The Family Behind the Walls: Absolutely heartbreaking and gripping World War Two fiction by Shari J. Ryan

Author:Shari J. Ryan [Ryan, Shari J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Bookouture
Published: 2025-01-27T00:00:00+00:00

TWENTY-TWO

DALIA

OCTOBER 7TH, 1943 – OŚWIĘCIM, POLAND

I’ve had to continue making my rounds within this ward, knowing if I’m caught being stationary too long, I’ll be reported to a guard. My bedside manner isn’t what it’s been. I’ve been moving as quickly as possible to make it back to Max’s side so I’m not away from him for long.

The aspirin seems to have brought his fever down a bit and he’s asleep now. I don’t want to wake him, but I’m terrified of losing minutes of his life too.

God, let him pull through this. He’s too young to die. He has his whole life ahead of him.

I close my eyes as the tears spill out.

“Mama, don’t cry,” he says, his words gruff and scratchy.

I take his hand and hold it up to my cheek, still praying and pleading with God. Ina comes up behind me and presses the side of her body to mine. “Take the tin from my hand and pour it into his mouth,” she whispers.

“What is it?” I respond in the same hush.

“I stole a few lemons. It’s lemon water. I’ve seen it help others.”

I haven’t seen a lemon anywhere in the confines of Auschwitz. I don’t know where she got it, but it may help.

“Max, sweetie, you need to drink this down as fast as you can,” Ina tells him, keeping her voice as quiet as possible.

I reach over him, cupping my hand beneath his chin and pour the contents into his mouth. His lips pucker, and he sucks in his cheeks, highlighting the prominent, skeletal bone structure of his face, edges I should never have to bear witness to.

Tears dribble from his clenched eyes but he takes down the contents of the can, slowly, but entirely.

Ina grabs the can and rushes away.

“That will help you. It will,” I tell him. He nods his head with slight movements.

“All right.”

I can’t leave him here tonight, but the guards won’t let me stay and if I don’t return to roll call, I won’t stand a chance of seeing another day anyway. I don’t even know who watches over the patients at night. It isn’t information I’m entitled to.

A retching sound croaks from a bed on the opposite side of the row, and I know I need to move. Max takes in a deep breath and closes his eyes again. “Try to sleep some more, baby. Sleep will help too.”

He doesn’t respond but he’s still breathing.

He’s still breathing.

The retching sound ceases before I make it back to the other end of the row. Vomit covers the man’s chest, his head tilted back. “No, no, no, no. You need to be on your side,” I remind him again. I use the sheet to clean off his face and grab his left shoulder to pull him back to his side, but his body is stiff and doesn’t comply with my effort. I slide my fingers up to his neck, pressing against his artery, finding stillness.

I can’t help anyone, even my own son. Why am I here, being called a nurse? All I’m doing is watching people die.

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