The Paris Agent(94)
“This N&N business…” I asked hesitantly.
“I don’t understand the particulars but I know it is not a good thing.”
We rode out the air raid sitting on the bed, holding one another’s hands. There wasn’t much to say when we were both aware that we could die at any second, but I drew comfort from knowing I was with a friend, even as I was frustrated almost to tears at my own powerlessness. Within an hour, the all clear sounded, the prison guards led the other prisoners back to their cells. I stood at the door and thumped until Hertha came back.
“Is it really the intention to leave us here to die if the prison is hit by a bomb?” I asked her. Josie came to stand beside me and translated the words into German through the door, and Hertha replied, her tone low and rushed.
“We are supposed to be isolated. The only reason we are allowed to share a cell is that they do not have the capacity to house us individually. She says they don’t really have the capacity to house us at all and the warden is furious that we are here.” Josie paused, listening as Hertha spoke, then looked at me anxiously. “Oh no—she says the warden is doing her best to move us on.”
“Where to?”
“She just said to a prison equipped to handle political prisoners, not a civilian prison like this,” Josie sighed. “God, I hope that doesn’t happen.”
Life at Karlsruhe was surprisingly tolerable. We had three meals a day delivered to our cell through a hatch, and even “coffee” at 4:00 p.m. each day, which was generally acorn coffee or sometimes bitter, watery tea. The food was woeful by the standards of a free citizen but Josie assured me it could be much worse. There was bread with a small portion of margarine and soup, often with a serving of vegetables at lunch and dinner, and on the weekends, sparse chunks of meat in a thin stew with noodles. Periodically we’d be surprised by a few slices of sausage or milk with our coffee, and Hertha was forever slipping us extra plates if she was on shift.
Josie and I quickly came to an arrangement where I’d eat the bread, and she’d eat her fill of everything else. She had been thin even when we were training, but since her time in the prison, she was all but skin and bones. I was happy for her to have more than her share.
The thought of being moved on, and maybe even being separated from Josie again, filled me with dread. She was so worn down, I already feared I would wake up one morning and find her dead.
C H A P T E R 26
JOSIE
Karlsruhe Prison, Germany
October, 1944
Eloise and I were woken by the sound of thumping on our door before dawn one morning. We’d been at Karlsruhe for a few weeks and the routine had been much the same day to day, until that early-morning wakeup call.
“Come,” Hertha called. “You need to take a shower.” There was a strange tone in her voice I couldn’t quite identify.
“Why?” I called back. It wasn’t Sunday.
“You’re being transferred,” she said. This time, her tone had a strange lilt to it—like a note of forced positivity. I was confused, but translated for a sleepy Eloise, just as Hertha opened the door. She was carrying a pile of folded clothes in her arms, two fresh pairs of prison espadrilles on top. The rest of the prison was still quiet and still as we followed her to the shower block.
“Here.” She handed us the clothes, then reached into her pocket for a full block of soap and a comb. “Make yourself as neat and tidy as you can.”
More soap, and this time, a comb! I stammered my thanks as I took it into my shaking hands.
The skirt she’d given me was far too big and kept slipping down over my hips, so Eloise helped me tie a knot in the waist so it would stay on. The blouse hung on my frame, but I had a lovely knitted cardigan to wear over it. Eloise gently pulled the comb through my wet hair until it was smoother than it had been in months, and when I looked down at myself, I felt beautiful and feminine, a far cry from the ragged mess I’d been in solitary confinement.
Soon, we were led to the prison’s administrative block. Hertha sat with us, tapping her foot against the floor as she stared at the door.
“Is everything okay?” I asked her. Her gaze slid to my face but she didn’t say anything. “Hertha?” I prompted. She cleared her throat.
“It’s all fine,” she said, then more firmly, “Everything is just fine.”
“Do you know where we’re being transferred?”
“The warden has been very concerned that this situation is so unorthodox,” she explained. “We do not have enough staff or the space to care for political prisoners like yourselves and she fears that while you are here, we are vulnerable to Allied air attack. It has been distressing her more and more and she insisted some of you be moved.”
“So where are we going?” I repeated.
“It’s a farm,” she said suddenly, then she forced a smile. “Just a work farm. Lots of fresh air and hopefully much better food! This is a good thing.” But her voice was laced with guilt. She was lying, but why? My heart sank as Eloise leaned toward me.
“What is she saying?”
It was my turn to force a smile. There was no point worrying Eloise given we were entirely powerless to change our situation anyway.
“She said we are being moved to a work farm.”
“Oh!” Eloise said, brightening. “That doesn’t sound so bad.”