What She Lost

by Melissa W Hunter

  Helena and I had volunteered to help with each new wave of arrivals, passing out rations and directing them to the synagogue or hotel or community center where they could rest until their strength returned. It also gave us a chance to greet each survivor in the hope of recognizing someone we loved. I grabbed the basket of bread she held out to me, and together we rushed to the center of town. As we entered Rynek Street, we saw them staggering across the cobblestones. I felt the familiar catch in my throat.

  They were all young men, still wearing their striped prisoner uniforms. Helena and I moved among them, she dipping fresh water into a large ladle and holding it to their lips, I offering hunks of bread from the basket. I studied every haggard face. They were too exhausted to speak. Many dropped to the street to eat, hunched and silent over their food. “Eat slowly,” I encouraged, pressing bread into their outstretched palms. Tears were always close to the surface.

  As I turned, I saw a young man shuffling toward me. On his back he carried another young man who was too weak and frail to walk. I rushed to them, holding out my basket. “Here,” I said. “Please eat. Get your strength back.”

  The man nodded gratefully. “Thank you,” he whispered, breathless from the weight of the body he carried. “Where are we?”

  “This is Reichenbach,” I said. “There is a synagogue down the street where you can go to rest. There are people there who can help you.” I glanced at the man on his back. He was unresponsive, his head drooping against the first man’s neck, his arms draped lifelessly over the man’s shoulders. “Is he … alive?” I asked.

  The man nodded. “Just barely,” he said, “but he’s my friend. I can’t let him die.”

  “Here,” I said, handing a second piece of bread to him. “Take this for when he wakes. He must get stronger.”

  I turned to walk away, but a small voice said my name. I froze. I recognized the sound of the voice, even though it was faint. Slowly, disbelievingly, I turned my head.

  The lifeless body had raised its head, bald and covered in patches of scabs and dried blood, the face so emaciated it resembled a skull. But the eyes gazing back at me were still alive. They were eyes I’d stared into so many times before.

  They were my Sam’s eyes.

  Thirty-Five

  My brother was alive! Sam was alive!

  Without thinking, I dropped the bread basket and ran to him, arms outstretched. “Sarah,” he murmured again. His head fell back on the shoulders of the man who carried him, but he reached out for me weakly. I grasped his hand, refusing to let go, holding it to my face, kissing the dirty knuckles and fingertips. I sobbed uncontrollably as I cried, “Sam! I can’t believe it! You’re alive!”

  The man who was carrying Sam regarded us in disbelief.

  “This is my brother,” I gasped when I was finally able to speak again. The word brother was like sugar on my tongue. This is my brother. This is my family. This is my life. “Thank you! Thank you for saving him.” I noticed how the man sagged under Sam’s weight. “Let me help you,” I said, but the man held up his hand. “I have him. You said it’s just a little farther to the synagogue?”

  “Let me take you to my room,” I said quickly. “It’s just around the corner.”

  He followed me back to the hotel, each step a laborious effort. I thanked him over and over. Sam moaned softly, his hand still reaching for mine. “I’m here,” I kept repeating. “I’m here, Sam.”

  When we finally reached my room, the man laid Sam carefully onto my bed and collapsed to the floor. I crouched next to him. “Are you all right?” I asked. His face was gray and the lids of his dark eyes were heavy. “I just need to rest,” he panted.

  “There’s another bed,” I offered, but he shook his head. “I’m fine. Just need to sleep.” His head fell to the side as his eyes closed. I stood and rushed to Sam, sitting beside him and reaching for his hand once more. His eyelids fluttered open, and I could see him trying to focus on me. “I’m here,” I said again.

  “Sarah,” he whispered. I noticed a tear in the corner of his eye pool and then fall down his sunken cheek. I reached out and wiped it away, smiling gently, even though tears fell from my own eyes. “You’re alive,” I whispered. “I can’t tell you how long I’ve prayed for this.”

  “Is it really you?” he whispered.

  “Yes,” I said. “It’s Sarah. It’s your sister.”

  “I’ve missed you so much,” he said, his voice barely escaping his lips.

  “Shhh,” I said, stroking his cheek. “Sleep now. I won’t leave your side.”

  I spent the rest of the day beside him, taking in his face, crying helplessly in both shock and relief. Helena came home to find me there. “Where did you go?” she asked as she came through the door, then froze when she saw Sam. “Is that—?”

  “Sam,” I said, laughing and sobbing at the same time. “He’s alive.”

  I saw her eyes glance at the stranger sleeping on the floor in the hope, perhaps, that it was Jacob. Her eyes were a well of emotion. I simply shook my head. I was happy enough to be reunited with one brother. I would think about the rest of my family later.

  Helena sat beside me, disbelief on her face. “I can’t believe it,” she whispered. I heard movement in the hall outside the door and Gutcha entered. “There’s another group in town,” she started, but then her hands flew to her mouth. She ran to our side, staring down at Sam. Under her breath, she whispered, “Danken Gott.”

  “Who is that?” Helena asked, nodding at the man sleeping on the floor.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “He was carrying Sam on his back. Sam is so weak he can barely move.”

  “They came from Birkenau,” Gutcha said, sitting on my other side on the bed. “It was a death camp, Sarah. They’ve been walking for weeks through the countryside. Everyone is saying how horrible it was. That’s all anyone is talking about in town.”

  I swallowed. Holding Sam’s hand was like holding dry twigs that could snap at any moment. He looked like a corpse. I tried to imagine the boy I had known before the war. I tried to picture his tanned face and dark locks of hair, his big eyes that made the other girls in town swoon. He had been athletic and strong. I remembered his spirit, the fire that burned in him, his desire to fight against injustice. Even after he had been sent to the labor camp and returned home with a broken leg, he hadn’t looked as broken as he did now, lying motionless in my large bed. I forced back more tears. “You’ve fought for so long,” I whispered, curling up next to him. Helena and Gutcha left the room as I fell asleep at his side.

  Both men slept through the rest of the afternoon and the night. Helena and Gutcha shared the other bed. We threw a blanket over the sleeping stranger, careful not to disturb him. I lay next to Sam, my head resting gently against his bony shoulder. Whenever he stirred, I bolted upright to see if he was awake, but his eyes remained closed, his breath rattling in his chest. Part of me was frantic that he would stop breathing, that he would succumb to death the way so many had. I watched his chest rise and fall throughout the night, fighting the urge to sleep. I thought if I could stay awake and watch over him, he would survive.

  In the morning, the man on the floor began to stir. I sat up groggily and looked down at him. He blinked in the dim light, a confused look on his face. He tried to sit up but winced with the effort.

  “Here,” I whispered, moving to his side and offering him a hand. I helped him to sit up against the bed for support, then went to pour a glass of water from the pitcher sitting on the bureau. I handed it to him, guiding it to his mouth. He drank carefully but desperately. When he was finished, he closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the mattress. “Thank you,” he said softly.

  “How do you feel?” I asked.

  “I don’t know how to answer that,” he said, turning to look at me. “Are we really free?”

  “Yes,” I said softly, nodding. I
understood his disbelief. I remembered feeling it myself. I still had to remind myself each morning that I was no longer in the camps, that life had moved on, and that I had to move on as well.

  “Then I’m happy?” His answer was a question. We shared a silent moment. I nodded.

  “I’m Sarah.”

  “Michal.”

  “Thank you for saving my brother, Michal.”

  “We are friends, Sam and I,” Michal answered. “We look out for each other.”

  “Where are you from?” I asked.

  “Warsaw,” he said. “Sam told me a little about the town you’re from. It’s small, isn’t it?”

  “Yes,” I nodded.

  “Will you go back?”

  “I don’t know. I’m not sure what’s left for me to go back to. Now that I have Sam, we can decide together.” It was a relief saying those words. I didn’t have to face the future alone anymore. I had Gutcha and Helena, but a part of me knew we wouldn’t be together forever.

  Michal and I sat silently for a long time as the room slowly brightened around us. I heard Sam moan and rushed to his side. In the morning light, he looked worse than he had the day before. His face had a sickly yellow tinge, and his mouth was so dry I could see every line etched in his lips. Dark shadows framed his hollow eye sockets. I wet a cloth with water and ran it over his lips and across his forehead.

  “Will he survive?” I whispered fearfully, more to myself than to Michal. Michal rose painfully from the floor and stood next to me, looking at Sam over my shoulder. He nodded and said, “He’s stronger than he looks.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  I remembered the anger simmering Sam’s blood after he was forced to lie on the ground in the center of Olkusz, beaten and tortured for a whole day alongside my father and brothers. I remembered the resignation on his face when he returned home from the labor camp after breaking his leg. I remembered him begging my parents to leave, saying over and over, “It’s no good. We have to get out now while we can.” At the time, we couldn’t have guessed at our future, but he had already glimpsed the horror to come. And now he had survived unthinkable suffering, worse than anything we could have ever imagined. I wondered as I looked at him if he would ever be the same again.

  “Sarah?” I heard him say softly.

  “Sam,” I whispered, “I’m here.”

  He opened his eyes for the first time since the previous day and stared up at my face. I smiled down at him gently. He gave a small sigh and asked, “Am I dreaming?”

  “No, Sam. You’re safe. You’re with me. It’s over now.” And as I gazed down at him, he dissolved into sobs that racked his frail body. “Oh, Sam,” I choked, reaching for him. His arms came up weakly and he clutched me as tightly as he could. We held each other, letting the rest of the world fall away.

  Thirty-Six

  Sam drifted in and out of sleep throughout the day. When he was awake, I gave him small portions of food, warning him not to eat too quickly or too much, even though he begged for more. He shivered uncontrollably. I wrapped him in all the blankets I could find. While he slept, I washed his hands and feet, his face and head.

  Michal stayed with me throughout the day. He was stronger than Sam and was able to walk about the room. He was also able to stomach more food than Sam, who gagged after I fed him only a few bites. Although we spoke few words, we tended to Sam in companionable silence. At one point, I noticed sweat on Sam’s brow. When I felt his forehead, it was burning up. I recoiled from the heat. “I think he has a fever,” I said, remembering with dismay how sick Gutcha had been, and how worried I had been that I was going to lose her.

  Michal frowned as he came to stand next to me.

  “Should I be worried?” I asked him, wetting a washcloth and placing it gently on Sam’s forehead. “I’ve heard there is a Russian doctor in town. Maybe I should call for him?”

  “If it’s just a fever, hopefully it will break,” Michal said. “I’ve seen much worse. If it’s typhus or dysentery, then—”

  I turned worried eyes to Michal. “Then what?”

  Michal sat beside me. “Don’t worry, Sarah. I’ll watch out for him.”

  I frowned. “What can you do?”

  “I am—was—studying to be a doctor before the war broke out.”

  “You were?” I asked, surprised.

  He nodded. “I was at the university in Warsaw. I had almost graduated. I worked at the hospital.” The rest remained unspoken. I turned back to Sam, watching as he tossed his head fitfully in his sleep.

  “He can’t die,” I murmured. Leaning over Sam, I whispered, “Please, Sam. Don’t die now. I need you.”

  To my surprise, Michal reached out and took my hand. I jumped but didn’t pull away. I turned to look at him, startled. He was suddenly embarrassed, dropping my hand and clumsily standing up. “He won’t die, Sarah,” Michal insisted as he turned away, walking to the window with his back to me.

  I wanted more than anything to believe him.

  By evening, Sam was asking to sit up. I was thrilled that he was more alert. When I felt his forehead, it was clammy but cooler than before. His eyes had lost their unfocused gaze. I cried tears of relief.

  The following day, he ate a little more, and color returned to his cheeks. His temperature had returned to normal, but his body was skeletal, and he had a hard time moving. Every bone jutted from his pale skin. I was able to count every rib on his chest. His eyes were sunken and his cheekbones and jaw protruded disturbingly. He had little energy to stay awake and slept most of the time. I was never away from him for longer than a few minutes, watching over him protectively.

  By the end of the week, he was able to get out of bed for the first time, though he was still weak and needed help to walk. Michal and I accompanied him outside. “Fresh air will do you good,” I said as we carried him carefully down the stairs to the lobby. He didn’t answer. His feet barely touched the ground. We led him to the shade beneath a large tree that grew in the yard outside the hotel, its leafy branches casting dappled shadows over us. I watched Sam, studying the way he stood with his eyes closed and his head raised to the sun, leaning heavily on Michal, still and solemn. I felt like I had been holding my breath for days and was finally able to exhale. For the first time, I believed Sam would be all right, that his body would heal—but about his spirit, I wasn’t as certain.

  I found clothes for Sam and Michal. They didn’t fit, but they were so much better than the rough, threadbare, filthy prisoner uniforms they had worn. I threw their old clothes in the fire that burned in the hearth of the hotel kitchen, watching the coarse fabric curl and blacken against the flames.

  Once I knew Sam was out of danger, I joined Helena and Gutcha in town, helping in the effort to rebuild the community. When I returned to the hotel one afternoon, Sam was sitting in a large chair by the window of our room, a blanket thrown over his shoulders, staring outside at the alley and the Piława River beyond, his face void of expression. I went to sit beside him. We were silent for a moment. There were so many things I wanted to ask him—about our family, about his experiences, about the future. But the words were buried somewhere in the silence. He finally turned to me and gave a small smile.

  “Where were you?” he asked.

  “At the synagogue. I’ve been helping to restore it. They’re forming a new council under Jacob Egit. He wants to start a Jewish settlement here. This could be home, he says. Reichenbach could be home.”

  Sam nodded thoughtfully, his eyes searching my face.

  “You look well, Sarah,” he said. “Working, being part of the community, is good for you.”

  “I need to do something, Sam,” I admitted. “I need to keep busy.”

  He nodded again and looked down. I glanced out the window, watching the brown water of the river flow past the hotel. I could feel Sam’s eyes on my face. “I’m not used to
seeing you like this, all grown up,” he said, interrupting my thoughts.

  I glanced back at him. “I’m not sixteen anymore,” I said.

  “I know.”

  “Sam,” I finally dared to ask, “do you know what happened to the others, to Jacob and Isaac?”

  His smile faded and he looked away. I waited, watching his face grow blank as he stared at the yard outside. His eyes, which used to burn with passion, were hollow and empty. He swallowed before saying, “I was with Isaac at first. We were sent to Jawischowitz, where we worked throughout the winter. I tried to look out for him, Sarah. I tried to protect him. But I think he just gave up. He got sick, You know how he was.”

  Helena and Gutcha entered the room silently as Sam spoke. They stood behind us, listening apprehensively.

  “I worked underground in one of the nearby mines, while he was assigned work in one of the camp storerooms. I was relieved he didn’t have to do the hard physical labor; I thought that would keep him safe. I came back one evening and waited for him like I always did, but—” Sam’s voice trailed off, and he turned to look at me. There was desperation in his eyes. “I know what you want to hear, Sarah,” he said somberly, shaking his head. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I wish I knew what happened to him, to our little brother. But I—I never saw him again.”

  When I woke each morning, I vowed no longer to cry. I wanted to believe I was empty of tears, that the pain would become a numbness I would eventually no longer feel. But upon hearing these words, I realized I was crying again, silently, effortlessly, the salt of the tears bitter on my lips. I wiped them away.

  “And Jacob?” Helena asked breathlessly, kneeling in front of Sam. He gazed at her, shaking his head. “I never saw him. Our paths never crossed. But I met Moses Glaser. Remember him? From our town? He was taken at the same time as Jacob. He—” Again Sam swallowed, his eyes dropping to his lap where his hands absently toyed with the fringe of the chair. “He told me Jacob was taken into the showers when they first arrived. But they weren’t showers,” Sam whispered. “They weren’t showers. Those who went in never came out.”