The Choice

colliding with Magda’s sardine can! Whether on purpose or by
accident, she has arrested the soldiers’ attention with a tin of ĕsh.
ey are returning. We have one more chance. If I can dance in my
mind, I can make my body seen. I close my eyes and concentrate,
raising my hands above my head in an imaginary arabesque. I hear the
soldiers yell again, one to the other. One is very close to me. I keep my
eyes locked shut and continue my dance. I imagine that I am dancing
with him. at he lis me over his head like Romeo did in the
barracks with Mengele. at there is love and it springs out of war.
That there is death and always, always its opposite.
And now I can feel my hand. I know it is my hand because the
soldier is touching it. I open my eyes. I see that his wide, dark hand
circles my ĕngers. He presses something into my hand. Beads. Colorful
beads. Red, brown, green, yellow.
“Food,” the soldier says. He looks into my eyes. His skin is the
darkest I have ever seen, his lips thick, his eyes deep brown. He helps
me li my hand to my mouth. He helps me release the beads onto my
dry tongue. Saliva gathers and I taste something sweet. I taste
chocolate. I remember the name of this Ęavor. Always keep a little
something sweet in your pocket, my father said. Here is the sweetness.
But Magda? Has she been discovered too? I don’t have words yet,
or a voice. I can’t stammer a thank you. I can’t form the syllables of my
sister’s name. I can barely swallow the little candies that the soldier has
given me. I can barely think of anything other than the desire for more
food. Or a drink of water. His attention is occupied now in getting me
out of the pile of bodies. He has to pull the dead away from me. ey
are slack in the face, slack in their limbs. As skeletal as they are, they
are heavy, and he grimaces and strains as he lis them. Sweat streaks
his face. He coughs at the stench. He adjusts the cloth over his mouth.
Who knows how long the dead have been dead? Maybe only a breath
or two separates them from me. I don’t know how to speak my