The Choice

have to. I understood the threat. Don’t ruin yourself. Don’t disappoint.
Now rough handling could do more than tarnish me, it could kill me.
I am that brittle. But it’s not just dying or more pain that I fear. I’m
afraid of losing my mother’s respect. e soldier shoves his friend back
to the door to keep watch. He comes at me, cooing absurdly, his voice
grainy, dislocated. His sweat and the alcohol on his breath smell sharp,
like mold. I have to keep him away from me. ere is nothing to
throw. I can’t even sit. I try to scream, but my voice is just a warble.
e soldier at the door is laughing. But then he isn’t. He speaks
harshly. I can’t understand English, but I know he says something
about a baby. e other soldier leans against the crib rail. His hand
gropes toward his waist. He will use me. Crush me. He pulls out his
gun. He waves it crazily like a torch. I wait for his hands to clamp
down on me. But he moves away instead. He moves toward the door,
toward his friend. The door clicks shut. I’m alone in the dark.
I can’t sleep. I’m sure the soldier will return. And where is Magda?
Has some other soldier taken her? She is emaciated, but her body is in
much better shape than mine, and there is still a hint of her feminine
ĕgure. To settle my mind, I try to organize what I know of men, of the
human palette: Eric, tender and optimistic; my father, disappointed in
himself and circumstance, sometimes defeated, sometimes making the
best of it, ĕnding the little joys; Dr. Mengele, lascivious and controlled;
the Wehrmacht who caught me with the carrots fresh from the
ground, punitive but merciful, then kind; the GI who pulled me from
the heap of bodies at Gunskirchen, determined and brave; and now
this new Ęavor, this new shade. A liberator, but an assailant, his
presence heavy but also void. A big dark blank, as though his
humanity has vacated his body. I will never learn where Magda was
that night. Even now, she doesn’t remember. But I will carry
something vital away from that terrifying night, something I hope I
never forget. e man who nearly raped me, who might have come