Someone Named Eva by Joan M. Wolf Read Free Book Online Page A

deadly serious about her lessons. When she wasn't speaking, she pursed her lips together in a way that reminded me of a bird's beak. Her hair was always pulled back so tightly that it made my head hurt just to look at it.
    "Kin-der!" she would bark, cracking our desks in time to the rhythm of the words with the ruler she carried.
    "Kin-der!" we repeated, as her little bird eyes darted among us, trying to catch someone mispronouncing the word.
    Franziska grasped the German language quickly and easily, and she appeared to enjoy the lessons. The words rolled effortlessly off her tongue as her eyes shone up at Fräulein Schmitt.
    She was eager to point out mistakes made by the other girls in their pronunciation of German words. When someone misspoke, her hand would quickly rise high in the air.
    "Yes, Franziska," the teacher would call on her, and I would know what was to come.
    "Excuse me," she would say, in her beautiful German. "I do not believe that is entirely correct." And she would go on to point out the correct formation of the words or the exact inflection of the German accent.
    "Yes, yes, Franziska. You are such a good student!" The teacher would praise her immensely.
    And Franziska was always right. She worked hard to master this new language and received constant praise from all the teachers. In this place she was admired and respected by adults for her complete devotion to the rules and her critical eye. Other girls began to notice this favored status. Some even started to sit next to her in an attempt to receive the same special attention.
    Unlike Franziska, I had a difficult time mastering the German words and phrases. My mind was muddled, trying to place the new words next to the old ones I had grown up speaking. Nothing, new or old, seemed to fit together anymore.
    One night, after a very hard day of language les
sons, I burst into tears of frustration. "I hate this language. I hate German. I hate the Nazis!" I cried softly in the dark from my cot.
    "Eva," Franziska said quietly from her own cot. "German is the Aryan language, the true language."
    "But..." My words trailed off as I saw the night guard pass by the door on her rounds. I closed my eyes and pretended to sleep, deciding not to finish what I had started to say—that neither of us was Aryan or German.
    ***
    Heidi, the little girl who had arrived with her sister, was struggling even more than I was. One hot day in August, during language lessons, Fräulein Schmitt gave us a ten-minute break away from studies. Everyone was sweaty and tired from the long drills. The windows were open and several fans were on, but only hot air circulated. We were all feeling irritable and short-tempered.
    Heidi and her sister, Elsa, were seated at their desks. Across from them sat two girls who bunked near them, Siegrid and Gerde. All four were discussing ways to keep cool. Gerde and Siegrid were arguing that fans did not help when it got too hot. Heidi and Elsa argued that they did.
    "The blades of a fan don't cool the air. They just move it around," Gerde said in near-perfect German. Fräulein Schmitt, who had been listening from across the room, smiled.
    "Nein. The air moves faster with a fan, and that cools it," Elsa argued. Her German sounded almost as good as Gerde's, and she, too, got a smile from the teacher. Heidi sat at her desk wiggling with impatience and eager to join the conversation with her own thoughts. But when she spoke, she used words I could not understand. Everyone in the room stopped what they were doing and looked at her. Franziska actually stood up from her desk, gaping at Heidi with wide eyes.
    Heidi had spoken in Polish.
    "Heidi!" Fräulein Schmitt snapped to attention. Her eyes latched onto the small girl like a hawk that had found its prey. No one else in the room moved. Fräulein Schmitt walked purposefully to Heidi, lifted her from the chair by her arm, and, as everyone watched, lifted her skirt and pulled down her underwear. With