A girl and her camera

Chapter two

It was on a warm, Sunday morning that Martha, escorted by 'Leuitennant Gillespy', was marched into Kommadant Von Schleifs' office, firmly planted on the other side of the Ghetto wall. Today, was Marthas' first day of filming; and the day she'd be reunited with the Maardens. But despite her nerves, and regret for doing something she was against, Martha still couldn't help but feel excited. She was going to see Sam again! The one friend who really understood her. Who really listened. Oh, she missed him terribly. And Karoline and their mother, Annabella. But Samuel was just...Samuel.

Martha tried her best to think of that, as she was seated outside the Kommadants' office, and instructed to wait. With her camera satchel (With the loaf of bread Vera had given her in it) placed firmly upon her lap, Marthas' eyes darted nervously across the room. From the paintings of fruit, and a portrait of the Fuhrer on the wall, to the scary-looking secretary tapping viciously at her type-writer, behind the table. Martha couldn't feel more out of place.

"The Kommadant will see you now," The secretary barked at her.

Like a frightened puppy, Martha nearly scrambled from her seat, holdling the satchel firmly to her side, and walked as bravely as she could, into the Kommadants' office.

When Martha first set eyes on the Kommadant, she wasn't quite sure whether to be relieved, or disgusted. Firstly, he wasn't as tall, or as intimidating as people described him to be. He was merely just two inches taller than Martha himself. And he wasn't exactly young, or handsome. He was aging, nearly bald on the top, and walked with a great, wobbling belly that jiggled, every time he moved. But his face! Martha guessed why they thought he was scary. With beady, almost black eyes that darted greedily, from place to place. A face that could've screwed up tight, whenever he gave some angry orders. And a mouth, that was capable of twisting into one of the most cruelest sneers, Martha could've ever imagined. She guessed he must've been Kommadant for a reason, and he could most definitely, scare even the toughest of inferiors.

"Ah, Miss Gillespy!" The Kommandant stood, lifting an arm into the air. "Heil Hitler!"

Martha mustled up the most convincing 'Heil Hitler' she could, before she was tempted to give her middle finger, in the place of a salute. Then as the Kommadant sat, she sat too. And when Martha peeked over to look at the Kommandants' face, she thought she saw a glimmer of excitement in his dark, piggy-like eyes.

"You understand why I requested you?" He asked her, "I've seen your work on the arts documentary, and I thought it was just marvelous! You obviously carry a valuable talent."

"Why, thank you Kommandant." Martha was genuinely surprised at his compliment.

"And when I realised that Michael Gillespy was your brother, I knew that talent had to run in the family." He continued, "He's one of my most hard-working soldiers, you know. He'll make a most fine asset to winning this dreaded war."

Martha had underestimated, just how much her brother was liked within his work-place. If the Kommadant could give such compliments, then she was curious to know what Hitler himself would have to say about Michael.

"He is a good brother," She said, "And a hard-worker."

"Too right!" The Kommadant agreed, "Now, do you understand what this job will entail? You will be going in to film, daily, and by the time you finish, you shall report back here with your timing sheet. Here it is." He handed Martha a sheet of paper, in the form of a filmers' timing sheet. "This is how we'll keep track of your progress. Once the camera film is fully used, you will hand it over to my secretary, Rosine, and she will send it off to be edited."

The Kommadant handed Martha the roll of film, and whilst in his prescence, she loaded it into her camera, and wound the handle just for a second, to see if it worked. Satisfied, Martha packed her camera back into her satchel, and zipped it back up quickly, in case the Kommadant could've seen the loaf of bread, stowed away in the bottom.