His wife

>don't make the same mistakes twice<

2nd of June 1943
Auschwitz-Birkenau, Nazi-Germany

''Are you sure you can carry this all by yourself?'' The shop owner asks me in a concerned manner as he sees how I desperately try to balance all the things I have bought. ''Not really but I'll do my best.'' My answer sounds very gently as I take all these bags and things and leave the shop without ever having greeted anyone in the way that is expected from me.

''May I ask for what you need all this stuff, Mrs Mengele?'' One of the two young SS-men asks me as he takes some of the bags out of my arms. Rankwise they are quite below Josef and therefore he can give them orders and his particular order was to help me shopping.

Both of these tall grown boys weren't too excited about having to carry bags but to me it seems that to follow every order no matter how ridiculous, is something that they got thaugh in the Hitler youth (HJ). ''Of course you may, all of this stuff is needed for basic needs.'' My answer gets both of these men to raise an eyebrow as I get into the car.

''For which basic need do you use a ballet barr?'' The other one asks as he starts the engine of the car.
''Happiness.''

The ride back to Auschwitz takes about half an hour which they spent smoking, something I tolerate because we sit in a car without a top and also because I don't want to seem impolite. Meanwhile I just watch the bit of normality I can see before we get closer to where the black clouds come from.

Despite the sun shining even above this place, it still has a dark atmosphere and the sunlight really seems out of place. But everything seems inappropriate together with  this context.

Before we turn the last corner to the entrance, both men throw their cigarettes away which makes me mad. Though I think it perfectly shows that these Nazis do not care about the ground they ruin with their behaviour and even sheer existance.

''Passport.'' The guards says to me but not to the men in front of me. Obviously not to them, they wear the right uniform. As long as there is a skull on the hat, he would never doubt whether they belong here or not.

Meanwhile I wear a rather summery hat over my red hair and a dress instead of a uniform, so I show him my passport quite gladly. You see, to be thought of as not a Nazi makes me feel a bit better and I know that for my mission it would be better to seem otherwise. Though I must admit that I don't see anything which could really go wrong now that I am already here and thereby pretty secure with my mission.

This man just nods as he reads my passport, it's real one because after marrying Josef, I had to make a new one. These Germans really did replace my fake passport with a real one and never hesitated for a second, never questioned if I really am who I said I was. It's probably noticable within my words that I am truly proud of this fact, though my morality makes me feel bad for being proud about lying. It's simply doesn't match my faith.

As we pass the gate one of the men fulfills his next order as he instructs me to keep my eyes either down or closed. And I choose to close them, though after I hear him turn back around, I open them widely and immediately start staring around in every direction and thereby also turning my body.

On some byways I see men walk in their uniforms and staring at the humans behind the wire like they were not even humans, like even an ant was worthier of life.
Old women, old men, children and even toddlers are just standing in a line before one of the buildings where the black smock originates from. Though I still don't know why. On the other side I see more people who just stare at me quite mean as we pass by.

Of course they do, while they suffer I have the audacity to sit here dressed like I'd be having fun. Staring at them with both a child's innocence and also curiosity. I feel an instant guilt as I watch their misery and while turning around again, the corners of my mouth falls furthermore down. Out of reflex I shut my eyes and sit back normally after glaring there for just a moment.