The Diplomat's Wife Read Free

filled, except the one beside me. Several women dressed in white move briskly between them.
    Dava returns a few minutes later carrying a tray, an older man with thick glasses in tow. He picks up my wrist with one hand and touches my forehead. Then he lifts the blanket and reaches for the corner of my gown. Surprised, I recoil.
    Dava sets down the tray on the empty bed behind her and steps forward. “He just needs to examine the wound to make sure it is healing properly.” I relax slightly and let the doctor lift my gown, trying not to feel his cold, unfamiliar hands as they press on my stomach. Then he pulls the gown back farther, revealing the wound. I am surprised to see fresh stitches along the incision line. “They had to operate again when you first arrived here,” Dava explains. “There was a piece of bullet still inside you and you had developed an infection.” I nod. In prison I often wondered why my side still ached so long after the Nazis operated on me. Now, not long after the second surgery, it already feels much better.
    The doctor replaces my gown and turns to Dava, speaking to her in German too brisk and accented for me to comprehend. Then he hurries away. “He said you’re healing really well. And that you should try to eat something. Are you hungry?” Before I can answer, Dava picks up a bowl from the tray behind her. “Soup,” she announces brightly. I sit up slowly and this time she does not stop me, but brings the bowl close under my chin. A rich aroma wafts upward. Nausea rises in me and a cold sweats break out on my forehead. Noticing, Dava sets the bowl down on the table and picks up a cup and saucer from the tray. “Let’s just start with some tea.”
    I swallow, my stomach calmer now. “I can hold it.”
    Dava hands me the cup and I take a sip. The liquid is lukewarm and soothing to my throat. Cradling the cup in both hands, I look upward. The ceiling is high and decorated with a pattern of some sort. I squint to try to make it out.
    “This used to be a formal dining room,” Dava explains. “The whole camp is housed on the grounds of Schloss Leopoldskron, which was one of the Hapsburg palaces. The Nazis confiscated it from its previous owners, and we took it from them. The palace is very beautiful, as are the grounds. I’ll give you a tour when you are well enough.”
    “Thank you.” I take another sip of tea.
    Dava points upward. “If you look there, you can see the Baroque influence. The detail is really quite extraordinary.”
    “I can’t…” I begin, then hesitate. “That is, I can’t see it.”
    “What do you mean?” Dava’s voice is heavy with concern. “Did the Nazis do something? A blow to the head, perhaps? Or did you fall?”
    I shake my head. “Nothing like that,” I reply quickly, though of course they had struck me in the head many times. “It’s just that I am very nearsighted. And my glasses were confiscated when I was arrested.”
    “Oh, my goodness, why didn’t you say something? We have a whole boxful of glasses in the supply room.” What happened to their former owners? I wonder. Dava continues, “As soon as you’ve finished eating, I’ll bring you a few pairs to try out. Now, let’s give the soup another go.” She takes the teacup from me and puts it back on the tray, then picks up the bowl once more. My stomach rumbles with anticipation. I swallow the first mouthful Dava spoons for me, savoring the warm, salty broth as it runs down my throat. Neither of us speak as she feeds me a second spoonful, then a third. “Let’s slow down for a minute and see how that sits,” she says.
    I open my mouth to start to protest. It is the first fresh food I have tasted in months and I do not want to stop. But I know that she is right. I lean back and look around the ward. “I’ve been wondering, the rest of the room looks so crowded, but there is no one here.” I gesture to the empty bed beside my own.
    “You mean, why are you being kept separate