Inside the Camps | A World War Two Story

Inside the Camps - Part 7

// I just realized that these parts are very short. But I'm too lazy to go back and make 'em longer. So just bare with me. 

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I trudged through the snow in my leather boots I had bought with some of the rubles I packed, holding my forearm in front of my eyes to protect my face from the frosty winds and flakes of snow. As we wandered up to a hut, I realized the cracks and holes in the wood had created a perfect path for the wind and snow to leek through. As we entered through the door that seemed to be holding on by just a hinge, a revolting smell hit my nostrils. My face contorted and scrunched. A small, old lady sat in the corner on a stack of hay, fumbling with her hands. Her head hung low, showing she was scared. Was she scared of me? I walked up to her, easily towering over her small, frail body. She had a leather coat wrapped around her, but as I looked around, there was a small bag with many clothes she could have worn for warmth. I knelt down, becoming eye level with her. I lowered my voice, but as I spoke, I found it hard to not try and comfort her.

"They won't be able to understand us. Talk to me. Why aren't you wearing the clothes in the bag over there?" I nodded my head toward the bag, eyeing it closely. She hesitated, but soon replied. As she spoke, I noticed that there was a man sitting in the corner. He was incredibly skinny, but looked to be old just like her. "Those are my husband's clothes. He died of an illness. I'm sure you've already spotted the corpse. If they find out that I've been hiding the body, trying to bury him, they most likely kill me as well! Please, young man, don't tell them!" My breath hitched as I looked back toward the chief. He had a cigarette in his mouth, a large lighter held in his other. He flicked it, a small flame appearing. I looked back toward her, frowning. "You've been screaming at them, yes?" She nodded at my question, her hands beginning to shake. "They want to know what you're on about. You don't want them taking your husband. And you refuse to wear his clothes.." I tapped my index finger on my knee before standing up. I turned towards the chief, noticing his eyes were now baring into mine. "Yeye muzh mertv. Ona ne khotela, chtoby ty vzyal telo, poetomu ona popytalas' zakrichat' i otvlech' tebya. Ona otkazyvayetsya nosit' odezhdu, i ya polagayu, ona khochet pokhoronit' yego." Her husband is dead. She didn't want you to take the body, so she tried to scream and distract you. She refuses to wear the clothes, and I assume she wants to bury him. I snatched the lighter from him, walking out of the hut. I dug my hand in my pocket, finding a lone cigarette, and lighting it for myself. Bang! I flinched slightly, my lips pulling down into an angered expression. There was nothing I could do. I would be shot if I protested.

I walked back into the warmth of the kitchen, finding Joan and Cade sitting at one of the

counters. I smiled, wiping the dirt from my hands. I looked at the bread, surprised it was still steaming. I washed my hands in the sink before continuing to cut the bread.

After we finished dinner, it was already dark. The clock that sat on the mantel showed that it was a little past 8:30. I walked towards Joan, ruffling her hair. "You both should probably get to bed." Cade nodded. "The commander noticed that I speak polish. He wants me to also translate. I have until tomorrow to decide." She frowned, now combing through her hair with her fingers. I sighed, running a hand through my own hair. I looked up to find her looking at me, smiling warmly. "We'll get through this. Okay?" I spoke quietly, though we were the only ones in the large room. She nodded and I could see her eyes beginning to water. I brought her into my arms, resting my head on top of hers. "I knew this would happen." She shook her head, a tear falling onto her cheek. I released her from my grip as I looked down at Joan before placing a hand on her head. "Come on, Joan. Let's get you to bed." She nodded and yawned after I spoke.

The next few days were about the same. Cade agreed to translating which only gave us more privileges. Joan became more like herself again, or from what I remember since I haven't known her long, and Cade grew stronger. Both physically and mentally. She began to laugh a lot more. Her smile was bright and warm, lighting up the room even if it were dark.