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WHO ARE YOU REALLY ? By Geneva An SS guard at a concentration camp undergoes a transformation spell cast by an old woman prisoner and is changed to a woman. She tries to make use of her new body as a disguise to escape retribution. Note: This is an ugly story, about an ugly character, in ugly times! It begins in the final days of WWII, about a week or so earlier to my story "Tit for Tat", and at the same location, a Nazi concentration camp in Germany. START Along with the other guards, I watched as the train approached the camp gates and the unloading area. The May morning was slightly frosty and we continually had to stamp our boots to keep the circulation going. Or was it tension at seeing another load of the miserable prisoners arrive? At least the cool air kept the stench from the camp down. The commandant had told us the train was from another camp in Eastern Europe and that it might be the last one. I wondered why the higher-ups were making the effort of bringing prisoners all the way across Europe at this desperate stage of the war, probably its last days, until I remembered that the Russians were pouring in from the East. Himmler and his underlings would probably be still trying to hide their extermination policies, even at this time. Maybe it was a last attempt to get rid of the evidence, I supposed. Despite what that little weasel Goebbels still spouted, it was painfully obvious to all but a few of us guards that the Third Reich was finished and that the war was almost over. Occasionally too, the sound of distant artillery fire was in the air and we even heard rumors that the British or Americans were only a few kilometers away from the camp. We had heard too that in the east the Russians had penetrated even as far as Berlin. Nazi Germany was in its death throes and yet here a train was arriving from Eastern Europe with another group of prisoners! I looked over the barbed wire fences into the camp. I wondered if there was even room for them. Fresh arrivals would have to be just crammed in among the sick and dying and the corpses lying everywhere. Probably our leaders intended to drive as many to destruction as they could, along with them, I thought cynically. The years of war and my own wound had taken their effect on me. I would die too unless I did something about it. Over the last weeks, as calamitous news had followed more calamitous news, I had begun to think of my own future. I had been raised on a farm but when I left school I had got some work in a small machine shop. I was good at the work and seemed to have a knack of fixing things but, still full of what they had told us in the Hitler youth, I had joined the Waffen SS even before the beginning of the war. Full of Nazi zeal and swayed by Hitler's oratory, I had sworn an oath of loyalty to him, like all SS. I felt it no longer! My time in the SS had started well. I had been unscathed in the fighting through the beginning of the war, in Poland, then France, but in 1942 I had been badly wounded on the Eastern front, leaving me with a right leg that was some centimeters shorter than the other. Still, the Reich had more work for me, and I was sent to this camp and, in my time here, I had helped to run it and in the elimination of tens of thousands. But, oath of loyalty or not, I had become disillusioned with our leader and the progress of the war and it was time to think of preserving my own skin. The Americans and British would be horrified at the evidence of mass killing and take revenge on all of those responsible, however slightly connected. It was time I got out. Just that morning I had flinched at a roar from the sky as several Typhoon fighter bombers of the Royal Air Force roared overhead, almost skimming the treetops, with absolutely no sign of any Luftwaffe opposition. The sight of the aircraft finally decided me that I had to make a fast getaway. Months earlier, orders had come all the way from Himmler to destroy any evidence of the camps. A foolish hope; there was just too much. The ovens had run out of fuel. It would have taken a small army and much more time than we had available to remove the corpses, fill in the pits and destroy all evidence. Besides, armies, even small ones, were just not possible at this stage of the war. They only existed in Hitler's delusional imagination. Unfortunately for the camp guards, there would be enough prisoners left alive, even starving ones, in the camps to identify us. So, over the last few weeks since the Americans crossed the Rhine I had some plans underway. I had fixed up an old bicycle and hidden it away in a small shed under some low trees just a few hundred meters outside the camp, along with a set of civilian clothes that I had gradually and quietly filched from the mound of dead prisoners' clothing. There was so much of it, just lying around in haphazard piles, that anything missing would never have been noticed. I watched as the locomotive came round the last slight bend in the track, slowed down only a few hundred meters from the camp and then finally stopped at the platform with a jolt. With shouted orders from our commandant we immediately unlocked the doors of the cattle cars, rolled them open and ordered out the miserable human cargo. I screwed up my face at the stench. Along with two other guards I had been assigned to clean out the cattle cars. The cowed, frightened group, all women, climbed out at our orders and we herded them into a file with whips and our snarling dogs. I checked into the car. About a third of the cargo had not moved and were lying in a pile, dead from cold or hunger, I guessed. It looked as if they were all frozen stiff. We would have to assign some of the healthier prisoners to clear the car out and cart the corpses off to the pits. Then, over the next half hour, we got the other cars unloaded and the survivors driven to just outside the camp gates. Many began crying and screaming when they saw the existing signs of death before them inside the camp. Others made little sound, inured by days of privation and horror. For some strange reason the locomotive released a cloud of steam. "Stop that, you fool!" I shouted to the stupid driver. The white plume would make it stick out against the gray green landscape. Then, above the sound of the moans and the shuffling feet I heard a sudden high-pitched screaming, a woman's voice. It was difficult to make out where it came from at first until I spotted an old woman push out from under the corpses in the first cattle car and stand at the door, holding up something in her hand and screaming at the top of her voice. By her darker features she looked as if she was a Gypsy. I wondered what she was screaming at. The sounds made no sense either. They were certainly not German and did not even sound Hungarian or Czech, not that I knew much of these languages. One of the female guards screamed at the woman to stop but if anything her voice became louder. It was getting on my nerves. Another male guard pushed his way through the throng to get to the woman to stop her, but there were too many in the way. Finally I lost patience. I raised my rifle and simply shot her in the head to shut her up. She fell out into the midst of the other prisoners. If she was not dead already she was probably crushed under foot as they were herded away. Two guards pushed through to the corpse, examined it and dragged it to the side as the rest of the prisoners were driven through the camp gates. One of them held something up. It looked like a little book with a dirty yellow cover. The woman had been clutching it as she screamed at us. I shrugged. I certainly did not know what to do with it. I saw him throw it onto the corpse. I had just checked to see if there were any more prisoners were still hiding in the cattle cars when I heard the approaching drone of more aircraft. I cowered as this time four aircraft roared over barely above our heads. I recognized them as American P47's from their huge radial engines. They must have been attracted to us by the steam from the locomotive. I hoped they would ignore us, but my stomach tightened as they climbed a little then banked through the broken clouds and swung right round, coming directly towards us. There was no time to run and, like the other guards, I just threw myself to the ground under a cattle truck waiting for their machine guns to rip us apart. I saw flashes from their wings and heard the bullets whistling overhead, hitting the cattle car and splintering its wood just above me but then there were streaks from under the wing of the leading aircraft. Seconds later two rockets hit the locomotive and it blew apart in a cloud of steam and flame. The other cattle cars behind were unaffected. All of the guards, myself included, still cowered on the ground until the roar of the aircraft engines faded away. The locomotive was a total wreck, even blown off the rails. The locomotive driver, half flayed by steam, was screaming on the ground. In the confusion, I decided it was finally time to slip away from the camp. I slid back under the wrecked cattle car and over a small fence and ran at a crouch with my half hopping, half limping gait the two or three hundred meters to the shed. It took only a minute to get on to the bicycle I had hidden there and in less than two minutes later I was over a small rise and away from the camp. When I was well out of sight I stripped off my black SS uniform and put on the shabby civilian clothes. I buried the SS uniform under some rubble, although I had some regret at leaving the high black boots. I wondered about my gun. It could be useful if I was challenged, but it was SS issue and could identify me so I buried it too. I pedaled on for another five minutes. My heart jumped when I saw a staff car with two men in it with black uniforms, probably SS, come over another small rise, heading in the direction of the camp. I needed to be out of sight. I ran the bicycle off the road into an abandoned house and I crawled into it, pulling the bicycle after me. I watched, my fingers clenched in tension, as the car slowed down. I saw one officer peering into the house but then the car drove on. As the sound of its engine died away I felt a small shiver but I dismissed it as nervousness, I supposed, at the time. I took the chance to look round the building to see if there was anything I could use. I would need some food to begin with. I checked out the window. By this time it was afternoon so I decided I would wait until it was darker and then make for a small town about five kilometers away. I would have to be careful. My SS identification papers were buried with my uniform. If I was caught by police or military I could easily be executed as a deserter. The blood group tattooed on my arm when I joined the Waffen SS would identify me if I were searched. Maybe there was a small chance that without any papers they would believe that I was a refugee. It would be common enough for refugees from bombed out cities to have lost papers. I had thought long about an excuse if I were ever caught. I decided I would say that I was Heinz Schulz, a simple workman from Hamburg. Hamburg had been so devastated by bombing that many of its records had been obliterated. I looked round the kitchen of the house. There was little food, only the remnants of some flour that looked as if it was half sawdust and some dried brown things that I decided were shriveled potatoes. I put them in my pockets anyway. I felt another shiver over me and I cursed. The last thing I needed at this point was a fever. I was about to start out of the door when I had yet another violent shiver and I had to sit down on the worn blankets of a bed. I started shivering again, this time violently. I tried to rise but my vision started blurring and I felt myself fall back on the bed. Some time later I began to be aware of things, and first of all, a dry and parched throat. From my dazed state and my aching body and limbs I decided I must have had a fever. I squinted at my hand. It also seemed smaller, somehow. My mind still in some confusion, I decided it was an illusion from an infection or a fever. I gasped with the effort as I tried to rise then realized that even my voice sounded different. My eyes still felt filled with sleep. I just wanted to go back to sleep, but I heard an approaching rumbling noise outside and I struggled up. Then I felt myself fall back. When I woke again, the sky was much lighter than I remembered. I must have slept for some time, at least a day. I hobbled over to the window to look out, my body feeling awkward, different somehow, and my chest feeling as if weights were attached to it. My feet got caught in the legs of my trousers when I moved. For some reason they were too long on me. The sun was in my eyes as I squinted out. I cringed when I saw two Sherman tanks rumble past. I stumbled back from the window over onto the bed. The British or Americans must have done a fast advance. I sucked in my breath. They would have discovered the camp and its terrible contents. I had escaped just in time. I was still tired and I lay face down on the bed for sometime, gradually being aware of a strange extra pressure on my chest. My rough shirt was rubbing against my chest in a strange way and irritating it. For some reason too the rest of my clothes seemed loose and did not fit properly either. I felt a growing need to relieve myself. My eyes still half closed, I fumbled with the fly on my trousers and reached in, but then there was nothing inside. Puzzled, I rubbed my eyes to clear them, opened the trousers more and looked down. There was nothing! My penis and the soft pouch below were entirely gone. Panicking, I felt further down and discovered only a vertical slit in soft flesh, like women had. I wondered if I was hallucinating. I pushed my fingers further down and discovered only a moist opening with folds of soft flesh. The shock jolted me wide-awake. Whimpering, in growing confusion, I pulled my trousers completely down, to see that it was not a hallucination. At the base of my belly there was hair, as before, but my penis and scrotum were gone entirely. If anything, it looked like the groin of a woman. Then I remembered that my chest had felt different. My panic rising each second, I tore off my jacket and shirt and pulled up my shirt. Somehow it seemed to catch on my chest. I screamed when I saw the reason. There were two half globes of breasts, woman's breasts, on my chest, each tipped by brown nipples and areolas. Still unwilling to believe my eyes I felt at them, testing them. They were firm, yet soft to my touch, the nipples at their tips especially. Worst, they were real, and on me! I was crying now and, adding to my terror, it was a woman's wail. I tore off the rest of my clothes, my horror growing as more and more parts of female anatomy were exposed. The greatest shock was when I bent over as much as I could to look at the base of my belly and between my legs. I had not imagined it. My male parts were completely gone. All I saw were the alien woman's parts. I felt in them, detecting only a slight moistness. I collapsed terrified, overwhelmed, keening in a shrill female tone then I remember no more. When I woke again, shivering in the chill, the sun was almost setting. I was still lying on the floor. I was aware too that my body had a rancid fevered smell. I desperately hoped it had been a dream, but when I mustered my courage to feel myself again, nothing had changed. I only found the slit at my crotch and the breasts still sitting on my chest. I sat up and I felt at the rest of my body. There was a small cracked mirror on a wall and I used it to examine my face. My jaw dropped. Facing me was a very attractive woman. She had a classically shaped oval face, with a pert nose and slightly prominent cheekbones, a small but firm chin. Her eyes were large beneath delicate eyebrows. They at least, were the same color as before. When I peered at the mirror I could see some of my previous appearance, but the face was totally female. The only trouble was that her chin and upper lip showed short stubble, like an unshaven man's. I opened my lips, now fuller. Even my teeth were whiter and more even. I ran my hands from my breasts to my waist and hips. Even my proportions were changed. I was shorter but it seemed that my hips were wider, yet my waist was slimmer. My arms were itching, and when I scratched them, the male hair broke and stripped from them. It was the same with my legs, the hair pulled easily from them, leaving them smooth as a girl's. When I rubbed at my chest, the hair stripped off, my belly too, so that I became as hairless as a woman. When I rubbed at my chin and upper lip, the stubble hair came off in tiny pieces. I needed to relieve myself again and staggered to a toilet in the house. I was forced to squat, like women do. I was so confused I could hardly think. By some horrible event I had been changed to a woman, and an attractive one. I bore little resemblance to my previous self. My head in my hands, bewildered, I wondered what could have caused it. It was like witchcraft but witchcraft was not supposed to exist. I wondered if other guards at the camp were similarly affected. I thought of the screams of the old woman, whether she had caused it, but she was dead and I dared not go back there. There were enough other screaming prisoners anyway. It could have been any of them. I still needed to get away. Then an idea came to me. I now bore absolutely no resemblance to what I had been. My new appearance would be a perfect disguise. No one would ever believe that I had been a male soldier in the SS. The drawback was that I was a woman and, with no apparent way of regaining my male body, I was stuck in this female body. It would mean having to learn to live as a woman. It would be difficult, but better than facing execution. I had no doubt that Germany's enemies would bring all involved in the camps to trial, if they did not just execute them out of hand. I pulled the male clothes on again, immediately aware when I checked my appearance that I just looked stupid. They were just too large for me. Even when I tried some string to pull them in they just hung about me. I looked like a scarecrow and I would stand out even among the most shabbily dressed of the population. I needed something else. I rummaged through the house. There were some children's clothes and in terrible condition. Finally I found a woman's dress, old, stained and with holes. Hesitating, I put it on over my male underwear. It was better than nothing although it felt very strange. There were even some women's boots. They were slightly too big for me and very old but they did not look quite as strange as the man's boots that I had been wearing. It was then that I discovered I was no longer limping. I pulled up the dress and looked at my legs. They were now the same length! When I examined the injured one I could see it still showed scars but they were hardly noticeable. Only a few fine white lines remained. By some strange means, whatever had changed me had also almost completely repaired my leg. I had another thought. I looked under my arm where I had been tattooed with my blood group. That had gone as well. The ink had disappeared and only a tiny white scar was left. That was one less way by which I could be identified. These effects compensated at least to some extent for the terrible effects of my transformation. At least I could walk a lot better and it was time to move on. If the Americans or British forces were in the area I did not want to try the roads so, that night, after a disgusting meal of the raw potatoes and water from a pitcher I set off across the fields to the town, abandoning the bicycle and keeping to hedges and bushes as much as possible. It was harder going than I had thought, even with my healed leg, and it had started to rain, chilling me and making the going over the fields difficult. I tripped several times on the wet surface. By the time dawn was breaking I was covered in mud and almost exhausted. Just to my left I saw a small farm and I made for that. As I struggled nearer I saw the buildings looked reasonably intact and there was even shed where I could probably shelter. But I was careless. I slipped in some mud in the farmyard and fell full length into it. I lay there in misery, trying to get the strength to raise myself when I felt a hand at my arm and an encouraging voice. It was an old woman. She was thin but there was a wiry strength to her. She helped me up to my knees then to my feet. All the time supporting me, she led me into the farmhouse and pushed me into a chair. "Sit here, fraulein," she commanded gently. There was a meager fire going in a wide fireplace and she threw some broken branches on it. I felt the welcoming warmth. Next, she thrust a cup to my hand. "Here, something warm!" I gulped it. It was coffee, ersatz stuff, but still, it tasted like nectar. I must have fallen asleep as the next thing I saw when I opened my eyes was the sun, high in the sky. There was a patched blanket over my dirty clothes. The woman was working at a sink but she had heard me stir and came over to me. "Ah, you are awake, fraulein. How do you feel now? Are you warm enough?" "Yes, thank you. I'm warm, but I still feel sore." She pulled up a stool and sat down beside me. "So, fraulein, how is it that you were wandering around in a miserable morning like it that? It is not that warm! It was raining too! And you'd better tell me your name. I am Frau Freda Bottcher. " I had to think fast. I could not tell her about me. The transformation story was just too fantastic and my previous identity needed to be hidden too. I remembered that we had heard of a bombing raid on Essen a few weeks before. "It is... Hildegarde," I said, "Hilde Giesinger." I had used a name of a girl I once knew. I pretended to be confused and shook my head slowly. "I don't know what happened," I whispered, as if in shock. "I was on a train. We had been evacuated from Essen after a bombing raid." I shook my head. "Then... I don't know what... I remember the train going through the night, then...." I shook my head. "The rest is blank. I woke up lying next to the train track. I was all alone. I knew I needed to get some shelter so I wandered about a bit then I saw your farm in the distance in the moonlight just before the rain started and I thought I would try that." "So, a refugee, from Essen. Yes, I heard it was badly bombed. Do you have relatives there?" "No, not now." I shook my head. "My family were all killed in an earlier raid. Our house was completely destroyed. I only had the clothes I am wearing." "And what happened to your hair? It's very short." My short military haircut was too obvious. I pretended to be embarrassed. "Uh, the first place I was in had an outbreak of lice and I was made to cut it all off." "Oh dear, you poor thing. Anyway, you should report yourself to the authorities, and see if you can get resettled somewhere." She shrugged. "Although I don't know when that is likely to happen. The whole administration has now gone. The whole country is broken. You've heard that Germany has just surrendered?" "I hadn't, but I'd expected it," I whispered. "What now?" "I'm not sure. All German government is completely gone. I'm sure that most of the senior government officials will be put under arrest. Lower functionaries will have to do as the enemy army or whosoever they set as administration orders them. The rest of us too will have to do as we're told. Just now it is chaos. The roads are bombed and often impassible. The cities are in ruins. There's little food and there are refugees everywhere." She looked at me, as if sizing me up. "You know, Fraulein Giesinger, I have an idea. Perhaps it would be best if you could stay here for a bit. I am alone. Earlier, my grandson was here with me. He's called Franz, but as soon as he was fifteen he was taken into the army. I haven't heard from him for some months." Her voice sounded as if it was about to break. "He was sent to near Berlin and I'm afraid for his life. I hear the Russians have captured Berlin. "You see,I need help." She gestured round. "I've struggled here to keep the farm going but it's hard. I still have a horse and two cows and some chickens." She looked at me, appraising me. "You know, I could use a strong young woman to help me, if you would like." She was almost pleading with me. Her hand went to her mouth. "I am sorry, Fraulein, I forget. You're muddy and dirty. I must get you cleaned up. I'll heat some water. There's a little soap but please be sparing with it." I eased myself out of the chair and stripped of my boots, the dress and I stood in my ill-fitting underwear. "I think those need washed too," she said, pointing to my underwear, and I pulled them off too. I was too tired and exhausted to feel any embarrassment at my naked female body. She picked up my dirty clothes. "I will wash these things too. I see they are men's" "Yes, I lost my own stuff and this was all that was available." "I can get you something else to wear. My daughter still has some clothes here. She works in a factory in Stuttgart. Or she did. It too may have been destroyed." I had hit it lucky. If I stayed here I could hide until I was ready to move on. It looked like I would have access to fresh clothing, although worn. Besides, the farm would have food although it probably would be very plain and monotonous. With the chaos of the broken previous regime, it did not matter if I had no identification. I thought over her suggestion that I help her at the farm. That sounded good. I was young and strong. As a youngster I had worked on a farm so I was familiar with the countless tasks required to run one. This farm could be a refuge, and would give me food, although it would be a lot of hard work. I would have to put all my energy into running the farm until I could see how things were turning out and I could plan my future better. When I offered to stay, her face lit up briefly and I started the very next day. One of the first jobs was to hitch the plough to the horse, make some furrows and plant some potatoes and turnips. Then there was an extensive kitchen garden and over the next week I dug it all and planted some vegetables. It was hard these first weeks with a skimpy and monotonous diet until the vegetable garden began to produce food and many nights I went to bed hungry. As the weather warmed the field began to green up so there was food for the horse and two cows. One of these still produced milk and that helped. My knack of fixing things helped a bit too to get the farm running. Gradually it got a little easier and we were even able to take some eggs, butter and vegetables to a local market. Much of our stuff had to be bartered as the old Reich currency was worthless and the new occupation currency notes printed by the Americans were losing their value with inflation. Occasionally we got cigarettes. These were good as they could be saved up and used for barter. Very occasionally we got American dollars which were even better. Electricity was sporadic but the radio still worked and I listened carefully to what the news was. As I expected, the senior German military and government, especially the Nazis, were all being held in prison, under interrogation or waiting trial. It also became apparent that the Americans and British were still hunting down others who had escaped, among them some of the administration and the guards at the camps. I thought of my own escape. At least I was well disguised. In late July I returned one day from the market to see a young man standing just outside the farmhouse. Unsure, I slowed the horse down and finally stopped. I wondered who he was. He was thin and dressed mostly in ragged clothes, the remnants of a Wehrmacht uniform. Frau Boettcher ran out to me, pulling the young man with her and bubbling with excitement." It's my son Franz! He actually had not been right in Berlin when it fell. He has evaded first the Russian troops then the Americans and has gradually made his way home." She caught the young man's hand. "Franz, this is Hilde. She is a refugee from bombing in Essen. She has been a wonderful help to me. I could not have survived without her." He even bowed slightly. "Then I am pleased to know you, Fraulein Hilde." I gave him the same story that I had given Frau Bottcher. "Yes, your mother saved me. I was lost, dirty and hungry and she gave me shelter." "I could not do without her now," said the frau. "Then I thank you, even more, Hilde," said Franz. That was another mouth to feed but the young man soon got his strength back and we had another to help at the farm work. It was good to have someone with a man's strength for many of the tasks, also for protection against looters. By this time we had a good crop from the fields and the kitchen garden. We even had a fresh lot of chicks growing and we would have enough food. Freda had good news too. She eventually heard that her daughter was alive, but was stuck near Stuttgart until transportation improved. Over that time I gradually came to terms with my own body, my new body. It was weaker than a man's. It became less of a surprise each time I washed myself that my penis was gone and that I had breasts on my chest. Still, I wondered more and more about my future. I did not want to spend the rest of my life on a farm. Every so often we heard news of the political situation. Germany had been divided into four areas of administration, American, British, and Russian. Even the French, who we had overrun not so long ago were assigned a part. I was amused that now the Americans and British were beginning to fall out with the Russians. We started to hear results of the trials of Nazi leaders and, as I expected, many were sentenced to death and hanged, those who had not killed themselves. Next the Allies began to turn their attention to the lower ranks and soon after, trials of concentration camp personnel began. Frau Bottcher was horrified revelations of the camps and the pictures. She did not believe it at first and thought it was Allied propaganda. I did not dare confirm the truth and pretended horror too. "So many people did evil!" said Freda, shaking her head. "I knew there were camps to hold enemies of the Reich but I did not think of this! And I have heard that they are still looking for any guards who might have escaped. I heard that in the neighboring town a British officer recognized a guard of one of the camps. They caught him as he tried to board a trainful of refugees. They will put him on trial too. He should be punished!" That gave me a strange feeling. I had beaten and kicked inmates as a matter of course. It had been encouraged by the commandant. I had helped herd prisoners around the camp but the only one I had actually directly killed had been that old Gypsy woman. I was just glad I had escaped. I would have been sitting in a courtroom while accusations were heard against me. The farm was a refuge for me, but increasingly I began to chafe at the work. It was hard and tedious and dirty. I wanted to get away from it but I had to plan carefully. I had no identification and I had no idea of what records had survived if the authorities wanted to check on me. It would also be better to have some money saved to get myself established in another place. On opportunity opened up at the market one day. I was at a market stall, with the remnants of our vegetables after a day's business. The eggs and butter had been quick to go. I heard a roar, and an open vehicle drew up, scattering the villagers other than some young boys who immediately crowded and began jabbering at the two soldiers in American uniforms. The men even handed out some treats to the boys. I was disgusted. A few months previously we had been fighting them. Now we looked for their handouts, like beggars in streets. The vehicle's engine stopped, the two soldiers got out and, after looking round, began to go from stall to stall. Many of the stalls were like mine, farms selling vegetables or other farm stuff, but too many had citizens selling some possessions, ornaments, books, the occasional jewelry, anything to get a little money. The two soldiers actually stopped at my stall. An older one had chevrons on his uniform. The other one was younger and it looked as if his uniform was a slightly better material. I looked up expectantly then listened with amusement as the younger man spoke to me in schoolboy German. He wanted some eggs. I wondered how he would pay for them but then he fished out a wallet with some American dollars. That was good. Everyone accepted the American dollar. The man thanked me and even nodded with a badly pronounced "Danke shoen, Fraulein". I pretended a grateful smile but watched them go coldly. As far as I was concerned they were still the enemy. I quickly hid the money away in case one of the other vendors saw it but I recognized an opportunity and I slid a few of the bills into my underwear. When I first found I was changed, I had put on a woman's dress only as last resort. Freda had given me some of her daughter's clothes but there was no underwear. Actually, I would have been horrified at the idea of a woman's underwear anyway but days of feeling my breasts and nipples get scratched and abraded by a coarse work shirt finally persuaded me and some weeks before I had bartered for a satin bra at one of the stalls using some of the precious cigarettes. It felt like a harness at first, but it protected me. Back at the farm, Freda was actually delighted to get any money. It gave her a chance to save and get away from the barter system that had developed after the surrender. The next week's trading was much the same and in the following weeks and months the soldiers' visits became a regular occurrence and Freda began to build up a reserve of money. So did I. Each time I was by myself at the market I saved a few. On the few times Franz accompanied me I fumed internally as I knew he would be checking any money as it came in. I had been worried in case another severe winter would be coming and I was glad of the shelter and food. Plenty others were only just surviving. When I was changed, it was traumatic enough, but simply survival came first. Then, over these few months after the war, I was more used to my new body. I accepted it, annoyed at its weakness, but relieved that I was well disguised. As I had feared, that next winter did not help us. It was cold and we had to struggle to keep warm. I frequently scoured the neighboring fields and woods for anything to burn and we spent many dark nights huddled in blankets. During these long winter nights with Freda and Franz we often talked but we had little in common. Most times we were exhausted at the end of each day, too tired even to listen to the crackling radio. Sometimes Freda would ask Franz about the last days of fighting but he was reluctant to talk about it. It had been a terrible ordeal for the young man but in fact it seemed he had done little actual fighting, and had been mostly reduced to taking shelter from Red Army bullets and shells. My own fighting had been much more traumatic but I did not dare tell about it. Instead, I added to my fictional past about being a refugee from Essen. In my real life I had done much more, although that memory seemed be slipping away from me. I had experienced the Eastern Front for a year or so, from the first exhilarating days as we swept all enemies before us to the dirty stalemate, then the agonizing back and forward fighting. Finally, there was the hell of the savage attrition fighting at Stalingrad where I was wounded and my days at the front were over. I had been one of the lucky ones. I had been evacuated by a Junkers transport just in time before the Red Army net closed around the rest of the German army. Freda surprised me one day. It was when we were having a quick midday meal of rye bread and potato soup and Franz was still out in the fields. "Hilde," she asked carefully, "I have not seen you bleed, like a woman should. Are you all right?" I was taken aback. I knew what she meant but I had not thought about it? "No!" I stammered. "I have not bled ...uh.. for some time. But otherwise I am fine." She gave a knowing nod and sighed. "Yes, maybe that is expected. Women can stop if they are too stressed or half starved." Her comment on female periods, or lack of them, for me, made me think about sex. In fact it had not crossed my mind for some time. Even before my change the life at the camp did not inspire pleasant thoughts. And then I had been thrust into a female body I was acutely aware of my weakness compared to a man and that I could be vulnerable. After that I was aware then that Franz was occasionally giving me suggestive glances. I was confused at my reaction and thoughts. I was somewhere between wondering how I would react if a man's penis was in me and then horror at the thought. Then, as the days lengthened and the winter looked as if it might be ending, I started again to plan how to make a life for myself. Things were gradually improving. The Allied troops who were everywhere, it seemed, gradually became less hostile and even more started visiting our market. A lot of trading was still done using cigarettes as an exchange medium, but wherever possible I took American dollars and my own cut. My savings were growing. One day I went out collecting some firewood from the edge of our fields. I had not been there since the early winter and I noticed a small structure on the curve of a stream. To call it a building was exaggeration. It was dilapidated and I had thought I could use any wood in it for fuel. As I approached I heard some scratching and as I pushed open a few planks that served as a door I saw some rats scurrying away. I was greeted with a terrible smell, one that I remembered from the camps. Lying huddled up on a few branches was a corpse, its features half eaten by the animals. Longish blonde hair lay over the remnants. It looked like a woman's body. I was used to death and I examined the corpse. Yes, it had been a woman. She was dressed only in tattered clothes. I pulled open her coat and in a pocket found some papers and her ID card. It was a German name. I supposed that she had been displaced and had taken shelter at some time during the winter then died of cold or starvation. I had been lucky. She had not. I looked at the ID more closely and the photograph. She had been fairly pretty. When I looked more closely it was almost like looking in a mirror. She looked very similar to me. Perhaps her jaw was more pronounced and her eyes slightly further apart but we could have been taken for sisters, if not twins. Her hair was cut in a different way too but that could be easily fixed. I was elated. I did not have any ID and now I had one that I could easily use for myself. Better still, it was damaged by damp and the fingerprints were badly smudged, one less thing to identify me with. It said her name was Lisl Kohler and that she was born in in Mainz in 1923. That suited me too. We were about the same age. The trouble was what to do with the corpse! If I reported it to the authorities they might ignore it other than sending someone coming to cart it away and bury it. Its lack of papers would only be a slight problem as there were enough people still without papers but there was the off chance that any investigation might be more thorough. I did not want anyone snooping around at the farmhouse and asking me questions. It would be best if the corpse were never found. I wondered about it that night, but next day I made the excuse that I was going out again to get more fuel and I took a shovel. The riverbank near the corpse was undercut by spring rains. I dragged the corpse to it, then stripped it. The woman had no sign of wounds but looked very thin and looked as if she had died of starvation. I pulled the loose riverbank over the corpse until it was totally covered. Flooding from heavy rain might uncover it sometime, but by that time I intended to be well away. I now had some identification. The clothing might give a clue too. I was surprised that the woman had been wearing government issue underwear, but clothing from all sources was bartered in the markets. It might even have been stolen from another corpse. I was tempted to keep some of it, but Freda would notice new clothing and ask questions so I simply dug a deep hole in a field and buried everything. I had half planned my departure but it was sooner than I had wanted. I had been digging in the garden and I was filthy, tired, hot and in a bad temper. I was still bent over in a vegetable bed when she ran out of the house and confronted me. I had been careless. She had decided to do some cleaning and had found the money I had gathered under my mattress. She waved it in my face, asking where it had come from and accusing me of theft. I lost my temper, threw the garden fork at her and it went right into her chest. Her eyes rolled and she gagged, sank to her knees and fell over. I cursed my quick temper. I checked her but there was no pulse. I looked round. The farm was too isolated and no one had seen me. Fortunately Franz had gone to a nearby town so no one saw me. He would be off until late evening. She had not bled much so I dragged the corpse into the vegetable patch, dug an especially deep hole and buried her in it. With all the fresh turned earth that I had dug before it could be a while before her body was discovered. I ran back into the house and, searching her room, quickly found her own pile of dollars in a tin box. I retrieved the ID papers I had found from under the drawer where I had hidden them, I washed the dirt off my face and put on my most serviceable clothes and checked my appearance. I took some food from the kitchen and did a last check that I had all I needed, placing papers and money in an inside pocket. I took some more of the clothes that Frau Bottcher's daughter had left and stuffed them in a small case too. It was time to get away. My best plan was to get back into the village and look for some transportation to get away. The walk there took me a most of an hour. At the market place I saw a carter who had come occasionally to the market and I explained that I needed to travel to the nearby town. He hesitated until I offered him some of my precious dollars. His eyes lit up at the sight and I was nervous in case he thought to steal the rest from me. He made suggestive comments, making me realize how vulnerable I was but he gave me no trouble while I sat beside him on the cart. In the town I was lucky and got a train and by that night I was about fifty kilometers away. When Franz returned he would discover his mother and me gone. He would report it and someone would probably find the body in the next few days. The police would be looking for me but I would be just one person, with a different identity in a society that was filled with refugees and displaced persons and only just beginning to reorganize. I slept that night in a nook in a ruined building then in the morning I took stock of my situation. The only skills I had were farming, fixing things and fighting. I would need to get some way of making a living. Unfortunately there were thousands of women like me, many of them widows, with virtually no skills. I wandered around that day trying to get ideas. I saw gangs of women working in some rubble, removing and cleaning bricks and salvaging any materials that could be used. It looked dirty and dangerous and it was not for me. My wanderings that next evening took me along the edge of the town. There was a small caf? and I realized I was hungry. I used some of my precious dollars to get some coarse bread with strange tasting coffee and I was sitting at a table outside when I noticed some women hanging around in the road, short distances from each other, starting just a few paces down from me. Some had suggestive clothing that revealed their bodies and I gave a small snort. They were prostitutes. As I watched, a man moved along the line, examining the girls then stopped briefly at one with long blonde hair. They spoke for only a few seconds, then quickly moved into a ruined building. I shuddered. To think that the woman had been reduced to that! I had just finished my meal when the woman reappeared and resumed her stance at the corner. It had only taken her about twenty minutes. I decided to watch her. Further along, I was surprised when an American Jeep with what looked like a uniformed man driving it stopped by another girl. She climbed in and it roared away. If she was lucky she might get paid in dollars or cigarettes. I spent another cold night in the ruined building and the next day I wandered around again looking for some work. I tried in several small shops, but all turned me away. I was getting desperate. If I was not lucky I would be reduced to back breaking labour. That night I returned to the caf?. Once again I saw the woman there, this time wearing a different outfit but garish enough to show what she was. This night it took an hour before she was picked up, but then she was successful with two more men. I was making my way back to my shelter when I was suddenly grabbed from behind. I turned to face a dark bearded man. "There's a pretty girl. Are you looking for business, Fraulein?" he asked gruffly. I did not like the look in his eyes. "No!" I snapped and tried to pull away. In the distance I saw the blonde haired woman looking at us. "What's the matter?" he snapped. "A whore like you shouldn't be fussy! I'll pay you well!" "I'm not a whore," I cried and I tried to walk away but he caught my sleeve. When I struggled more he pulled me to him. I tried to scratch his face but the next thing I knew I was sprawled on the ground among some rubble. My face hurt badly. He had slapped me so hard that he had knocked me off my feet. I shook my head to clear it. I was struggling to get to my knees when my hand found a piece of broken brick. He reached down to pull me up but when I was on my feet and sure of my balance I swung the brick at him. It hit on the side of his face and I felt the bone give. He staggered and fell to his knees. He yelled with pain, reeled a bit and tried to get up again, glaring at me, murderous fury in his face. I evaded his arms and smashed the rock on his skull. He swayed and dropped to the ground. Furious, desperate, I pounded his head again and again with the rock. It only took a few seconds. I stared at him and sat back in shock. He did not move at all. I had killed him. I looked round to see if my struggle had been noticed. It was very dark but it did not look as if anyone had seen us. I wanted to run away but I knew it would be better if nobody fond the body for several days at least. I needed to get the corpse off the road and, taking a limp arm I tried to pull it over into the rubble of a partly demolished building. He was much heavier than me. I was strong from my work on the farm but it was a struggle and I could only move him a few centimeters at a time. I was getting hot and desperate. "Let me help you!' I heard. I turned round sharply. It was the blonde haired prostitute. "Pull him over here!" she said, taking another arm. It was easier with the two of us and we dragged him further into the gloom of the ruined building. She opened the man's coat and pulled out his wallet. She held up some money. "Ah!' she snorted. "Only a little bit. Still, better than nothing." I saw her at the man's fingers. "We're in luck!" and she pulled off a ring. "It looks like gold. "I'll take his ID too. That will make it more difficult for the police when they find him. With luck that will be some months before they clear here. Quick! Pull him further back into these ruins," she commanded and we dragged the corpse further over the rubble. "Right, now cover it up!" she whispered. "Throw some rubble over it." There was plenty of that and it only took five minutes before we had the corpse completely covered. The woman was stocky and strong looking. She pulled her bleached blonde hair back off her face. She had a smudge of lipstick on her face. "Warm work! Well, I suppose you did us a favour," she said. "We've seen too much of this swine. He's preyed on us for weeks. He was rough and many times he didn't pay. Still, it's not as if people like us could run to the police to complain, could we? "So, dearie, who are you. I haven't seen you here before. Where did you come from?" "I'm Lisl, Lisl Kohler," I said. "I just arrived the other day. I'd been working on a farm, but it just got too much for me." I gave her the name of a place close to the Dutch border, well away from where I had actually been working. "I came here looking for work." "I'm Ulrika, Ulrika Haas. You mean work like I do, a whore?" She pointed to herself. She actually grinned. I shook my head vehemently. "No! No!" "Well, please yourself but maybe you shouldn't be picky. Actually, a pretty girl like you might do quite well. Huh! Maybe you should have stayed on a farm where there might be more chance of food." She sighed. "There's not many people hiring in this town." She looked round furtively. "Anyhow, we should get out of here. Unfortunately it means I'll have to get another place to stand. I don't want to be around here when the body is found. But I'm glad he's dead. Where are you living?" "A bit over there, in those ruins," I pointed. "There's a small closet that's fairly clear and its sheltered." "Then you need to get out of there. Too near to here! Tell you! Come to my place for the night. You got rid of that animal so maybe I can return a favour. My place is only one room too but there's a roof." Every so often checking behind us to make sure we were not followed, I accompanied Ulrika to her small room. It was several hundred meters away, in another partly ruined building. There looked as if there were about another six rooms, all with families or groups crowded into them. She only had a single bed. She tossed a blanket on the floor. "You can sleep there!" In the morning I awoke, feeling stiff and cold. I rubbed myself to warm up and Ulrika must have heard me. She stretched. "So, dearie, another day! What are you going to do?" I sighed. "I have to get work. If not I'll probably be sent to clear rubble. What do you do?" She gave a sad smile. "Same as last night and the night before and before that but I'm going out to scout round another place to stand. Trouble is, not many men with spare money, even cigarettes. Occasionally I get an American or British soldier coming looking for company. Sometimes they've got money or sometimes they bring food or cigarettes. It all helps keep body and soul together." I spied a sewing machine in a corner. "Could you not sew? There must be people wanting mending or even new clothes." "Yes, I could, but no, I don't. It broke some months ago and I can't fix it. If I could I could get a lot of work mending or altering clothes. Then I wouldn't have to go out whoring around the streets. Anyway, let's have something to eat. I've some potato soup here and there's the end of a rye loaf." I watched as she lit a small fire and put the pot over it. When it was warm she divided the soup between two chipped china plates. I pointed to the sewing machine. "You mind if I have look at it?" "Go ahead. I was hoping that once I can get enough earned and saved up I could get someone to fix it." I examined it, working the treadle carefully. "It's this part here. It's got bent somehow." "Yes, I was sewing a heavy piece of material when it gave up." "You have any pliers?" She stared at me, wonder and hope in her eyes. "No, but the old shoemaker along at the end does. Do you want me to get them?" It did not take long. In another half hour I had the machine working. Ulrika stared at it, her mouth hanging open. "Wonderful! Now I can get more work." She embraced me. "You've been great!" I left her to look for more work, but she was so pleased that she suggested I come back to her place at the end of the day. I was unsuccessful again and eventually trudged back. I would either have to join the women clearing the rubble, or move on. When I returned Ulrika gave me sympathy and even some more soup and bread. I noticed she was not made up. "You not going out again tonight?" I asked. She beamed. "No, I don't need to! I've been sewing most of the day and I can barter what I did for food, maybe I'll get cash if I'm lucky. Mind you, it's not that I'm averse to men, it's just that I prefer to pick and choose. "Oh, you know? The neighbours heard me sewing. I told them about you. They're impressed you fixed this. Now, Frau Mittler, the widow next door, was a cook. She has some pots and kitchen stuff. She was hoping to set up a small eating place but some of her kitchen stuff needs repairs. Do you think you could fix them for her?" "I'll have a look." I was able to help the widow too, and from there it did not take long. There were others needed some articles fixed too and then, word got out and I soon began to get requests for more and more repairs while Ulrika got more mending and sewing. I even went out scrounging in the barter markets to get together a reasonable supply of tools. We were in a British controlled zone and uniformed soldiers were always around. Worse, all the police were of the military occupation. I was happy with my new ID but I tried to avoid them as much as possible. After a few weeks Ulricka set up a small stall in one of the markets where she had more exposure to sell or barter clothing that she had made from fabrics. Curtain material was a useful source. I had stayed more or less around her room except to go out for food with her but feeling a bit bored one day I offered to help her as business was good. We got a number of customers milling around us. Often we would see British soldiers come into the market and snoop around the stalls. Contact had been restricted just after the war ended but regulations were getting more relaxed. The soldiers were actually welcome as some might have cans of food or cigarettes for barter. With the inflation we preferred that to the occupation currency that had been introduced but often there was no choice. Their attitudes had improved too and the tone of their voices was more friendly. Finally I began to see some future for us. With our different activities and the barter we were no longer on the edge of starvation. We had even been able to get some repairs to the apartment that made it warmer. One Friday Ulricka seemed a bit restless. "I'm fed up with this!" she growled as she bit the end of a thread off a skirt she had been sewing. "I need a change! I want to enjoy myself a bit." "Not much we can do," I shrugged. "No, I tell you, there's a cellar started up a short distance from here. I hear they've got dancing and music. Even some beer, maybe contraband booze too! I want a change! And you. You're a pretty girl. You should get out and enjoy yourself too." I tensed. But what she said sounded better when I thought about it. I knew that whatever had changed me had made me pretty but I was unsure. It had been more than a year but still I was not sure about myself. Once, when Ulricka was out, I had actually stripped and looked at myself. Whatever had changed me had been very effective. With more food I had lost the pinched look of semi starvation and I knew I now had a pretty face and nice body. I was slim, but my breasts were full and with not a trace of a sag. My hips were nicely curved, and emphasized by my narrow waist. My limbs were now nicely rounded. The only disadvantage was that I had started menstruation. Ulricka just laughed at my reaction to it. "You'd think you'd never done it before!" she had said. Ulricka's suggestion about going out tempted me. "All right," I said. "Just for a bit." I shrugged on my coat. She looked at me critically. "You're not going out like that, are you?" "Why, what's wrong?" "You look like a refugee, or worse. Your clothes are all shabby. Yes, I noticed you don't seem to bother about clothes, but you really should make something of yourself. Besides, there will be men there and you want to look attractive. "You've got some more clothes in a case, haven't you?" I fetched the case with the clothes I had taken from the clothing Freda Bottcher's daughter had left, but Ulricka shook her head when I held them up. "That dress is nice, but it's too big on you. You must have lost a lot of weight. I'll alter it for you later but for tonight, try this skirt I've just finished. It should fit you." When I pulled it on she nodded. "That's better. Then, I'll loan you this blouse of mine. But make sure you don't spill anything on it!" She stood back to look at me. "Even better. Now, finally, hold still for a minute. Let me see your face. " It only took a minute. For the first time ever I was wearing lipstick and my lips felt sticky. Ulricka smiled when she showed me how to put it on. "Not much of that around and what I can get is scarce and expensive so I'm being generous. But you do look much better! You never wore lipstick before?" "Uh, no, my parents were against it." She rolled her eyes. "Poor you! Anyway, now comb your hair! It suits you better now you've let it grow." She gave me an encouraging smile. "You're pretty! Be glad!" She had pulled on a dress and made herself up too. "All right! Here we go!" She took my arm and pulled me through the door before I let my nerves get the better of me. The cellar was actually packed. Inside, it was smoky and noisy. We had even heard it from the end of the street. Someone was serving beer and an oldish man was playing an accordion at the back. It was American type dance music. Several couples were actually dancing on a cramped space in a corner. We ordered some beer, but it was a poor substitute for what I remembered. We had barely taken our first mouthfuls when a man stood in front of Ulricka and motioned to her. It was so noisy I couldn't hear what he said but she immediately handed me her beer and let him pull her to the dance floor. I watched her. She seemed happy just to dance. The noise was too much for any conversation anyway. I tensed when a man came before me and shouted in my ear. He asked I wanted to dance but before I could reply he had taken my hand. I set the remnants of the beers down and he pulled me to the crowded floor. Uricka caught sight of me, winked at me and gave a beaming smile. I had rarely danced during all my years in the army and certainly not as a woman. I had to force myself to relax at the strange feel of his arm around my waist and his large hand holding mine. Occasionally our chests would bump and I felt an unsettling strange pressure on my nipples and breasts. The music ended and we stood slightly awkwardly. He asked me to dance again but I had had enough and I shook my head. Dancing with a man so closely had made me feel strangely unsettled. Ulricka was already at the side and she handed me the rest of my beer. I downed it quickly. "You're too glum," she cried in my ear. "Relax! It's meant to be fun!" So, I allowed myself to be taken up again to dance, then again, and more. I must have danced a whole two hours and found I had begun to enjoy myself. I liked the way my skirt swirled about my hips and legs. We had another beer each and finally when the dancing ended Ulricka and I lurched home, arm in arm, talking excitedly. There was a curfew but it was only half-heartedly enforced. A British soldier saw us but only waved us on with a grin. We were only two young women out enjoying ourselves. I had enjoyed myself so much and I kept thinking of the feeling of being held by a man. It had been unsettling and yet.... The next week I asked Ulrika If she wanted to go dancing again and she readily agreed. "I thought you would like it!" she cried. This time I wore the dress she had altered for me. I checked in the mirror. She had done a good job and I thought I looked very nice. It fitted closely over my bust and waist then flared slightly over my hips. I imagined myself dancing in it, the eyes of the men on me. We were crossing the nearby town square on the way to the dance cellar when I sensed there was something different. Groups of people were talking and looking round furtively. "What's going on?" Ulrika asked an older woman. "They say there was a shooting last night between the British soldiers and some black marketeers when they tried to arrest them. Some escaped and they generally being more careful. They're checking people." I was suddenly aware that some soldiers had appeared on the streets leading to the square and that the civilians were being formed into lines and checked before being allowed to move on. "Damned inconvenience! I wish they'd hurry up." I grumbled to Ulrike but joined her in the line. Her papers were checked before me and she stood waiting at the side of the street for me. As demanded I had pulled out my ID and held it to the British military policeman. He looked at it. "This is your ID," he asked in atrociously accented German and looked back and forwards from my face to the ID card. He peered at my name and frowned. "Wait here, fraulein," he ordered. I heard the people behind me sigh at the delay and just a little nervously I saw him go to another soldier at the side and speak to him. This one pulled out up a sheaf of papers from a bag and began riffling through it, searching the pages. I did not like the way he looked over to me. There was something wrong and, panicking, I turned and walked swiftly away. I heard the soldier behind me call out. "Halt! Stop that woman!" but I kept on going. I wanted to lose myself in the crowd. "Stop that woman!" someone shouted again, more loudly and when I heard someone running after me I pushed into the crowd, ignoring their protests and began running. I heard heavy footsteps behind me. I stumbled on some uneven pavement and an arm grabbed mine. I struggled but the guard was much stronger than me and he easily pulled me back to the checkpoint. I was pushed into a vehicle and ordered to sit. I saw Ulrika looking at me in shock, her hand at her mouth. In a few minutes it drove quickly through the dusky streets and into an army camp where I was taken into a guardhouse. I saw the papers and my ID handed to a military policeman. I saw him purse his lips then he came over to me. "Sit down, Fraulein!" he ordered. "This is your ID?" He asked. '"Yes, that is me!" To my horror another British officer came to us and the policeman held my ID out to him. A grim look appeared on the officer's face when he read it. "You are Lisl Kolher?" he asked, in surprisingly good German. "Yes, I told you I was! What is this?" "Yes, we have been looking for you for some time. So we finally got you! We wondered where you had been hiding." I was astonished. How could they know me? "What?" I screamed. "What about?" "You have some crimes to answer for. How you managed to get away from that camp I don't know." "Camp? What camp? I am a simple working woman, a refugee." I was frightened and bewildered. How did they know who I was? I was a woman, with virtually no resemblance at all to the man I had been. "The Neuengamme camp of course, or at least a sub camp. You were an overseer there. You got quite a reputation. Whips, dogs, clubs! Is there anything you didn't use?" "Where?" I screamed and he reeled off the name again. "What? No, look! This is a mistake." I thought desperately. "No, I am not Lisl Kohler. My real name is... Gertrud Stohl. I lost my ID and picked this up. I thought it would be better to have one." They looked at the picture and compared me with the photograph. "This picture looks very li