His wife

>not too late<

1st of April 1944

Auschwitz-Birkenau, Nazi-Germany

After another deep breath, I try once more. With eyes narrowing in focus, I look at this graphic as if only by looking at it the answers would come to me. ''This big first part is called the frontal lobe, then this is the...cerebral cortex, this is the...'' Eventually I fall completely silent as I notice that my brain won't contain the names of each brain part. Though considering for how many hours I studied, that actually doesn't surprise me at all. Therefore I helplessly close the book and look up at the clock; only reading the time gives me an useful idea.

If I went to him now and asked him to help me, he would probably hesitate but agree eventually. He still has two hours of 'work' ahead of him, meanwhile I see this time as another possibility to safe up to four lives. So despite knowing that only leaving this flat will give me anxiety and getting into his office a panic attack, I do so out of crying duty.

The second I step outside I keep my eyes down on the muddy ground, not daring  to raise my head, not daring to breath in the smell of death. It's not that I could shut my eyes before this truth, I also wouldn't want to, though the mere sight of this hell would makes me cry a river. Another one that is.

At the beginning of this... phase of woe for me, Josef patiently sat beside me each time and tried to calm me down, though by now he seems annoyed by my regular outbursts of emotions. He doesn't understand why this would effect me as deeply as it does and he surely doesn't want to understand it either.

Any sort of empathy or the slightest sign of a conscious would be in the way of his 'scientific' journey. Meanwhile I question if he can even care, after all he seems to care about me, but why not about others? It just makes no sense to me. Yet despite those thoughts of mine, the situation between us hasn't got worse and he is convinced that I love him still while knowing of his greatest sin. Next to that, the sin of keeping me as his wife is an utterly innocent one.
_

"Liebes." His tone sounds surprised as he lays his eyes upon me, though I immediately check through this room with the exact glance of an jealous wife. You know, the sort of glance that would even find an eyelash on a black coat and know that it's not hers. But I'm not looking for that, I look for blood stains, for children in the room and for a far too satisfied expression on his face. But that's not what I find in this room today.

Instead of those things, I find him standing proudly like Napoleon while having a glass of water in his hand and a man who is sitting at Josef's desk to write notes. The other man might wear a white coat, but where Josef has the collar of his SS-uniform showing, this man wears the stripped prisoner clothes. Therefore this picture makes no sense to me. But I'm just glad to see that this man is not lying on the table where I once saw a set of twins one. A memory that haunts me every time Josef's eyes meet mine.

"Am I interrupting you two?" My question couldn't have sounded more innocent and only hearing that draws a wide grin onto his lips. In his eyes I mustn't have changed a bit, though if he were to narrate this story, my story, I would not advice you to believe a word of it. "You never are. May I introduce you to an helper of mine? Number 38927. And you, Soviet, have the honour to meet my wife."

The word 'Soviet' leaves his mouth like a spit, as if it was dirt. What doesn't help this image is that during the last part of his comment, he slaps the shoulder of this man as if he were a stubborn donkey. This action gives the man, who didn't dare to look up, permission to look at me. Though I have to focus on biting my tongue so that I don't complain about him introduce this man as a number and not a human.

"It's a pleasure Mrs Mengele." His German is broken due to a strong Russian accent and now I strongly squeeze my hands behind my back. This man might know who I am. After all they did nothing to change my appearance and I frankly think that he must know me because he said 'Mrs Mengele' as if he knew he spoke a lie.

"Hello." Drops out of my mouth before I try to focus on why I am standing here. "Could you please leave with me now? I'm stuck with studying the brain for hours and I can't seem to memorize a thing. Therefore I really need your help." He sips the rest of water out of the glass while listening to me and with a smile on his lips he places it down on the desk.

Before he opens his mouth I know that he will agree, he loves helping me because he knows very well that I am helpless. He put me in this post after all, he brought me here in utter isolation knowing far too well that I couldn't leave him. "Sure Liebes, let me just give this folder to a colleague and then we'll go." Elegantly he picks up the folder the another man just wrote in and kisses me quickly before leaving.

The fact that he is in such a good mood is concerning, though the shattering of glass rips me out of my thoughts. This man kneels down to the ground immediately to pick up the broken pieces and I get down on my knees as well to help him. "Thank you." He sounds very nervous while I toss pieces I have in my hands into the bin under the desk.

"You-" He starts to speak but stops as I turn to look into his eyes. The constant biting of his lip and the glance in his eyes prove that he is nervous. Some moments ago I thought it's because of Josef but now I get a quite different impression.

"Ты говоришь по русски? (Do you speak Russian?)" And the second I nod, he confirms my former theory. "Ты Анастасия Махимовна Сталина, да? (You are Anastasia Maximovna Stalin, right?) The daughter of comrade Maxim Nabokov and wife of Stalin's son?"

Now we both are nervous but for different reasons. I fear his next words, I get chills hearing anyone speak my mother tongue after years and especially while knowing I'd be doomed if Josef entered now.

"Да. Меня Анастасия Сталина и Василий Сталин мой муж. (Yes, I am Anastasia Stalina and Vasily Stalin is my husband." Only stating this fact in the language that is true to me feels like I just regained a part of myself again. And at least partly the hint of confidence I used to have.

"Он дал мне письмо для тебя. (He gave me a letter for you.)" The second I hear this the broken pieces fall out of my hands onto the ground again. Could this be true? Is this the light at the end of an dark tunnel that others talk about? Is this really happening?

"Василий, мой Василий? (Vasily, my Vasily?)" With big eyes I stare at this man while he reaches into the back of his prisoner's clothing to reveal an actual letter.

"Да. (Yes.)" He confirms himself once more while I rip this letter out of his hands. On the one side it actually has my name written on it and the handwritten, the capital A, it seems like Vasily's. It must be. Which means he hasn't forgotten about me, he hasn't died! He lives!

With a bright smile I hide the letter under my dress. "Ты его видел? Oн здоров? (You saw him? Is he well?)" The man has a small smile on his face as he hears the clear enthusiasm in my voice.

"Да, и он очень скучает по тебе. (Yes and he misses you very much.)" Before I can speak yet another word and thank him, Josef enters the room and tells me that we can go.

During our walk home we have some small talk, though he mostly talks while I still can not believe that this is possible and real. Whatever is written inside this letter could either break the broken pieces of my heart furthermore, or be the hand that pulls me out of this sorrow.

The second we enter the flat, I excuse myself to the bathroom and open this letter very tenderly, careful to not crease the paper.

_________________________________________

My dear Anastasia,

I know that you didn't expect to hear from me until the war ended, but I can't bear it any longer. It is dreadful to see comrades die next to me one by one, it is tiring to hear father even mention war and it is sheer torture to be separated from you.

So let's do it. Let's run away, as far away as the world allows us to. I know that you will be scared reading this, it is a bold plan, but I beg you to leave this personal battle field behind as will I and let's get lost somewhere far way from war, our fathers and these damn Nazis.

Meet me in Berlin on the 21st of July 1944, in a Café called Kabale und Liebe. I count on you to come and I promise I'll explain all of this once I see you.

I love you Anastasia and I always will.

Sincerely, your loving husband,
Vasily

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