Part 3
The big day comes and I am to be put on display for the special visitor.
Three guards come in with Dr. Snider and Dr. Perl. "I'm sorry, but we have to do this," Dr. Snider offers unnecessarily and nods to the guards, who step towards me to put me into restraints.
I see the door wide open as if calling to me. The temptation is far too great. Dr. Snider sees my interest in the door and her eyes widen with concern.
Sorry, sweetheart, but when opportunity knocks you just gotta answer.
I dodge away from one guard's grasp and back fist him in his face. I immediately turn and kick the other guard in the family jewels and push him into the third guard and make a mad dash out the wide open door.
"NO!" Dr. Snider yells with panic.
The breeze in my face lifts my spirits. My bare feet slap against the cold tile as I run. I have purpose. I know which door this time. I am faster. I am stronger. The wonderful sunlight is almost blinding as I jump down the stairs and run. Run for all I am worth. My lungs fill with the wretched air and I cough. But I still run. How precious this feeling of freedom is, even if only for a short moment.
Has God slipped again? The front gate is opening for a black sedan.
I run towards the front gate, scaring the hell out of the two gate guards, who can't believe anyone that stupid. Well they really haven't met me, HAVE they?!?
Rapid shots ring out from the watchtowers and miss me, kicking up chucks of snow and frozen dirt by my feet. Could this be the day? Will I actually escape? I zig and zag as I run, trying to be a hard target.
The black car at the gate is abruptly put in reverse. Tires slip frantically on the ice, finally catching and lurching the car backwards.
I hear shouting. One guard frantically yells at the other to close the gate. And I hear cheering?
"Muló, Muló, Muló" One deep voice rings out, urging me on. Other voices join his chant.
But the gate is stuck! Jesus Christ, I am almost outside the gate! Only a few more feet. . . .
One gate guard pulls out his pistol as the other starts to close the gate. Damn it. Ok, there are major flaws in this escape attempt - like no plan. Fuck! The guard nails me in the shoulder. A lousy shot, I sneer through the pain and barrel towards the guard with the pistol. His eyes widen with fear. HA!
Popping like a thousand small firecrackers, a machine gun showers bullets down over the front gate. I hear a number buzz by my ears as others find their mark and explode through me. As I collapse to the ground, my hand touches the dirt outside the gate. So close. The only consolation I have is I am not the only one to fall. Both guards are dead before their bodies hit the frozen dirt.
"Bast…."
The fireplace is blazing and I am still cold. I shiver as Mel puts a shawl over my shoulders. She gently rubs them to help me warm up before pulling me into a warm embrace.
"Better?" She says softly with concern in her voice.
"My feet are still cold," I complain into her chest as I relish the contact with her.
"Janice, I really think you should wear shoes. It is winter you know."
"They haven't given me shoes."
"What about socks?"
"No socks either."
"Did you ask?"
I can't see her eyebrow, but I know it is up. "No…" I say reluctantly.
"Why forever not?"
"I don't want anything from Them!"
"But maybe they would…"
"NO!" I pull back angrily. Mel sighs.
"All right, Janice," she says and pulls me back into an embrace. "I know you don't like to ask for help. But just think about it…please?"
***
I wake and immediately miss the warm embrace of my dream. I shift slowly but find my limbs restrained. A dull ache fills my back and chest. And my feet are still cold.
I look around the room and find Dr. Snider, pacing. She is alone.
"What the HELL were you doing?"
"Escaping??" I croak and shake off my grogginess.
"With no PLAN? You just run out of here like maybe the sharpshooters won't hit you? What were you going to do if they had released the dogs on you?!?"
Dogs?
"Do you realize you may have jeopardized your only chance of getting out
of here?" She yells at me.
"Dr. Morrell was interested in taking you back to Munich. To MUCH better
facilities. Away from all this. But, NO! You had to go and show him how much
trouble you are! That plus absolutely NO progress in our research may make him
think you would just be a big waste of his time."
She continues to pace angrily.
"Greta?"
"What!?!" She stops and glares at me.
"I am not your patient. This is not our research. I am a prisoner," I calmly explain the cold facts and look into her brown eyes, which drop. "You need to remember that, if you want to survive this," I add, causing her eyes to lift with surprise. She looks at me a long moment, then nods absently and leaves the room.
It is not long before the entourage arrives. Dr. Morrell is a heavyset man and full of himself. He wears an odd looking, ill-fitting SS uniform. Well, at least he's not wearing a white coat.
Dr. Mengele does not appear too pleased with anything at the moment. No longer big butcher on campus, huh?
Dr. Snider acts very respectful towards him, carefully showing him journal entries and test results. He asks a few simplistic questions, which she answers patiently. This idiot is the Fuhrer's personal physician? Perhaps there is hope for the Allies after all. He seems to enjoy Dr. Snider's looks more than her intelligence as he brazenly glances over her. Well, the idiot can at least recognize a pretty woman.
He finally eyes me. I smile thinly. Bastard.
"So this is the one who caused such a commotion today?"
"So you are the imbecile who is tending to Adolph?" I ask and receive a crack across my jaw.
"Insolent!"
Greta sighs heavily.
"My apologies, perhaps I used the wrong word," I say. He looks at me with surprise.
"German is often difficult for Americans," he allows.
"Yeah. I wanted to say "quack," I add and get another crack across my jaw. Damn.
"Doctor Morrell, perhaps we could go over our plans for future exp…" Greta interjects to defuse the anger, but I'm on a roll.
"You know, it will really be embarrassing to tell the Fuhrer that after two years, you are not any closer to finding out why I continue to live. He'll know for sure you are all nothing but a bunch of ignorant butchers." My jaw nearly breaks from the punch. God damn these restraints!
Morrell winces and shakes his sore hand. Good. I hope he broke something.
"She has a point, Doctor."
What? The head butcher agrees with me? Shit.
"Except for communiqués to you, I have kept the details of this effort as quiet as possible," he says and adds, "As I have done with most of my work."
"What are you saying?" Morrell asks with interest, still rubbing his sore hand.
"Well, we could perhaps relay to the politicians that Dr. Engel had misled us with the stories of ambrosia," he offers firmly, as if he has thought about it before now. "We could entomb her somewhere and get on with other important research," Mengele said with a pleasant smile, as if he were making a business arrangement.
The angry winds are quickly knocked out of my defiant sails. Entombed? I swallow hard. The thought of eternal solitude terrifies me.
"We could do that," Greta offers easily, surprising me. God no.
"…but," she continues with that sweet sounding word. Before I hear anymore, I let out a relieved breath; confident she will not let it happen.
"We have time. If the new experiments still don't produce results, we could always do as you suggest. I would hate to let this opportunity go to waste," she says diplomatically. "You've both seen her remarkable ability to recover. If we could just tap into that…think of what good we can do for the people!" She says standing tall.
If she says heil Hitler, I think I'll throw up. Come to think of it, my stomach is feeling queasy….
"My dear, are you sure you are not a politician?" Dr. Morrell smiles. Of course he smiles, he's not going to have to do a damn thing but gets credit if she succeeds. Bastard.
"No sir, just a physician doing her duty," she says softly, briefly glancing at me.
"A beautiful one at that," Morrell offers with a smile.
"She's just a butcher, like you two!" I snap defiantly. Greta winces but Dr. Morrell and Dr. Mengele chuckle. I will not feel bad for her. She is one of Them.
"Are you really sure you want to deal with this, Dr. Snider?" The head butcher asks with amusement, waving in my direction.
"I don't want to give up on the experiment," she says crisply.
The men nod and shrug. She walks out of the room, not looking back.
"How about a brandy? I've got a special bottle for special visitors…I think you qualify Dr. Morrell," the head butcher says with a smile, suddenly friendly to this man.
"I would like a drink," Dr. Morrell says somberly. "All of this is so very depressing," he adds with a heavy sigh. Dr. Mengele nods in agreement as they walk out of my cell.
Depressing?!? I don't think he has nearly enough alcohol to drown that feeling, butcher.
The door slams shut. I sigh.
Time passes.
I wait. And wait. I pull at my restraints and sigh. Something tells me I'm going to wait a while.
I wait. And wait.
That's another thing about this place I hate. The waiting.
I used to always be busy. Always. It helped me not think about things too much. Deep down, I was afraid that if my thoughts caught up, they would drown me.
If I wasn't busy, I would drink. Drown my thoughts before they could drown me. That was the first habit I had to curb around Mel. It wasn't so much about annoying her, which it did. But when I first met her, I knew I had to be on my guard. She was so beautiful and intelligent…and beautiful…. I knew if I were drunk around her, I'd make a fool of myself, like reciting poetry, or just kissing her. I'm such a sucker for an intelligent beauty. After the disaster with Alice, I wasn't sure about anything . . . except that I didn't want to lose Mel. She was the best friend I ever had. She was incredibly patient with my moods and always managed to make me laugh. And somehow, she always made me feel…important.
So, I had only one choice, curb my bad habits and become busier.
I learned to keep busy at an early age. When my parents argued in the tent, I would leave and find something to do. I would try not to think about not having a home with running water, or a big kitchen where wonderful things were cooked, or a dinner table where the mom and dad talked, instead of argued.
I think I'm like my Mom that way. She wanted that too, but Dad was…well, obsessed with the scrolls.
He started to settle down a couple of times but then he always got a 'great lead' on another site. Mom always tried to keep the family together and make a home for us wherever we were. But when I was raped, that was the last straw. She had given up and finally gave him an ultimatum; give up the digs or his family.
I know she was hurt when her children chose sides. We told her we didn't want to leave Dad. We knew Dad would never settle down and we didn't want the family to break up. We never thought in a million years she'd actually leave.
Then she left.
I don't know how I got through it. I washed a hell of a lot, learned how to defend myself, and kept busy. Dad felt horrible and was desperate to raise us right.
Despite what my sister Bert might say, I really tried to make St. Ignatius work. I thought if Mom knew we were all trying to be good, she would come back. But I screwed up. I fell in love.
She was gentle, pretty, smart, pretty, and always kind to me even when I did stupid things. Especially when I did stupid things. We became good friends. I taught her poker. She grilled me on scripture. I helped her around the school. She grilled me on geography. I taught her about archeology, well, what I knew about it. She listened to me and my brilliant ideas. And as I listened to her, I discovered something amazing...how important it was to listen to others.
She was impressed and very pleased with how much and how quickly I learned. Then one stupid day, I screwed it all up, like usual. I gushed that I loved her and kissed her. For a wonder-filled moment, it felt so right. She kissed me back. But when our kiss ended, the joy in my heart died with that look of horror on Sister Mary Kathryn's face. It cut to my soul.
I had to get out of there. I told Dad. I told him everything. I always could. He took me with him on his digs. He saved me. I would have surely died if I had to stay there.
I suddenly laugh as I weakly tug at my restraints. Dying of embarrassment. That's one thing they haven't tried yet.
The jingle of the keys doesn't stop my chuckling. Dr. Snider comes in and eyes me with curious concern. Understandable, since she hasn't seen me laugh.
"What?" She asks.
"Do you think I could die of embarrassment?" I ask with a straight face. The look on hers makes me laugh. "Oh, Oh! Maybe you could tell a really funny joke and have me die laughing!" I kill myself. Oh, if only!! I continue to laugh.
She looks at me oddly then dismisses the guard. He hesitates a bit. After receiving a glare from Dr. Snider, he leaves. "Janice? Are you all right?" She asks and I have to laugh more at the absurd question as I look at my wrist restraints and around my cell.
I shake my head and continue to chuckle. She doesn't know how to respond and sighs. My laughter slowly dies as I watch her open her medical bag.
"More blood?" I ask with a grimace. She nods. "Great." I exhale heavily.
She gently inserts the needle and takes enough to fill a small vial. She smiles and holds it up for me to see. It's red.
My eyebrows rise with surprise. All right! Red! My eyebrows furrow. Why is it red now?
"I think it's red when you are healthy and pink when your body is trying to repair itself. But … I need to do more tests," she answers my unasked question.
My eyes drop to the floor. More tests.
"They will not be like before, Janice. I promise you," she says with conviction and releases me from my restraints.
I want to believe her but I won't hold my breath - that only makes me pass out. And I hate passing out.
***
I pace. The food tray has settled on the floor and I am expecting my next visitor. After what seems like an eternity, the keys jingle. I adjust my flimsy smock and sit down uneasily, trying not to look as impatient as I am. I don't know who I will meet next, but these visits are the only enjoyment I have, even knowing the visitor's likely future.
The steel door opens and the guard points to the wall. A short woman, as short as Ivan is tall, awkwardly enters my cell, hauling a bucket that is nearly half her size. The guard looks at me and rolls his eyes before he leaves.
"Uh, I'll get that," I say jumping up and reaching for the bucket. She is surprised and glances at me warily as I take the bucket and go to the wall.
"Ivan said you were not Muló," she says cautiously, eyeing me from head to toe.
"How is he?" I ask with relief. He has made it back to the camp. I smile, finishing the cleaning.
"Still has that rash," she says with a sigh and hops up on my bed. She pushes down the hard mattress, apparently not impressed with it.
"It looked bad," I offer. "If you see him, could you tell him…I'm thinking of him?"
She eyes me curiously.
"Uh…I'm Janice Covington, by the way," I say awkwardly and put out my hand. I've never been much on formal introductions. That was Mel's department. A sudden ache wells up again. I sigh, irritated how easily I can depress myself.
"Madam Madeline," she says with pride and shakes my hand. My hand engulfs hers. Her hand is even smaller than Miriam's. What an odd feeling. Ivan must have that feeling all the time.
"A fortune teller?" I ask.
"Yes, among other things. I read palms, tarot cards, tea leaves, bones, bumps on the head…"
"Oh, I have a lot of those," I volunteer, making her grin. "Wait a minute!" I blurt, suddenly remembering. I pull out the bread and cheese. "For my visitors," I inform her with an uneasy smile and offer her the small portions, uncomfortable with the hostess role.
Madam Madeline is once again surprised. "You are definitely not Muló," she says with amazement and accepts the food.
"No such luck," I say softly, pleased she is eating. I wish I had more. Everyone who visits looks like they need so much more than I can offer.
"Perhaps I could read your palm?" She says between bites. She chuckles; my expression must have announced my skepticism.
"Uh. Sorry…" I say uneasily, not wanting to offend her.
"You had a reading before?" She asks.
"Yeah. You could say that. When I was young, a fortuneteller told me a young man would come into my life and bring me a great love," I announce grandly, as the old fortuneteller once did. I chuckle with a shake of my head.
"And you think this inaccurate?" She questions patiently.
"Well, if she had said 'young woman'…," I explain with a shrug and smirk.
Madam Madeline smiles knowingly. "So you assumed the young man was that 'great love.' Or that the great love was one of a physical nature, perhaps?"
My smirk fades into a frown. Ok, I assumed, but that didn't make the old fortuneteller right.
"Would you let me read your palm? It is the least I can do for the food," she says with a smile.
There was no "great love" other than Mel and I KNOW no young man was involved in that. Why is she staring at me? Oh. I hesitantly hold out my hand when her question catches up to me.
She takes my hand in her two tiny hands and inspects the lines for a few minutes. "Hmmmmm. Uh huh…. Ahhh!…..oh???…. hmmmm." She blurts, thoroughly engrossed in the reading and nods knowingly.
"What?!?" I ask, looking between her and my open palm.
"I can see…." she says mysteriously, then glances around the room.
"What?" I also look around the room, then back at her.
"That you are very . . ." she says with a dramatic pause.
"What?!?" For GOD'S Sake. . . . .
"Impatient!" she blurts then laughs, amused with herself.
"You're not helping my opinion of your profession."
"Oh…but the look on your face!" she says between laughs. Seeing my face now, she clears her throat and tries to sober up as she focuses on my hand.
"Well, you do have a very long life line," she offers, tracing her tiny finger over a crease in my palm.
"Ha. Ha." I say flatly, rolling my eyes.
"I'm serious," she says with a bit of annoyance, pointing to the palm to show me as if I would see. I just see a bunch of creases.
I smile thinly. She sighs and looks back at the palm. After a few seconds she looks back up at me curiously, her palm opens and covers mine. She looks disturbed by something.
"What?" I ask, wondering if I'm being suckered into another joke.
She surprises me by gently placing her palm over my stomach.
"Life," she says simply.
"Yeah, more lives than a damn cat," I remark but she shakes her head no.
"Another life. You are with child," she says gravely, looking up at me. She is not laughing.
"That's impossible! I can't have…," I argue with conviction then abruptly stop. My eyes drop. I shouldn't be able to live after being riddled with bullets, drowned, or electrocuted, either. I look up at the small woman's face. She believes what she says.
And something within me knows she is right.
A child. The gift I've always wanted but never could have, now given through hate to be unwrapped in hell. My heart sinks.
God must truly hate me.
"I don't suppose… this is another joke," I venture flatly, staring at nothing.
A small hand takes mine and gently squeezes it as tears fall from her eyes. She knows what it means to be pregnant here. "I'm sorry."
I nod, displaying more bravery than I feel.
Time passes.
My thoughts are not of the past. They are of the present.
I have heard what they do to pregnant women and their unborn children. If they are lucky, they will just be gassed instead of getting an abortion at the end of a guard's bayonet. Mengele has said this is not a nursery. For the first time I'd have to agree with the butcher.
I have also heard Dr. Perl, at risk to her own life, has performed secret abortions for the women so they may live longer. But I am not like those women. I have no such desire to live longer.
Or do I?
Will the baby be another grand experiment for the butchers? Will they kill it? Can they? Will I be allowed to see it?
God must truly…
I hear the jingle of the keys before my door is open. I don't bother looking at the person who comes in. I thought I could endure what they were putting me through. It was only affecting me. But now . . . . what will I do?
"Janice?" Dr. Snider asks. I sluggishly look up at her.
"What's wrong?" She asks. I have to smile. What's not wrong, would be a quicker answer.
The smile makes Snider more uneasy. She sits down on my bed next to me and takes my pulse.
"I need to take a few more samples of blood, ok?" she asks, setting my wrist back down.
I look at her and weakly nod. She looks concerned. "Janice, what's …"
"I'm pregnant."
***
Dr. Snider's tests have confirmed what Madam Madeline told me. I am pregnant. Dr. Snider paces in my cell as if it is her problem too. But she can walk away. I can't.
"I don't want to bring a child into this …world," I say numbly.
"Do you want Dr. Perl…?" Dr. Snider offers uneasily.
"No…" I barely whisper, unable to go that far. I am unable to say yes and kill my unborn child. I am unable to save it from a death at their uncaring hands . . . or worse, a life like mine. Why is it when I need to be strong, I am at my weakest?
I say no, unable to say yes.
"Janice, I am not sure what we can do…."
"We?" I ask with a weak laugh. She ignores my comment.
"Dr. Mengele has made it very clear that pregnant women are… a burden," she says uncomfortably and continues to pace. "And he has also made his opinion quite clear on what should happen to you if I don't make any progress," she says, thinking aloud as if there might be an answer to be found.
"Have you made any progress?" I ask, surprising her. Call me silly, but I do not want to be entombed for eternity with my child.
"Uh…not as much as I would hope."
"What the hell is the problem?" I ask with irritation. "I've been here over TWO years now!"
"Now wait a minute! It's not like I'm not trying here! I've finally gotten the freedom to perform an appropriate series of experiments instead of the 'let's see what happens' approach of my highly respected colleagues," she blurts with obvious disgust. She looks at my blank stare and stops.
Rubbing her eyes, Greta sits down on the bed next to me and exhales heavily. "You think this place is hell for only the prisoners? It isn't."
I sigh and look at my cold feet and wiggle my toes. I never thought I'd be barefoot and pregnant. At least I'm not in a kitchen.
"Do you leave here at night, Greta?"
"Yes," she says with soft surprise, looking at me curiously.
"Where do you go?" I ask.
"An apartment. But my home is in Munich."
"Anyone there?"
She nods. She looks at me a moment before answering. "Vera. She's a biologist," Greta finally says with a warm smile, risking a great deal. If found out, she would be sporting a patch and invited to join in the fun here as a guest.
"You?" She asks.
"I…" I pause as a lump forms in my throat. "I…don't know," I whisper, feeling lost.
Two years is a long time. I had to cover my tracks so Mel would think I was dead. I knew she would not have stopped until she followed me and got her mortal self killed. She's incredibly stubborn that way. Hell, she's incredibly stubborn ANY way. The most wonderfully stubborn woman I have ever met. The ache clenches my heart again. If she listened to me and my fucking advice, she would have moved on. The thought gives me little comfort and tremendous fear.
Two years is a long time. . .
Dr. Snider is silent but nods her head.
"Can you get me out of here?" I blurt out weakly, getting a surprised look. That is the first thing I have ever asked for from Them. But then, she's never really been one of Them. Has she?
"I…I…can't," she says in uneasy defeat.
I nod, not really expecting another answer. It would be too hard and risk her life. Perhaps I should have just asked for socks.
"But …"
I look at her with anticipation. I've liked her 'buts' so far.
"But a baby…" she offers vaguely. Those simple but weighty words bring me mixed emotions.
Will I be strong enough to give up my child?
I'll have to be.
"How does one hide a pregnancy?" I ask the very important question. She looks thoughtful for a moment.
"Carefully?" Greta offers with a shrug.
"Great plan…" I shake my head and softly chuckle. God help us.
I sit on my bed and look down at my protruding stomach. So far, Mengele is none the wiser. He rarely comes into my cell anymore. Apparently, he has many other, less difficult, 'patients' keeping him busy. But I am becoming more anxious the more I show. If he comes in for a 'checkup' now, there is no way my smock can hide the fact I am pregnant. My hand gently caresses my belly, which holds the life growing within me. A miracle…
I tried to shrug off what that doctor told me after I was raped. I was "in a way, lucky," he said. I was only fourteen. I hadn't really thought about being a mother and I was told I would never be one. But as I grew older, I grew more aware of what that really meant. I used to watch the children and their mothers in the villages we traveled through. Across all nationalities, there was something wonderfully common about the special love between a mother and her child. I knew that I would never experience that love.
Preferring women could have been a hurdle, if I were able to have a kid. But there is always some guy willing. And I'm sure with enough Bourbon or Scotch, I'd have overcome that hurdle. After all, it's only sex.
Well, except when it comes to Mel.
Mel wanted kids badly. She didn't mention it outright, but I could tell. Every time she saw a child, she brightened. It was clear it would only be a matter of time before she approached me about it. I did NOT like the idea of her having to overcome that hurdle. But, I knew I would agree with what she wanted to do. I usually did.
But I still wouldn't have liked that hurdle part....
I continue to caress my belly. A smile grows on my face as I wonder what Mel would say if she saw my 'condition' now. Of course, I'm sure she'd be pretty surprised I was alive…. My smile drains into a frown. It is beyond words how much I miss her. Two years is a long time. I can't help the tears, which flow down my cheeks.
"You know, we would have spoiled you rotten," I whisper to my stomach as I caress it.
I feel a kick. Oh GOD! A kick!! I smile with amazement and chuckle at the life announcing herself to me. She's going to be a hand-full, I think, feeling a few more kicks before the baby settles down. The joy is quickly replaced with sadness.
Her chances of survival are slim and if she does survive, she will be someone else's handful.
I try not to think about that and lay on my bed with my hand still protectively over my child. For now, I can pretend that the Covington luck will not curse this child. For now, I can pretend her mother will be the one to raise her...
I smile as I walk onto the playground to pick my little girl up from school. Laughing kids swarm the grounds, running and jumping with such energy. I spot my little girl as she spots me. Her smile of joy touches my soul.
"Mommy!!" she jumps off the swing set and rushes to me. Her favorite dress she wore for the school-play audition is smudged with grass and dirt. I grin. She is simply beautiful.
"Whoa!" I laugh as she jumps into my waiting arms. As I lift her up, she wraps her arms around me and hugs me tightly. "I got a great part in the play!" She announces proudly.
"Oh? What part did you get?" I ask, pleased she is so happy.
"The lead tree!"
The jingling of keys startles me awake. Fuck!
I quickly scramble and move behind the examining table. The usual drill since I've started showing. Should a butcher or guard come in that shouldn't see me, at least the table would block their view and buy time. At least, that's the plan.
It is Greta and Gisella. I let out a breath as they enter. I start to move from the table when I see both women quickly shake their heads no. I understand why when two guards carry some wood boards and planks in and start assembling something. A box?
After the guards are dismissed, I finally approach them looking at the 3 by 3 foot box which comes up to my shoulders and has a hole at the top.
No way.
"Part of your new treatment," Greta says uneasily.
"You're kidding," I say with disbelief. Greta scratches the back of her head and looks down.
"It will hide you better," Dr. Perl informs me with a firm nod.
"Jesus Christ."
I sit on the bed and stare at the box as Dr. Snider takes my blood pressure. Dr. Perl gets a syringe from her bag. "How are you feeling?" Snider asks.
"Ok. OH! I felt her kick!" I suddenly remember and announce with enthusiasm. The two women smile.
"Her?" Greta asks with surprise.
"It feels like a 'her," I explain with a shrug and gently rub my
stomach.
***
In the past few months, I've only had Mengele visit four times. Each time, I managed to jump into that goddamn box before he entered the cell. I am getting slower though. It's so very close.
When he first saw the box, he was rather amused. Bastard. I bet it was only because he thought it some sort of punishment to have me constantly standing in the damn thing. It is hard on the lower back…
Once again, I stand in the box as Mengele glances at the additional gages and switches that were recently glued onto the side of the box. Thankfully one of the older twins had some community theater experience. Ida Blau, the talented stagehand.
My lower back is killing me again. It must show on my face because he smirks. Bastard.
Greta should get an Academy award. I almost believe her as she explains in great detail the purpose of each new device to the bored butcher, who keeps eyeing his watch. He doesn't seem to care, only wanting reassurance that he is still in charge. Bastard. He knows if she succeeds, he'll get some credit. If she fails, Greta's on her own.
Fuck! I'm getting goddamn cramps too. I wish he would go so I could lie down.
Greta skillfully fabricates a function for the little black device. I wonder if she tap-dances too. "And this button provides an electrical impulse to the subject's…"
Before she finishes her explanation, Mengele unexpectedly pushes the button.
I let out a pained moan.
Greta looks nervously between the two of us.
"Well, I see you have everything under control," he smirks with satisfaction and leaves.
"Thank you, doctor," Greta says respectfully, watching him leave. When the door finally slams shut, she turns back to me and exhales with relief.
"Thank GOD! And your moan was the perfect touch," she says enthusiastically.
"Fuck!" I moan again, the pain is overwhelming.
"Janice?" Greta asks with concern, quickly opening the box door and helps me out. My arms wrap around my protruding belly as I crunch over.
Oh God. "I'm in fucking la…. BOOOR. . . !"
"But …but, you're not due yet," she blurts nervously.
"Tell that to the BABYeeeeeeee. FUCK!" I can't believe I ever thought I wanted to go through this. Was I insane?!? FUCK!
"Ok, ok. The examining table is inclined a bit. It will be better if…." she suggests uneasily, knowing how much I hate that thing.
"FINE!" I yell as I hobble over and awkwardly get on that goddamn table.
She positions herself between my legs and lifts up my smock. Her eyes widen. I wanted to tell her I've gotten that reaction from all the women who have had that privilege, but I am in way too much pain.
"FUUUUCK!"
"I see the head!" Greta exclaims. "Janice, I want you to keep pushing. Ok?"
"Have you ever done this beFOOOORE?" Why the hell do I ask that now? It's not like I have a fucking choice.
"Of course! Push!" She answers and orders as she focuses on the baby. I groan as sweat pours from my forehead. Oh GOD. I gasp for air as I try to push. OH GODDDD!!
"That's it, keep it up Janice. One more push should do it!" She says with excitement.
I take a ragged breath and I push for all my worth, feeling the baby, which I swear is the size of a FUCKING COW, pass through the birth canal. Oh GOD!!!
She's out.
Dear God, please let her be all right.
I catch my breath and listen for sounds that she's ok. I hear nothing from my child. Oh God. Panic wells up. Finally, I hear a baby's crying, triggering my own tears.
Greta smiles broadly with a small, crying person in her hands.
"Janice, you have a baby girl." She stands and places the small, slippery form on my chest. I am terrified I might drop her. My brother told me that I was dropped on my head as a baby. I always thought he was just being an ass, until now. I can see how it could have happened. I tremble as my arms embrace the child, afraid I might just do that.
I look down at the small form with wonder. My baby.
"I am going to get some blankets and towels to clean you two up. I will be right back." Greta says firmly.
I nod absently as I watch with amazement how tiny the hand is. And she has all the tiny fingers she should have. And what tiny nails…
I look up as Greta starts to leave. "Thank you," I say, full of emotion.
She turns to me with a troubled look. I know what she is thinking. And I am grateful she says nothing to shatter the moment. A moment where I can still pretend everything will turn out all right.
With a small smile, Greta nods and leaves.
My attention returns to the child in my arms. My child. "I'll bet you'll be the best lead tree there is," I say and kiss her forehead.