“It’s best when you don’t even know who you’re with,” Long-Legs had said. Had she told her this during the night, or was it a dream?
Twelve: Günther Eich, Brentano Wolfenstein, Bern Reding, Viktor Holz, Bertrand Heim, Fritz Barthelms, Gottfried Weinheim, Erhard W ie s e ntier — Kä hr in g, Erik Unruh, Kanfred Reinisch, William Pohl, Suardon Kann.
The Oberführer — so he claimed — had given Tight-Lips her discharge papers in a sealed envelope. She was waiting for her escort to the “Hotel for Foreigners”. The Oberführer had been suspiciously silent. He hadn’t accused Tight-Lips of anything, nor had he ordered her to be put up against the wall. He’d merely forbidden her to talk to Madam Kulikowa. She thought it a little odd that she hadn’t even received a whipping.
The following morning, instead of getting an escort, she went to the wall. They could hear three salvoes, and no vehicle arriving or leaving.
By now they knew what had happened. A corporal in the sappers had been in the cubicle with Tight-Lips rather longer than he was entitled to be. The Madam had been about to ask the Oberführer whether she should point out to the corporal that his time was up, when Tight-Lips emerged, as white as a sheet. She had heard the Madam’s bell outside her cubicle. The corporal had had his fun with Tight-Lips — he had shaved her crotch with a razor. Then he had laughed, saying that she looked like a plucked goose. Now and again he had played with the razor, dangerously close to her abdomen. Because she said nothing, he also tried to communicate with her with his eyes and with gestures. Eventually he had stripped naked. His gaze had been wild; he had been like a man on fire. He had pulled out his pistol, slipped back the safety catch and in front of her shot himself through his left eye.
Oberführer Schimmelpfennig established from the Gestapo that suicide ran in the corporal’s family. His father, a captain in an infantry regiment, had shot himself through the heart in front of his wife, the corporal’s mother.
The Oberführer informed the Madam curtly that neither he nor the Gestapo intended to explore why such elements killed themselves. He considered the chapter closed.
For a few hours the temperature rose. The sun came out and gilded the snow.
“Some places you can swim to, others you can’t,” Long-Legs said.
Ever since she was eleven she had known that life was not as simple as she would like. It was a mysterious ocean, with shallows and depths, calm and treacherous; with currents and whirlpools, generally indifferent to the fate of girls like her. She recalled how at home she used to look forward to winter, to spring, to waking up in the morning.
“Sometimes they let you choose, but mostly they do the choosing.”
“In Japan ‘menstruation’ is a taboo word,” she said.
“We must try,” Madam Kulikowa said at breakfast. They had finger-thick chunks of army bread with thin strawberry jam made from potatoes, as well as a frozen jacket potato. They were drinking coffee made from roasted acorns. They had been sweeping the snow in the yard since five in the morning.
“Why?” asked Smartie, swallowing a piece of chewed potato skin.
“That’s life,” replied the Madam. “You go through doors which are forever being closed.”
She had a homily for them every morning. The notion of a door being slammed shut in someone’s face if she hadn’t put her foot against it and pushed with all her strength was one of these. The girls gulped the hot brownish-black liquid to get warm. Soon they would go to the latrine, into the tub, and to their cubicles. The Madam had other favourite adages: Number one: When a cockerel arrives he wants a hen. Number two: Even a gold ducat passes from hand to hand. Number three: A proper girl can handle a drunkard and a brawler. And: A wise girl does not complain.
The sun was not out for long. The sky clouded over and it began to snow. The wind sprang up.
Later, while they were clearing the snow, the army radio operator found some music — the Peter Kreuder Ensemble. On German forces radio, the war seemed a cheerful business, in dance rhythm.
Twelve: Valhardt Wolf, Stefan Gunther, Alois Merinda, Michael Brunner, Julius Pfeiffer, Franz Kowacz, Herbert Pox, Paul William Wechsler, Juraj Klokocznick, Fred Robert Glas, Franz Grub er, Adalbert von Abele.
That evening, Long-Legs was bleeding from her bottom.
“I’m like a sewer,” she said.
She hadn’t been able to see her way back from the latrine. The Oberführer had ordered the fuses to be taken out. There was no light in the dormitory. A single oil lamp was flickering in the corridor, but the wick was low and the flame nearly out. In Long-Leg’s eyes there was no pride, only contempt and possibly hatred. Everyone knew she would not see the doctor. Instead of treating her, the Oberführer would send her straight to Festung Breslau. There was lethargy and weariness in her eyes.
“They’ve turned us into whores.”
They could hear the Oberführer outside in the corridor. He was instructing Big Leopolda Kulikowa to save water. The water tanker had not arrived.
“The pure race,” Long-Legs grimaced.
She kept her pain to herself. Wouldn’t it be better not to live? Was her soul shrivelling like a wilting flower? She was still bleeding.
“I have no soul. It’s my bottom that’s bleeding.”
Skinny was ashamed to look away. She was glad it was dark. She gave Long-Legs her cotton wool, and two sticking plasters. Long-Legs put a sand-filled pillow under her behind, but that was uncomfortable.
Beautiful also gave Long-Legs her cotton wool.
“I hope this won’t happen to you,” Long-Legs said.
“I hope so too,” said Skinny.
“He flung the S S Guidance Brochure Number 17 on my bed, saying it was good reading material.”
“What’s wrong with you?” she asked Skinny.
“I’ve got goose-bumps all of a sudden.” Skinny said.
“He rolled on the floor with me,” Long-Legs said. “He didn’t like the smell of the bed.”
They heard a noise outside as a truck arrived from the Wehrkreis with two crates labelled Schutzgummi, rubber sheaths.
Long-Legs said she was afraid of dogs. While she was in the latrine she’d overheard the handler of thirteen German Shepherds from the Protectorate of Bohemia and Moravia, delivered by a Czech police officer, explain to the Oberführer and commander of the brothel that somewhere near Prague dogs were now being trained to obey German commands. These dogs were a super-breed — their jawbones had a strength equal to the pressure of 1,000 to 5,000 pounds per square inch. Their bite left a deep wound — a hole where the flesh had been torn out, extremely painful even when a scab had grown over it — and caused damage to the nerves. The dogs could tear an eye from its socket, along with a chunk of face.
“Beauties,” the Oberführer had said appreciatively. The new dogs had the strength of wolves. They were to be fed pork and beef, as well as offal.
Long-Legs learned too, that, faced with an enraged animal, she had to stand motionless like a tree on a windless day. An animal should not be annoyed while it was feeding or nursing its pups. The main thing was not to shout, or to stare into the dog’s eyes.
Part Two
Six
Things had happened fast in that part of Poland by the River San. The Germans had been retreating, like a ram lowering its head in resistance while edging backwards on its four legs. They were defending every inch of foreign soil as though it were theirs. The brothel was evacuated and Skinny escaped from the marching column. She was saved by the confusion that swept Poland and soon also Germany, creating a level of disorganization never previously experienced in Europe. She lied, she changed her identity, she stole when she had to. She let herself be hired for work in a laundry with the help of a Polish girl to whom she promised half her wages. Then the Polish girl disappeared, but not before she had obtained papers for Skinny that said in effect that her identity could not be established. She could pretend to be a deportee, and she received a work permit and an identity card. There were about 100 women working at the laundry. Katowice was quite close and she went there several times with the girls, once even for a dance. She also helped out in a kitchen at the railway station. After a long, dreadful time she ate her fill nearly every day.