Melodies of War

As Tchaikovsky’s lullaby grew in tempo and the forte approached, the sirens of the bombs still overpowered the symphony. The stage mimicked an earthquake, and the aftershock was a chorus of wailing. Still, I spun upon the stage with grace that triumphed fear. 

Performing was my passion and ballet soothed my soul.  I would often sneak out in the middle of the night climbing out of the back window. Our building consisted of eight stories, and everyone on the block knew everything about everyone. We were located on the outer boundaries of Rogoźnica, where the population of eight hundred and fifty-six, soon to be fifty seven with the birth of my little sister, formed a miniscule speck in a world of chaos. So, a few nights a week I would inch down the side of the fire escape, avoiding the searchlights and aggravated hearts of the gestapo. The theatre was in Torun, or the town square, which to my luck, crawled with gestapo soldiers. As the depiction of a young Jewish girl, I had a target on my back, screaming for attention to be brought to my hooked nose, droopy eyelids, and dark hair. I was proud of my appearance, and as a human being, I did not understand why we were all scolded with such pure anger. Avoiding these soldiers meant using a technique which few people are able to master with such grace and foot cramping — ballet. Each tiptoe inched me closer to the theater, somehow avoiding an immediate bullet to the head for yearning to ballonné under a spotlight, rather than a searchlight. I was a success, envisioning a standing ovation for this abnormal talent, opening the back window of Slowacki Theatre. The scent of broken-in shoes, dust buildup, and nerves hung in the air of the ruins. However, before me stood a six-foot platform with the power to make even a girl like me feel superior, for once in my life. Upon the stage I began to glide, manipulating each arabesque, jete, and fouette to decode a difficult, yet beautiful melody of movements in my cardboard and cotton-stuffed pointe-shoes. 

One night, my efforts to stay hidden failed me, for a young boy crept in through the window behind me. This boy was coming of age, with golden locks and crystal eyes that reflected the deep sea. In any girls book, Stefan was the man of their dreams. A match had more mass than him, yet he held himself together with a manor suited for royalty. However, he was virtually untouchable for girls like me, because he came from a long line of powerful Nazis; even though a forbidden relationship would make a lovely version of Romeo and Juliet. Then, for about two weeks, Stefan continued to creep in the theatre's entrance, and watch me float across the stage, slowly falling in love with the care-free, Jewish girl he saw on those dark nights. He was not trained to move gracefully though, so one night, the commotion of fallen coat racks and bones made my short life flash before my eyes. 

“Please, do not be startled,” Stefan timidly reassured me, inching closer to my refuge. I knew that if I ran, it would not make a difference, for before me stood impending doom, personified as Stefan Anacker. 

“Please, do not take me with the rest...I was rehearsing before the sun came up.” Nothing can express the way I felt that night, with a chill so deep into my frail bones, and the darkness that filled my eyes when I saw the loaded gun anxiously dangling below his waist.

“Something tells me you do not know who I am.”

“Well, of course I do.” I instantly regretted the words coming out of my mouth, yet a waterfall of nervous rambling started to pour out. However, I cannot recall the gibberish I spoke that night.

“Calm down, calm down.” Stefan reassured me with urgency. “I know this may come as a surprise, but I have been watching your nightly performances for weeks now, and I could not help but notice a beautiful girl like yourself.”

“You’re not like the rest, are you?” His blonde hair and blue eyes disguised a kind heart and true resistance against the Nazi regime. 

Those words kicked off the beginning of a beautiful teen romance; one that I would admire from outside the entertainment store- behind the designated area, of course. Each night we resumed our private affair, where I taught him to dance in return for an audience of one, and the feeling of belonging. The moon was an alarm for the curtains to be drawn, and the applause of my one spectator comforted me during the trials of daylight. 

“Bravo, my love...How about an encore?”

“You know I have a mathematics exam tomorrow, and my mother must attend her interview with the gestapo, so I have to watch Elida.” My baby sister had been born, and her eyes reflected an entire life ahead of her; hopefully one that lacked bondage and discrimination. 

“Oh, the things I would do to be with you when the sun is out,” Stefan yearned flirtingly. 

We often exchanged glances during check-ins, census tallies, and support rallies, yet the dystopia I lived in created a barrier between a public relationship. Perhaps I spoke too soon, for I would soon be by his side, fighting for my life. 

The light stroking of my mother’s gentle fingertips woke me one morning, but her expression shone of urgency. 

“Wake up Claudia...They are coming to gather our valuables.”

“Oh mama, please do not let them take my shoes.” Mother had warned me that the gestapo was ruthless in taking what they found valuable, and I feared they would take my satin shoes, or heed them as a reminder to lock the theatre completely. 

“Not to worry...They will head straight for the spoons, father’s eyeglasses, or the set of dining chairs,” she spoke with a certain reluctance in her voice, as if she knew the worst was yet to come. I knew this tone yet failed to react to ensure her comfort.

“But mama, what if they see how the light hits them, or the way I stitched the ribbon to fit me?”

“I’m sur-”

“Mama, what if one of them has a daughter like me, and she wants them to dance?”

“Well then, Claudia, at least you know they’re going to a dancer like yourself.”

“Mama?...Are you scared too?”.

“There’s nothing to worry about Claudia...please watch Elida today,” she changed the topic of conversation, ignoring the fact that I could read her like my own diary.

Again, the moon rose above our town that night, but this time, I was not on my way to the theatre, but on the train into the unknown, not only missing my ballet shoes, but also my mother and little sister. Around me stood a frail-looking crowd, stripped of nutrients and anxious for doom. 

“Excuse me sir? Do you know where we are being taken?”

“I imagine they’re taking us to the farm, considering we are packed like livestock into this freight.”

“Perhaps you’ve seen my mother and sister?...They were first taken after the repossession of valuables.”

“No, I am sorry...Everyone blends together like cattle, and I lost my daughter as well.” His complexion reflected doom, and none of us were safe. 

“Geh raus! Folge mir!.” The soldier told us to follow him out of the train, pulling our limbs like kids do to their dolls. 

“Ow…Watch it!” All attention turned towards me, and for the first time in my life, I wanted none of it.

“What is your name, Miss?”

“Claudia Baum…Now, I do not know where I am, but please tell me where my mother is.” I believe I surprised everyone that day, for the silence grew so loud, I could hear the drum of my own heart.

“Ah, Claudia Baum...I do not know who you are, but you will now be given the name, 140603,” What animal would be so cruel, as to name a person by numbers?

“Bewegung! Claudia, follow me!” he said with pure anger, as if he was possessed by the devil himself.

As we entered the mundane lot, a sign hung above the entrance which read “Auschwitz-Birkenau”. The air reeked of an unfamiliar smell, almost like the burning of flesh, and the clouds created a layer so thick, I feared there would not be enough oxygen for the bulk of us to survive. In the middle were blocks 1 through 20, where I soon found would house over a hundred people on each floor. On the right side sat three towers pointing towards the heavens, releasing toxic fumes. Certain nights, I swear I heard the near silent screams of children and the echoes of “Mommy, help!” Overtime, I began to develop the perfect ballerina figure, as we were rarely fed, and my face grew gaunt and lost it’s glow. I still had not seen my mother and sister, which took away any residual appetite, and replaced it with fear. However, I was found by the one person who would understand and perhaps rescue me from that prison. Stefan was a fresh import to Auschwitz, and from the start, he did not belong. I saw him as my block was going through health-check. He was deciding whether the women were healthy enough to be kept for work, or sent away due to severe illness or weight loss. No one had to be Sherlock to see the tears in Stefan’s eyes as he diagnosed the poor women with dysentery or typhus, and the look of guilt he displayed when he marked their names with a black “x”, sending them to burn or shower in doom. I had grown so weary in the camp, that I prayed that I too would be taken to a place of peace once again; peace six feet under. But when he saw me that day, something in him snapped. In a hurry, he got up from his resting place, and pulled me aside, still acting as if he was completing a health-check. 

“Oh, Claudia! I am so sorry, my love.”

“Take me with the rest Stefan...I cannot bear it anymore,” I pleaded with true pain.

“Claudia don’t sa-”

“They took my mother and Elida...They took my ballet slippers...They took everything from me Stefan.”

“Mark my words, I will burn this camp down before anything happens to you.” I knew he did not have enough power to do anything of the sorts, but oh how this love soothed my soul.

“Please tell them to take me instead of my mother and Elida.”

“No one will hurt any of you.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

Yet promises in Auschwitz were always broken. Less than a week later as I was walking to the mess hall, I saw the mutated versions of my mother, hair half-shaved and a meatless body, and my baby sister, who had been chosen for experimenting. Our eyes locked and said goodbye, and both were placed into the showers, where their muffled screams made no sound over the groaning of a mournful nation. I had no more tears in my body. My heart grew stone cold and lost its humanity by the minute, 

“You made a promise Stefan!....They’re gone now!”

“I tried, but I am no match to them. They began to catch on...saving you is my priority now, whatever it takes.”

“How can I trust you?”

“Follow me.”

He took me below the bunkers and I trailed slightly behind, out of breath and strength. A single chair and blanket was set up behind the make-shift walls, and he pointed in excitement. 

“Here is your new home. I will be down here 3 times a day to bring food, water, and see how you are doing”.

“Are you sure no one will find me down here?”

“Yes I am sure...I used to play down here as a little boy, and no one could ever find me.”

“I love you, Stefan.”

“Always,” he replied with a smirk. 

“I will repay you one day..”

“No need...just make it out alive.”

For months I hid below the barricades, where the only things keeping me sane were Stefan’s check-ins and the music in my head, which moved my body inside the cell I inhabited. Although I was weak and frail, the strength I had left held together pirouettes and brought peace to a shell of a human. I danced with grief for my mother. I danced with a broken heart for Elida. I danced with hope for Stefan. My legs moved with passion for a nation, betrayed, massacred, and undeserving of pure cruelty. While everyone above me yelled “Heil, mein Führer!”, my mind screamed for revenge and a symphony sang in response to the piles of bodys that lay motionless, gone with no goodbye. 

One day, Stefan stopped coming, which to me indicated terrible news. Perhaps he was on an important job — as if anything was important in the camp — or had to deal with business. In any case, I built up enough strength to use the techniques I used to perform in order to get to the theatre, and ventured out into the plain of terror above. I knew that if I was caught, I would be shot on the spot, or tortured for information. However, my blood boiled in fear of losing Stefan too. At first, it seemed that I was alone, and I tip-toed behind the walls of the blocks, punched by the smell of death. Somehow, I reached a dead-end where a group of soldiers were rallied around one of their own.

“Du Verräter...Erschieß ihn jetzt!”, they chanted towards the traitor ceremoniously.

“Nein, bitte...No please,” the boy responded. I knew that voice, and my heart sank immediately. There struggled Stefan, fighting to remove the noose around his neck, and choking with every breath. 

“Drei, zwei, eins.” After the count of three, the echo of a gunshot hung in the air, and Stefan’s corpse dangled heavily, waiting to be disposed of with the rest. My only redeeming factor was executed in front of my very eyes, and I was the reason why. No! I could not blame anyone but the camp killers that managed to wipe out nations on nations of innocent souls. Tears poured down my face as I ran towards isolation, forgetting any sense of discretion; just running for my life. 

No one heard me that night. It brought back memories of my previous life of innocence and prosperity. However, it motivated me to survive for everyone who had passed before me. So I hid, I danced, I hummed the melodies of great composers. At night, I would rummage through the pantry shelves invisibly, easily collecting the week’s meals behind the band of drunken barbarians. Through the pain, I survived. 

Our Soviet deliverers entered the camp in 1945, and with gratitude, I fled to safety from Poland, to Moscow, and finally to New York, to pursue the universal dream. There I began a new life, working towards the passion I held so dearly, and leaping across the most prestigious stages that I only dreamed of. My name was broadcasted upon flashing marquees, and I overflowed with ballet shoes. With time, I achieved freedom and my dream, not for myself, but for the nation that backed my pursuit; an innocent nation persecuted by hateful hearts. Each performance I dedicated to my mother, Elida, and my love, and I believe they were there with me. My family also grew, as I married a man who reminded me of Stefan’s selflessness and bravery. Together we raised three children, once with the name Elida in honor of my beautiful sister, and educated them in equality, and the benefits of having a purely good heart.

Today, I stand back in the walls of Auschwitz; somewhere I swore to burn to the ground. Tears pour from my mournful heart, debating between anger and grief. I turn the corner and see a pile of shoes, overwhelming every viewer with a solemn stench. On top sits a pair of familiar ash-covered ballet slippers. The slippers I had lost so many years ago return with vengeance as an emblem of the courage of passion.