What She Lost

by Melissa W Hunter

  I remembered the day we went as a family and stood in a line to receive our identification papers stating that we were Jewish citizens. I remembered the day my father came home from the bakery, face white, and told us a large Jewish star had been painted across the storefront. I remembered the night last October when my father joined the other Jewish men in town to discuss the fate of the Jews who had recently arrived in Olkusz from other towns, including my father and Abraham’s brother Berish and his wife, Tova. It was then that the Judenrat was created.

  The soldier’s eyes now scanned the room as he leafed through our identification documents. They shone like a spotlight from beneath the brim of his hat. I was sure he’d see me, peering from behind the curtain, but I was unable to turn away. “You, you, and you,” he said, pointing at my brothers, who stood, frozen, against the wall in their nightclothes. “And you,” he said, indicating my father. “You will come with me.”

  My mother threw herself at the man, only to receive a slap across her cheek from the soldier’s gloved hand. He was unmoved as she stumbled backward. “Mama!” Majer cried. I hugged him against me as hard as I dared, hoping to swallow him permanently from view, hoping to stifle his cries as he struggled against me. If the man saw or heard us, he said nothing.

  Jacob, Sam, and Isaac stepped forward to join our father. Dressed in nothing but pajamas, they scrambled to grab coats, caps, and shoes, but the soldier thrust them forward with brute strength. I desperately searched their faces as they were shepherded out the door—Jacob’s large brown eyes were melancholy and despondent, Sam’s face was defiant and angry, his hands clenched into fists at his sides, and Isaac’s gray eyes darted back and forth in fear. Our father, with stooped shoulders, eyes downcast and unable to meet our mother’s tear-stained face, shuffled out the door. Before I could utter a sound, before I could even think a coherent thought, the door closed behind them, shutting out the darkness of the predawn. Then, there was nothing but silence.

  Once the door closed behind my father, the twins escaped my embrace and ran to our mother, who sat weeping on the floor. She wrapped them in her arms, whispering soft prayers under her breath as her lips gently kissed the crowns of their heads, her hands smoothing back the fine curls from their foreheads. I remained frozen where I’d crouched, filled with a quiet dread of the unknown. Daylight stretched outside, soft tendrils of light unfurling beneath the drawn shades as we stayed where we were, unmoving, for what seemed like hours. Finally, David looked up and said, “Mama? I’m hungry.”

  My mother roused herself from her trancelike state and muttered, “Yes, darling. I imagine you are.” And she stood on shaky legs to prepare a meager breakfast from whatever rations were left in our cupboard.

  “Mama?” I asked tentatively. “Can I help?”

  She didn’t answer, her back turned to me, shoulders hunched as she sliced bread at the counter. I sighed and began to set the table, but my mother whispered in a low voice, “Keep the children away from the windows. Keep them quiet. Do not open the blinds, even if they ask. Understand?” I nodded.

  We sat down together around the mostly empty table. I stared at my father’s seat at the head, then at my brothers’ empty chairs, and my eyes finally fell on the place where Esther used to sit. A lump rose in my throat. I couldn’t eat, and I kept glancing at the bolted door in the hope of a soft rap or gentle twist of the knob, a voice saying from the other side, “We’re home.” I prayed silently that my father and brothers would return soon, unharmed, saying it had all been a mistake. I prayed harder than I ever had before.

  The day seemed to last forever. We waited throughout the morning hours with our breaths held for the slightest bit of news. The twins asked periodically where Papa had gone. I tried to think of games to play to keep them occupied, and to keep my mind from worrying and agonizing over the fate of my family.

  Around midday, there was a knock on our door. I jumped, my chest constricting in both fear and hope. My mother ran to the door and called out, “Who’s there?”

  “Brocha, open up! It’s me!” Aunt Leah’s voice whispered urgently from the other side. My mother quickly pulled back the latch and let both her and Gutcha inside. Leah was breathless and pale, her shawl pulled tightly over her head to conceal her face. Her hands were shaking as she hugged my mother to her, then opened her arms to the twins and me.

  “They took Abraham!” my aunt sobbed as we all embraced. “And Daniel. They took my Daniel.”

  “They took Leibish and the boys,” my mother said. “Whatever could they be doing?”

  My aunt shook her head. “We couldn’t stand being alone,” she murmured. “I needed to come to you, to see what’s happened.”

  “I don’t know any more than you,” my mother said. “Come and sit. I’ll make tea.”

  My mother went to the stove to boil water, but I noticed how her hands trembled as she tried to strike a match. I took the matches from her and grasped the kettle in my other hand. She nodded gratefully, leaning against me as I lit the stove.

  “We didn’t see a soul, not one person on the street outside,” Gutcha said, standing behind her mother. “But I heard voices shouting from the center of town, and a loud sound, like a—a shot.” She shook her head as her voice trailed off.

  “A shot?” my mother gasped, her face draining of color. “A gunshot?”

  “I don’t know, Tante Brocha,” Gutcha whispered. My mother stumbled to the table and fell into her chair. I joined them at the table, setting cups for each of us and slipping into the chair next to Gutcha. None of us drank. David rested his head in my mother’s lap, and Majer climbed onto her knee, wrapping his arms around her. Over the past year, they had become my mother’s shadow, afraid to leave her side. They were frightened of the soldiers in town and clung to my mother’s skirt whenever we left the house. It hurt to see the fear in their eyes. I tried to make a face at them, to get them to smile, but they just stared back at me solemnly.

  The tea sat untouched. I looked into the weak contents of my cup, unable to erase the image of a gun trained on my father or my brothers or my uncle and cousin. My stomach churned. I don’t know how long we sat there before another sound caught my attention. My mother and aunt didn’t hear the soft scratching coming from our window, but Gutcha and I exchanged glances. We stood up and tiptoed to the curtain, pulling it back just enough to peek outside. Helena was standing there, eyes wild and red, a frantic look on her face. She waved at the door and I nodded, then went to it and lifted the latch.

  “Sarah, what are you doing?” my mother cried fearfully, turning in her chair. “Come away from there!”

  But then Helena was in the room, falling back against the door, breathing heavily. “Where’s Jacob?” she whispered. “Tell me Jacob’s here. Please. Where is he?” She appeared half-mad, her hands twisting together as she beseeched us.

  My mother hurried to her side and put an arm around her shoulders. I reached for her hand. We led her to the table and told her to sit. She was looking around wildly, whispering Jacob’s name over and over.

  “He’s not here, Helena,” my mother said softly. “Does your mother know you came here?”

  Helena finally focused on my mother, blinking rapidly. She nodded and said, “She didn’t want me to come, but I insisted. My sister Malka stayed with her. The soldiers came this morning and took Papa away. We didn’t know what was happening. I went with Malka to the square and we saw, we saw—”

  Her words fell away, and she wiped a tear from her cheek.

  “What did you see, Helena?” my mother asked urgently.

  Helena shook her head again and swallowed before she was able to continue. “There was a crowd in the square. The soldiers were there. So many soldiers. And the men and the boys—it looked like the whole town. I saw Eli and Wolf from next door. I looked for Papa—I couldn’t find Jacob.”

  “What were they doing?” my mother implor
ed, kneeling before Helena. “What were they doing with the men and the boys?”

  “I couldn’t tell!” Helena cried, burying her face in her hands. “They were all lying on the ground. They were facedown with their hands behind their backs. The soldiers were yelling, and their guns were out. I heard shots fired and dogs barking, but I couldn’t see what was happening. Malka made me leave. I wanted to stay, to find Jacob—” Her voice trailed off as sobs overtook her.

  “What do we do now?” my aunt asked, fear sharpening her voice.

  “What can we do?” my mother asked, standing again and beginning to pace. “We wait. We pray.”

  I walked over to Helena and rested my head on her shoulder. Her desperation and pain spoke to some emotion I could only imagine was love. And I loved her for loving my brother so much. If they had married last autumn and not postponed the wedding, she would now be my sister-in-law. If Esther had lived, maybe she would be married to Aaron now. Maybe I would even have a niece or nephew. I longed to be in that happier world where my family was whole, where fear and sorrow did not overshadow our days.

  I closed my eyes and tried not to picture my brothers and father lying on the cold ground, guns trained at their backs, rough German voices shouting. I was both scared and angry. And although I heard my mother whispering prayers under her breath, I doubted God was listening.

  Twelve

  Finally, as dusk began to fall and we had begun to give up hope, the doorknob rattled. We all jumped, turning fearfully toward the door. But to my relief, the sound I’d been waiting for all day reached my ears. “Brocha, it’s us. Please let us in!”

  My mother cried out and ran to the door. The moment she lifted the bolt, my father and brothers stumbled through the doorway. Their feet appeared incapable of supporting their weight. They held on to each other tightly. Their faces were pale and filthy. Their eyes were bloodshot. Leah and Gutcha eagerly ran past them, back to their own apartment. I ran to my father and threw my arms around him in relief. He remained immobile, still as a statue in my eager embrace.

  “Papa?” I asked, gazing up at him. His gray beard, usually so neatly groomed and smelling of sugar and honey, was a tangled mess on his face. Rust-colored flecks clung to the bristles, and I couldn’t tell if they were bits of dirt or dried-up blood. A nasty lump had swelled where he had been struck by the German soldier earlier that morning. Had it just been this morning? I wondered. It seemed like ages ago. He placed his hand on my head, but when his eyes met my mother’s across the room, he broke down into sobs.

  I backed away, stunned. I had never seen my father, so strong and proud, cry—not even after Esther had died. But now he stood just inside the doorway, broken, defeated. My brothers huddled behind him. Their clothes were caked with mud, their hands filthy as they clung to each other. I began to tremble. Then, my father’s legs gave out. He swayed, and Sam reached for him just in time. He fell against my brother, holding on tightly, looking like he might drown if he let go.

  Jacob stepped into the room and collapsed on the sofa, burying his face in his hands. His shoulders shook as sobs overtook him as well. Helena rushed to his side and hesitantly sat beside him. There was a look of conflicted yearning on her face as she watched him, her hands twisting in her lap. When she reached out gingerly and placed her hand on top of his own, he opened his eyes and turned to her as if seeing her for the first time. Then he crumpled against her, holding on to her, gripping her shoulders and weeping against her neck. It didn’t matter that we were all there. It didn’t matter that they weren’t married. In that moment, for the two of them, the rest of the world fell away, and they existed only for each other.

  “Mama,” Isaac choked as he ran into my mother’s outstretched arms. She rocked him like a baby as he, too, wept, smoothing back his black hair. When he had finally settled, she held him at arm’s length and looked at his dirty and bruised face. A line of blood ran from his brow to his jawline. His left eyelid was purple and inflamed. “What did they do to you, those monsters?” she whispered with a rage I had never before seen.

  “I want them to die,” Sam said vehemently, still supporting my father. Rather than wet with tears, Sam’s face was red with fury. “They deserve to die.”

  “I don’t understand,” my mother said. “Why did they do this? What have we ever done to deserve this?”

  “They don’t need a reason,” Sam spat angrily. “They can do whatever they want. And they want to kill us, Mama. After today, I’m sure of it. They won’t be satisfied with just taking away our schools or our jobs or our rights. They like doing this to us. If they can do this, they can just as easily kill us without a second thought.”

  Isaac, who had been silently holding on to my mother, gagged and ran to the sink. My mother hurried after him, rubbing his back as he vomited out his fear and shock. I felt like I had slipped into a nightmare as I watched my father and brothers. I didn’t recognize them, crushed and defeated as they were, pale with shock and fear. I knew how cruel the soldiers could be. I had seen for myself the bullying and humiliation that happened daily on the streets. But I felt like an outsider, distantly removed, unable to know the extent of what they’d experienced. What could possibly have happened to make them appear so broken? I suddenly felt like I would be sick as well.

  Sam eased my father into his chair as my mother led Isaac to the table. She filled a basin with water and placed it next to him, gently dipping a clean washcloth into the water and wiping my brother’s face clean of blood and dirt and sick. With Helena’s help, Jacob stood and joined my family at the table. I sat next to Helena, quietly feeling like I wasn’t supposed to be there. But no one told me to go away. There was a sense of anticipation. We were silent as my mother cleaned first Isaac’s face, then tenderly administered to Jacob, Sam, and my father.

  She cautiously touched my father’s cheek where the lump was dark purple beneath his gray beard. “Does it hurt?”

  My father shook his head. He reached up and took my mother’s hands between his large palms and kissed her knuckles. “No, Brocha,” he assured her. “Now that I’m home, nothing can hurt me. We have been spared, thank the Lord.”

  “Spared,” Sam muttered contemptuously under his breath. He gave a small, angry kick to a chair leg. “Sam,” my mother spoke in a stern voice, “you’ve already said enough.” She gave a meaningful glance at Isaac, who was sitting quietly, his face gray, and Sam closed his mouth. The single lit candle sent dancing shadows across the tabletop and stretched our own shadows along the wall. Jacob finally spoke for everyone, summarizing the experience in his soft voice.

  “At first they marched us into the street,” he said, his eyes never leaving the small, flickering flame in the center of the table. “Uncle Abraham and Daniel were there already. It was cold. We were all shivering. They had tables lined up in the center of town. We were told to put our hands up—”

  “Like criminals,” Sam mumbled.

  “—and approach the tables in single file. They kept their guns on us the whole time. We weren’t allowed to lower our arms until we reached the front of the line.”

  “They prodded us along, like cattle,” Sam interrupted. “They jeered at us and called us ‘dirty Jews.’ I could have fought them.” Sam’s mouth twisted in a scowl.

  “No,” my father finally spoke up. “No, Samuel. You would have died. You saw what happened—” His voice trailed off then, and his head slumped against his chest.

  “What happened?” I asked, though I was not sure I wanted to hear more.

  “There were those who did fight,” Jacob said after a moment. “And those who tried to escape. A lot of good it did them.”

  “What happened to them?” I asked again. This time, it was Isaac who spoke up.

  “They were shot.”

  The word hung in the air. Shot. Shot.

  I pictured Sam’s frustration and anger, every fiber of his being wanting
to fight back, to wrench the guns from the soldiers’ hands. And then I imagined the sound of a gun going off, and my brother falling, lifeless, on the street. I couldn’t stop shaking.

  “What did they have you do when you reached the front of the line?” my mother asked. She was sitting beside my father now, her hand grasped in his.

  “We had to present our papers. We were given these,” Jacob said, lifting the sleeve of his coat and showing us his arm. A cloth band was wrapped around his upper arm, white in color with a blue Star of David stitched onto the fabric. My other brothers removed their overcoats and revealed the same band. “We are supposed to wear them whenever we go out.”

  “So everyone will know we are Jewish,” Sam added.

  “But why?” my mother asked, examining my father’s armband.

  “So we can’t hide,” Sam said.

  There was a moment of silence as we exchanged looks. The candlelight flickered off my brothers’ faces.

  “But that couldn’t have taken all day,” my mother said. “Why didn’t they let you come home afterward?”

  Isaac began to shake again, and he looked down at his hands, which were twisting in his lap. I put my arm around him and rested my head on his shoulder. “It’s all right, Isaac,” I whispered. “You’re home now.”

  “We were told to lie down,” Jacob said, staring straight ahead, refusing to meet anyone’s gaze. “We had to lie on our stomachs in rows. There were so many of us, we filled the market square. It was awful.”

  “I saw it,” Helena whispered.

  “What do you mean?” Jacob asked sharply, turning to face her.

  “I snuck out with Malka. Mama was crying after they took Papa. We couldn’t get her to stop, so we said we’d look for Papa. Malka told me to stay with Mama, but I couldn’t just sit there listening to her cry. I needed to see for myself. We left around midday. We heard the shouting and the dogs barking. Malka told me to stay behind her until we reached the corner, then we saw everyone—lying there. I wanted to stay, to try to find you and Papa, but Malka made me leave. She was scared what would happen if they saw us.”