“Don’t tell me what people are capable of,” Shayndel said. “Everyone in this place has seen worse than you can ever imagine.”
Tirzah opened her mouth to answer, but thought better of it and bit her lip.
As much as Shayndel hated when survivors used their suffering to make a point or get their way, she was glad to see Tirzah flustered for once.
“We have disturbing information about this woman,” she continued, with a measure of deference. “She was identified as Elizabeth Boese, one of the female overseers at Ravensbrück.”
“If you already know who she is, what do you need from me?”
“Our informant saw her only from a distance on the docks in Haifa. We wish to confirm it.”
“But why on earth would she come to Palestine?”
“People take the chances they find,” Tirzah said. “And people do stupid things. Besides, this one is insane, you said it yourself.”
“All right,” Shayndel said. “All right.”
“Also that Polish woman,” said Tirzah. “The one who calls herself Esther.”
“The one with the little boy? What about her?”
“Don’t play dumb. All you have to do is look at her. Not Jewish.”
“And the boy?”
“I am only asking you to find out what the story is there. And quickly. I need answers about these people immediately.”
“Why the hurry?” Shayndel demanded. “And why won’t you tell me what’s going on? The empty barrack with the padlock on the door? That Nathan character, whispering in your ear? And this morning, in the kitchen with …” She stopped before mentioning Bryce’s name.
“It’s not up to me.” Tirzah looked Shayndel in the eye for the first time all day and said calmly, “As soon as I can tell you, I will.”
“All right,” Shayndel said. “I will find out what I can about those two women.” As she opened the door, she added, “And again, thank you.”
“For what?”
“For the delicious halvah.”
Tirzah smiled.
As she walked through the fading light, Shayndel thought about what she had been asked to do. She kicked at the dust and wondered if someday, someone would arrive in Palestine and accuse her of sabotage. She had been a terrible shot, and such a slow runner that she had often been a liability to her comrades-in-arms. It would not be incorrect to say that I caused the deaths of my dearest friends, she thought. I would never deny it.
An anxious drone of conversation stilled as Shayndel made her way through the barrack and past the blanketed shape on the bed beside Tedi. She could feel the eyes on her, and when she got to her cot she looked around and announced, “I don’t know anything. I swear.”
Even Leonie looked doubtful.
Tedi hurried over, wringing her hands. “Please, Shayndel, I beg you, let me change places with you. I simply can’t breathe with that woman next to me. You have to get her moved out of here.”
After nearly ten weeks in Atlit, Tedi had become familiar with the smells of death and decay, despair and self-loathing, arrogance and shame. Some of those odors sickened or choked her, but she recognized them and noticed how they faded after a few days of healthy food and uninterrupted sleep. But the stench rising from Lotte was entirely unlike anything else, and it made her heart pound.
“I will never be able to sleep,” she said.
Shayndel smiled. “You could sleep through an earthquake.”
“No, really, I cannot breathe. I am afraid of this … smell,” Tedi said, knowing she was sounding a little crazy. “Please,” she begged, “change beds with me.”
“I’m sorry. But I need you to stay where you are,” Shayndel said. “You know a little German, don’t you?”
“Hardly. I had a year in school.”