“There is still gas in the air,” Halina said. “Get a battery-powered flashlight. A good strong one.”
Binz paused a second. Take orders from a prisoner?
“A flashlight,” Binz called over her shoulder.
I tried to apply direct pressure to Irma’s shoulder but it was difficult to see in the darkness. The metallic smell of human blood was unmistakable, though. In seconds, I felt the rug become wet, turning into a sticky pool.
“Need to move her back to the Revier,” I said.
“She won’t make it,” Halina said. “Have to work here.”
Was she mad? “We have nothing…”
Binz’s guards huddled around us, quiet. Halina hesitated a long moment. Reluctant to save the life of an Aufseherin? She then reached over and ripped the sleeve off Irma’s dress.
Binz lunged toward Halina. “What is she doing?”
I held Binz back.
“Exposing the wound,” I said.
This not only gave us access to the injury but also revealed the source of the bleeding. One of Binz’s girls came with a strong light, and we saw the extent of the damage—loss of consciousness, multiple contusions, second-degree burns, and cyanosis—clammy blue skin—a symptom of shock. But the most immediate problem was the source of the blood loss, a gash the size of a deck of playing cards in her upper arm, perhaps inflicted by a piece of projectile iron from the stove. The wound was so deep the bone was clearly visible. I held my fingers to Irma’s wrist but could barely find a pulse. These injuries were not compatible with life.
Halina slipped her uniform shift over her head, leaving her in only gray undershorts and wooden clogs in the cold night. She kicked off her clogs and ripped her uniform into long strips two inches wide. It was hard not to marvel at Halina’s decisiveness as she went about this task. The exertion brought color to her cheek, and her eyes shone in the light. This was the work she was meant to do.
Until then I’d not realized how underweight Halina had become. Even on Block One rations she had become wasted, especially about the hips and thighs. But her skin was unblemished and creamy white, the color of fresh milk. She practically glowed in the low light.
“We have to get to the Revier,” Binz said.
I joined Halina and we ripped strips of cotton. She wrapped the cloth strips two inches above the injury and tied them with a perfect overhand knot.
“First a tourniquet,” I said to Binz.
I walked to the calendar on the wall and pulled the wooden dowel from it. I handed it to Halina, and she tied two cloth strips to the stick to make a torsion device. I helped her twist the stick until the material was tight and the bleeding stopped.
Soon the patient was responsive, and we made a blanket sling, onto which four Aufseherinnen lifted Irma, and hurried back to camp. I ordered an Aufseherin to fetch a blanket and arranged it across Halina’s shoulders, for she was trembling after that performance.
Halina and I followed Binz and her girls out the door of the house as they carried Irma back to the Revier. I considered follow-up care. We’d start an intravenous drip…
Halina paused there in the darkness. What was she doing?
She looked out toward the lake, which shimmered in the moonlight as if diamonds were scattered there.
“What is it?” I asked.
Was she in shock too?
“Halina. There’s much to be done.”
Then the thought occurred to me—she was considering escape! Could it be? A prisoner clothed only in a blanket and undershorts would not get far. Only three escapes had been attempted at Ravensbrück, and two had ended badly for those H?ftlings, who were brought back to camp, made to wear a placard with the words HURRAH, HURRAH, I’M BACK AGAIN! on it, tortured, and then shot at the wall.
That was all I needed—an escape on my watch.
“Come along,” I said.
Halina stood still, her blond hair bright in the moonlight, face hidden in the shadows. In the quiet, I heard the lapping of the lake waves on the shore.
“Now,” I said. “That patient needs follow-up care.”
Halina barely moved in the darkness.
An arc of light from the tower swept the yard and moved on to the lake. They were looking for us.
“You’ve done a great service to the Reich tonight, Halina. You’ll be rewarded. I’m sure of it. Come along now.”
The dogs in the kennel barked. How long before we would be reported missing and the dogs would be released?
Still Halina did not move. Were the guards watching us from the towers?
She inhaled deeply, then exhaled, and the fog of her breath rose like a specter, lit by the moon.
“I just wanted to look at the camp from here,” she said in a faraway voice.
Why had I let her come out of those gates?
Halina inhaled once more. “It’s been so long since I’ve breathed free air. The lake. It’s so…”
“Hurry, now,” I said.
Quite slowly she joined me, and we walked back to the Revier, the sound of her wooden clogs loud on the road, my coat soaked through with perspiration.
Not until the gate closed behind us did I allow myself to breathe fully once again.
—
WORD OF THAT EVENING’S events spread quickly the next day. Once the commandant returned and the men rolled back in from their brothel trip, the commandant personally told me how much he appreciated my quick thinking and said he’d write to Himmler of my ingenuity and bravery in saving one of the Reich’s best workers. The whole camp lauded my efforts, except Nurse Marschall, of course, who remained cold and tight-lipped when the subject came up, jealous a Pole had assisted me.
—
LATER THAT WEEK Halina and I sat finishing up some paperwork, side by side at my desk. By then we barely had to speak; we knew each other’s rhythms and routines so well around the office. Her Blockova had given her permission to stay past lights out, so I knew we would have a chance to visit. That morning I had been to the Bekleidung building, known to all as the booty piles, the Reich’s great assemblage of goods confiscated from Hitler’s conquered nations. These materials—clothing, silver, dishes, and the like—were well sorted, and I quickly found many helpful things, including a warm sweater for Halina and a phonograph with a limited selection of recordings. I had a green badge set it up in my office, cranked it, and played some music with the volume low.
A Bible girl brought us bread and cheese from the officer’s dining hall, more for Halina than me, and I put a record on the phonograph, “Foxtrot from Warsaw.”
“I love this song,” Halina said.
I turned the volume down. No need for the whole Revier to hear me playing a Polish song.
Halina swayed slightly to the music as she addressed her envelopes. “I learned the foxtrot to this song.”
“Can you teach me?” I asked. What was the harm? Everyone at the camp knew this step but me. There had been no time for these things in medical school.
Halina shook her head. “Oh, I don’t think—”
I stood. “I insist.”
Halina rose quite slowly. “Madame Doctor, I’m not the best teacher.”
I smiled. “Hurry, before the song is done.”
She reached one hand to my back and took my hand with the other.
“The hold is up,” Halina said, “like other ballroom dances.”
We took two steps forward and then one to the side in time to the music. Halina had sold herself short. She was an excellent teacher.
“Slow, slow, quick, quick. Do you see?”
It was not a difficult dance. Right away I mastered it. Halina kept me turning about the small office, the two of us perfectly in sync. Soon we both were laughing at how ridiculously well we danced together. I hadn’t laughed like that since coming to the camp.
We stopped, out of breath. I brushed a lock of hair back off Halina’s forehead.
Halina turned, and I felt her stiffen. I turned as well and found Nurse Marschall in the doorway, a supply requisition form in hand. Neither of us had heard the door open.
I tried to catch my breath. “What is it, Marschall?”