The Last Green Valley - Mark Sullivan (black female authors .txt) 📗

“What happened?”

The Romanian grinned. “I escaped after four months, started home to become a beekeeper, walked ninety kilometers, and got caught. They sent me to a second camp. I escaped again.”

He tapped a finger on his left temple, just below his scar from Stalingrad. “That time I got smart and walked mostly at night. I almost made it to the Romanian border.”

“But caught again,” Emil said, shaking his head. “And they didn’t shoot you?”

He laughed. “Can you believe it? They said no more Ukraine for me, that I was going far east to work in the mines. But instead, they brought me here five days ago. It’s good, I think.”

“There’s nothing good about this place,” Emil said, then described the disease and mortality rate among the prisoners. “It’s a death trap. You’d be better off in the mines.”

“I heard that the first day when I raised my hand for burial detail.”

“For the double rations?”

“That, too,” he said, then leaned forward and whispered. “A secret? The burial detail is how I escaped the first two camps. Join the detail. We’ll escape together.”

Emil shook his head. “You’ll kill yourself touching those bodies.”

The Romanian tapped his temple again. “Not if they’re frozen, Martel.”

Emil thought about that. “Maybe. But why the burial detail? How do you escape?”

The corporal leaned forward even more. “Russian guards? They fear ghosts because there are too many dead in one place. They won’t go to where the bodies are actually dumped. In a snowstorm, we can run.”

Emil crossed his arms. “They’ll catch you on foot. They did it twice.”

“Not on foot this time,” Corporal Gheorghe insisted. “That pony is stout, almost as big as a horse. We’ll ride him. We’ll find train tracks, find a train, jump on, go west.”

For a moment, Emil embraced the idea of escaping with the Romanian. He was only half-crazy, and he’d predicted they’d meet again, hadn’t he?

What if he’s right? What if we could . . . ?

He thought of the pile of dead bodies he might see in the morning and have to bury. It made his skin crawl.

“I can’t do it.”

Corporal Gheorghe tilted his head, the smile back. “If you can’t, you must. It is always so. Come, we will escape together. We will go find your wife and her sister, sweet as honey.”

Emil swallowed hard. “There are reasons I can’t join that detail.”

“What reasons?”

Feeling his heart and breath start to race, Emil realized he’d never told anyone about Dubossary. But gazing back across the table at the corporal, he felt compelled to describe that night, to confess to another the depth and nature of what he’d done.

Over the next twenty minutes, he told Corporal Gheorghe the story of Dubossary up to the moment Captain Haussmann handed him the Luger and ordered him to prove his German allegiance by shooting the three young Jews. But then the triangle rang, telling them to leave the mess hall and prepare to march to the museum basement.

“What did you do?” Corporal Gheorghe asked.

“I—”

“Move!” a guard shouted, and then pointed at the Romanian. “There are still two bodies out there. One on the road. One near the hospital. Go get them.”

He got up, staring at Emil. “Join the burial detail. You must tell me what you have done.”

With that, he walked away. Emil watched the Romanian leave, noting for the first time how light on his feet the man was, so fluid in his movements, he seemed to glide. By the time Emil went out into the blizzard, which continued without relief, the death cart was gone, and with it, Corporal Gheorghe, who suddenly felt like his last hope.

But the burial detail?

As he marched back to the museum, the thought of loading bodies on that cart, frozen or not, made Emil feel like he’d been locked in a space so tight, he could barely breathe while invisible hands laced his stomach in knots.

Christmas Day 1945

Gutengermendorf, Soviet-Occupied east Germany

Adeline awoke shivering in the dark church, sat up, and saw light streaming under the rear door. She almost got up to gather her things and return to Walt and Will. Instead, she wrapped her blankets around her shoulders, got on her knees, and prayed for safety for her, the boys, and Emil.

When she stood to fold and pack, however, Adeline did not feel safe. Not with Captain Kharkov and his men still living in the Schmidts’ home. That sense built as she left the church and trudged back through town and up the knoll to the farm.

It had snowed seven centimeters overnight before the temperature climbed above freezing. Now a dank drizzle fell, and she walked through slush.

“Merry Christmas, Mama!” Will and Walt cried when she unlocked the door to their room in the outbuilding.

They jumped off the bed and ran into Adeline’s arms. She held them tight and kissed them each on the cheek before saying, “Merry Christmas to both of you dears.”

Will stepped back. “Do we get presents?”

She smiled. “I understand Frau and Herr Schmidt found presents for you under their tree last night.”

Due to the circumstances, they were forced to break custom and celebrate on the morning of Christmas day instead of Christmas Eve.

“Really?” Walt said. “What?”

“Get dressed, and we’ll go and see.”

Will was dressed sloppily in seconds and bounced up and down as Walt went through the process with more time and care.

“C’mon, Walt,” Will moaned.

“You want me to go barefoot?”

“If you have to.”

“I don’t have to, and I won’t,” his older brother said, pulling on his shoes.

“Mama!”

“Calm down, Will,” she said. “The presents will still be there waiting.”

“But I’m waiting!”

“And I’m done,” Walt said, getting up to grab his warm coat.

Will ran to the Schmidts’ house and disappeared inside while Walt held Adeline’s hand and walked with her.

“Mama?” Walt said. “Is Will always going to be in a hurry?”

She thought about that and smiled. “I think so. It’s his nature.”

“He’s always going so fast, he makes me dizzy sometimes.”

Adeline laughed. “Yes, he makes me dizzy sometimes, too.”

They kicked the slushy