Dita runs off in search of Milan, one of the assistants in Block 31. Although he’s good looking, Dita doesn’t find him very likeable.
She finds Milan beside Block 31. It’s one of those relentlessly cold Polish afternoons, but he and a couple of his friends are sitting outside, propped up against the wooden boards. They’re killing time watching the other inmates go by and making comments about the girls. She’s not thrilled at the prospect of standing in front of these slightly older boys, who have the hint of a mustache under their noses and a host of pimples, but who behave like a bunch of fighting cocks. She feels uneasy when she’s around them; she thinks they make fun of her skinny legs and her somewhat childish woolen leggings. But she parks herself in front of them, knowing that she can’t allow herself to be timid.
“Well, well!” screeches Milan, speaking first so it’s clear he’s the leader. “Look who’s here. It’s the librarian—”
“You’re not supposed to talk about that outside Block Thirty-One,” Dita interrupts. And she instantly regrets her gruffness because the boy goes red. He doesn’t like being shown up in front of his friends by a younger girl—and Dita has come to ask him a favor. “You see, Milan, I want to ask you something.…”
The three friends elbow each other and begin to giggle slyly. Milan, also encouraged, starts to brag.
“Well, girls usually ask me for lots of things,” he says smugly, glancing out of the corner of his eye at his two friends to see how they’re reacting to his words. They laugh, showing their broken teeth.
“I need you to lend me your big, long jacket for a while.”
Milan’s face shows his utter astonishment, and his giggles peter out. His jacket? She’s asking him for his jacket? He was incredibly lucky to score the jacket when they were handing out the clothing; it’s one of the best jackets in BIIb. He’s been offered bread rations and even potatoes for it, but he’s not prepared to get rid of it at any price. How would he put up with those afternoons when the temperature dips below freezing without his jacket? And anyway, he looks good in it. The girls like him more when he’s wearing it.
“Are you nuts? Nobody touches my jacket. And nobody means nobody, do you hear?”
“It won’t be for long—”
“Don’t be stupid. Not for a minute, not at all! Do you think I’m an idiot? I give you the jacket, you sell it, and I never see it again. You’d better leave before I get really mad!” And as he’s saying this, he stands up with a sour expression on his face, and it’s obvious that he’s at least twenty centimeters taller than Dita.
“I only want it for a short while. You can stay with me the whole time to make sure the jacket doesn’t disappear. I’ll give you my evening ration of bread.”
Dita has mentioned a magic word: food. An extra ration for a growing boy who can’t remember the last time he was able to satisfy his hunger is a big promise. His stomach growls all the time, the anxiety over food has become an obsession, and the only thing that excites him more than dreaming about a girl’s thigh is dreaming about a chicken thigh.
“A whole ration,” he repeats as he weighs up the proposal, already imagining the feast. He would even be able to save part of it to accompany his morning slop and have a real breakfast. “You’re saying that you’ll wear the jacket for a short while, I’ll accompany you, and then you’ll return it?”
“Right. I’m not going to trick you. We work in the same hut, so if I tricked you and you reported me, they’d fire me from my position in Block Thirty-One. And none of us wants to leave that hut.”
“Okay, let me think about it.”
The three boys put their heads together, and there’s a mix of whispers and the odd laugh. Finally, a smiling Milan lifts his head triumphantly.
“Fine. I give you the jacket for a while in exchange for a ration of bread … but we all get to touch your tits!” He glances at his companions, and they nod so enthusiastically their heads look as if they’re mounted on springs.
“Don’t be an idiot. I hardly have any.…”
She notices that the three of them are laughing as if they were having a great time, or as if they needed the sound of their laughter to hide their nervousness and awkwardness when dealing with such matters. Dita snorts. If they weren’t so much taller than her, she’d give each of them a slap.
For being so brazen … or so stupid.
But she has no choice.
And after all, what does it matter?
“Fine, okay. Now let me try on the damn jacket.”
Milan shivers when he finds himself out in the open with only the three-button shirt he’s wearing underneath the jacket. Dita puts on the long jacket, which is enormous on her, exactly as she’d hoped. This article of clothing features an item which makes it very valuable to her right now, and which few other such garments in the camp possess—a hood. She marches off with Milan close behind.
“Where are we going?”
“To Barrack Fifteen.”
“And your tits?”
“Later.”
“Did you say Barrack Fifteen? But that’s a men’s hut—”
“Right…” And Dita puts the hood over her head, leaving it almost completely hidden.
Milan stops.
“Wait. You’re not seriously thinking of going in there? Women are forbidden. I have no intention of going in there with you. If they catch you, they’ll punish me, too. I think you’re a bit mad.”
“I’m going inside. With you or without you.”
The boy’s eyes widen, and he shivers even more with cold.
“If you want, you can wait for me at the door.”
Milan has to walk faster because Dita is striding quickly. She sees her mother a few meters away, lurking near the entrance to her father’s hut, and she doesn’t stop to greet her. Liesl Adler is so upset that she hasn’t even recognized her daughter inside the male garment. Dita walks into the hut without hesitating, and nobody takes any notice of her. Milan has stopped by the door cursing, unsure whether the girl has tricked him and he’ll never see his jacket again.
Dita makes her way through the rows of bunks. Some men are lying on top of the horizontal stove, which isn’t operating, while others are sitting on their bunks and chatting. Some are lying down on their bunks, even though doing so before lights-out is prohibited, all of which suggests they have a benevolent Kapo. The smell is really strong, worse than in her women’s hut, a nauseating smell of acrid sweat. Dita hasn’t removed her hood, and nobody pays any attention to her.
She finds her father at the back of the hut, stretched out on the straw mattress of his bottom bunk. She pulls back her hood and brings her face close to his.
“It’s me,” she whispers.