Page 34 of Library of Forbidden Books

At that, Helene cracked up. It felt so good to let laughter take control again.

“I hope they treat us all right. This is by no means the first time they’ve locked me up. The police never like us gypsies, and the lack of affection is mutual.”

Helene enjoyed talking with Mercedes for the entire ride. When they arrived at the station in Moringen, a group of soldiers ushered them out of the train car and down the streets of the picturesque town. The houses were small and quaint, and the town consisted of a church, a pharmacy, a pub, and a few small stores.

Most of the townsfolk walked by quickly without even glancing at the prisoners. Yet one elderly woman stopped right in front of Helene and Mercedes, screwed up her face, and spat on them.

“God will punish you for that!” Mercedes said.

The woman cursed at them as she walked away.

At the edge of the town, they came to a long path lined with poplars. They shivered in the shade as they walked alongside a chain-link fence with concrete columns. At certain intervals along the perimeter, there were guard towers. Helene could see the bored faces of young blond soldiers staring out at them. Large signs with skulls and crossbones were attached to the fence, as if the place were full of pirates.

The soldiers halted the line of women at the camp entrance, which reminded Helene of a castle. There was a double iron gate and smaller door behind it that creaked horribly when it opened.

The prisoners passed through in two lines. The soldiers stayed on the outside of the gate, and in the open patio, the prisoners were met by six female guards dressed in gray suits, an overcoat, and a side cap. Each had her hair pulled back in a tight bun. All but the largest guard in the middle carried a night stick. She, in turn, held a riding whip.

“Ladies! Though actually I should say whores. That’s what all German women who don’t know how to behave in our beloved country should be called. But don’t worry, we’re here to reeducate you. Moringen is proud to be the first camp for women, and we intend to make it a model for others to come. I don’t know what you may have been told about the place, but I can assure you the reality will be worse.”

None of the prisoners responded, their heads drooping as if too heavy for their necks. Yet Helene studied everything with great attention. Lena always said that the best way to get used to something was to figure out as soon as possible how the system worked. As a child, Helene’s friend had been sent to a boarding school in Ireland to learn English. It had been the hardest few years of her life, but she had learned how to survive.

The big guard in the middle continued. “Don’t think you’ll live on handouts here. This isn’t a free ride. Your job is to sew uniforms for the SS, as well as to work in the various departments of the camp. Work is the only true road to happiness. When you leave Moringen, you’ll be the faithful followers of our Führer. The rules are simple: Do as you’re told, and don’t cause trouble. Then we’ll all get along like one big family.”

Beside Helene, Mercedes was smiling as if the guard’s words were a joke. Another guard came up and whacked Mercedes on the head from behind. Mercedes stumbled, and blood started running down her neck. Helene’s instinct was to catch her new friend before she fell, but she restrained herself.

On the ground, Mercedes started convulsing.

The guard in the middle pointed and said, “Now, is my meaning clear?”

The rest of the women nodded, trembling both from cold and from fear. Through the waning light of the afternoon sun, Helene watched as Mercedes’s body stopped seizing and then lay still, lifeless. For the first time since longer than she could remember, Helene whispered a prayer through her dry lips.

“God, protect us!”

The prisoners were forced to walk naked to the communal bathrooms, all the women covering their private parts as best they could with their hands. They showered as quickly as possible in the freezing cold water, then dressed in white undergarments—Helene was grateful they were cotton—and stiff, sackcloth uniforms. They were issued a handkerchief for their hair and a lightweight coat entirely insufficient for winter in Germany. At check-in they had been assigned a number, which was sown into the flap of the coat. Different markings on the uniform indicated the crime for which the women were imprisoned. Helene had been given the political prisoner uniform, not the Jewish uniform. That, at least, was a point in her favor.

Helene came to learn that initially Moringen had been a jail for young criminals. At first the Nazis had sent only men to the camp, then they started to house women there as well. Just over a year before Helene arrived, it had become exclusively a women’s camp.

She was given a light blanket and a towel and was taken to the first building, which was the barrack for political dissidents. When she and the other new arrivals entered, they saw about fifty prisoners spread out on chairs or their beds, which were bunks stacked three beds high. The prisoners all turned to look at them, and the welcome was none too warm. Helene would come to learn that their barrack was not as crowded as the larger ones, but they were watched more closely.

Helene’s assigned bed was by a window. An elderly woman approached and introduced herself.

“I’m Anna. Luck has not been on your side. By the window you won’t smell the sweat and feces as much, but the cold at night is relentless. Here, take this,” she said, holding out an extra blanket. The petite woman’s blondish-gray hair was pulled back in a small bun. Her yellowed face was scored with deep wrinkles like a bare field in winter, but her eyes were as brilliant and blue as the brightest Mediterranean sky.

“Thank you, but don’t you need it?”

Anna waved the question off, then helped Helene make her bed. The straw mattress refused their attempts at tidiness.

“The guards are very strict about these things,” Anna said, forcing the mattress into submission. “Those harpies are dangerous. Steer clear of them. We’ll being going back to work in an hour. What occupation did you list on your card?”

“Librarian,” Helene said with a grimace. She now realized it had been foolish to list her actual job.

“You should’ve put something else. I’ll talk with Anna Klein, the guard who has the same name as me. She’s the least bad of the lot. But you should watch out with Ilse Hasse, and don’t go near Ludmilla Albrecht. Those two are sadists; they’ve both killed women.”

Anna headed out of the barrack, and Helene followed her. Outside, they leaned against the wooden frame of the building.

“Most everyone inside is a political prisoner—communists, an anarchist or two, a few socialists.”

“Why did they put you in here?”