, underwear included. When you’re in Birkenau, you dress like everybody else.”
    The guard left me to finish dressing. I pulled the pink dress from the locker and when I went to undo the buttons at the back of the neck, I noticed a tiny row of neatly stitched letters inside the collar. A name – Eva Lakatos. She was my size, probably my age, if she was still alive. I fingered the pearl buttons and the stiff white collar and my eyes started to well. Eva’s mother must have stitched every letter by hand and starched the collar so that it would sit just right. A tear slid down my cheek but I batted it away. Tears got you killed. I squeezed my eyes shut and pulled the dress over my head.

    “Your face!” The commandant’s housemaid clamped her hands over my shoulders and steered me from the front door. “Captain Jager can’t see you like this!” She dragged me to a wooden outhouse at the back of the villa. “Splash your face at the sink, wash off the mud and straighten your scarf.” She handed me a towel. A cracked mirror hung from a hook on the wall. I looked at my reflection. My eyes were red, my face was pale.
    “Come here every morning before you report for work.” She opened the cabinet above the sink and pulled out a lipstick. “Redo your make-up, fix your scarf, straighten yourself up. The commandant likes everything in his house immaculate, including his staff.”
    I stared into the mirror. My dress was pretty but it gaped at the neck. I looked like a coat-hanger. The last time I had looked at myself in a mirror – really looked – I’d been trying on my yellow organza dress for Erika. I’d been shocked by my reflection then too, shocked by the curves that were made obvious by the drape of the dress, and by my breasts and hips. Erika had brushed eye shadow onto my lids and swept my hair into a loose roll. Father had whistled from the door, and I’d blushed, but I’d liked the woman I had become.
    I turned from the mirror and followed the girl to the house. Her name was Vera. She was from Czechoslovakia and had been working for the commandant for a year. She spoke quickly.
    “Once we’re through the front door we can’t talk until we’re in the kitchen. I’ve a lot to tell you, so listen carefully. Leave your shoes at the front door. There are shoes for you inside. Keep them clean. You won’t find shoe polish in the camp, but if you save your bread, you can trade it for margarine. Margarine makes great shoe polish.” I looked at her blankly. “You’ll find margarine in Canada.” She looked at me and sighed. “It’s the warehouse barrack behind the infirmary. They call it Canada because it’s the land of plenty. I’ll arrange for you to get in. You’ll find everything you need there – soap, toothpaste, toilet paper … ” She looked down at my nails. “Nail clippers too. It all costs. A potato for a toothbrush, a piece of bread for a scrap of margarine.”
    “Where do they get it all?” I asked, confused.
    “The suitcases left at the station. They’re taken to Canada. The furs and jewellery are sent to Berlin, the rest stays at Canada for the SS and the block leaders, the interpreters, the runners …” She touched her bony hand to my scarf. “You could trade that scarf for margarine. They might even throw in some nail clippers if it’s real silk.”
    “But the guards will notice it’s