my leg. He puts the gun down for a brief second, then raises it again.
Click. Click. Worse than the fear of death is the feeling of being locked
in and powerless, of not knowing what will happen in the next breath.
He yanks me to my feet and turns me toward the building where
Magda sleeps. He uses the butt of his gun to shove me inside.
“Pissing,” he says to the guard inside, and they chuckle crassly. I
hold the carrots folded in my dress.
Magda won’t wake up at ĕrst. I have to put the carrot in her palm
before she’ll open her eyes. She eats so quickly that she bites the inside
of her cheek. When she thanks me, she cries.
* * *e SS shout us awake in the morning. Time to march again. I am
starving and hollow and I think I must have dreamt the carrots, but
Magda shows me a handful of greens she has tucked in a pocket for
later. ey have wilted. ey’re scraps that in a former life we would
have thrown away or fed to the goose in the attic, but now they appear
enchanted, like a pot in a fairy tale that magically ĕlls with gold. e
drooping, browning carrot tops are proof of a secret power. I shouldn’t
have risked picking them, but I did. I shouldn’t have survived, but I
did. e “shoulds” aren’t important. ey aren’t the only kind of
governance. ere’s a different principle, a different authority at work.
We are skeletal. We are so sick and undernourished that we can barely
walk, much less march, much less work. And yet the carrots make me
feel strong. If I survive today, tomorrow I will be free. I sing the chant in
my head.
We line up in rows for the count. I’m still singing to myself. Just as
we’re about to head out into the chilly morning for another day of
horrors, there’s a commotion at the door. e SS guard shouts in
German, and another man shouts back, pushing his way into the
room. My breath catches and I grab Magda’s elbow so that I don’t fall